Archive of Our Own ^beta

“This is going to be a disaster,” he takes deep, calming breaths to quell the rising panic. “I’m stark raving mad if I think she’ll agree.”

He feels like he's drowning. Oh, he knows that feeling all too well: when a thick mass of water closes in over his head, binding him in icy shackles and threatening to force the last of the air from his lungs. But now – the young man takes a deep breath – he can breathe. He's got far more control than all those times when the alien element nearly claimed his life. And if he acts like he did when he was actually drowning – Agni, he was born on the islands, he was taught from childhood how to survive in the water – then he can get a grip on himself, too.

Step one: Don't panic.

A cracking step. The perfect step in any emergency situation. Don't let yourself make things worse with rash actions, and everything will be resolved, if not sooner, then with less damage.

Step two: Don't shout.

Shouting's useless. Shouting virtually never helps – it steals strength and breath that could be used to survive. Direct the anger and fear not into forcing the air from your lungs – the sea's trying to steal your breath anyway – but into fighting.

Step three: Take in as much air as possible.

Before the next wave covers you and drags you under, inhale. Hold your breath for as long as you can and exhale slowly, sparingly. The air will help you not only survive, but also determine direction if you can't tell which way is up.

Step four: Freeze and think. Hug your arms and legs close to your body, allow your mind to register where you are, and assess the situation. A storm? Find something to hold onto, hang on for dear life, and pray to all the spirits that the capricious ocean gets bored of you as soon as possible. A whirlpool? Swim sideways to get as far away from the treacherous current as you can. And after that, do what you want, but don't resist. Let the water carry you for a while – gather strength for the next step.

Step five: Survive.

When the worst is over, look around and assess the situation. Can you see the shore, a ship, or anything that could be salvation? If so – swim. Slowly, with rests, conserving energy. No? Relax. Lie on the water. Let it carry you to where the waves break on the shore. Because sooner or later, that shore will be there.

Hyper-fixating on his breathing helped. It's hard to panic when your lungs are bursting with air.

Zuko exhaled with a rush, allowing his breathing to return to normal. Good technique. Much better than that rubbish with counting or listing things. Survival was something familiar, something painfully familiar and, at the moment, quite successful. So, he'd rather keep repeating the steps for drowning than try methods of focusing that clearly didn't suit him. Who would even advise a person whose first instinct is "fight or flight" to start battling their own mind straight away? Someone who doesn't know him well. Which, in fairness, makes sense.

The soul healer that Uncle Iroh insisted he meet practically immediately after the war ended was exactly that. An adult, but not old, the man had worked with soldiers returning from the front for years and had an excellent reputation. And if there were other opinions, the young Fire Lord wasn't informed of them. Was he the soft-eyed healer's first failure, the healer who looked as if he'd never seen the horrors of war himself? Or, like Zuko himself, did such people simply prefer not to talk about their failures, afraid to admit they were too broken?

Be that as it may, after another fruitless session, he wanted to relieve the stress by choosing the best option. And there's nothing better than a good sparring match.

Zuko was standing on the training ground talking to a for some reason nervous captain of the palace guard when she appeared.

“Zu-Lord Zuko!” a clear voice he had been sorely missing called out over their heads. Not believing his luck, the Fire Lord slowly turned around.

“Kat- Master Katara? What are you doing here?”

“Came to check up on my old patient,” Katara smirked. “Heard he was about to beat up his subordinates. Care to tell me where I can find him?”

Instead of answering, Zuko cast an alarmed glance at the captain, who immediately averted his eyes.

“Why ‘beat up’ straight away? Did I really overdo it that much at the last training session? There were seven of them!”

The newly appointed captain plucked up the courage to look his Lord in the eye.

“Your Majesty, we understand that you’re used to…opponents of a different calibre. But after a ‘training session’ with you, my men needed nearly a week to recover. And if only five of them tried to beat you, it took even longer. That's why we decided to increase their number.”

Zuko must have looked comical. He stared at the captain, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open – not at all royally, but he couldn't help it. Under the guards' frightened gazes, the Fire Lord scratched the back of his head.

“Oh?”

“‘Oh’?” The girl approached, and her touch on his hand seemed to take some of the tension off him. “Is that all you can say?”

“Er…Sorry?”

“Your Majesty!” the captain and all the other guards bowed almost in unison. “We offer our deepest apologies for failing to meet your expectations! We swear on our honour that we'll train harder to become worthy of guarding you!”

