Chapter Text
Zuko and Azula released each other almost at the same moment. He studied her with a searching gaze, his voice dropping to little more than a breath.
“How are you? Where have you been?”
“On a spiritual journey,” Azula replied evenly, without the faintest trace of bravado. “At the end, I met the Avatar. I will tell you everything, but later, when I am ready.”
Sokka and Suki approached with quick strides.
“So it wasn’t just my imagination!” Sokka blurted out. “What a gathering, Aang and… Azula… together!” He turned toward Aang and greeted him, clapping him on the back.
“Everything all right, Zuko?” Suki asked anxiously.
“Yes… I suppose so,” Zuko answered without taking his eyes from his sister.
Music from the palace drifted through the windows, and an uneasy silence settled.
“We are not here without purpose,” Aang spoke at last. “I brought Azula. She has important knowledge. It would be best if we continued in a study, away from the noise.”
“I would prefer not to be seen,” Azula added. “I am not ready… for encounters.”
Zuko gave a short nod, and the company made their way through the dim corridors toward his private study, far from the din of guests.
The chamber was hushed. Azula did not sit, nor did she seek words of preamble; she simply unfastened the strap across her shoulder, set a thick satchel on the table, and drew forth a bundle of tied scrolls.
“I believe you will need these,” she said, spreading them across the polished surface. “I found the Agni Temple in the province of Kenjun, where a vast archive lay hidden. It unveils many secrets of our family—manipulations, spies. I brought several proofs.”
“The Agni Temple…” Zuko repeated. “The priests set fire to the archives in the catacombs when the White Lotus apprehended them.”
“Clever,” Azula answered dryly. “I suspected as much. I should have taken more. Yet even these will suffice. There is much here about our family, about Father and Mother…” Her voice faltered almost imperceptibly on the last word.
Katara looked at Azula with pity, something twisting inside her. In recent weeks, Ursa had confided how deeply she missed her daughter, how she had been forbidden to be near her in childhood. Katara sensed that the wound still lived in Azula, too.
Azula shifted the subject.
“This is crucial!” She lifted one scroll. “Translations of Lord Yoshiro’s journals and registers of the Western Air Temple.”
Zuko unrolled several scrolls and murmured under his breath.
“I have read translations of Lord Yoshiro’s writings.”
“Lord Yoshiro?” Sokka asked, already reaching for another scroll.
“Fire Lord Yoshiro, second in line to the throne. He survived the rebels’ assault and reclaimed the capital after the murder of his father and elder brother,” Zuko explained in clipped tones, eyes still on the parchment. “Father of the great Fire Lord Mizu, bearer of the unique blue flame that arises in a firebender once in a thousand years.”
“Wait, that was the brother of the prince who wed the princess of the Water Tribe?” Katara interjected. “The story that troubled you so deeply?”
“Yes,” Zuko answered shortly. “Prince Shindo and Princess Aluna of the Water Tribe were wed. The people opposed it. Eruptions began, called the Wrath of Agni. The palace was attacked. Shindo and Fire Lord Taien II perished. Aluna was recorded as having died in childbirth, together with her child. Only fifteen-year-old Yoshiro survived. Within a few years, he retook the capital and ascended the throne.”
Suki, noticing the sorrow clouding Katara’s face, quietly reached for her hand beneath the table. Even Sokka fell silent.
“That is the tale you were given,” Azula said, touching two points on the parchment and drawing a short line between them. “Now, the whole truth. Aluna did not die in childbirth. She bore a healthy son. When the assault began, she was hidden in the temple, but the priests admitted the rebels. Aluna was slain only after the child was born.”
“The priests betrayed even then,” Suki whispered, tightening her grip on Katara’s fingers. “This time, at least, we were one step ahead.”
“Yoshiro did indeed flee with Sayuri, a noble girl. Wounded and near death, he was sheltered in the Western Air Temple. From there, the records continue, how he raised an army, won the support of the Earth Kingdom, wedded Sayuri, and they had a son, Mizu. He returned to Caldera and reclaimed the throne as rightful heir.”
Aang leaned forward and added his voice.
“Azula and I found an entry in the registers of the Western Temple. It states that Yoshiro and Sayuri did not arrive alone, as he later claimed in his journals, but with an infant. The nuns wrote down the names. The child was called Kairo. Later, he was given another name…”
“Mizu…” Zuko breathed, and Aang nodded.
“Fire Lord Mizu was not Yoshiro’s son, but his nephew, the child of Aluna and Shindo.”
Suki covered her mouth with her hand. Katara and Sokka exchanged a stunned glance. A silence followed.
“Spirits…” Sokka whispered, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, two teenagers rescued a mixed-blood heir and passed him off as their own son, the future Fire Lord? Did I understand correctly?”
“Precisely,” Azula concluded. “And the so-called pure line of succession begins with a descendant of the Water Tribe. Mizu’s blue fire was no quirk of nature; it was the mark of his blended heritage.”
“This… this truly helps,” Zuko said at last, riffling through more scrolls. “Thank you… both of you.”
They lingered a while longer, sorting the rescued scrolls and speaking of what fragments had been preserved from the catacombs. No one any longer saw in Azula the mad princess; she was composed, her features softened, and she seemed almost someone else. At length, they all understood that for one evening, it was enough. Zuko and Aang escorted Azula to her chamber, away from prying eyes. She assured them she needed nothing, only rest until morning, and closed the door upon them.
“Do you think she is all right?” Zuko asked Aang quietly, after the door had closed with a firm thud.
“Yes, I believe so,” Aang replied. “We spent several days together. She is different now… she even taught me—”
“I can hear you! Stop talking outside my door, I am trying to meditate!” came Azula’s muffled voice.
Zuko and Aang exchanged glances, teeth clenched in the same helpless grimace. Zuko gestured toward the stairs, and together they moved away.
