From What I've Tasted of Desire

by ClementineJames

Summary:

It's been five years since the end of the war, and marriage is the word on everyone's minds. But Katara knows what that really means. First comes marriage, and then children. She has been shackled with the responsibility of carrying on the airbender line before it goes completely extinct--and it's a mantle she has prepared herself well to take on. She loves Aang, and being a crucial part of history together...well, it's something she is honored to do by his side.

That is, until memories and dreams start resurfacing as she barrels towards a future alongside the Avatar. And on the night of her wedding, she finds herself starting to spiral just a little. And only Zuko is there to comfort her.

Meanwhile, the Fire Council has enforced an age-old law upon Zuko: marry by age 21 or forfeit the throne. One too many assassination attempts has them all feeling a bit nervous, and they want to guarantee the royal line. Zuko has resigned himself to a dull, loveless arranged marriage for the good of his nation.

But then he and Katara are brought back together unexpectedly, forced to work alongside one another. And it quickly becomes impossible to forget what happened between them and the secrets they swore to keep.

Chapter 1: The Dream

Katara 

 

Katara had always been bound by a sense of duty–first to her people and her tribe when she was young. Then, to Sokka as they grew up, making sure he was well taken care of. Most importantly, to the greater justice of the world, as she worked alongside her friends to defeat Ozai. And always, always, to the memory of her mother, that it would never die. 

And now, as an adult, to her relationship with Aang. 

Only two months stood between her and the marriage altar, where she would promise him forever atop the steps of the Southern Air Temple, surrounded by their friends, family, and the Air Acolytes. 

This would be no small thing, the Acolytes promised her. Katara and Aang’s wedding would symbolize the continuation of the airbender line after nearly being driven into complete extinction, and it was worthy to be celebrated. 

The first airbender wedding in over a century. 

This was why, she told herself, she had allowed the details of the planning to be taken over almost entirely by the Acolytes. The one concession she had been somewhat able to eke out for herself was wearing her mother’s wedding dress–a beaded, blue and white gossamer gown that stood out starkly against the umbers, tans, and golds of the air temple. 

Even the dress had been a bit of a battle with Tashi, the Acolyte who was spearheading the wedding preparations.

“It’s not exactly what an Air Nomad bride would wear…” 

Katara had snapped then. She was not an Air Nomad, she was from the Southern Water Tribe. And culture was important. Her culture was important.

So Katara got the dress. 

And the betrothal necklace Aang had painstakingly carved for her, too. 

He had presented the jewelry to her with such enthusiasm, such adoration, that Katara didn’t have it in her heart to remind him that betrothal necklaces were a Northern custom, something that her tribe did not subscribe to. 

It had cracked something in her, just a little bit, to take off her mother’s necklace and replace it with the one Aang had made. But he was trying so hard, so ardently, to make their marriage something special. She knew he worshiped her so fiercely that if she so much as suggested the wedding be held in the Southern Tribe, he would do it. 

Which is why she took it on the nose and let the ceremony be so unbelievably Air Nomad. 

And why, now, in the dark, cool, quiet of the night, wrapped in silk sheets as she jolted from sleep, that she chalked the nightmare up to nothing more than pre-wedding jitters. 

Aang still slept peacefully beside her, his back rising and falling with each steady breath. She followed the angular lines of the blue tattoo that stretched down his back, disappearing beneath the blankets. 

Now seventeen, he had grown into something of a man. Long, tall, and lean, defined by muscle that had been missing in his youth. They had all grown up quite a bit in the five years since the end of the war. Peace was a bloody thing to have, and they had all fought hard to help settle the world around them once Ozai’s reign had come to an end. Katara herself felt much older than her nineteen years. 

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and dabbed the sweat from her forehead before yanking on a cloak and slipping out the door, leaving Aang undisturbed. The stone hallways of the Southern Air Temple were quiet and dark, this early in the morning, and she strode quickly from the room she shared with Aang. 

Nights like tonight are when she missed being South, just plain missed being near the sea. Even in the Capital City of the Fire Nation, the ocean stood nearby, close enough to walk to once leaving the Caldera. 

Here, the most she had in terms of water fresh from the Earth was the small natural spring at the heart of the temple–the Acolytes’ source for cooking, bathing, and drinking. She walked to it now, kneeling before the little stream and cupping the freezing liquid in her hands before splashing it across her warm, damp face. 

It had been a long time since a nightmare had snuck up on her. It was the same one, always–watching Azula’s lightning zig-zag across the smoky evening sky, the air tinged with smoke and electricity. Zuko’s sharp inhale, his hurried, rushing steps to take the bolt to his chest before it could reach Katara. 

And then, Azula’s maniacal laughter in her ear, as Katara’s heart was hammering out one single, desperate word–Zuko, Zuko, Zuko. 

She couldn’t bear it if he had given his life for hers. The world needed him; it did not need her. They needed someone good, and honest, and kind to ascend the throne, to lead the fire nation out of darkness. 

Katara had been in many battles during her travels alongside the Avatar. And they often happened so quickly, it almost felt as if she were in some hazy, dream-like state. 

But not the Agni Kai with Azula. No, every movement was precise, intentional. It had to be—there was simply no margin for error with someone as powerful as the Fire Nation Princess. 

Maybe that was why the memory kept coming back to her as a nightmare. Every detail was so deeply ingrained within her mind. 

Katara had been filled with equal parts relief and dread as she had chained Azula to the ground. The girls were two sides to the same coin. And Katara couldn’t help but wonder, if she had been raised in different conditions, not taught to love and be loved—if the darkness that festered in the hidden corners of her soul would have eventually taken over. If maybe she would have turned out a little like Azula. 

She had little time to contemplate that too deeply, though, as she rushed over to Zuko. 

This was where her nightmare switched over to more of a dream. As if her mind wanted to apologize for re-hashing the trauma of that night by replaying a bittersweet memory. 

Cool water forming gloves around her hand, she placed her fingers atop Zuko’s chest, where the lightning had turned the hard muscle there into a bright red star. His heart. He had taken it in his heart. 

How could he have done that for her? Months before he’d wanted Katara and her friends dead. 

And now—now, Katara didn’t know how she could survive it if the boy beneath her didn’t inhale a breath. 

She prayed then, to every spirit she could name in both her tribe and the Fire Nation, to let Zuko survive this. 

When she felt his heart stutter back to life under the pads of her thumbs, she collapsed with relief. 

“Thank you, Katara,” his voice was raw and aching. 

She collapsed onto him, her fingers twining around his neck, finding the pulse point below his jawline to confirm that yes, he was okay—he had survived. He had taken Azula’s lightning for her, and survived it. 

He was weak, his body wrecked from the hit it had taken, but his hands found their way—ever so slowly—to her hair. He ran calloused, nimble fingers across her hair again and again, and she nearly wept with joy that they had made it. 

She had no idea what had happened to Aang, to her brother, to her friends. But she and Zuko had achieved this small victory of taking down Azula. She could only pray the others were experiencing similar successes. 

It was hard to focus, to feel anything beyond this moment–her elbows pressed into the hard stone of the courtyard, her hands tight around Zuko’s neck as he soothed her. She could feel the hot wetness of her tears spilling off her face and pooling along his bare collarbone, along the bright red scorch mark Azula had left in her wake. 

“Hey, Katara, it’s….it’s okay. We made it.” He said. His words were strained, like it was painful for him to talk. Katara breathed a small laugh into the hollow of his throat. How ironic of him to be comforting her when he’d just been nearly electrocuted.

Inhaling a ragged breath, she withdrew herself from where she was laid across his chest, and leveled him with an admonishing look. 

“What did you do that for? She could have killed you.” Katara said. 

“Better me than you,” he groaned. 

“Stop being self-sacrificial.” 

But hadn’t she just thought the exact same thing? That she couldn’t bear it if Azula had taken Zuko’s life, that the fire nation needed him badly. More than that, he had become a part of their little group, a part of Katara. He had stood beside her, unblinking, unphased, when she had bloodbended on the quest to find Yon Rha. Had not balked at her need for justice, for revenge. 

He laughed a little at that, but she could tell it hurt him. 

Zuko’s face was only inches from hers, but it didn’t feel strange or wrong. It was hard not to feel inextricably bonded to the boy who had thrown himself in front of a lightning bolt for her. 

“I’m serious.” His voice was little more than a whisper. His hands, trembling still, moved from her hair to her jaw. He held Katara’s face cradled between his fingers. “I couldn’t have survived it if Azula hurt you.” 

Then his lips pressed to hers. It was a shock, something she was not entirely prepared for–and yet…

And yet it was not something she could tear herself away from. There was a soft hunger to his kiss, something so at odds with itself. Gentle and yet unforgiving. Curious and still confident. But she and Zuko had always been that way, polar opposites. Moon and Sun. Push and Pull. Fire and Water. 

Her body was overcome with one stunned beat of hesitation, two. And then she found herself falling into him, kissing him back. Letting his hands grip at her jaw and wondering what it would feel like when he was at full strength. She wanted more; she needed more. 

