Chapter Text
Zuko knew something was wrong as soon as he saw Junior Minister Keizon of the War Ministry waiting on the dock. The Junior Minister sat beneath a sunshade canopy, an incongruous bit of luxury in the utilitarian environment of the naval base. Fire Navy sailors moved around it to secure the docking ship, casting it nervous glances as they worked. Zuko watched from the ship’s railing as an aide bent to speak to Keizon. Keizon turned to look up at the ship, and his eyes fell on Zuko.
Something too weary to truly be called dread settled in the pit of Zuko’s stomach, leaden and heavy like one of the warship’s cannonballs.
“Wonder what that’s about,” a voice to Zuko’s left muttered.
“Nothing good,” answered another to his right.
“Nothing you should be worrying about.” Zuko turned to frown at the soldier next to him, with a pointed look at the sling securing her right arm and the splints keeping her shattered fingers straight.
“You,” he jabbed his finger at her, “are on leave. Your first mission is to recover. The rest of us will manage without you.”
Lyn Mei didn’t look reassured. Her gaze dropped to the side, and she spoke softly. “We had Agni’s own luck on that last mission. It won’t happen like that again.”
“We’re all going to die sometime,” the soldier on Zuko’s other side drawled. Zuko redirected his reproving look.
“We’ll manage,” he insisted. “Private Lyn Mei, I want you off this ship and out of the port before new orders for the 41 st Division come down. Kai, help move her luggage. Dismissed, the both of you.”
Kai rolled his eyes. “Always stuck with the heavy lifting,” he sighed, but he clapped Zuko on the shoulder before turning to go below deck.
Lyn Mei didn’t follow. “Zuko,” she began, then hesitated. Zuko wished he could say something to reassure her. Regardless of what he claimed, there was every chance they would never see one another again. “It was an honor to serve under you,” Lyn Mei said at last. She made the best approximation of the Sign of the Flame she could manage with one hand and wrist splinted straight, and bowed her head.
Zuko nodded stiffly. “Thank you,” he said, his voice rough, “for- for everything.” There was a lump in his throat, like the words he wanted to say were lodged there. What could you say to someone who had followed you through hell and back a hundred times over?
Before Zuko could find the words, Kai called to Lyn Mei from the gangplank. “Come on! If I have to carry this, the least you can do is keep up!” The soldier next him, also laden down with a traveling chest, kicked him in the shin. Kai yelped and tried to kick back, only to wobble and nearly fall as the trunk upset his balance.
Lyn Mei shook her head at them, then turned back to Zuko. She darted forward, wrapping her good arm around him. “Be safe,” she whispered. It was a ragged, desperate prayer.
For a moment Zuko allowed himself to cling back, allowed the tears to leak from his eyes, allowed his voice to waver and crack when he answered, “You too.”
Then Lyn Mei pulled back and hurried over to the pair of squabbling soldiers carrying her luggage, and the moment was over. Zuko watched them stumble down the gangplank and towards the administrative offices. Then he drew himself up and made his own way down to the dock, where Junior Minister Keizon was waiting for him.
Keizon’s message was not, as Zuko had expected, a new deployment for the 41 st Division. Far from it: these orders were for Zuko alone, and they came directly from the Fire Lord.
“Marriage,” Zuko repeated, feeling somewhat shell-shocked.
It wasn’t that he’d never thought about it- as a boy he had thought Mai would be chosen as his spouse, and he had been content with that. But after he’d been deployed, Zuko had come to expect that he would die in battle before the question of marriage ever arose. The 41 st had been on the front lines in the Earth Kingdom for the last five years, and now— this. He wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“Just so,” Keizon sniffed, somehow contriving to look down his nose at Zuko from his chair beneath the canopy.
“What,” Zuko asked, “to King Bumi?” He had just come from Omashu, had just claimed the Earth Kingdom stronghold for the Fire Nation. There shouldn’t be any need to strengthen their hold there with marriage ties, especially with Uncle now in command of the occupation; but, as far as Zuko knew, there were no other foreign leaders willing to negotiate with the Fire Nation.