The two friends climbed to the roof of the Fire Lord’s palace, where the world opened before them: the darkness still veiled the vast volcanic cliffs, though the first pale hints of dawn were beginning to stir at the horizon. It was not their first time here; this place had been their refuge for confessions and plans, the high perch where, years before, they had poured out their fears to one another.
“I remember this place,” Aang said at last, his voice carrying the weight of memory. “A place for conversations.”
“That is why I brought you here,” Zuko answered calmly, resting his palms on the cool tiles. “The time has come to speak.”
A silence settled, each uncertain where to begin.
“Katara seems happy,” Aang said finally, his tone free of envy or reproach, holding only a raw honesty that stung. “Though it hurts to see it. I… am trying to accept it.”
“I understand your pain,” Zuko murmured.
“No, you cannot understand,” Aang replied softly, yet firmly.
Zuko closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in the sharp night air.
“You know… I thought the worst pain I would ever feel was when I saw lightning flying toward her, before it struck. In that moment, everything stopped. Time itself vanished. And I thought only this: that I must protect her, even if it would be the last thing I ever did. Her life was worth more than mine. I loved her then, but… I did not always have the courage to say it aloud.”
Aang looked at him with sorrow, something tightening in his chest. Zuko continued.
“But a greater pain came when she left me at the very beginning… it was as if I ceased to exist.”
He turned his gaze to his friend, who gripped his glider with a face set like stone, yet shadowed with longing.
“It hurt so much, I thought my heart would tear apart. She said she did not love me, that she did not want to be with me. And one thought would not leave my mind that perhaps I had been nothing more than a passing comfort to her, until she returned to you.”
Aang shook his head, a crooked smile crossing his lips, not mocking, but reminiscent of the wound he himself had carried after similar words from Katara.
“She did not answer my letters… and then I knew it was over.” Zuko paused, his throat thick with old pain. “I decided then: if she was happy, I had no right to stand in the way. I would love her quietly, from afar, and no one would ever know. I would always remain her friend… only a friend.”
He lowered his eyes, surprised that memory could still cut more deeply than he had imagined. He exhaled and went on.
“Then… her letter came. My hands trembled as I unsealed it. I feared it would be an invitation to her wedding, or a plea never to write again. But instead, she spoke of her feelings. Later, I learned she was expecting a child… even two. And now our wedding is upon us.”
Aang said nothing. His brow furrowed, his teeth clenched.
“But there is a fear I still carry,” Zuko confessed. “That I will wake, and none of this will be real. That in truth the letter held an invitation to her wedding with another, and everything since has been a dream. So… I know what you feel.”
The silence between them deepened. Aang did not answer; perhaps he was not ready.
“I know this much, my friend,” Zuko continued, fixing his gaze upon him. “If your love is true, let her go. If you cannot release her, then it was not love, but only the desire to possess.”
“I know I must,” Aang said at last. “I want her to be happy. Truly… I clung to Katara as the only light left in my life after I awoke. Your sister is right.”
“My sister?” Zuko asked, startled.
“Yes,” Aang replied with a faint smile. “I never imagined that in learning to let go of attachment, Azula would be the one to guide me.”
Zuko allowed himself a small smile.
“Thank you for bringing her,” he said. “And for coming yourself. You will stay?”
A pause lingered between them, the breeze stirring their robes with a whisper.
“How could I miss the wedding of my dearest friend?” Aang answered.
Zuko looked at him with quiet gratitude, and after a few seconds, he embraced him, patting his back with the warmth of brotherhood.
Below, music rose once more, lighter now, full of cheerful rhythm, while the laughter of guests drifted upward, dissolving into the tender night of Caldera.
The room awaited Azula as though time within these walls had halted, and she learned to breathe without its mistress. Nothing had been shifted; every object remained where she had last left it.
Azula had already refreshed herself with water brought by the handmaidens and readied herself. For the first time in years, she was home, in her own chamber, preparing to sleep in her own bed. She sank down upon its edge and exhaled, quietly, deeply, as if what left her chest was not only weariness but the long years filled with a longing for home.
Suddenly, the door creaked, and in the threshold stood a familiar figure. Ursa lingered there as if afraid to trespass upon forbidden ground.
Azula rose from the bed.
“Zuko told me you were here,” Ursa said, her breath heavy, her voice trembling with a strange mingling of disbelief and relief. “At first, I could not believe it. Forgive me for coming so late—I could not wait until morning.”
Azula gave no reply, only watched her mother in silence. For years, the image of Ursa had haunted her, appearing everywhere, impossible to banish. Now, with her mother standing before her, she could not tell whether it was another apparition or reality at last.
Ursa stepped forward, arms half-extended, but Azula drew back barely, yet unmistakably. Ursa lowered her head, receiving the gesture as a sentence.
“I am sorry,” she said quietly, without trying to defend herself. “I know you do not wish me to embrace you.”
“Is it truly you, Mother?” Azula asked, suspicion sharp in her tone.
“It is I, my daughter,” Ursa answered softly. “Do you not want me here?”
“That depends on what you want from me,” Azula replied, still guarded, though almost certain now that it was her mother in the flesh.
“To speak,” Ursa said. “But I will understand if you do not wish to speak now…”
Azula did not answer. Silence weighed between them.
“I know I was a bad mother,” Ursa said at last. “One child left with a scarred face, the other broken within. And all because of me. Not a day passed that I did not condemn myself.”
“It was the fault of others,” Azula replied evenly. “Not yours. I know why you were not there. I know the reasons you could not have done otherwise.”
“Yes,” Ursa said, “I did all I could to protect my children. But it does not change the truth: I was not there beside you.”
Azula clenched her teeth, her eyes glistening. Her mother’s words were sharp and raw.
“I cannot turn back time and undo it,” Ursa continued. “It does not matter that the truth has come to light, that new days lie ahead. One thing remains unchanged: you are still the child whose mother was absent, and that cannot be undone.” Her voice broke with pain. “That emptiness cannot be filled. I will never forgive myself not for failing to flee with you, not for failing to do more.”