It was hardly a romantic kiss. Azula was shackled a hundred yards away, sobbing, and screaming, and spewing fire into the air. 

But it was the answer to a question she had been quietly wondering since he had showed up at the Eastern Air Temple–no, since that moment they shared in the caves of Ba Sing Se–why was there a strange, raw magnetism between them? And what would happen if they chased after it? 

Katara’s heart nearly stuttered to a complete stop as their kiss pulled a quiet, gentle moan from deep within Zuko’s chest. It was a sound of pure need, like he had finally learned how to breathe properly and couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. 

Startled, she pulled away, shocked by how her body reacted to the sound, to the heady rumble that reverberated through her. 

She wanted to dislike it, but a quiet voice at the back of her mind pleaded for more. 

Zuko paused then, not moving to continue until Katara gave the word. 

“Zuko, I…” 

And then a guard came sprinting into the courtyard. 

“Fire Lord Ozai has been defeated.” 

For the rest of the night, Katara had no time to really process what had transpired between her and Zuko. 

It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning that Katara dared to try and steal a moment alone with the nation’s new Fire Lord. 

Zuko was propped up in his bed, swathed in bandages and surrounded by velvety, crimson blankets. 

The texture felt foreign on Katara’s skin as she sat on the edge of the mattress—nothing like the furs of the Southern Tribe that she was accustomed to. 

He startled awake, and she placed a hand on his half-bandaged shoulder and raised one finger to her lips, signaling for him to be quiet. 

The others—Aang, Sokka, Toph, and Suki—were all asleep in a messy sprawl in the sitting room attached to Zuko’s bed chambers. After all these months on the run, traveling from place to place and sleeping out in the open, only feet apart from each other—it felt wrong to split up into separate rooms now. 

If anything, they all needed each other now more than ever. 

“How are you feeling?” Katara whispered. She could just barely make out Zuko’s golden eyes in the dim, hazy twilight. 

“Alive,” he muttered, rubbing sleep from his eyes “Barely.” 

“We should talk about what happened,” Katara said, looking down and fiddling with the hem of her dress. 

Zuko was quiet for a long moment, studying her. She barely heard him when he finally spoke. 

“You love Aang.” 

It was a statement of fact, but Katara could sense the edge of a question around his words—one final opportunity to split off from the path she had set before her. 

Katara took a deep breath. “I owe it to him to try.” 

Those words, she could tell, were not what Zuko wanted to hear. But he nodded nonetheless. 

“I need to tell him about—that we…” she couldn’t finish the sentence, could hardly wrap her mind around the fact that she had kissed Zuko. 

And even less, she could hardly wrap her mind around the fact that she had…honestly enjoyed it. 

Zuko sat up straighter then, gripping her one hand in between both of his. His touch was firmer now, more steady than it had been after taking Azula’s lightning strike. 

“Please, Katara, do me this one small mercy. Let’s keep this between you and I.” 

Mercy. 

It was a mercy for him not to tell anyone what had happened—he cared that little. 

It really had been a kiss fueled on adrenaline, desperation, and fear. No feelings to be had. No love lost. 

Her lungs tightened a bit at that. 

And her moral compass tilted a bit sideways. She knew in her heart that it would be the right thing to do, to tell Aang. 

But at the same time—what were she and Aang, really? They had kissed twice, and once had been against her wishes, after she told him she needed space and time. 

She’d shared as much, romantically, with Zuko at this point that she had with Aang. 

She made a decision at that moment, a bad one.

“Fine. I’ll take it to the grave.” 

“To the grave,” Zuko echoed. 

It had been some time since Katara recalled that night, five years ago in the Fire Nation palace. But every time the memory resurfaced in her dreams, it never lost the sharp, focused edge—never dulled down to something she could forget. Sometimes she wasn’t sure that she wanted to. 

But would she keep dreaming these dreams, reliving this memory of her and Zuko, even after she was married to Aang? 

Certainly not. 

Right? 

She sighed, dipping her hands into the natural spring water bubbling up in the air temple. She formed a small ball of water in her hand, twirling it around, back and forth. 

Aang was so light on his feet she didn’t hear him until he was practically upon her. 

“Did you have another nightmare?” He asked, appearing before her. He knew she liked to come here whenever she was upset. 

“Something like that.” 

“The one with Azula?” 

Katara nodded, dropping the ball of water back into the spring. 

True to her word, she hadn’t spoken to anyone about the kiss she and Zuko had shared. Truly, no part of her even wanted to. It felt like something sacred and private between them. Sometimes, she wondered if it had even happened at all. 

But it was impossible to completely extricate Zuko from her life—she didn’t think she would want to, even if she could. There were parties for them to attend, and political celebrations. Summits and meetings and an annual gathering of their little cabal. Katara was the goodwill ambassador for the Southern Tribe, and Zuko the Fire Lord. Their interactions were inevitable.

In those exchanges, there were times that she caught herself looking at Zuko for just a moment too long. 

And she almost always caught him looking back. 

“Why don’t you come back to bed—I’ll make you some tea to help you sleep,” Aang said with a wide smile, all too happy to help. 

“That sounds nice,” Katara agreed. 

She rose and stood beside him, graciously accepting the arm he offered her. 

She pushed the dreams of Azula and Zuko from her mind, focused herself on the present, on the feel of Aang’s arm around hers. 

The air temple was safe. Aang was here, a strong and steady presence–filled with love, adoration, kindness, goodness. They would have a beautiful wedding and a marriage filled with decency and compassion. 

There were fates, she supposed, much worse than this.      

Chapter 2: The Invitation

Zuko

 

Heavy is the head that wears the crown. 

Whoever said that neglected to mention that the crown was also pretty uncomfortable. So were the formal robes. And the hard, oversized metal chair at the head of the table, presiding over the fire council. 

Upon ascending the throne, Zuko had half a mind to gut the entire council room. Ozai’s interior design tastes had been…ominous, at best. Lots of dark, moody corners and enormous fire pits strategically placed to be intimidating, an absolute show of power. 

The council room backed directly up to the courtyard, and Zuko would much prefer to put in large bay windows overlooking the trees and turtleduck ponds. But between the enormous amount of coin going into reparations to the other nations, and a complete restructuring of the budget to be a little less dedicated to ruining everyone’s lives—well, there wasn’t exactly much wiggle room for passion projects. 

He did what small things he could, though. Brought in carts laden with tea and sweet baked goods. The tea was sourced directly from Iroh, with new brews and concoctions shipped weekly from the Earth Kingdom. And the buttered rolls and sweet cakes he purchased from local vendors in the Caldera. It seemed like enough of a compromise, to make the council room a little less…daunting. 

“Fire Lord Zuko?” Kyoko, one of his council members, asked. He could tell by the tone of her voice that she was repeating herself.

He needed to stop letting his mind wander during these meetings. It was no easy thing to get an audience with the Fire Lord–some governors or mayors waited weeks, even months, for an opportunity to speak at a council meeting. 

And for regular, every-day citizens? Forget it. Twice a year, Zuko would open the palace and hold court, give people an opportunity to come in and air their grievances, and ask for assistance. He would help them in the ways that he could. But it never felt like enough. 

Kyoko kept reminding him that anything was better than the complete and total dictatorship put into place by his father. 

But still. Ozai wasn’t exactly the standard he was trying to live up to. 

“Yes, I’m sorry. What’s next on our agenda?” Zuko asks, scratching at his head yet again. He couldn’t wait to get out of this meeting, to let his hair out of the royal topknot. 

He didn’t see why such a thing was so necessary. But he had fought hard for big things–advances in education, new hospitals and infrastructure built in long-neglected towns. Most of his council, save Kyoko, was not exactly enthusiastic about the way Zuko was letting the Fire Nation hemorrhage money into its poor communities, and even less–into other nations. 

So grinning and bearing it when it came to donning traditional Fire Nation regalia seemed like a worthy sacrifice to make, something he could endure for the sake of his people. 

“The governor of the Sei’naka clan is here to speak with you,” Raijin, the Grand Advisor said, looking none too pleased about that fact. 

Zuko sighed, nodding. “Send her in.” 

The Noble Clans–powerful families spread throughout the fire nation, overseeing fiefs and governing large pockets of land–had fallen out of power during Ozai’s reign. But then again, everyone had fallen out of power during Ozai’s reign, save Ozai himself and a few members of his elite inner circle. 

The Noble Clans had made a comeback over the past five years, but Zuko kept them on a tight leash. They were all taxed heavily. He visited the clans frequently to ensure the citizens were being treated fairly, and there was no dissent among the masses. 

So far, everyone seemed happy. And most of the clans exported some sort of necessary goods–corn and wheat, paper, medicine, or machinery. 

But the Sei’naka clan had grown…restless recently. The smallest of the clans, nestled on a tiny island, they had somehow become Zuko’s biggest detractor as of late. No matter what he did, the people–and their outspoken governor, Ember-Lee, in particular–always had something negative to say about it. 