The young man felt like he was shrinking. They said he was strong? They said he sent his opponents to the infirmary every time? They said…

“Thank you for your honesty, Captain Yasuo,” Katara said calmly, drawing him from his painful thoughts. “But I think you should have said something sooner to avoid injuries. Right, Lord Zuko?”

He felt her gaze, full of understanding and support.

“Right, Master Katara. I…didn't want to hurt my people. Especially didn't want anyone to end up in the hospital wing. Please, tell me if something is wrong. I hope this won't happen again. Do you understand me, Captain Yasuo?”

The presence of his battle buddy restored a long-forgotten calm. He acted like a true Fire Lord, speaking with restraint and confidence, managing to rein in the emotions that were bursting out. And she even remembered the captain's name. How did she do it? Zuko, locked in the palace virtually without a break, couldn't remember even half the names of the staff, and this girl from the Water Tribe was only here for the second time since the coronation.

Once again confirming that she had an endless supply of understanding and sympathy for everyone she met, she tried to reassure the captain. Key word – tried.

“Don’t worry too much, Captain. I’m willing to bet that most, if not all, of the guards have rarely been in an actual battle. Naturally, they couldn't stand up to Lord Zuko, given his combat experience. And don't forget that he became Avatar’s Firebending Master for a reason.”

In her favourite manner of waffling on, Katara began to tell a "funny" story about how she was able to defeat the "boys from the North" in just a few months during her first apprenticeship.

“…Of course, I was only able to defeat them because of real battle experience. If they'd taken me seriously, I wouldn't have been able to earn my mastery so quickly…”

In her sincere attempt to comfort, she didn't seem to notice the horror filling the captain's eyes. Firstly, even Zuko himself was half the age of this experienced man, and the Waterbender might as well have been his daughter. Secondly, no one without good combat training was kept in the regular army, let alone the palace guard. Thirdly, a rare untrained newcomer, no matter how talented, is unable to defeat a well-trained fighter. It wasn't for nothing that Uncle Iroh constantly reminded him of the basics.

“Katara, what are you doing here?” The Fire Lord gently interrupted his friend before she managed to drive the poor captain of the palace guard to a nervous breakdown.

“Oh!” Blue eyes widened for a second, as if she herself had forgotten why she came. The slight confusion on her face seemed incredibly cute to Zuko. “Fancy a sparring match? I haven't had a good fight in ages.”

“Aang…?”

“Still refuses to fight me seriously. I swear, apart from a few squabbles with Toph, the last time I had a proper fight was with Azula!…”

After asking them to clear the training ground, the young man caught a glimpse of all the guards present preparing for the spectacle. Well, no matter how much his friend complained about the lack of good practice, they had given it to her.

Katara had always been strong. Sometimes – to his great horror or awe – she reminded him of Azula: just as deadly and merciless to her enemies and just as brilliant in her waterbending. It was as natural to her as walking: all it took was to take the first steps, slow and hesitant, and no one was able to stop her anymore. She built up speed, strength and reactions so quickly, as if she was born for it. For a second, a subversive thought came to him that this girl should have been the next Avatar straight after Aang. And, spirits witness, she would have been magnificent.

This magnificence extended not only to her mastery of the element. Pursuing the Avatar Group around the world, and later travelling with them during the war, he often saw evidence of her multifaceted personality. Whether it was freeing earthbenders from prison, stealing from pirates, destroying blood enemies, or helping in the infirmary – Katara was not only the mum of their little group, but also a daring, bright girl with a kind soul. And hearing from others about how she had led them out of the desert and treated Aang after the lightning strike, the young man felt awe at her iron will.

Their personal clashes, first as enemies, then as reluctant allies, made him burn – sometimes quite literally. After all, besides the sharp tongue, mastery of bending and, let's face it, a petty character, the girl had a mesmerizing, exotic beauty that only blossomed over time. Physical contact, when her feminine curves and supple muscles pressed against his firm body, ignited the kind of flame that he was both ashamed of and, if anyone noticed the forbidden attraction, he was about to exclaim: "Have you even seen her?!" And when they became emotionally closer, Zuko lost count of how many times he had to hide after the next generous hug. The Water Tribe as a whole welcomed physical contact, judging by Sokka and his brief acquaintance with Hakoda, but the Master from the Southern Water Tribe was taking the number of hugs and accidental touches to a new level. An incredibly pleasant and, at the same time, unbearable level.