Azula swallowed hard, her throat thick, as a hot tear betrayed her cheek.
“Yes, you are right about that; that cannot be undone,” she whispered bitterly. “It feels as if I remained forever in that corridor, the cry of ‘Mom’ on my lips.” She met her mother’s eyes. “And you never heard me. I was left alone… with a father who forbade me to weep or grieve. And that cannot be changed.”
Ursa shut her eyes, and her own tears fell. She staggered forward a few steps and leaned against the wall for support. Silence pressed upon them unbearably.
“I never liked this room,” Ursa began. “When you were small, I would slip in to watch you sleep.” She looked toward the great bed behind Azula. “I would sit upon its edge, and in your dreams you would nestle close to me.” She paused, exhaling a trembling breath. “Then Li and Lo caught me, and they took to guarding the room. I could not come again.”
“I thought I had only dreamt it,” Azula answered, and in her voice there was no accusation.
Ursa raised her head.
“When you are ready, I will be here,” she said steadily. “I am proud of you for finding the strength to return to a house that holds your pain. When you are ready, I will do everything to make you feel like the daughter who is loved simply for being.”
“Even after everything?” Azula asked, brushing away a tear with her palm. “You know what I have done. And still you love me?”
“I love you,” Ursa whispered, her voice trembling. “Because you are my daughter, and you will always be so. I know you are not ready to let me near. It will take time.”
She moved back toward the door, laying her hand on the iron handle.
“When you are ready, I will be here. Always.”
She left. The door closed softly, and the silence in the chamber pressed upon her. Azula sat only a few seconds longer, long enough for a voice long suppressed to gather within her chest.
The tears came suddenly. She sprang from the bed, nearly ran, flung the door wide, and there stretched before her the same corridor where her childhood shadow had once been lost.
“Mom!” The cry tore from her not in her adult voice, but in the child’s voice she had once been, the very cry that had gone unanswered years ago. In that instant, she was no longer the woman she had become, but the little girl who had remained alone in that corridor.
Ursa had already gone several steps, but she turned at once and was upon her in a heartbeat, swiftly, as only a mother runs to her own. This time, Ursa was there, in that corridor; this time, she came back to her little girl. She drew Azula into her arms with the warmth of one who has found a lost child.
“Mom,” Azula whispered, clutching her as though the world might slip away again. “Will you stay with me now? Tell me more?”
“Of course, my love,” Ursa answered, stroking her hair. “Of course.”
They returned to the chamber, and this time the bed no longer seemed strange, nor the walls empty. The room that had waited so long at last held two, the mother and the daughter, as it always should have been.
Zuko stood in the long, empty corridor that led to the palace’s great balcony. His ceremonial robes weighed heavily upon him, and his heart beat so fiercely that he felt its pulse in his temples. He closed his eyes, struggling to marshal the restless storm of thoughts crowding his mind.
Then came a warm touch on his hand. Someone clasped his fingers gently yet firmly. He opened his eyes and saw her. Katara stood beside him, her face serene, her gaze filled with steady calm.
“Everything will be well, love,” she whispered.
She rose on her toes and brushed his lips with a soft kiss. Brief though it was, it carried such strength that all the tension wound within him seemed to melt away. She embraced him, and he felt her arms holding him fast against her.
From afar drifted the muffled hum of the multitude, like a hive awaiting its queen. Then, cutting clear through the murmur, came the resounding voice of the new High Elder:
“Fire Lord Zuko…”
At once, the low buzz of the crowd swelled into a roar. Zuko released Katara from his arms, though their eyes remained bound together. He pressed a light kiss to her brow, then strode forward with resolve.
The doors to the balcony opened, and sunlight poured in, flooding the corridor with brilliance. Zuko stepped out onto the wide terrace that towered over the city. On either side stood the robed priests of fire, their faces solemn with reverence.
Below stretched the vast square, filled to its edges with people. He saw the ranks of the Order of the Pure Flame, brought out from their prisons to hear his words, watched over by guards at their flanks.
Zuko raised his hand, and the many-voiced throng fell silent. The hush was so complete that the whisper of wind through the banners could be heard. It was the silence of expectation.
“People of Fire Nation!” Zuko’s voice rang out, strong and resolute, carrying across the square like a bell. “Nearly five years ago, I stood here and declared the end of the Hundred-Year War. We entered an age of peace and renewal. But peace is not merely the absence of war; it is life lived in harmony with other nations, in mutual respect, aid, and responsibility.”
Faces turned upward to him with grave attention. Some nodded in agreement with his words.
“We are all human. And no matter how our traditions differ, no matter the color of our eyes or the bending we wield, we feel the same emotions: sorrow, hope, love. The division between us is an illusion, as are the borders for which we fought so long.”
He looked across the sea of people and went on.
“For generations, we lived as a closed nation, shunning others, thinking ourselves superior because history and faith told us so. But this is a falsehood.”
A faint murmur stirred the crowd, but fell silent again as he pressed forward.
“Even the history of our royal line begins with the child of Princess Aluna of the Water Tribe and Prince Shindo of the Fire Nation. That child was Fire Lord Mizu, born as Kairo. His uncle, Lord Yoshiro, passed him off as his own son, and this truth was hidden for years.”
A breath of astonishment swept through the square, swelling into open confusion. Some whispered urgently, others stared at Zuko in disbelief. The faces of the Order grew rigid. One elder, who had served the palace all his life, shook his head and muttered, “Nonsense… impossible.”
“Lord Mizu was among the greatest of rulers,” Zuko proclaimed. “Under him, our nation flourished; he was called blessed by Agni for his blue fire. This truth was concealed because it was deemed unacceptable that a Fire Lord carry mixed blood. For a thousand years, the royal line has been manipulated, told whom to marry, whom to love. We forbade other nations from touching our history. This must end. I will see our nation live openly with the world, without fear of the other. When the volcanoes threatened, earthbenders came to shield our provinces. When our hospitals were overwhelmed, healers of the Water Tribe gave aid. We are stronger in unity. Division is our undoing.”