An attendant opened the door, letting Ember-Lee into the council room. She was easily in her fifties and much older than Zuko–but then again, most of the people he worked with were. Politics was not a young person’s game. But he and his friends were working actively to change that. 

“Governor,” Zuko greeted her with a somber nod of his head. He could tell by the tight look on her face that–like many of their other conversations in the past–this would likely be a tense interaction.

Ember-Lee bowed quick and low before rising to stand before the council, eyes locked on Zuko. 

“What can I help you with today?” Zuko asked. 

“It’s the budget for this year. Sei’naka is being taxed quite heavily compared to the other noble clans. And yet, the allotted amount we are receiving from the palace for our school has decreased significantly.” 

Zuko didn’t even bother to give the budget on the table before him a glance. He had worked and re-worked the numbers a dozen times, late at night in his office. 

“Sei’naka is taxed at the same rate as the other clans,” Zuko explained, for what felt like the millionth time. 

“Yes. But we are much smaller than the others. And we do not have exports–the main focus on our island is education, training our young people to be the teachers, leaders, scientists, and scholars of this nation. Which is why the slash to our education funding feels…so egregious.” 

Ember-Lee’s voice did not waver even the slightest. Zuko had to give her props for that–in all her discussions with him regarding budgets over the past several months, she had not conceded an inch in the things she was asking for. 

Zuko wished he could fulfill all her requests. Sei’naka deserved a well-rounded education budget, just like all the other clans and towns. But it simply wasn’t possible to give everyone what they wanted all the time. And he had much bigger wounds to stitch up. 

“You have a well-established school, with state-of-the-art materials and equipment. I simply reallocated some of your funding to towns that have no formal school system set up whatsoever. I would imagine many of them would have great need for the teachers your island produces,” Zuko explained firmly. 

It had been heart-wrenching, truly, when he toured the country after his coronation, trying to get an authentic sense of what areas needed help the most. So many things went undocumented on reports and letters. He had needed to see how badly the Fire Nation had been damaged by his family, and he needed to see it first hand. 

What he found–towns lacking schools, hospitals, even basic things like clean drinking water–was hard to swallow. But he was bound and determined to make it right. 

And he had visited the Sei’naka clan many times over the past five years. They were not hurting for much. 

“I ask you, your highness, to consider how heavily the Sei’naka clan influences the minds of our nation’s young people. To think about what the country will look like should our clan not have the resources it needs,” Ember-Lee said. 

It was a thinly-veiled threat, at best. One that, five years ago, would have persuaded Zuko to fork over some extra coin. But he had grown a thick skin since he’d assumed the throne. 

“The answer is no, governor. I do encourage you to visit some of these towns that you think are so undeserving of the extra funding for education, and consider how…fortunate…your people are.” 

Zuko’s answer was short and succinct–another trick he had learned during his short tenure as Fire Lord. Do not deign to explain yourself. 

Ember-Lee tucked her short, gray hair behind one ear, clearly displeased by his reply. 

“I hope you will reconsider for next year’s budget,” she responded, her voice clipped. 

And, although it was a petty thing and likely to rub salt in the wound, Zuko gave a perfunctory, benevolent smile and said, “I will look into the matter. In the meantime, your well-educated people should be able to come up with a resourceful solution.” 

Ember-Lee had the good sense to leave after that. But Zuko knew that fight was far from over. 

“What other business do we have?” Zuko asked after the door had closed behind her. 

“The Fire Sages would like for me to remind you that your twenty-first birthday is coming up in six months,” Raijin stated, shuffling papers in between his hands. 

Ah, yes. That. 

“I am aware of when I was born, Raijin. Give the Fire Sages my greatest thanks for the reminder.” 

“Fire Lord Zuko–” Raijin began, feathers clearly ruffled at the snippy comment. 

“If there is no other business, then the council is dismissed,” Zuko said with a wave of his hand, standing before anyone could get a word in edgewise. He stepped quickly out of the door, yanking his hair down as soon as he was out of sight of the other council members. 

Footsteps sounded behind him, but he knew quickly by the light, staccato beats that it was only Kyoko, bounding up to his side.

“They’re just going to keep pestering you about the whole marriage thing if you don’t address it soon,” Kyoko said with a smirk. 

Zuko liked Kyoko. She reminded him a lot of Toph; and in fact, the two got along swimmingly every time the young earth bender came to visit the palace. They were both young and hungry, brash, bold. Unafraid to speak their minds, unerringly confident in a way that bordered on obnoxious. 

Kyoko was young, far younger than any of the other members of the fire council, likely the youngest politician in the Fire Nation by far. Younger even than Zuko himself, by two years. During his complete overhaul after ascending the throne, he had gutted the council down to its bones, cutting out everyone who was loyal to his father and replacing the members, instead, with people who aligned closer with his values. Of course, there was still a disproportionate amount of cranky old men he had to appoint and appease. 

The only holdover from his father’s reign had been Raijin, who had vocally denounced Ozai as the power was being switched over to Zuko. Raijin had been the only reason there was any semblance of peace and organization in the days of transition. He had helped weed out those that were loyal to Ozai, and had guided Zuko carefully into the role of Fire Lord, showing him the ropes of running the council. 

Zuko had been hesitant to keep anyone in power who had once worked under his father, but Raijin had proven himself to be loyal and kind…if not a little stuck in the past. He was one of the most ardent supporters of the marriage law, of finding Zuko a Fire Lady. 

But Zuko couldn’t say he blamed him much. There had been a dozen attempts to end the Fire Lord’s life this year alone, mostly all carried out by the New Ozai Society, who desperately wanted to see the country’s previous ruler take back the throne–even at the cost of Zuko’s life. 

“I know,” Zuko told Kyoko as they walked down the hallway towards his office. 

“Do you have a plan? Or even some vague idea of who you are going to wed?” she asked, an edge of teasing in her voice. 

“Yeah, Ju Men down at the market–the one who makes those lavender honey cakes. That way I can be full and happy for the rest of my days,” Zuko said with a roll of his eyes. The pair reached his office, and he swung the door open, Kyoko trailing him despite definitely not being invited in. 

A year ago, the Fire Sages and the council had…annoyingly…teamed up to present Zuko with an age-old law he hadn’t even known existed. He supposed it hadn’t been needed for the past several rulers, who all married and produced heirs rather early on in their royal tenure. 

The Fire Lord must be wed by age twenty-one to continue his reign. 

The Sages had blathered on about the importance of continuing the royal line–the people needed to be confident in who their next ruler would be. And if something happened to Zuko–and the odds were not looking great with all these assassination attempts–there had to be somebody queued up to take the helm of the Fire Nation. 

As far as blood went, his options were sparse. Azula was institutionalized. Ozai was imprisoned (and very much a dictator). Iroh lived out his days at the Jasmine Dragon, selling tea. 

Zuko supposed that if he met his untimely end, Iroh could rule in his stead. But Iroh had done enough, lived a hard enough life without being tasked with the role of Fire Lord in his old age. 

No, Zuko wouldn’t force that upon him. 

He had thought about just overruling the council on this stupid, small issue. He could exercise his ultimate power as Fire Lord and just be done with it. 

But that wasn’t how he wanted to rule. He would fight, fairly, for every inch he got. 

Kyoko sat on his desk, crossing her legs and sorting through a stack of papers he had piled high. Zuko went to the window, staring out over the courtyard. 

“You think it’s funny now. But you’re running low on time over there, Fire Lord,” she said. “I have a lot of friends who would be very interested in being your wife. Better than whatever stuffy noble lady the Sages would pick for an arranged marriage,” she said. 

Zuko watched as a pair of baby turtleducks toddled after their mother, jumped into the pond and swam off. His voice was quiet when he finally responded. 

“I’m destined for a loveless marriage, Kyoko. The sooner I accept that, the better.” 

Kyoko stilled at that comment. He didn’t turn around to look at her, but knew her face had fallen at his unexpectedly serious words. They were usually sarcastic and playful with one another outside of council business.

“Zuko, I just meant…I want you to be happy. I grew up with a lot of girls who are intelligent, kind, and powerful. I could try and pair you up with someone at least remotely tolerable, if not the love of your life.” 

Zuko didn’t have the heart to tell Kyoko, but…that ship had sailed for him quite some time ago. 

“Thank you for the offer. I will consider it.” 

A long moment of silence passed between them. Zuko continued to watch the turtleducks to the background noise of Kyoko rifling through his papers and correspondence. In another life, he might be bothered by this. But there was nothing personal, nothing embarrassing, nothing he wanted to hide. 

He corresponded with his friends frequently, sure, but it was nothing worthy of gossip. Anecdotes from Sokka about the Southern Tribe. A bottle of spiced wine sent by Toph, usually accompanied with some vulgar joke. Letters with Aang were long laments between the two of them regarding their frustrations in politics. And he never wrote back and forth with Katara, not anymore. 