A withering look from Keizon dispelled that theory. Zuko felt oddly like a child again, being questioned by his tutor on a passage he was meant to read but hadn’t.
“To the Chieftain of the Southern Water Tribe,” Keizon answered, his distaste clear. “The water-rats are no threat to the Fire Navy, of course, but they are an inconvenience. His Imperial Majesty intends to dismiss that inconvenience and bring the full force of the Fire Nation to bear against Ba Sing Se. Once the Earth Kingdom has fallen, and once the Water Tribe is bound to the Fire Nation by marriage, it will be a simple matter to bring them under the Fire Lord’s great banner.”
That sounded like a gross exaggeration to Zuko. He had never seen the Water Tribe ships himself, but he had heard stories from Fire Navy sailors, in colony ports and on the rare occasion that troop movements demanded the 41 st travel by water. They called it cowardice that the tribesmen avoided clashing with sailors, preferring to work from their smaller ships to foul propellers and breach hulls rather than risking their soldiers in close combat. Zuko didn’t share that opinion. He had learned the hard way that indirect attacks were often the only way for a smaller force to prevail against one that was larger and better equipped.
And the Water Tribe did prevail. The official record of losses at their hands included only those cases where a witness or survivor could swear to their involvement, but if rumors were true, this was only a fraction of their true impact: the other attacks simply hadn’t left any survivors. Navy ships sank into the vast and unforgiving ocean without a trace, and it was only when they didn’t make a rendezvous or respond to missives that they were marked down as “missing.” The Water Tribe was a far greater threat to the Fire Navy than anyone in power wanted to admit or acknowledge, and Zuko doubted they would all but surrender to the Fire Lord just because their leader had taken Zuko as a spouse.
Of course, Zuko knew better than to share his opinions, especially with someone like Junior Minister Keizon. Questioning any aspect of how the Fire Lord and his generals managed the war was tantamount to treason, and Zuko had no desire to skirt that line again.
“The Water Tribe,” Zuko asked carefully, “they are open to negotiations?”
“Negotiations,” Keizon snipped, “have already concluded. You will depart today, and the wedding will take place as soon as you reach the South Pole. His Majesty has sent a Fire Sage to witness the marriage.”
Zuko blinked. “Today? But I just got here!”
“Yes, and not a moment too soon. We were expecting you three days ago, and now you may very well be late for your own wedding, if the ship cannot make up the time en route.”
Zuko couldn’t feel the slightest bit of guilt over that; especially not with what Keizon was telling him. He had delayed his journey to spend time with his uncle after Iroh arrived in Omashu, and now—would he ever leave the Water Tribe’s borders? Would he ever see Uncle again? Or Azula, or Mai, or anyone from his old life?
Zuko’s heart lurched at the thought. “But—”
“Your belongings,” Keizon spoke over him, “are being transferred to the other ship as we speak, and arrangements have been made for everything else you will need.” He gestured, and Zuko turned to stare at a pair of sailors who were, indeed, moving his own travel chest down the gangplank. Keizon stood from his chair and stepped out of the canopy’s shade. Behind him, an aide began breaking it down. “Your ship is there,” he nodded to a naval vessel on the opposite side of the dock, “and unless you wish to anger the captain, and possibly your future spouse, with your tardiness, I suggest you get a move on.”
Zuko did not get a move on. Instead he watched, numbly, as Keizon departed, and then blankly gazed at the ship that the sailors carrying his luggage were boarding. If he followed them now, just across the dock from where he’d disembarked, he would leave, possibly for good, without even setting foot on Fire Nation soil.
A part of Zuko wanted to run; to flee the dock and the ship and the future it represented, and lose himself in the heart of the Fire Nation. It had been five long years since he’d been forced to leave. He had thought, then, that his father had sent him away as a lesson, that if he could just prove himself he would earn the right to return home. As time passed and he was ordered into battle after battle, all of them desperate and grueling, Zuko had realized that the Fire Lord had only seen it as a convenient way of getting rid of him. This marriage was just another way of accomplishing the same thing.