Among the crowd, some faces softened, some nodded; their eyes grew more open, touched by the sincerity in his voice. Members of the Order exchanged furious glances, fists clenched tight for them; it was the breaking of all tradition.
“I begin with myself,” Zuko declared, his voice steady as steel. “I take as my wife Katara of the Southern Water Tribe, the one who helped end the Hundred Year War, the one who aided the Fire Nation despite threats, the one whom I love with all my heart. Our union is proof that even opposites need not destroy, but may create. That even differing elements may live in harmony, and nations may dwell together not in enmity but in trust. Together we shall shape something greater than either of us alone. This is the strength of the new world.
Welcome her as part of our home, and give her the same respect you give me. For she will share the burden of our nation’s care. Welcome her as your Fire Lady.”
So Zuko spoke, extending his hand toward the archway. Katara stepped forth onto the balcony and came to his side. He took her hand in his. She looked somewhat shy, her cheeks flushed, yet she carried herself with dignity.
The multitude erupted in thunderous shouts and clapping. The people cheered, applauded, hailed her. Young women of the Fire Nation gazed at Katara with admiration.
“You see? It went better than you feared,” Katara whispered with a smile.
“Especially if you look at the faces of the Order,” Zuko murmured back, casting a quick glance at them. Their eyes were wide as coals gone white, their faces pale as ash.
This was the moment when history turned its course, and none among them could yet believe it. The crowd chanted Katara’s name, and on Zuko’s face there broke a smile of profound relief and joy.
Zuko and Katara descended into the palace garden, the one island of quiet in days when the whole court buzzed with guests and wedding preparations. The sun scattered warm light across the stone paths; beyond the walls, servants hurried past with garlands, flowers, lanterns, crates, and baskets of food, yet here, all was still.
Already approaching were Sokka and Suki, Toph with Aang, Iroh, Hakoda, Ursa, and even Azula. Zuko and Katara came hand in hand, speaking animatedly.
“That was great!” Sokka exclaimed. “The people seemed to accept it.”
“They applauded you, daughter,” Hakoda added with pride. “I am proud of you both.”
Before they could sit, a servant bowed low.
“Lord Zuko, General Iroh, and Avatar Aang members of the White Lotus await you in the Council Hall.”
“Yes. One last council, then rest,” Zuko replied calmly. He bent toward Katara. “Wait for me in our chamber, love. I will not be long.”
They all moved toward the gates together.
“And we are off to the kitchens,” Sokka sighed as though from great labor, tugging Suki by the hand, “to make sure they are preparing the Southern dishes properly.”
“I am coming too,” Toph declared.
In the garden remained only Ursa, Azula, and Hakoda.
“Lady Ursa,” Hakoda said at last, breaking the quiet, “I wished to show you details of our part of the ceremony from the Southern Water Tribe ribbons, paints… I would have your approval.” He smiled, slightly embarrassed.
“Oh, forgive me, Hakoda,” Ursa answered gently, “I was just going to help my daughter with her gown. The wedding is tomorrow, we must be ready.”
She rose and glanced at Azula.
“It is all right, Mother, I can manage. Go on,” Azula said lightly, already standing.
“I promised,” Ursa smiled. “The ceremony I entrust to you, Hakoda.”
He nodded with a smile and departed.
“You are blushing,” Azula drawled with a broad grin. “What is this? Like Zuko, you cannot breathe evenly around the Water Tribe.”
“Stop that,” Ursa laughed, shaking her head. She took several measured steps toward the gate. “Come, we must see to your gown.”
“I see the blush,” Azula teased again, laughing as she rose to follow.
Still whispering jests between them, they left the garden, stepping into the tide of preparations for the great day.
The night passed swiftly, and the day of the great wedding dawned not just any, but the wedding of the Fire Lord himself. From the first light, the city of Caldera resounded, its squares adorned, its streets filled with music so light it reached even the smallest alleys of the capital.
The palace too bustled till midday; each guest in their chamber arrayed themselves in their finest robes. Yet the most important preparations were within Katara’s chamber.
“Not too tight, my dear?” Ursa asked, fastening the ribbon of Katara’s silken sash. Her hands moved with sure grace, like those of a mother.
The attendants carefully lifted the upper garment, a splendid uchikake of white silk, light as a cloud yet falling in flawless grace. Beneath shimmered a finer robe with pale blue panels. The edge of the sleeves was adorned with delicate silver lace that caught the light like frost upon morning grass.
“Yes, it is fine,” Katara answered, drawing a deeper breath, though her nerves betrayed her. Ursa sensed it at once and adjusted the knot so that it lay softly across her rounded belly.
Meanwhile, Suki busied herself with the hem. Accustomed to armor and battle gear, her movements now were as graceful as any seamstress’s. She spread the fabric into even waves, then took a silver pin from the table and nodded to an attendant.
“Fix it once more on the left. Perfect.”
Katara’s hair flowed in soft waves. One handmaiden smoothed them with patient care while another gathered part of the locks into a festive style: the loops at her temples shaped into smooth, slightly larger rings, the rest cascading in chestnut waves to her waist.
Ursa clasped Katara’s mother’s necklace gently around her throat. “The final touch,” she whispered.
Katara brushed the necklace with her fingers and looked into the mirror. The white silk suited her; her blue eyes gleamed deeper, her skin glowed in contrast, and the blue patterns carried her heritage with pride. The lace lent solemn grace, and the ornaments completed the vision.
“You are radiant,” Suki whispered. “The most beautiful bride I have ever seen.”
Katara smiled softly at her reflection.
“Dear, I will step out to see Azula,” Ursa said, laying a hand on Katara’s shoulder. “Will you be all right here?”