“Ooh, the Avatar’s wedding is in only two months?” Kyoko spoke up from behind him. He turned to see her clutching the large invitation, in sandstone and gold colors, near her face. “I wasn’t invited–I’m only a lowly council member, after all. But promise me you’ll bring back some of that sweet rice the Air Nomads make? It’s my favorite.” 

Zuko turned and plucked the invitation from Kyoko’s hand. 

“Of course. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to attend to–as I am sure you do, as well,” he said. 

“Ugh. Fine, guess I’ll go do the job you pay me for,” she said, hopping off the desk and striding out of the room without so much as a glance backwards, leaving Zuko entirely alone. 

He glanced down at the invitation in his hand, stomach sinking into his shoes. 

When the invitation–crafted delicately in the formal Air Nomad style–arrived, Zuko knew that Katara and Aang had decided to have two ceremonies. One for his culture, one for hers. He waited for days, and then weeks, for an invitation for the Water Tribe ceremony to come in. 

But it never did. 

After a while, he decided that Katara simply didn’t want him in the Southern Tribe–and while that fact stung more than he cared to admit, he couldn’t blame her. 

It ate him up at night, wondering about it. Until finally he couldn’t take it anymore. One day, he was walking through the palace with Suki–his captain of the guard, now–and spat the question out at her with absolutely no preamble. 

“When are Aang and Katara having their Water Tribe ceremony?” he asked. “If I’m expected to attend, I need to get it on my calendar…you know, make plans and all.” Color flushed his face as soon as the words were out of his mouth. 

Suki, at least, had the good grace not to comment on his clear embarrassment. 

But she did fix him with a grim smile. 

“They’re only having one wedding ceremony in the Southern Air Temple.” 

Zuko thought back to the invitation he had received, with only the Air Nation symbol on it, bedecked in the warm colors of the nomads. No Water Tribe blue to be seen. 

“That’s surprising,” he murmured, not sure what else to say. He enjoyed talking with Suki and trusted her deeply, but was always cautious about how often he spoke about Katara around her. He always feared, just a bit, that Suki would pick up on his nervous energy regarding the water bender and mention it to Sokka. 

“I know,” Suki said, dipping her head. She didn’t elaborate any further, but those two words were enough for Zuko to know that it was…something of an issue. Something that Sokka, at least, probably wasn’t thrilled about. 

But at the end of the day, it wasn’t Sokka’s wedding–he’d already had that with Suki, months before. It wasn’t Zuko’s, either. 

It was between Katara and Aang, and if this is what they decided they wanted, so be it. 

But Katara was so proud of her culture, of her connection to the Water Tribe. How could she have no trace of it evident at her own wedding? 

And now, the wedding was only two months away. 

Zuko had thought, several times, about feigning some grave illness to get out of attending, and sending Kyoko in his place so she could dance and drink and eat all the sweet rice she wanted. If a representative of the Fire Nation was going to be in attendance, then they should at least enjoy themselves. 

But if he fell so ill that he couldn’t attend the wedding of two people who were supposed to be two of his closest friends and allies, there would definitely be cause for concern. At least among the council, and possibly in other nations as well. 

No, he had no choice but to attend. 

Even if it would drain the last bit of life out of him. 

Notes:

Thank you all for all the Kudos and comments on the first chapter! It is so encouraging. I do not have a perfect schedule of when I will be posting each chapter, but hope to post as frequently as possible. Hope you enjoy :)

Chapter 3: The Poison

Katara 

“That was quite a water bending demonstration, Master Katara,” Pearl, the headmistress of the Huǒ Firebending Academy said across the table as she took a long sip from her goblet of spiced wine. “We are very appreciative that you took time out of your busy schedule to come educate our students.” 

Katara bowed her head, accepting the praise. “Please, the honor is all mine. This is the best part of my job–meeting new people, traveling to new places, getting to share my culture with others.” 

Several teachers at the school sat at the long table, as well as some of the older girls who would be graduating the following spring. They nodded their agreement, clearly pleased to have been invited to such a grown-up dinner, to be included in something so new and exciting. 

Truthfully, Katara was just relieved that her demonstration had gone so well. She was elated when she had received a letter from Pearl, asking her to come show water bending techniques at a Fire Nation school. Apparently, the oldest students were completing a unit on redirecting lightning. 

Of course, this was not something that could be practiced in reality–Headmistress Pearl wasn’t going to launch lightning at these young girls. But she wanted them to be well-studied and educated to the highest degree so that if the day came that they were faced down with a thunderbolt, they could stand a fighting chance.

Pearl was old friends with the Dragon of the West, and knew Iroh’s philosophy that the movements for redirecting lightning were best understood by studying water benders. And who better to teach about lightning than Katara, who had taken down Princess Azula? 

The Huǒ Firebending Academy, an all-girls school, sat about twenty miles south of the Caldera. It was the closest Katara had ever gotten to the royal city with her work as the Southern Tribe’s Goodwill Ambassador. 

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She was always welcome and invited to the palace through her friendship with the Fire Lord–although she would never dream of showing up there alone. Not anymore. Since the end of the war, Katara and Zuko had stuck to the silent agreement that they would maintain a happy, amicable friendship. But it was best if they kept each other at arm’s length. 

So Katara kept her distance from the Royal City, except for official functions. 

Her avoidance, however, was starting to cause some problems with her work. 

As Goodwill Ambassador for the Southern Tribe, she traveled all over the world representing her people. She spoke, taught, and did outreach. She brokered deals in places where they hadn’t existed in a century for the Southern Tribe. 

Before the war, the South Pole might have been only a dot on a map–a cluster of huts and yurts with a ramshackle harbor, offering little to the world as a whole. 

But Katara, Sokka, and Hakoda had flipped the script and turned the Southern Tribe into something much bigger than that. They’d brought in architects from the North, who helped construct central government buildings and better schools. They’d revamped the harbor to be further out in the ocean, making it safe enough for ships from the other nations to dock even during the coldest parts of the year, when ice floes could become treacherous for those inexperienced with the frigid waters. Trade had therefore increased tenfold in the past several years. 

Katara and her people worked hard to break onto the political scene, and had made large strides of progress across the globe. 

But not in the Caldera. 

The royal elite of the Fire Nation didn’t seem to concern themselves much with the humble ways of the Southern Tribe. Up until recently, it had been nothing more than an insult to Katara’s personal pride. But two weeks ago, when Southern ships arrived at the harbor in Caldera City to unload goods for trade, they had been met with what Katara would call resistance. 

Sokka called it utter disrespect for the South that must immediately be dealt with. 

But then, he’d never been a man of few words.

The Harbor Master decided he was done with the Southern Tribe getting to tie up their ships for free, as ordered by the Fire Lord as part of reparations to the water benders. And he said so in a manner that was…well, certainly not agreeable. And he had several other dock workers to back him up. 

Eventually, the Harbor Master was persuaded to let the Southerners dock their ship, but not without several less-than-subtle comments about the Fire Lord allowing the rest of the nations to walk all over him. 

When word had reached Sokka, he had been furious, and insisted on going straight to Zuko about it to have the Harbor Master handled. 

But Katara was able to talk him off the ledge and dismiss the incident as a one-off–after all, Zuko had enough on his plate to deal with. He didn’t need to fight battles on behalf of the Southern Tribe. Even though Katara knew he would, should she come calling. 

That was just the issue, though. The Southern Tribe couldn’t let their connections with the Avatar and the Fire Lord be the only reason they held any sway in the greater political scheme of things. They had to forge their own path. 

So Katara had convinced her brother to just let it go for now, and to give her a chance to make some connections in the Caldera. 

That would require, though, actually being invited into the Royal City by anyone other than Zuko himself. 

The Huǒ Firebending Academy was the closest she’d come in a long while. 

“Oh, my, look at the time,” Pearl said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “I think I’m quite ready to retire. Katara, would you like for me to walk you back to your room?” 

Katara had to admit she was relieved. It had been a long journey to arrive in the Fire Nation from the Southern Air Temple, where she’d been staying with Aang leading up to their nuptials. 

He hadn’t exactly been thrilled that she was going to be gone for a week. Beyond the bounds of their impending wedding, there was much work to do at the Air Temples. Like the Southern Tribe, they were expanding into a flourishing community. 

But Katara needed to get as close as she could to the Caldera, without flagging to Zuko that anything was amiss among his people, or relying on him as liaison. So coming to this school was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up. 

“Yes, that would be great. Thank you,” Katara said, rising and waving goodnight to the others at the table who were finishing up their final sips of wine. 

Outside the door to the school’s main dining hall, Katara and Pearl nearly tripped over a gaggle of younger girls who had clearly been waiting for quite some time for the two women to make their exit. 

Katara thought she recognized some of the students from during her demonstration earlier today, seated far in the back. 

The little group looked up at her with awe, chittering amongst themselves in hushed tones for a moment before finally pushing the bravest girl forward.

“Is it true you beat Princess Azula in an Agni Kai?” she asked. 

Katara’s answer could go one of two ways here in the Fire Nation. She knew all too well that Zuko had more than his fair share of dissenters who would love to see Ozai seated upon the throne once more. 