A hand falling on his shoulder jolted Zuko from his thoughts. It was on his left, in his blind spot, and Zuko jerked away and spun, falling instinctively into a bending stance. The man before him smirked.
“Captain Zhao,” Zuko said, not rising from his ready position.
“It’s Commander now.”
“What do you want, Zhao?”
For a brief moment, a look of fury passed over Zhao’s face. Then it smoothed into a diplomat’s smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “To welcome you to my ship, of course.”
Zuko supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Zhao had always gone out of his way to make Zuko’s life miserable, ever since they’d first crossed paths; back when Zuko had been fresh from Caldera, floundering in a role that the life of a Crown Prince had not prepared him for. Zhao had probably volunteered for this mission.
“I’ve been given the honor of escorting you to the South Pole,” Zhao continued, “and acting on the Fire Lord’s behalf if the Water Tribe tries to change the terms they’ve agreed to.”
If Zuko had still held all the authority of a crown prince, as his father’s son, he would have been the one to lead any negotiations. Now though, instead of being able to shape Fire Nation policy and dictate the terms of his own marriage, Zuko was nothing but a commodity being exchanged. He was at Zhao’s mercy, and the commander’s smirk said he was well aware of it.
If the Fire Lord had truly wanted to make peace and coordinate trade with the Water Tribe, he wouldn’t have sent Zhao to act on his behalf. There would have been an entire envoy of ambassadors and ministers and diplomats going to the South Pole along with Zuko. Instead there was only Zhao and his warship, and the blatant threat they presented.
Zuko couldn’t say that he hoped the marriage went through- he had barely had time to consider it- but he hoped Zhao wouldn’t find an excuse for violence. Zuko had seen what some of the other Fire Nation soldiers did to captured Earth Kingdom villages.
“Come along, Lieutenant,” Zhao said, emphasizing Zuko’s subordinate military rank. “I’ll show you to your quarters.” Zhao reached out again, very deliberately putting his hand on Zuko’s arm. Zuko’s skin prickled with unease.
“But I—”
Zhao’s grip on his arm tightened. “We’re already setting out late because of you. If the negotiations fail because of it, the Fire Lord will be most displeased .” A chill ran down Zuko’s spine. He allowed Zhao to lead him towards the ship.
As they reached the gangplank, Zuko looked back over his shoulder. Kai and Amane still hadn’t returned from seeing Lyn Mei off. Even if they had been there, Zuko wasn’t sure they would have been allowed to accompany him: this wasn’t an official deployment of the 41 st Division; it was an exile disguised as a political marriage. His stomach twisted at the thought of them returning to find him gone, with no clues as to his whereabouts until the news of Zuko’s impending marriage found its way to them. They would worry.
Zuko would worry, too. He had no idea what would happen to the 41 st if he wasn’t around to lead it.
Zuko fretted over that thought as Zhao led him through the ship. It was easier to think of their future than his own. Not that it was a comfort- he could imagine many horrible outcomes- but he knew nothing of the South Pole, and couldn’t even begin to imagine what his life there would be like.
“This will be your room,” Zhao announced, motioning to a nondescript door. “The journey will take about a month, so I hope you find it comfortable.” Under Zhao’s smug gaze, Zuko opened the door and looked inside.
The room he was met with held a small futon and Zuko’s travel chest, and barely enough floor space to walk around them. There were closets in the palace larger than this.
There were also standard-issue soldiers’ tents that were considerably smaller; especially when three people had to squeeze inside.
No doubt Zhao was trying to insult Zuko with accommodations well below what befitted a prince, and no doubt he would also find it amusing to know that Zuko considered a futon and a solid roof to be a luxury.
A clamor from the deck above saved him from having to come up with a response. Zhao scowled and turned back the way they’d come. Zuko followed, and something in his chest loosened when he saw Kai and Amane arguing with one of Zhao’s soldiers at the top of the gangplank.