“Yes, we will,” Suki replied. “Is everything fine? Azula did not join us for supper last night…”
“All is well. She is simply not ready yet,” Ursa answered as she reached the door. “But she will be at the ceremony. I will return soon.”
A gentle knock sounded, and the door opened. There stood Zuko, dressed in the deep crimson robes of the Fire Lord, embroidered with golden thread. His hair was neatly bound, the crown upon his head carrying the weight of the day.
In his eyes, there was only wonder, reverence, and such love that it could have melted the ice of the Northern Pole. He saw her, his Katara, and froze. In that instant, the palace, the adorned city, the whole world ceased to exist. There was only her. It was as if he had fallen in love anew, beholding her for the first time.
Suki glanced at him, her face bright with joy. She looked at the handmaidens, and without a word, they understood.
“We’ll leave you,” Suki whispered, quietly closing the door behind them.
The chamber sank into silence, broken only by the faint sound of two breaths. Katara turned from the mirror, and their eyes met. Zuko approached her slowly, as though fearing she might vanish. He kissed her lightly upon the cheek, then let his fingers glide through her hair.
“You are beautiful. I cannot even find words,” he murmured, his voice trembling with feeling.
Katara’s smile deepened, her eyes shining all the brighter.
Zuko gently encircled her from behind; his hands rested upon her belly. Katara leaned into his chest, and together they gazed at their reflection.
“I cannot believe you are truly marrying me.”
“I do not know what will change, except that it will be official now,” Katara answered. “I have long felt like your wife.”
“Much will change,” Zuko said softly. “You will be the Fire Lady. The people of the Fire Nation will be your subjects. You will have the right to command; your voice will weigh upon every general, every minister, every priest.”
“That sounds fine,” Katara smiled. “But I care more for the thought that you will be with me always to wake beside me each morning, to raise our children with me, to grow old by my side. That is all I need.”
“And you are all I need,” Zuko said, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “I cannot imagine life without you. You are my light, and I don’t even know whom to thank for bringing you into my life.”
“So much light,” Katara’s smile wavered. “Even when I am moody and headstrong?”
“Especially then,” he kissed her cheek again. “I am ready for every trial, so long as you are happy. That is my duty now.”
Katara turned in his arms and looked into his eyes. His hands pressed gently to her back. She touched his face with her fingers, grazing the scar, and he closed his eyes.
“I am happy,” she whispered. “Today I marry the most wonderful man in the world. I am happy you are here, that you chose me.”
“I will choose you above all things, in every life,” Zuko said, opening his eyes. “Thank you for letting me feel such love.”
“And I…” Katara lifted her chin and kissed him upon the lips.
When at last they parted, Zuko’s eyes widened.
“Forgive me, love, I should not have kissed you so,” he breathed, looking startled. “Your lips… painted…”
Katara laughed, meeting his eyes.
“Now yours are too,” she said softly, brushing his lips with her finger.
The ceremonial hall gleamed as though forged of polished light itself. From the high beams hung red lanterns, their warm glow sliding over gilded cornices and silk tapestries embroidered with dragons and phoenixes. Flames in great bronze bowls flanked the aisles like vigilant guardians, while fine threads of incense drifted upward to mingle with the music of strings and flutes. Along the central steps stretched tables draped in white cloth, upon which shone garnet blossoms, palm leaves, and pale ceramic vessels.
To the left sat the Water Tribe: dark-blue robes, bone-carved necklaces, and restrained smiles. Among them stood Hakoda, tall and proud in his fur-edged cloak, the very image of a father on his daughter’s wedding day. The Earth Kingdom’s delegates, scattered among the crowd, wore greens and golds that clashed brightly against the crimson ornaments of the hall.
Suki that night had laid aside her armor, donning instead a green kimono with wide sleeves and a sash patterned in blue. Her hair was bound with a festive ribbon. Sokka, in the dark blues of his tribe, looked drawn taut, his cheeks flushed not with wine but indignation. Beside him stood Toph: her gown of rough green cloth made no concession to courtly fashion, her sash tied simply “so it would not hinder.” Her hair was combed flat, and her ears hung with heavy jade earrings.
With them was Aang, the lone figure in ceremonial robes of yellow and orange. He stood with composed restraint, even managing a smile.
“Ugh! Enough already, these are all sea prunes!” Toph declared. “Dried, pickled, steeped in prune sauce. Where is food from any other nation? The Water Tribe knows nothing of cuisine!”
“They are refined delicacies!” Sokka snatched back the tray. “Nutritious and sustaining.”
“Zuko was a fool to trust you with the menu,” Toph muttered.
“Calm down, it is only the first course. The real banquet comes after,” he replied.
The lanterns along the gallery seemed to wink as two figures appeared in the upper arch. First came Ursa. Golden phoenixes spread across her sleeves; her hair was bound with pins. A step behind followed Azula, and the hall seemed to exhale at once. She wore scarlet trimmed in black, gold patterns woven through, her coiffure bound tight with slender ornaments. There was no arrogance in her bearing, only the gathered strength of one who had chosen her burdens and come to endure them.
They moved between the tables, pausing to nod in greeting. Ursa asked but one question: “Are you at ease here?” and such simple words softened the faces of those she addressed. To the Water Tribe, she bent a little lower, as if speaking to her kin; Hakoda straightened in reply, pride glimmering faintly in his eyes. Ty Lee waved; Suki inclined her head; Azula returned both gestures with the rare, precise tilt of her chin.
“How are you feeling?” Ursa paused before Sokka and Toph.
“Full of sea prunes,” Toph muttered. “But fine.”
“I told her this is not the finale,” Sokka added. “I have strategic faith in the main course.”
“The ceremony begins soon,” Ursa said gently. “The musicians are ready, the priests await the signal. Only Zuko and Katara tarry.”
“They are kissing in the corridor,” Toph muttered toward Suki.