But this girl’s voice held just enough edge of respect to it that she thought telling the honest truth was a safe enough choice. 

“Yes, I did,” she said simply. 

The group ooh-ed and aah-ed at that. The story was well known enough, but many in the Fire Nation could hardly believe that a prodigy like Azula had truly been bested by a water bender. 

“And you fought alongside Fire Lord Zuko?” the girl continued, giggling behind her hand. “He’s so handsome, isn’t he?” 

“She’s engaged to the Avatar,” another one of the group chimed in. “You can’t ask her that!” 

Katara felt her face go red, because they weren’t entirely wrong. Zuko certainly was handsome, even if it wasn’t her place to say so. 

Pearl clicked her tongue. “Girls, that is enough.” 

Scrambling for purchase, Katara tried to push away the feeling of heat rising up in her chest, as if she had swallowed a handful of embers. 

Luckily, she was quick on her feet. 

“You may all think so,” Katara said, leaning in close with a conspiratorial grin, “But I traveled with him for a long time during my adventures with the Avatar. And he snores. Loudly.” 

The girls burst into a fit of giggles, and Katara turned to see Pearl suppressing a small smile as she shooed her students away. 

She couldn’t help but let out a breath, relieved that she had avoided that whole altercation with grace. Katara always got a bit flustered wherever Zuko was involved. 

After sternly telling the young girls to hurry off to bed, Pearl escorted Katara to her bedchambers, where she promptly changed and collapsed onto the bed. She was so tired, she did not dream.

          But she awoke to a nightmare.

 

+++

 

 “Katara!” 

Katara bolted upright in bed, reaching desperately for the water skin on her nightstand. Suki, at least, had the good sense to remain a few paces back from the bed, hands at the ready to defend herself. 

“Suki?” Katara asked groggily, rubbing at her eyes, trying to make sense of her surroundings. “What are you doing here?” 

She wasn’t sure what time it was, but the sky outside her window was still dark. 

“It’s Zuko. He’s been poisoned, there’s no….no antidote. Can you heal him?” Suki’s words came out in a jumbled rush. 

Katara was out of bed in a flash, jumping out her sleeping clothes and into her dress, pulling her hair up out of her face.

Quickly, she scribbled out a note on a piece of parchment with a succinct explanation for Pearl. She had half a mind to wake the headmistress and explain, but if Zuko had truly been poisoned, she didn’t have a moment to spare. 

Outside of the school, a komodo rhino was tied up and waiting. The beast of burden took the weight of both girls with no issue, and they sped off into the darkness of the night, bound for the Caldera. 

“What happened?” Katara asked, after she’d given herself a moment to catch her breath. 

“He was out in the courtyard feeding the turtleducks after reviewing budget plans, and picked an apple from the tree there. We’re thinking the New Ozai Society poisoned it–likely filled all the fruits on that tree with poison, knowing that he’s out there often. Thankfully I was nearby. He collapsed after taking a bite.” 

Katara cursed internally. That boy and his damned turtleducks. 

“What kind of poison?” 

Suki didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, Katara wondered if she had heard her. 

“Black Jade,” she finally said, voice barely audible over the heavy footfalls of the komodo rhino.

Katara sucked in a breath. Of course the doctors in the palace didn't have access to an antidote for the poison–there was no antidote. 

Black Jade was a poison made by a small tribe in the remote mountains of the Earth Kingdom–almost impossible to get access to unless you had friends in very, very high places, which she supposed the members of the New Ozai society did. It killed slowly, breaking down the organs a little at a time over hours, or even days, depending on the dosage. 

It was a death meant to torture. 

“How long has it been since he had the apple?” Katara asked. 

“An hour, now. Once the doctors realized what the poison was, that there would be no cure, I came to you. I can’t believe my own dumb luck that you happened to be in the Fire Nation today. It’s the only break I’ve caught tonight,” Suki said, bowing her head. 

Katara grabbed the arm of her sister-in-law. “Suki, you know this isn’t your fault. You’re his captain of the guard, not the royal tastetester. How could you have anticipated such a thing?” 

“It’s my job to anticipate every threat, Katara. I should have been doing more to keep him safe, but at the end of the day Zuko is still my friend and if he wants a moment of peace to feed the turtleducks…” Suki trailed off, but Katara could tell she would be beating herself up over this for a long time. If Zuko didn’t survive this…

But no, Katara couldn’t think that way. 

“I’ll do everything I can to save him,” Katara promised. 

The girls rode in silence for long minutes, both entirely trapped inside their own minds, worried sick over the fate of the Fire Lord. Katara wished desperately she could just snap her fingers and be at the Royal Palace. 

But something odd was sticking at the front of Katara’s mind. 

“Isn’t Black Jade a slow-acting poison? It takes quite some time to hit the system. You said Zuko collapsed immediately.” 

Suki nodded. “The doctors believed it must have been an incredibly high dosage to have affected him so quickly.” 

Katara’s eyebrows furrowed. The New Ozai Society must have more power at their disposal than everyone had previously thought, if they were able to get such a high quantity of this rare poison. And to dose all the apples on the tree. 

They needed to move faster. 

Once they reached the Caldera, the komodo rhino had barely come to a heaving stop, and Katara and Suki already had their boots on the ground, tossing the reins to a startled attendant and sprinting into the palace.

Suki knew the building much better than Katara and led the way, hugging tight around the corners until they arrived at Zuko’s bedchambers. 

It was utter chaos. 

A small army of attendants and doctors cluttered the space, although to what end, Katara wasn’t sure. No antidote for the poison, and none of them were healers in the same capacity as her. All these people were just adding to the madness. 

Katara did a brief scan of the room, of the supplies at her disposal. 

And then the crowd parted and her eyes fell on Zuko. Her heart nearly ripped clean from her chest at the sight of him. 

Half-covered in sweat-soaked sheets, his chest was bare and his skin…it was an absolutely terrifying shade of pale white, as if all the blood was slowly leeching from his body, a little at a time. His eyes were clamped shut and head titled back, mouth slightly open. His damp hair clung to his forehead, and the pace at which he was breathing–well, it concerned Katara more than she would ever voice aloud to the people around her. 

Bowls of water and tins of salve littered his bed and nightstand, as if the doctors had simply summoned up everything in their disposal to keep Zuko’s heart beating for as long as possible. While Katara appreciated the effort, there was not much that a simple honey balm could do to beat back the effects of Black Jade. 

And if Katara didn’t get to work soon, Zuko was going to die. 

“Everybody out,” Katara said, with enough lethal, commanding calm that everyone immediately dropped what they were doing to look at her. It was a tone of voice she had mastered well over the past five years. She had dropped the demanding, bossy attitude she had held when mothering everyone during the war and turned to something a bit more steady. 

It was desperately needed now, and it worked. Everyone cleared out almost immediately, knowing that if the Fire Lord had a prayer of survival, Katara bore the hands that could bring Zuko back from the brink. 

Suki remained steady at her back, and Katara spotted Kyoko among the masses evacuating Zuko’s bedchambers. She grabbed the young councilmember by the sleeve. 

“Not you. You stay.” Kyoko was a familiar face and a hard worker–the only young woman on Zuko’s council, who had backed him over and over again on issues that were vitally important to the success of the world. She needed someone steadfast in her corner right now. 

Between Katara, Suki, and Kyoko–it could be done. But they needed to move fast. 

There were so many things on Zuko’s bed from the doctors’ attempts at helping the Fire Lord, and Katara shoved them all off with a swipe of her hand, bandages and slaves going flying. 

She rolled her eyes. What was a bandage going to do against the poison coursing through Zuko’s veins? 

Katara raised her hands, drawing water around them from one of the nearby bowls, and leaned over the massive expanse of bed to reach Zuko’s chest–but damn it all, if the giant four-poster monstrosity didn’t have her stretching up on her tip-toes to have access him. 

Heaving a sigh, she hoisted herself up onto the bed, kneeling on the mattress beside him, before placing her hands gently onto his pale, clammy skin. Her fingers fell naturally into place, this position an echo of a memory. 

Closing her eyes, it wasn’t hard to find the poison pumping through his body. It was a dark, oily thing, a blight raging beneath his skin, and for a moment, Katara genuinely worried that he might be too far gone for her to save. 

But no, there…his heart, his beating heart. It was alive and thrumming, if not erratic. She could bring him back. She had to bring him back. 

Hands roving over the hard, muscled planes of Zuko’s chest, seeking out the poison, Katara was thrown back suddenly to five years ago, knelt in this exact same position, praying to the spirits for him to live. 

If you weren’t so just and passionate and powerful, maybe evil things would stop trying to kill you. 

She wanted that for Zuko, badly. A life of peace, where he did not have to spend so much of his time struggling for basic things. Like a calm moment feeding the turtleducks. It broke something in her, just a bit, that he likely would no longer feel safe and comforted out in the courtyard, tossing pieces of fruit and bread to the little animals. 