Slightly accustomed to such displays of affection, the young man didn't even flinch when Katara rushed at him with a happy hug after the sparring match. Maybe he was more out of breath than usual, and his hands were shaking slightly as he clasped them around her waist, but only he knew that. Or so he thought.

Others, however, saw "a beautiful picture of two opposites merging into one after a fierce battle," according to old Yoshito. The old servant happily recounted the conversations going on around him. From the guards and servants watching the sparring to other servants and officials present in the palace that day. He seasoned every word with a pinch of his own reasoning, creating an almost epic spectacle from a simple training session.

First around the palace, and then beyond, new rumours spread about the incredible strength of Fire Lord Zuko and Master Katara, the Vanquisher of the Mad Princess. The stories grew with incredible details, turning into legends.

They were superimposed on existing ones, which had originated after the Agni Kai. Some time later, listening to reports on the mood among the people, he couldn't help but wonder how the rest of the Gaang would react to these stories. But more than that, Zuko wished that the other rumours wouldn't reach them: about him and Katara. Extremely dubious and embarrassing rumours that had become the plot for new ballads and even theatrical performances. And – just possibly – he asked for some of them to be recorded for himself.

Sometimes, inwardly burning with shame, Zuko imagined how his friends would react to all these rumours circulating around the Fire Nation. Sokka and Suki would certainly tease him and his sister, and Toph would openly mock him, inevitably mentioning something shameful from their time living together. The only reaction that the Fire Lord never wanted to see was Aang's. Despite his kind nature, the monk was terribly jealous of his girlfriend, sometimes turning their joint leisure time into a competition to attract her attention. Zuko didn't want Aang to feel awkward or doubt their friendship.

Perhaps it was the behaviour of his young apprentice, as well as his quite expected reaction, that prevented Zuko from acting more decisively. Neither on Ember Island, nor after Sozin's Comet, when he realized the depth of his feelings.

The Fire Lord so wanted to give this wonderful girl so much, but dared only offer a place where she was always welcome and a shoulder to lean on, not daring to ask for even a corner in her heart. After all, his own was already beating for her.

And now? When he himself needed Katara's help? That very heart, given away years ago quite voluntarily, was trying to burst out of his chest.

It wasn't even that Zuko doubted her agreement – she would gladly stay in the Fire Nation, especially if it was her help that was needed – but rather the true motivation for that agreement.

Calming himself with the method they had chosen together for him after the memorable sparring match, the young man tried to kill any hope that the girl would stay for him. Not to save his pathetic arse from the coming troubles, not to find peace from the gruelling journeys with Aang, or any other reason that would come into that lovely head. Stay with him.

Perhaps if he managed to convince himself that Katara's agreement to stay in the Fire Nation meant nothing to him, that it had no other subtext than their friendship, her inevitable departure would not cause unbearable pain. And if he killed the sprouts of fragile hope for something unfulfilled in himself in time, he would at least try to save himself from a broken heart.

Taking a few more measured breaths, the young man straightened up in his office chair, ready for a new day. Katara and Aang were due to arrive today, and if he wanted to spend some time with his friends outside of the Avatar's official visit, he needed to sort out the current affairs.

In the Fire Lord's bedroom, in the top drawer of the bedside chest, lay a parchment with traces of regular reading. On it was written one of the romantic ballads written about the Agni Kai on the day of Sozin's Comet. About the Mad Princess, the unfairly exiled Prince and the girl from the Water Tribe who brought healing – so close to the truth that the question involuntarily arose as to who its author was.

…His fire, that burned fiercely,
Suddenly turned to ashes, fell silent.
She froze, horror seized her,
That the prince protected her life with himself.

A tear slid, anger burned her heart,
Water in her hands, like steel sharp, strong.
She swept away the enemy, revenge came,
From the one he loved from afar.

But the enemy is defeated, bitterness on her lips,
He is fading away, his breath barely audible.
Healing water in her hands,
Quickly brings back life with magic.

And the colours of life returned to his cheeks,
His breathing became even again.
"Don't leave!" - her words touched him,
Both pain and tenderness sound in her voice.

Dawn is reddening, the world in crimson dreams,
He sees the light in her clear eyes.
In the bamboo grove, where fear reigned in hearts,
Love was born, in feelings tender, passionate.