The warrior quickly covered her mouth with her hand. “Why am I not surprised…” They both laughed.
“I wager a gold coin, Zuko will cry during the ceremony,” Sokka whispered to Azula, seeking camaraderie.
“Of course he will,” Azula replied, then extended her hand. “But let us keep faith in my brother, all the same. The wager is taken.”
Then, at last, Zuko appeared, holding Katara’s hand. Together they were solemn and radiant, the deep crimson of the Fire Lord’s robes, the white-and-blue gown of the Water Tribe. Behind them, like an echo, walked the priests in white, their wide sleeves falling like wings, their high collars catching the torchlight.
They took their place upon the ceremonial platform, amid towering candelabra of flame.
“Please rise,” said the elder priest. He did not raise his voice; the guests had long since stilled their breath, leaning close.
The flutes began to play.
The hall breathed fire and silence. Lanterns cast warm circles upon the columns; the bowls of flame glowed steadily, as if bearing the pulse of the whole city. Before the altar—carved with waves and tongues of fire, symbols of both nations, the air thickened with reverence. Zuko and Katara sank to their knees together, heads bowed.
From among the guests stepped Hakoda. His face bore calm pride. He took a white ribbon and a red, and gently bound their hands together.
“With these threads entwined,” Hakoda intoned, “you bind your fates forever. May your path be one, and may your hearts beat in a single rhythm.”
He then unfolded a great fur hide, an ancient symbol of hearth and kinship, and laid it across their shoulders. Zuko and Katara glanced at one another, faint smiles upon their lips, as Hakoda fastened it at the center.
“From this day, you are one family. Your shelter is shared, and the warmth of one another shall guard you in every storm.”
Taking a small bowl of blue paint, he marked Katara’s brow; with red, he touched the flame-sign upon Zuko’s.
“Before the spirits of our ancestors, before all the elements, you are now husband and wife.”
With a bow, he withdrew, leaving the couple before the altar. Forward came a venerable priest of the Fire Nation, clad in white and gold. Lifting his arms, he chanted the ancient rite:
“In the name of Agni, sacred flame of life, may this union be strong, their household grow in harmony and love; may their fidelity burn eternal; may their bond stand unbroken till the world’s end.”
When he had finished, the priest looked upon them with reverence.
“You may kiss.”
Zuko turned to Katara, his eyes alight with boundless tenderness. She answered with a radiant smile. They leaned to one another, lips meeting in a quiet, shining kiss. When they drew apart, their foreheads touched, and the paint upon their brows smudged together, drawing a smile from them both.
Another priest stepped forth, bearing upon a velvet cushion the silver coronet shaped as a crescent moon, the gift Zuko had once bestowed upon her. Carefully, he placed it into the prepared arrangement of her hair.
“All hail Fire Lady Katara!” he proclaimed.
Zuko helped her to her feet. As she rose, white petals began to fall from above, symbols of purity and a new beginning. The fur cloak slipped from their shoulders and pooled at their feet like a soft wave, leaving them standing together, forever joined.
Zuko cupped Katara’s face in his hands, his gaze burning with adoration, and in that instant, the hall burst into applause and shouts of joy, hailing the birth of a new family and the strength of their love.
They called it the greatest wedding in a hundred years: that night Caldera blazed with thousands of lanterns until the city itself seemed a constellation. Beneath the high beams, the music rang with flutes and strings entwining with the steady thrum of drums. Along the galleries stretched tables laden with the finest dishes of three nations: the stews of the Southern Water Tribe, the spiced vegetables and rice of the Fire Nation, the dumplings and mushrooms of the Earth Kingdom. The air mingled scents and laughter, while the glow of lanterns upon the black columns made the hall resemble a sea beneath starlight.
Ursa moved in a circle with Hakoda; such a pair was seldom seen in these halls. He whispered something, and Ursa laughed quietly, yet with true mirth. Nearby, Mai was dancing with a handsome young man, who was soon recognized as her former suitor Kei Lo.
Sokka sat beside Suki, carefully serving her bowl after bowl of first soup, then pie, then roasted vegetables, muttering that she “needed to eat for two.” Suki only rolled her eyes and smiled. Hearing this, Toph leaned closer.
“When are you going to tell everyone?”
Suki lowered her eyes for a moment. “After the feast. I will not draw attention from another’s day. This is Katara and Zuko’s night.”
Aang nodded. “You’re right. It’s wonderful, though your children will be nearly the same age.”
“Let us only hope,” Toph said with a smirk, “that yours is calmer than the little heirs of those two. Because from those boys will come storms, Spirits save us.”
The company laughed, and their laughter dissolved into the music, woven into the melody of the evening.
Within the great hall, Katara and Zuko sat together, a little apart from the dancers. He bent toward her, his voice low beneath the drums.
“How are you?”
“Tired,” she confessed, resting her head upon his shoulder.
“We can slip away to our chamber, to rest,” he offered gently.
Katara only smiled and leaned to whisper in his ear. The words widened his eyes in startled wonder.
“But you just said you were tired…” he murmured, his lips curved in a bashful smile.
She answered only with a silent, willful smile.
Azula, meanwhile, struggled to melt into the throng. The brilliance of her attire cut like a blade, and yet she felt apart from them all, as though separated by a wall of glass. She slipped onto a balcony, where a drop of quiet still lingered. There, Ty Lee found her light-footed, gaze warm as always.
“Why are you not with the others?” she asked simply.
“There are too many people. They all look at me… they are still wary,” Azula replied evenly.
“Or perhaps they look because you are so beautiful tonight,” Ty Lee said, leaning upon a column.
“I do not know. It feels as though no one believes I could change.” Azula breathed in the night air, her eyes fixed upon the dark sky.
“I would like to meet this new you,” Ty Lee smiled.
“Let us try. Only not now. I need silence for a while.”
“I would gladly keep silence at your side”
“Thank you. But I must be alone a little longer.”