“Sir,” the soldier said, “these two are attempting to board—”
“They’re my division,” Zuko interrupted. “They come with me.”
Zhao considered the lot of them, frowning, then his mouth twisted in a sneer as he turned to Zuko. “I had heard the 41 st Division suffered heavy losses, but even I couldn’t believe you’d been reduced to a handful of soldiers. Your incompetence as an officer is astounding.”
Zuko heard Amane draw in a sharp breath from behind her helmet, saw Kai’s hands ball into fists. He could feel his own hands shaking, and didn’t know if it was with rage or horror. He could see the faces of his soldiers, the flames of the funeral pyres, the stark characters of names in the casualty reports. It was men like Zhao who had ordered the 41 st into those battles, knowing that the odds were stacked against them. Men like Zhao who had carelessly sent them to their deaths in that first battle, and then seemed to resent those who survived; men who, every time Zuko brought some of his soldiers out alive, chose to send them into yet another battle they were never meant to win.
Then Zhao waved a hand in dismissal. “Very well. If they remain loyal to you, then far be it from me to separate the remains of the 41 st Division from their lieutenant. You’ll have to make your own arrangements for them; I have more important matters to attend.”
With that Zhao departed. The soldier who had been blocking the gangplank did too, and Zuko’s soldiers exchanged a glance before hurrying onto the deck and approaching him.
“Zuko,” Amane hissed, a thread of anxiety in her voice, “what is going on? Are they sending us back out already?”
Zuko waved a hand. “Later, I’ll tell you later. Just get your things from the other ship; I’ll help.” Zuko herded them back towards the dock, muttering under his breath, “I wouldn’t put it past Zhao to cast off without you if I don’t.”
“Cozy,” was Kai’s dry assessment when he saw Zuko’s quarters. He pushed his way inside, set his travel chest on top of Zuko’s, and made himself at home on the bed. “Reminds me of that time at the fort in West Lao Zo, when the general offered to put us up and then had us stay in the empty prison cells.”
Amane added her own trunk to the stack and pushed Kai over. Zuko watched the pair of them shoving at one another on the small futon and decided not to join them. Instead he hauled himself onto the stack of trunks and sat surveying them, his chin in his hand. “I’ll talk to the quartermaster,” Zuko decided. “See if there are any open bunks in the crew quarters, or at least spare bedding.”
“Great,” Amane said, still agitated. “Now that that’s settled, why don’t you tell us where we’re going?”
So Zuko did. They weren’t pleased with the news. Zuko sat back and watched them complain to one another, bringing up all the things he hadn’t let himself think about, and felt vindicated by their outrage.
“How can they just send you away like that? It’s not fair!”
“They had all these negotiations and didn’t even tell you!”
“Does this mean you’ll never come back to the Fire Nation?”
“Isn’t it basically eternal winter in the South Pole? How do the Water Tribe even survive there?”
“Can we really trust them? How do we know they won’t just sink the ship as soon as it gets close?”
“What if they’re awful to you? It’s not like you can just change your mind and come home!”
“You’re only seventeen, and their chief is bound to be way older!”
“Won’t their chief be a man? Same-sex couples aren’t allowed to marry in the Fire Nation, so how can they use one to secure a treaty– unless they’re changing the law now?”
“Is this going to be one of those things where you sleep in separate bedrooms, or is he going to expect—”
“Hey, what’s this?”
Zuko looked up as Amane held out what looked to be a bundle of blue cloth. “It was on the bed.” Zuko hadn’t noticed it before, but he had been preoccupied. Amane passed it over when he reached for it.
It was leather, not cloth, Zuko realized as he turned it over in his hands. Soft and supple, and undeniably Water Tribe blue. It was also wrapped around something, and he untied the ribbon holding it in place to reveal a rolled paper secured with a length of the same white ribbon.