He deserved better than that. 

Katara moved her hands, continuing to work–trying to get the poison centralized into one place, when in reality, it was everywhere, all over him. 

Katara started healing him, moving the poison away from his heart, a little at a time. Zuko sucked in a stuttered breath as she did so, eyes flitting open. He recognized her in one instant beat, and Katara spotted something akin to relief in his expression at the sight of her kneeling beside him. 

“It hurts, Katara,” he moaned out, voice gravelly with pain. 

“I know, Zuko, I know,” she soothed him, her voice a gentle hum. “It’s okay, I’m here now. I’m going to make this better.” 

His blood was thick, like mud. He was badly dehydrated. 

“He needs water,” Katara called over her shoulder. Kyoko and Suki materialized instantly, working in perfect tandem with one another. One with water and another with a ladle. 

“Sit up for me, Zuko,” Katara instructed, flinging the water off one hand back into a bowl and gripping the back of his neck, pulling him up towards her, supporting him the whole way. He choked out a miserable sound at the movement. She leaned in closer, clutching him to her, as Suki offered him a drink of water. 

He drank in deep, greedy gulps, the water dripping from his mouth and spilling down his naked chest. Katara, despite all her professionalism, all her training–well, she had to take a long breath at the sight of that before lowering him back down onto his pillows. His eyes fluttered closed again, and she pushed any strange, lingering thoughts about the Fire Lord from her mind.

Suki and Kyoko disappeared back into the background, but Katara knew that they were at her beck and call whenever she needed them next. But right now, it was only her and Zuko. 

It took hours. 

The poison had its hooks deep in the Fire Lord. 

Katara kept track of the time only by the light seeping through the windows to her right–the sky moved from pitch black, to smoky twilight, to a vivid, orange sunrise. She could sense movement and sound at the doors to the bedchambers, but Suki and Kyoko stood constant vigil, keeping any intruders at bay. They brought her more water and wiped at her sweat-slicked forehead as she worked. 

Still, she did not stop. She took no breaks. She found every little trace of the black poison permeating Zuko’s blood and moved it slowly, slowly, away from his heart. 

By the time the day had slipped into afternoon, she was starting to truly feel the exhaustion, but her work was almost done. Relief pulled at the corners of her chest as Zuko’s heart started to beat in a steadier rhythm. 

“Bring me a bowl,” she instructed the women behind her. Kyoko materialized at her side in an instant, dutiful as ever. “And get ready.” 

“Zuko,” she said, voice strained with exhaustion as she turned to address him, “Zuko, I need you to listen. You’re not going to like this very much, but it has to happen.” 

The Fire Lord’s eyes fluttered open, taking her in. He nodded in understanding, seemingly the most he could offer in terms of communication. 

And then Katara, using the last of her energy, guided her hands–gloved in healing water–across the low muscles of his abdomen, just above the waist of his pants, and pulled all the poison from his blood into his stomach, forcing it up through his throat. 

Zuko turned and retched into the bowl, sticky black and red liquid gurgling out of his mouth as he emptied all the contents of his stomach. 

After he finished heaving, he twisted back in bed, chest rising and falling rapidly. After all the long hours, Katara finally removed her hands from his damp chest, and raised them instead to his jaw line as she leaned over him, searching his blood, his organs, his body for any trace of the poison left within him. 

But it was all gone. 

She had done it. 

“He’ll be alright,” Katara called limply over her shoulder to Kyoko and Suki, relief sewn into her words. She heard the door behind her open, but exhaustion was pulling at the corners of her consciousness. 

She glanced down at Zuko, whose eyes had cracked open once more, staring up at her with a look she couldn’t seem to place. Relief, probably. Gratefulness. 

Her grip was still on his jaw as he took her hand limply in his, removing it from his face before pressing the pads of her fingertips gently against his lips. 

Despite her exhaustion, electricity thrummed through her, although it was a feeling she was not quite coherent enough to name. 

His next words to her were an echo of the ones he spoke five years ago, after she healed him when he had taken the lightning from Azula. 

“Thank you, Katara.” 

And then, body and mind both spent, she collapsed onto the bed beside him. 

 

Notes:

Do I have a sticky note on my laptop with the ages of all main characters in the show, along with how old they would be aged up five years? Yes. Did I also manage to accidentally age Zuko up WAY too much in the first chapters? Also yes. I have corrected that math error after a lovely reader pointed it out to me :) But if you see any math errors throughout the story, well....I never pretended math was my strong suit

Chapter 4: The Sheets

Zuko

Mint and sage. 

Long, silky ribbons of ink black hair. 

Katara. 

Smooth, cool hands on his chest. 

I know, Zuko, I know. 

She was in his body, in his blood, moving the poison around his organs, keeping his weak, traitorous heart thumping. Zuko came in and out of consciousness, lost in a fever dream, and yet every time he opened his eyes, she was there, kneeling over him. 

He could smell her, that cold, sharp scent. He was going to have to incinerate his bed sheets. Zuko had been careful not to be wasteful since taking the throne, but this…this, he would allow himself–otherwise, he would never be able to sleep again.

He could hear Katara speaking to him, the calming lull of her voice, reassuring him that she was there, and that everything was okay. He believed it. If Katara said he would survive this poison, then he would. She talked him through the darkness, out to the other side and towards the light. 

He could taste her, after the blight had evacuated his body and, in a moment of truly shameful weakness, he pressed her fingers to his mouth. It was the greatest indulgence he had allowed himself to have in five years. He knew any more than that simple gesture would cost him everything. 

And yet, it was not nearly enough. 

Time had no meaning. He oscillated back and forth between pleasure and pain–the poison trying to torture him to death, and then the feel of Katara’s fingers touching nimbly down his ribcage. 

At one point, Zuko started to wonder if the whole thing was some dream. But no, he had dreamed of Katara many times, and it was never this real. 

He wasn’t sure if hours or days or years passed by after Katara ejected the poison from his body, and the fog around his brain finally lifted. 

Groaning in pain, he propped himself up on one elbow. He had never been so thirsty in his life–it was as if he had swallowed buckets of sand. And hunger gnawed incessantly at his stomach, although there wasn’t a food in the world that sounded half decent to consume, not after vomiting up all that poison. 

There were a few small, low candles left burning on his nightstand, just enough to see by. Somebody had cared enough to leave them, but he wasn’t sure who. 

Zuko moved to sit up straighter when movement caught the corner of his good eye. 

He whipped his head around quickly, too quickly for his aching limbs, his bones protesting loudly. But there–there was Katara, tangled in his sheets. Hair splayed out around her in a dark halo, chest rising and falling peacefully. 

Katara, asleep in his bed. 

He was dead, he decided. He had died and ascended into the spirit world. The poison had taken over his entire body and he definitely was very, very dead. 

But then Katara shifted, reaching for him, pulling herself into the crook of his arm and murmuring something incoherent.

Katara talked in her sleep, he knew that much from his time traveling with her during the war. He had learned this little fact from watching her–at first, at the Eastern Air Temple, out of an abundance of caution. Zuko was worried that in the middle of the night she would shove him off the edge of the cliff. 

And then, as she began to trust him more and they became comfortable around one another, he watched her out of curiosity. He saw how she did not go to sleep until she made sure everyone had eaten, that the dishes were washed and there was ample wood stacked near the fire to get them through the night. Nobody else seemed to even notice how much Katara did to keep their camp functioning, how she was always the last to lay down her head. 

As they continued to travel together, Zuko did what he could to lift some of the responsibility off her shoulders. It wasn’t much. But he made sure to scrub all his own plates when he was done eating. He went and helped everyone pitch tents when the weather was bad and they needed cover–a skill he had perfected during his time as a fugitive alongside his uncle. He made pots of tea while she cooked dinner. 

If she noticed him trying to help her, Katara never said. But he felt marginally better knowing she wasn’t having to carry the burden alone. 

Katara shifted again in his bed, burrowing down against him. 

“Warm,” she murmured quietly. 

Did she think him to be Aang? Surely not, Aang was always able to keep his temperature constant, unbothered by the heat or cold, but he was never warm. Not like Zuko, who seemed to have the surface of the sun burning quietly under his skin. 

“Katara?” he asked, his voice coming out like gravel. 

She did not answer. 

The right thing to do would be to extricate himself from her, to get out of bed and let her rest peacefully after she had spent all her energy yanking him back from the edge of death. Staying here wasn’t fair to her, or to Aang, or to himself. 

But Zuko had been doing the right thing for the past five years, trying desperately to make up for the sins of his father, his grandfather. His family line was a crooked, twisted thing, and he was doing all he could to unknot it. 

He could allow himself this small satisfaction, of simply lying beside Katara and pretending…pretending what, exactly? That she was his? That she wanted him? 

She had made it perfectly clear since the end of the war that her heart belonged firmly to Aang. Zuko had extended a hand and she had turned away. 

Groaning with the weight of his own conscience, he slowly began to lift Katara’s head, to move his elbow out from beneath her so she could sleep. 