“Very well. If you wish to speak, I will be near.”
She vanished as quietly as she had come, leaving behind a trace of flowers and the sense of a door left ajar.
When Azula gathered the courage to return to the hall, she nearly collided in the doorway with a young man in a dark green robe.
“Forgive me,” he said, flustered. “It was the only free balcony. I was hiding from a girl who insists I dance with her endlessly.”
Azula let out a short, true laugh. “I think I know who that is.”
“It feels a waste that such beauty should keep company only with the dark,” he said with sudden boldness.
“You truly think so?”
“You blinded the room the moment you entered,” he replied, plain admiration in his tone.
A pause hung between them, brief but weighty.
“Would you dance with me?” he asked, gathering his courage.
“Why not?” Azula nodded, offering her hand.
They returned beneath the lanterns, their dance not of passion but of lightness at first awkward, then free and graceful.
Ursa watched them with a faint smile, whispering something to Hakoda at her side.
Amid all this, someone at last noticed that the bride and groom had long been absent. The realization spread like the soft breath of flame licking a torch’s edge: Zuko and Katara had slipped away quickly, just enough that the feast remained a feast, and the night would be remembered for what it had always been meant to hold.
Thus began the household of the Fire Lord of the Nation. Their marriage proved enduring and full of love. Fire Lord Zuko and Fire Lady Katara had five children: three daughters and two sons.
The abundance of daughters explained why Zuko was often seen adorned with outlandish hairstyles devised by little hands. He allowed Kya, Luna, and Sayuri anything they pleased; so in the evenings, he might be painted, braided in the fashion of the Southern Water Tribe, or seated at tea parties among dolls. In time, he became skilled in every type of braid and knot his daughters longed to imitate, and he performed these tasks with the same gravity once reserved for the strokes of his swords.
The only respite from endless girlish experiments came during journeys to the South Pole. There, the victim was for a time Chief Hakoda, long since “trained” by his first granddaughter, little Avi, the child of Sokka and Suki.
Zuko and Katara were attentive and devoted parents, yet their first true trial came with the birth of the twins, Liam and Kian—storm and tempest given human form. They entered the world on a rainy day in Caldera. Zuko fretted so much that he swore his first grey hair appeared that very hour. He held Katara’s hand through her cries and her furious promises that “when this was over, she would thrash him soundly for putting two children into her at once.” The marks remained upon his arm, along with a smile he could not hide.
When at last the twins were born healthy, Katara’s first words were:
“How are they? What are they like?”
Zuko kissed her brow and answered with a weary but radiant smile:
“They are well… They look like the most beautiful boys in the world.”
Kian, elder by fifteen minutes, was a firebender with golden eyes, the mirror of his father. Yet his nature was gentle, dreamy; he loved most of all to linger in Grandmother Ursa’s greenhouse. The boy proved a prodigy: he mastered blue fire and conjured a sphere of lightning ten years earlier than even his aunt. Azula, serving as her nephew’s mentor, often complained to her brother:
“Imagine this, he grasps the most advanced techniques, and what then? No triumph, no delight. He asks instead to water his fire lilies. He will grow as soft as you!”
Zuko would only smile, holding little Kya in his arms, and answer:
“Let him tend flowers, Azula. If that is what brings him peace.”
She would snort, but none knew that Kian offered each blossom he grew to her, and she pressed them carefully between the pages of a great album. In truth, she loved him dearly, proud of every achievement, convinced she had raised the strongest heir the Fire Nation could claim.
Liam, the younger twin, proved to be a waterbender. He, too, was his father’s image, but with eyes of bright blue. His temper was quick and sharp, his fury igniting in half a heartbeat, ever urging his brother into mischief. Their parents jested that the elements had been misplaced, that Liam should have been given fire, and Kian water. Yet in their hearts, they were grateful that water tempered Liam’s wildness, for otherwise, the palace might long since have burned to ash.
Though Liam was not heir to the throne, he enjoyed every privilege of a prince. He knew his charm well, and from his earliest school years would tell the girls, “I will show you a true dragon.” Sokka often said to Zuko that his two sons were the split nature of the Fire Lord himself: tender and volatile, but the Spirits, laughing, had swapped their elements.
Aang, in those years, gave himself wholly to restoring the Air Nomads. He fathered many children in their ancient traditions, each one a bender of air to his unending joy, and he devoted his life to teaching the new generation.
Azula became her brother’s right hand. She held immense authority, feared no less than respected. Always she stood beside Zuko, unwavering, though of her own life she spoke to no one. Now and then, she vanished to Ember Island, speaking only of “a friend” who dwelt there. In time, she moved there altogether, never revealing who that mysterious companion was.
Mai wed Kei Lo, and they had a charming daughter. Soon enough, both Kian and Liam vied for her favor—to Mai’s despair and to the amusement of all the family.
Life for Zuko and Katara was at once joyous and tumultuous. They were true parents quarreling, laughing, reconciling, while settling matters of state between the cries of children.
But above all, Katara always treasured the moments when she told him she was once more with child. Most brightly, she recalled the day she spoke of Kya, their first daughter. Perhaps because it was their first girl, or perhaps because it was then they first knew what it was to be weary parents already, and still, immeasurably happy.
Four years after the wedding
Katara lay upon the bed in their house on Ember Island; the open windows let in the sea breeze, salt and brine hung in the air, and she drew a long, quiet breath. More than once, she had wished to tell her husband the news she carried, but each time the moment scattered into the trifles of the day.
First, Kian had set alight the kite Liam was flying, and the boy had fallen into a storm of tears; then Kian, choking on sobs, had protested that he did not wish to be a firebender, and Katara had soothed him for what seemed an age, though it was one of those things they could never change. Jealous, Liam had run off, wounded that the comfort went to the brother who had spoiled his kite, and Zuko had found him weeping on the shore and drawn him close. Peace with the boys had been rare for years, though their parents, in their naïveté, still hoped it was but a passing season, the first turmoil of powers newly awakened.