Kai and Amane were quiet now, watching him attentively. Zuko ran his thumb over the plain black characters on the edge reading, “For my Betrothed.” He looked up at them, feeling unreasonably flustered at the thought of a letter from a fiancé he’d never met. This was hardly a love letter- it probably contained nothing but diplomatic pleasantries and discussion of treaty terms.
“You two can find your own bunks. Go see the quartermaster, and don’t bother me until after dinner.” The pair exchanged a look, but they left without complaint. Zuko knew they would interrogate him about the contents of the letter, but- he could deal with that later.
Zuko slid down from his perch on the stacked travel chests and flopped onto his now empty futon. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, running his fingers over the soft blue leather the scroll had been wrapped in.
So much had changed with this unexpected news. Zuko wouldn’t be a soldier anymore. He had spent the last few years fighting, bleeding, knowing that any battle might be his last, and now- now, he might never be called upon to fight and risk himself again. He supposed he should have felt relieved, but it was overshadowed by the uncertainty of his new position.
Zuko knew nothing of the Water Tribe outside of schoolhouse history lessons and tales traded by sailors. The Water Tribe’s soldiers were said to wear only animal skins and carry weapons crafted from the bones of their enemies; to drink the blood of the animals they killed and eat their hearts. Zuko tried to imagine what the leader of a people like that would be like. Fierce, he thought, and powerful. Zuko was good at defending himself- but doing so against his spouse might endanger him further, to say nothing of risking the peace treaty.
When he had lived in the palace, Zuko had heard all sorts of gossip. He knew that political marriages varied as widely as the people in them. True, some were love matches, or became so over time, and many were steadfast companionships. Others were purely practical, separate beds in separate wings and a household run the way a pair of business partners would run an enterprise. Still others were entirely one-sided, with one party treating the other as subservient, there only to fulfill the other’s desires.
Zuko thought of his parents’ relationship, and what he had seen of it when he was young. They’d been- comfortable with one another, he supposed. He had never seen his father raise a hand to her, or his mother flinch away. He had never seen them be particularly affectionate with one another either: never seen them touch beyond a polite kiss on the cheek or hand, never seen them comfort or confide in one another.
They had slept in separate bedrooms. As far as he was aware, they had led more or less separate lives, only intersecting where their roles as mother and father to their children required it.
That tracked with what his mother had told him about their relationship, such as it was: Ozai had wanted to secure a worthy heir, and he had chosen Ursa for her bloodline- the granddaughter of the Fire Nation Avatar, Roku. Ursa, for her part, had been content without a great deal of romance; she was happy to be the mother Ozai expected her to be.
Zuko didn’t know what the Water Tribe chieftain expected from him. Not children, surely– but beyond that, he had no idea. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say he had many ideas, but no way of knowing which was more likely. Would he be expected to contribute, to take an active role in the Water Tribe’s leadership? Or would he be mistrusted and kept far away from politics, in a position with no influence whatsoever? Would the chief want his companionship, or prefer that Zuko stay away from him? And if he did want companionship- what form would it take?
Zuko didn’t know, couldn’t know.
But, he supposed, he knew how to find out.
The letter wasn’t addressed to him by name. The writer apologized, and explained that at the time of writing, no one had told the Water Tribe who was being sent, and it may still have been under debate. Zuko wasn’t sure if that was the case, or just what the Water Tribe had been told. He couldn’t imagine the Fire Lord had actually considered sending Azula, or any more distant member of the royal family. Not when Zuko was available.
Not when this entire thing might have been an attempt to get rid of him.
Zuko’s future spouse introduced himself as one Chief Hakoda, aged 40, with two nearly-grown children from a wife, now deceased, and a living husband. Zuko frowned at that, but as he read on Chief Hakoda explained that the Water Tribe’s ways allowed for multiple marriages, as he put it, “between as many as wish to be wed.” It seemed the Fire Nation’s representative had determined that Hakoda being married already wouldn’t prevent Zuko from marrying him as well.