It hurt, badly, both in his soul and his body. 

He didn’t get very far, though, before Katara grabbed his arm in her hand. Her fingers were freezing. 

“No,” she murmured. For the life of him, he couldn’t tell how awake she really was–her eyes were closed, words bleary. She seemed half caught between this world and one of dreams. “Stay.” 

Hard to argue with that. 

He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him, and slid himself back into bed, allowing Katara to rest herself against him. 

He pulled the blanket around her and, with the iota of power he had left in his exhausted body, warmed it up just a little. 

Zuko knew, in the marrow of his bones, that this would be the last opportunity to be alone with her, ever. It was certainly the first time it had been just the two of them since the end of the war–they had carefully avoided each other, remained companionable and polite, interacting within their group only. The next time he saw Katara, she would be in her wedding dress, promising her life to Aang. It would certainly be uncouth for her to be alone with Zuko once she wed the Avatar. 

So Zuko resigned himself to stay awake, to engrain this memory into his mind–something he could hold on to when the days got dark, when the weight of being the Fire Lord became too heavy to handle. 

But of course, body spent from expelling poison and mind comforted by the quiet, steady presence of Katara, it was not long before he fell asleep. 

When Zuko awoke next, Katara was gone. 

 

+++

 

Once he finally forced himself from bed and into a hot bath, Zuko felt much better. Changed into clean clothes and stomach yearning for something to eat, Zuko stepped out of his bedroom and into the adjacent sitting room, where tea and snacks were usually kept–only to find Sokka seated on one of the couches, Suki sprawled out asleep on his lap. 

Zuko wasn’t surprised to see him. Sokka had been in the Fire Nation visiting Suki and had set out to depart back home to the South the night Zuko had been poisoned. Someone had likely sent an airship out to catch up with his ship and bring him back–for Suki’s sake, if nothing else. 

For a moment, Sokka didn’t notice the Fire Lord. Zuko watched him, the way he absent-mindedly stroked Suki’s hair as she slept. It was a soothing, rhythmic motion. Envy flared in his gut at the sight of them. This…peace, this contentment they shared…it was something Zuko knew he would never get to experience for as long as he lived. 

Realizing he was intruding on a private moment, Zuko turned to walk away, but Sokka spotted him. Quietly, he stood, laying Suki’s head down on the couch and covering her with a blanket. Sokka motioned for Zuko to join him at the far window of the sitting room so as not to disturb her sleep. 

“What are you doing back here?” Zuko asked, voice low and quiet, though he already knew the answer. 

“Listen, I know you’re kind of Suki’s boss, or whatever, so you didn’t hear this from me. But she’s beating herself up pretty bad about letting you get poisoned.” 

Zuko huffed a sigh. “It’s not her fault.” 

“Believe me, I have tried to tell her that,” Sokka threw his arms up in an exasperated motion. Zuko had half a mind to tell Sokka to take her away for a few days, enjoy some time relaxing, instead of fretting over the safety of the Fire Lord. But he knew his captain of the guard well enough to know that she would see his polite request to take some time for herself as further evidence of her perceived wrongdoing. 

No, Suki would want to get back to work immediately. And Zuko was well aware security was certainly going to be tightening up around the palace in the following days, much to his chagrin. Everyone would be fussing over him when all he wanted was a moment of peace. 

“So…” Sokka said, with a glimmer in his eye Zuko recognized enough to know his friend had deemed him healthy enough to be joked with. “Death by turtleduck, huh?” 

“Shut up,” Zuko groaned, although he couldn’t hide the hint of a smile. “It wasn’t their fault.” 

“Oh, okay. Death by apple-picking, then.” Sokka said, laughing. 

“Your sister is the only reason I was saved from such an embarrassing fate,” Zuko said, scrubbing the back of his neck. “Did she…uh, is Katara still here?” 

“No,” Sokka said, looking out the window, jokes suddenly set aside. “She’s finishing her visit at the Huǒ Firebending Academy, and then will be heading back to the Southern Air Temple. Big wedding coming up, and all.” 

So that was how Katara got to the palace so quickly–she had only been just outside the city. Something tight constricted in his heart. She’d practically been in the Caldera and hadn’t said a word to him–although Suki clearly knew where she was. 

“Oh. I, well, I never got to tell her thank you. For saving my life.” Zuko stuttered over his words, embarrassed. He turned away from Sokka, hoping to hide the blush that crept up his neck. 

“It wouldn't be the first time Katara brought you back from death’s door,” Sokka said. 

“Hopefully it’s the last.” 

But Zuko knew he wouldn’t be so lucky. These assassination attempts would continue either until the masterminds behind the New Ozai society were rooted out, or…until they had Zuko’s head. 

“I don’t envy you in the coming days,” Sokka said, crossing his arms across his chest. “Suki is going to run an insanely tight ship moving forward.” 

“She’s not the only one who is going to want some change around here. The council is going to be furious. At this rate, the next wedding is going to be mine,” Zuko admitted grimly. 

“Suki told me about the marriage law. You know, I have to say–if I had to pick one person to marry for duty and not love, it would be you. But I’m still surprised you aren’t fighting this whole thing a little bit harder. You know, pushing for more time or insisting on finding your own wife.” 

“I am already fighting tooth and nail for all the changes, all the reform, all the reparations. If placating the council on this issue gives me more sway to make changes where they really matter, then it’s all worth it in the end,” Zuko explained–not for the first time. He’d had this conversation with Kyoko, with Suki. With himself, over and over and over again, late at night. 

Sokka cocked a brow at him. “But it’s the rest of your life. It’s your happiness. Don’t you think you deserve to be just a little selfish?” 

“My people deserve to have confidence in their future. A noble Fire Lady, guaranteed to create lots of little fire bender heirs.” 

“Well, yeah, we all kind of assumed you’d marry someone from the Fire Nation, regardless of whether or not your council had any say in it.” Sokka’s eyes went wide then, realization dawning on him quickly. “Wait, unless you’re harboring some secret love for a girl who is not Fire Nation!” 

Zuko felt his face flush pink, and he quickly backtracked, stumbling stupidly over his words. “No, no…that’s not it at all. I, uh–I haven’t exactly had the time to be dating around. You know how it is, having to be a leader.” 

But Sokka did not know. Sokka had gotten married several months back, and he and Suki made it look so perfectly easy, alternating visits between their respective homes, writing to each other constantly, always the perfect picture of two people who simply adored each other. All while they both had extremely demanding, difficult jobs-leaders in their own right. The head of the Kyoshi warriors and the future Chief of the Southern Tribe, and they certainly made it work. 

But then again, neither of them had a century of misery and genocide to make up for. 

Sokka was clearly not convinced, either. “Is she in the Earth Kingdom? Or an Air Nomad? Oh, tell me it’s someone from the Water Tribe!” 

Zuko, quite simply, could have melted into the ground right then and there. It was a true test of his composure to force himself to take a deep breath and shake his head, pretending that Sokka had no idea what he was talking about. 

“There’s nobody, Sokka. Not until the council decides who I will marry.” 

“Sure, Zuko. Whatever you say.” 

Sokka dined with them that night before boarding his ship once more, bound for the South Pole. Zuko wanted to tell him to stay longer to keep Suki from putting the palace on complete and total lockdown. But that was just avoiding the inevitable. 

Sure enough, when Zuko stepped out in the hallway outside his bed chambers later that evening after Sokka's departure, there were not one but three Kyoshi warriors stationed outside his room, Ty Lee among them. 

“What do you need, Zuko?” she asked, voice bright and bubbly as always. 

“I, uh…was going to get new sheets and blankets. For my bed.” 

Ty Lee smiled. “No problem. We’ll have an attendant bring you some.” 

Zuko rolled his eyes. “I’m perfectly capable of getting my own blankets, Ty Lee. You don’t need to send someone to do that for me.” 

“Sorry, Zuko. Suki’s orders,” she said, before shooing him back into his bed chambers. 

Zuko hardly took a breath before a young attendant was knocking on the door, neatly folded linens in hand. 

His time away from the palace had ruined him for all the niceties and comforts royal life had to offer. Now, it just felt wasteful and silly. 

“Your sheets, Fire Lord,” the girl said. “Would you like me to make up the bed for you?” 

“No, that’s not necessary. I can take care of that,” Zuko said gently, taking the stack of sheets and blankets from the attendant. 

“Are you certain?” she asked. Zuko was pleased to see there was no nervousness in her eyes, no fear. He hadn’t fired any of the palace attendants after taking up the mantle of Fire Lord, and many of them had been employed under Ozai and Azula. For weeks—honestly, months—after Zuko took charge of the palace, every request was met with hurried footsteps, things handed to him with downcast eyes and trembling hands.

It was hard to witness. But something Zuko resolved to change, even though he knew it would take time. The girl before him, truly, was nothing but eager. 

“Most certain,” he told her with a smile. “Thank you for bringing these.” 

“Of course, my Lord.” she said with a small bow before exiting. 

