Chapter Text
1
The war is won and over.
In the aftermath, there is one man standing at the front line.
Zuko, bloody and bleeding, finds he does not know what to do with himself where he stands, amidst smoke and the fallen.
He killed all these people.
‘Come, nephew,’ the new emperor, his uncle, holds a hand for him to take right as he’s about to walk off into the horizon, never to be seen again. ‘Come with me and do what you can to redeem yourself. Our work is not done.’
It’s never done.
.
There is a celebration. A banquet. In the name of victory.
Zuko doesn’t go. He is mourning in his own way. In the quietest part of the castle, away from the festivities and noise.
He has nothing be joyous about.
His sister locked away. His father killed by his own hands. His mother never to be seen again.
His uncle, Iroh, the new emperor.
He does not judge him for disassociating from the joy of liberation with the rest of the nation.
He understands him. He, too, lost family the war.
He joins him in the dim candlelight and they mourn in the silence together.
.
Many expect him to be casted away.
He had done a lot. Too much, some argue.
The emperor defends him in the face of the fearful critical from all the four nations.
Zuko is given a title, a house, a piece of land and a seat on the emperor’s most trusted cabinet.
It is because he had been a key player in the war.
They won because of him.
This they cannot refute. It is the truth.
Iroh alone couldn’t have done it.
If it weren’t for him, it would’ve carried on for years to come.
Zuko put an end to it.
If anyone deserves to be hero of the free world, it is him.
.
General Zuko.
It is an honorable title. One he accepts in ceremonial grabs in front of all in a deep bow.
He is given a symbolic, regal pin adorned with the Phoenix’s feather and handed a priceless, ancestral blade forged from a dragon's breath.
He is grateful.
He expresses as much when he stands tall to meet his uncle’s proud eyes.
But he struggles to find inner peace.
Not when he meditates to calm his mind. Not when he confronts Agni for answers. Not when he consults his uncle in need of advice.
The war is won and over.
Iroh couldn’t have done it alone.
Zuko… he put an end to it.
But at what cost?
.
His uncle is a wise man. He does not just speak for the sake speaking, though it might seem so.
A man should at least have a woman by his side to be able to say he truly is one.
Zuko had everything but that.
He draws him away from his duties at the training grounds in the morning for tea to tell Zuko this.
There is a letter with a blue seal on it resting over the table.
A noble house have expressed their wish to hand their daughter over to him as a wife.
As the emperor and as his uncle both... he suggests he takes it.
He looks sad when he says this could be his one and only chance.
Even years later, people fear him for all his family has done.
.
Peace is always welcomed.
There is peace in unity, joining hands. In extending the olive branch, in holy matrimony, especially in the aftermath of war.
It doesn’t matter if he loves her or not.
It is good for him to settle down. It will make people believe he has a semblance of a heart.
Or something like it.
Because it’s at least human to have attachments. Even if only in the most superficial of ways.
.
It’s improper for them to be engaged beforehand.
He is not to see his wife until the day of.
This is fine with him. His uncle has given him tasks to complete so he can rise in ranks anyways.
He says it’s a way he can redeem himself. By helping shape the world he played a part in liberating.
The work is not done. It’s never done.
Yesterday he was tearing bodies apart. Today he is building schools and homes. Tomorrow is a mystery yet to be seen.
How many kinds of people can a man be in a lifetime before he loses himself, he wonders.
.
He only hears of her.
She is one of the country’s elite finest.
The Northern princess, Yue, daughter of Chief Arnook, a close ally in their court.
It’s a miracle she settled for him.
She deserves better. Better than him and everything that he is.
Scarred. Treacherous. A wretched, tyrant’s son.
Yet here they are- gongs in the distance, cup of sake in their hands, their wrists bound by a red cloth, an audience to witness this happen.
It is far too late for the gods to unleash the wrath that those who protested this union in the name of sacred tradition asked for.
They are half married now.
That’s married enough for the monk to allow him to raise the pale veil enough to reveal the lower half of her face and plant his lips on hers.