Zuko felt an uneasy twist in his stomach. Hakoda’s age, more than twice his own, wasn’t reassuring, but at least it wasn’t surprising either. The rest, on the other hand—Zuko hadn’t considered that his future spouse might already have a family. Would this other husband be resentful of Zuko, seeing him as a competitor for Hakoda’s attention? Would Zuko be expected to behave as a spouse for his husband’s husband as well? And the children- if they were nearly grown, they couldn’t be more than a few years younger than Zuko himself. What would they think of their father’s marriage to him? Would Zuko be competition for them as well, for whatever they might have inherited on their father’s death, if not for him?
Father had been willing to take advantage of Lu Ten’s death and Uncle’s grief to advance his own position. He had been willing to order Grandfather’s death, and Mother’s execution for carrying it out.
If politics in the South Pole were anything like in the Caldera, Zuko should probably expect attempts on his life. He wouldn’t be familiar with the land, the wildlife, the people. It would be easy to make his death look like an accident.
Zuko shuddered and forced the thought from his mind. He read on.
Arranged marriages, apparently, were virtually unheard of in the South Pole, and it had come as a shock that the Fire Nation insisted on one to seal the treaty. Zuko wasn’t sure what it meant for him that the marriage had been more or less forced upon the Water Tribe. On the one hand, it meant their Chief had not come to the negotiating table aiming to get an attractive young spouse. On the other, it meant that his presence would be entirely unwanted, a concession forced by the Fire Nation. They might even think he’d been sent to spy on them.
Nonetheless, Chief Hakoda’s letter was not hostile. He admitted that he didn’t know what sort of shape their marriage would take, but that he hoped they would learn to live comfortably with one another.
Comfortably.
Zuko had no idea what to take from that word. Comfort could mean anything from a lack of overt hostility to curling up in one another’s arms at night.
Chief Hakoda had sent a gift along with the letter.
Zuko frowned upon reading that and reached for the leather the scroll had been wrapped in, patting at it until his fingers found a small object in the folds. It was coin-shaped, but lacked the coolness of metal. When Zuko held it up he saw that it was made of some hard, off-white material. Bone, or antler perhaps. One side had been carved with a smattering of what Zuko guessed to be stars, given the lines connecting some of them. It wasn’t a constellation he recognized, but he supposed that made sense. Zuko had traveled to many distant parts of the Earth Kingdom since he joined the war, and he knew that the stars were different depending on where one was looking from.
The letter explained that this was a traditional engagement token in the Water Tribe, carved by hand from the bone of an animal the one requesting the marriage had killed themselves: proof that they were a skilled enough hunter to provide for their future spouse. It was generally worn on a necklace by women, or braided into the hair by men, though those were by no means strict rules. Zuko was welcome to decline the gift, if he chose to. Chief Hakoda wasn’t aware of any Fire Nation engagement traditions, but invited his intended to include him in any they wished to observe.
Zuko ran his thumb over the constellation carved into the pendant, thinking. Engagement gifts were common in the Fire Nation, too, but- he’d hardly had the time to go shopping. He supposed he could try to make something- items of metal or glass or ceramic created with one’s own fire were traditional gifts- but he’d have to find the materials and tools, and he doubted Zhao would allow him free use of anything on the ship. And he doubted the Chief of the Water Tribe would be impressed by any of the meager possessions Zuko had with him. He had his clothing and armor and travel kit, all of which we standard-issue and unremarkable; a few trinkets picked up the the colonies, his dual dao swords, a theater scroll-
Zuko looked towards his trunk, a thrill running down his spine. He had the theater scroll, but he had another one too. It might not be a traditional gift, but it would certainly be valuable to the Water Tribe. True, he had thought about destroying it when it came into his possession, and every time he’d thought of it since then, but- he hadn’t. And it would be perfect for this purpose. All Zuko needed to do was keep Zhao from discovering it for the duration of the journey.
Zuko sighed, something settling inside of him at the thought. He didn’t know what the Water Tribe would think of him, what Chief Hakoda would want from him, but this, at least, was one thing he could do to make a good impression.