Zuko emerged from the bath clad only in a towel over his still strong, well-shaped frame, and Katara’s lips curved into a sly, hungry smile. She raised her leg, brushing his stomach with her foot, tugging at the edge of the cloth.
“Wait,” he exhaled. “Are the doors shut?”
“Mmm, yes,” Katara answered. “Lesson of the morning learned.”
Zuko sat at the edge of the bed and kissed her lips.
“My love, I’m tired,” he breathed again. “I fed Druk, spent the day carrying the boys turn by turn on the beach… I’m not at my best.”
“Then do not carry them on your back; it tires you,” she murmured, smoothing his hair.
“They beg to ‘ride on Papa.’ I cannot refuse them, you know,” Zuko said, lying beside her and drawing her close.
“But Mama too would like to ride on Papa,” she answered in feigned offense.
Zuko laughed, kissing her brow.
“Perhaps we should not have brought them with us?” Katara asked softly.
“Oh, no! Last time we came here without them, and the first day was perfect,” he reminded her slyly. “And after that… will I recall it? You wept, longing for them, and we left a day early.”
“Yes!” Katara flared. “I missed them too much. But… can we not balance it somehow?”
“I still haven’t learned balance,” he teased, fingers brushing her hair again. “Children take much strength. Especially when the day is spent carrying, tossing, chasing them as they scatter in all directions.”
“I know you want to be a good father,” Katara nestled more comfortably against him. “But do you not go too far? You indulge them in everything, grant every whim, while I am the ‘firm hand.’”
“You?” Zuko asked, astonished. “The mother who carries them in her arms, kisses them, and coos, ‘No girl will ever take you from me, my sons’? And I am the one going too far?”
“Yes, you. You must be the firm hand commanding, scolding, fixing them with that stern father’s gaze that drives fear into their bones. Boys must be raised.”
“I am raising them,” Zuko muttered. “Today I forbade them to have candy for dinner.”
“One prohibition, Zuko,” Katara said sharply. “And all the rest? You let everything pass, never chastise their mischief.”
He sighed heavily and fell silent for a moment.
“I know… I only wish them to feel they are loved as they are. I want to shield them from cruelty, from the world. I want them unafraid of mistakes and unafraid of me.” He paused, breath catching. “I love them so much… Maybe I overdo it, yes. These are my fears. I’m afraid of becoming my father.”
“You never will,” Katara whispered. “But you must learn to say ‘no’ at times. Your back hurts, and yet you still let them ride on it, even though they have grown so heavy.”
He held her tighter.
“I fear… losing these moments. The day will come when they no longer ask, when they are too grown to sit on their father’s lap or to be thrown into the air. Too old to climb into our bed at dawn…”
Katara’s eyes grew moist.
“There will be a night when they no longer need a story to sleep,” he went on. “So I would live each moment while they are small.”
Katara gazed at the sharp lines of his face and clung closer.
“Come here, my love,” she whispered. “I know how deeply you wish to be the best father for them, and I treasure it. You are wonderful. But at times, they need a touch of strictness. Someone must be that for them. I will not be the only ‘stern mother’ while you are all tenderness.”
“I understand. I will try,” Zuko nodded.
“And besides,” Katara smiled, “with the girls, you may remain so forever, even when they are grown.”
“So we return to the talk of needing a little princess…”
“Yes. We spoke of it here not long ago. You said you were uncertain.”
Zuko looked away, then back into her eyes.
“Listen, I want a daughter, truly. I would be the happiest man alive. But… I fear I cannot give enough to each of you. Already, I am torn between you, Kian, Liam, the Republic City, and the Fire Nation. Perhaps, when the boys are older...”
“Love, the thing is…” Katara did not finish.
Somewhere in the corridor came a crash and a scatter of shards, followed by the quick patter of little feet.
“The boys,” Zuko sighed, eyes closed. “They’ve gone for the sweets I forbade.”
“Go to them,” Katara commanded. “And be firm!”
“Why me?…” He caught her stern look. “Very well,” he yielded, pulling on his robe.
“A father’s serious talk, Zuko,” Katara said grimly, and he rolled his eyes in mock despair as he went.
She bathed, then returned to lie in the silence, turning over the words she still held within her. Time passed, and he did not come back. At last, she rose, tied the sash of her robe, and went to the twins’ chamber, where Zuko was supposed to be delivering his stern father’s talk.
Opening the door, she found instead the familiar sight: Zuko sprawled across the great bed, both boys curled against him, his arms wrapped protectively around their small bodies. Clearly, no lecture had ever taken place; weariness had claimed him, and the lesson had dissolved into dreams.
Katara sat at the bed’s edge and leaned toward him.
“Will you sleep here, or come back to our chamber, love?” she whispered in his ear.
“I am not asleep, I am coming,” Zuko murmured without opening his eyes. “Just a little longer… Lie with us for a moment. Let us be four together.” He found her hand and drew it close.
She lay down at the edge, resting close beside one of the twins; in the dark, she could not always tell them apart, only their eyes distinguished them, and in sleep they were wholly alike. Katara slid nearer, her brow brushing Zuko's temple.
“There is something I must tell you,” she whispered so softly. “We have already been five… Soon we shall have our little princess.”
The corners of his mouth rose in a smile.
“I had begun to suspect,” he answered just as softly. “You have seemed… especially beautiful of late. And you keep pushing me out of the bed, saying I am ‘too warm.’”
He turned and kissed her lips.
“I love you,” Katara said.
“I love you too” Zuko answered.
Beyond the window, the surf rolled with its tireless rhythm, while in the quiet room, two little boys breathed in unison beside their parents. Their harmony, born of different elements, proved that true borders are only an illusion. Love knows no limits and sees no differences. It washes them away, like a wave erasing a line in the sand, and joins what once seemed opposed, creating something wonderful.