And there was another thing he could do as well.
Hakoda had said Zuko wasn’t required to participate in the Water Tribe’s engagement traditions, but it was clear they meant something to him. He’d never asked for a Fire Nation spouse, never wanted one, but he was trying to do things the right way, according to his people’s traditions. He was trying to include Zuko in something important to him. Disregarding his spouse’s culture and customs would be a horrible first impression, would probably make people dislike him even more than they were already inclined to, but more than that- Zuko didn’t want to hurt the man’s feelings.
Maybe that was a foolish way of thinking, but holding the pendant in his fingers, feeling the edges of the stars that had been carved into it by hand, with him in mind, Zuko found he desperately wanted to return the gesture with all the respect it deserved. He reached up and undid his topknot, letting his hair fall around his shoulders. It was lopsided, shorter on his left, where it had had to be shaved to tend to his burn. He had grown it out in the five years since, because he wasn’t a traitor or a criminal or an exile, and he had the right. He’d refused to cut the other side to match.
Zuko separated a lock of hair on his right side, where he could better see what he was doing, and carefully threaded the pendant onto the lock of hair and slid it up. When he redid his topknot, pulling the lock back with the rest, the pendant hung against his cheek.
Zuko wished he had a mirror. The metal walls of the ship were smooth, but not smooth enough to show details in a reflection.
He wondered if the Water Tribe had similar taboos about hair. In the Earth Kingdom, he’d seen people who wore their hair short, and no one seemed suspicious or uneasy around them, the way they would have in the Fire Nation. He’d heard from the sailors that most of the Water Tribe soldiers wore theirs short. Perhaps they wouldn’t look at Zuko’s hair and see dishonor in the evidence of it being cut.
Zuko wondered, suddenly, if the Chief would want to touch the engagement token when he saw Zuko wearing it. If he would want to touch Zuko’s hair. As his betrothed, it wouldn’t be inappropriate, but as a stranger- it sent a shiver down Zuko’s spine. He hoped the man wouldn’t do it in public, at least. By Fire Nation standards it would be a great liberty to take, and Zuko wouldn’t be in any position to deny it. Zhao would smirk, and Kai and Amane would get protective.
The idea shouldn’t be as thrilling as it was.
The knock on his door echoed through the room. Zuko jumped and dropped his hands from his hair as the door swung open. “Lieutenant Zuko.” Zhao said.
“Zhao,” Zuko answered. “It’s generally considered polite to wait after knocking.”
“I am the fleet admiral,” Zhao replied. “Everything on this ship belongs to me.” He made eye contact with Zuko as he said it. Then his eyes tracked to the side. “And what’s this?” Zhao reached out towards the pendant, and Zuko’s breath caught in his throat. Fortunately he stopped short of touching, so Zuko didn’t have to challenge him to an Agni Kai. Again.
“Water Tribe engagement token,” Zuko answered stiffly.
“I suppose the savages would like to mark their property,” Zhao replied. Zuko wasn’t sure if that was meant to be more of an insult to him, or to the Water Tribe. Either way, he kept his mouth shut.
“Come.” Zhao ordered, and turned to leave the room.
“Where?” Zuko asked warily.
“Dinner, unless you would prefer to skip the meal. I assure you, Lieutenant, we do not have room service on this ship.”
Zuko followed. He had hoped to spot Kai and Amane, to slip away from Zhao and ask if they’d had any luck finding accommodations, but Zhao insisted on bringing Zuko with him to the captain’s table. The ship’s captain was already there, as was an old man in the red robes of a Fire Sage. Refusing the invitation would have been an insult. Zuko sat.
The food at the captain’s table was of a slightly better quality than the rations the rest of the crew received. Zuko hoped that denying him good food would be enough reason for Zhao not to insist Zuko share every meal with him. If he did, it would be a long journey.
The topic of conversation for the evening was, of course, the Water Tribe. Zuko didn’t even think Zhao had had to direct it: it was just what was on everyone’s minds. He could hear bits of conversation from the tables around them, sailors telling stories about the Water Tribe. Most only had second- or third-hand tales, but a few here had fought them before. Zuko hoped that wouldn’t be a problem when they reached the South Pole.
Even the Fire Sage was not above gossip, it seemed, and he was eagerly listening to the captain’s stories about the Water Tribe. “What can you expect from a people who don’t give praise to Agni?” the sage was saying. “They put all their faith in the moon spirit, and she is only a reflection of Agni’s light.”
“The moon controls the tides,” Zhao said smoothly. Zuko felt a chill run through him. He had heard this from Zhao before. “Their spirit stories say that the moon spirit taught their waterbenders to move the water like the tides, and that their bending is most powerful during the full moon.”
The Fire Sage considered Zhao with a little more respect than he’d shown previously. “I didn’t know you were a scholar of spirit stories, Admiral.”
“It’s important to understand your enemies,” Zhao replied, smirking. “The Southern Water Tribe has no benders left, but the North is still protected by them. Understanding their power is the key to breaking it.”
The captain made a thoughtful noise. “So they would be weakest in the day, under a new moon?”
“Indeed.” Zhao took a sip of his sake. “And should they be separated from the moon, the way the Earth Kingdom keeps Fire Nation prisoners underground, their bending would be gone altogether.”
He mentioned prisons, but Zuko knew Zhao had plans for other, more permanent ways of separating waterbenders from the moon.
“Interesting that the prisons never tried that,” the captain said, like a man who had no idea the madness his superior officer was plotting. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now, though.” He grimaced. “I’m still not pleased about having one on my ship.”
Zuko blinked. “What? A waterbender, here?”
“As part of the peace treaty, the Fire Lord has graciously agreed to return all Water Tribe prisoners of war.” The Fire Sage’s lip curled like he had smelled something foul. “I do wish he had sent them on a separate transport, though I will not question the wisdom of a Son of Agni.”
That sounded a lot like questioning to Zuko, but he supposed if anyone could get away with it, it would be a Fire Sage. More-so than he ever had, at least.
“I thought the waterbenders disappeared from the South a long time ago.” Zuko had learned about this in his history lessons. The War Ministry had policies in place to ensure that no matter how high the losses, the Fire Nation would never run out of firebenders.
“Well, of course the fleet we’ve been fighting doesn’t have any,” the captain said, “but it seems one from the raids decades ago was still alive. I wouldn’t have allowed him on my ship no matter how old he is, but the guards from the old prison assured me he can’t bend with his hands broken.”
Zuko looked down at his plate. He wasn’t hungry any more. All he could think of was Lyn Mei right after the battle at Omashu, her hand misshapen with swelling and the jut of broken bones. The way her breathing had gone ragged and her eyes glassy when King Bumi’s medic prodded at it to assess the damage.
Had they really broken an old man’s hands before sending him home? Was he even getting medical care?
How furious would Chief Hakoda be when he learned how one of his people had been treated?
Zuko sat quietly for the remainder of the meal. He barely heard the gossip around him. By the time the meal had ended, he’d made a decision.
Zuko didn’t know what being married to the chief would mean after he settled in the South Pole. Maybe Chief Hakoda would want his spouse to share responsibility for leading the tribe; maybe he wouldn’t. But the Water Tribe were going to be his people, and for now, at least, Zuko held more authority on the ship than any of them. That meant he had a duty to them.
It wasn’t a matter of making a good impression, although Zuko was certain Chief Hakoda wouldn’t be impressed to hear Zuko had known about his people’s suffering and done nothing. It was simply what he had been raised to believe. A leader was owed loyalty and obedience from his people, and in return he owed them his protection and wisdom. Zuko may not be a Prince of the Fire Nation anymore; he might never be a Prince of the Water Tribe. Nevertheless, as long as there were people he outranked, he owed them everything he could give.
Zuko returned to his rooms, shifted Kai and Amane’s travel chests off of his own, and dug out his precious stash of medical supplies.