Zuko set the fresh linens down and made quick work of stripping the bed. The sheets and blankets truly needed to be changed–they were stained with residue from the useless salves and balms the palace doctors had tried to use on him before Katara arrived, plus they were damp with water and sweat. 

But if he was being honest, the real reason Zuko couldn’t bear to sleep in this bed tonight wasn’t because the sheets were dirty–he had slept in far worse conditions on the road, out in nature. Sometimes on a thin mat on the hard, muddy ground, or in a refugee camp with strangers pushed up on either side of him. 

No, the real reason was because they smelled of her. Of mint and sage. 

Bundling the velvety, red material between his hands, he walked to the oversize fireplace, lit only with the light of smoldering ashes. Without thinking twice, he threw the sheets atop the andiron, where they smothered out the embers of the previous fire. 

And then he lit the whole thing ablaze.

Notes:

This chapter is sponsored by iced lattes and my immaculate mood because it's finally spoookkkyyyy season! Happy October!!! (Wish I could gift you all some spice but we are still in the slow part of the slow burn but trust me babes, its coming!)

Chapter 5: The Herbs

Katara 

“Hellllllo, Katara? Earth to Katara!” Aang waved his hand in front of her face, and she blinked dully, focusing herself on the present. 

“Yes, I’m sorry. You were saying?” She asked, looking up at Aang. He stood in the Great Hall of the Southern Air Temple beside Tashi, the nomad who was overseeing their wedding planning. 

“The flowers, Master Katara. For the dinner after your wedding ceremony–would you prefer Star Orchids or Cornflowers?” Tashi asked, gesturing to the two bundles of bouquets displayed on the massive granite table. The slight edge to Tashi’s voice was almost imperceptible, but Katara caught it. She knew Tashi already had a preference for which flowers to use. 

The two bouquets were almost identical in color and appearance–both rich ivories and golds, to match the rest of the ceremony. Well, except for Katara’s blue dress. 

Katara eyed the flowers before her and pointed to the Cornflowers. They were one of the few plants that could survive in extreme cold and actually thrived for a good part of the year in the South Pole, until temperatures dropped drastically, and the tundra was blanketed in icy crystal for as far as the eye could see. They were hardy flowers, survivors. 

“Those will do,” Katara said. 

Tashi clicked her tongue, and Katara knew that despite having a 50/50 shot at the right answer, she’d still gotten it wrong. Tashi’s eyes darted quickly over to Aang, and then back to Katara. 

“It’s just that Star Orchids are a sign of fertility, and that’s far more fitting for this wedding, don’t you think?” she asked. Although the question was directed at both of them, it was abundantly clear that Tashi was solely addressing the Avatar. 

“Whatever Katara wants,” Aang said with a casual wave of his hand, before plopping himself on the table in front of Katara, sitting cross-legged. 

She couldn’t help but smile at that small dismissal, grateful that Aang was on her side in this matter. 

Tashi clearly looked put out, but Katara couldn’t find it in her to care. All of the acolytes were constantly giving her little gifts and trinkets to increase her fertility–beaded bracelets or tiny sculptures she was supposed to set under her pillow at night. She had shoved them all into a bottom drawer on her side of Aang’s room at the Air Temple. 

She had to admit it was getting a bit old, how unnervingly concerned everyone was with the state of her womb and how quickly it needed to produce an airbender. 

“Of course, Avatar,” Tashi said before pulling out long swaths of billowy cheesecloth fabric. “Now, onto centerpieces…” 

She couldn’t finish her sentence before one of the acolytes appeared at the doorway to the Grand Hall, carrying a basket that was overflowing with what appeared to be meat, cheese, and wine. 

“Another one of these just arrived for you, Master Katara,” the acolyte said, setting the basket down with a less than pleased look before wiping his hands on his tunic, trying to rid them of any meat residue before disappearing back out the door. 

“Wow,” Aang observed the bounty with an arched brow, “The Fire Nation sure is appreciative of you saving Zuko’s life.” 

Since she had returned to the Southern Air Temple after Zuko had been poisoned, she had received no less than a dozen gifts from various Fire Nation citizens. They all came with notes attached praising her for healing the Fire Lord. 

Like the other assassination attempts, this was something Zuko kept close to the vest and had not broadcast out to his denizens or the greater world at large. His friends knew, of course, but he did not want to worry his people. 

That didn’t stop word from getting around, though. 

So far, Katara had received–among other things–boxes of honey lavender cakes from some vendors in the Caldera, and art work of the South Pole done by illustrators in the Royal Library. 

As she read the note attached to this basket, she could see the local fire nation goods were sent from the attendants at the palace with long, grateful platitudes.

It was certainly unnecessary, but Katara still plucked a piece of jerky from the basket and took a big bite, much to the chagrin of Tashi. The jerky didn’t taste quite as good as what they made in the South Pole, but she would take what she could get when surrounded by endless vegetarians. 

“Zuko has done a lot to make life better for the people of the Fire Nation. Their future would look a bit uncertain with him gone, and other than Iroh–there’s not really anyone qualified to take the throne,” Katara explained. “Most people prefer him alive.” 

“Such is the problem when you sire no heirs,” Tashi chimed in. Katara shot the woman a glaring look. She was sick and tired of all this talk of children, and fertility, and carrying on family lines. 

They were all so young, all had so much more life to live. Zuko was the oldest of them all and he was barely scraping at twenty-one. Couldn’t they all be allowed to live in peace for a while, after everything they had been through during the war, before being expected to procreate? 

Katara rose from her seat, taking another pointed bite of meat before speaking to Tashi. “I think I’m quite done looking at centerpieces. Whatever you think is best, Tashi.” 

It was hard to tell if the young acolyte was pleased or disappointed with this turn of conversation. It wasn’t like Katara had been consulted on much, so she wasn’t entirely sure why flowers and centerpieces suddenly mattered. It’s not like Tashi really valued her input anyway, or saw Katara as anything more than a hollow vessel to produce the next generation of airbenders. 

A womb. She was just a womb to this woman. 

“Aang, if you…” Tashi started, but Katara cut her off. 

“I said we are done, Tashi.” 

Aang looked startled at Katara’s harsh tone, and turned to the acolyte with an apologetic look on his face. “Thanks for everything. Would you give us a moment?” 

Tashi nodded, gathered her things, and scurried off, leaving the Grand Hall as Katara strode to the huge open windows overlooking the mountains surrounding the temple. The sun was just beginning to set, casting the whole sky in an orange blaze. Alight with the final golden hours of the day, Katara couldn’t help but be reminded of a tiny fire lit in Zuko’s hand, cradled delicately in his rough, calloused palms.  

She could not believe she had allowed herself to fall asleep in his bed, no matter how exhausted she had been. 

When she had awoken in the hours after healing him, her face had been pressed to his bare chest, his arm wrapped around her. The blanket atop her was so comfortably warm that she knew Zuko had heated it for her, even though he surely had little power left in him after fighting off that poison. 

The moment she woke up, she should have jumped out of bed. She had no business being there, no business being so close to him when she was betrothed to Aang. 

But, since the end of the war, Katara had begun to…notice something about herself. Everyone around her saw Katara as this good person. Someone who fought for justice, and hope, and kindness to prevail above all else. Someone who always, always did what she was supposed to, even when it was hard. And she had been honored to have that reputation, strived to live up to it. 

Something had shifted though, towards the end of the war. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it had happened, but Katara began to sense a small edge of darkness in her heart. It wasn’t much. Like a few single drops of tea in a cup of cream–barely even noticeable, really. 

She’d noticed it in little ways, at first. And then it seemed to grow, bigger and bigger. A few months ago, she’d found a small cat trapped beneath a fallen pile of trees outside the Air Temple, and–unable to move the large, scraggly branches–had simply bloodbended the animal free. That had certainly been an altruistic act, of course, but she could tell her power had grown considerably since the last time she had bloodbended on the hunt for Yon Rha. 

Where before, the idea of bloodbending people had been abhorrent at best, now–it intrigued her, just a little. To see what all she was capable of, what all she could do. Katara would never abuse that power, but she was…curious. 

Beyond that, she found herself not being entirely honest with Aang. There were things she was keeping from him that she knew were wrong to hide, but would only serve to hurt him. 

Like how, when she had awoken in Zuko’s bed, instead of removing herself immediately…she had stayed. Not long. But for just a few, lingering minutes, she had allowed herself to burrow into his chest, feel the warmth of his skin and the rich, velvet blanket he had heated for her. 

There were other white lies, too. But the truth would hurt Aang–and after everything they had been through, everything they had survived–she couldn’t do that to him. He wouldn’t understand the tiny splinters of darkness burrowing under her skin. 

“Is everything okay, Katara?” Aang asked, coming to stand by her as she looked out the open-air window, over the valley below. “You’ve seemed…tense…since coming back from the Fire Nation. I know it was probably scary to see Zuko so sick.” 

“I’m fine,” she said, shaking her head. “I just have a lot on my plate, with our wedding coming up, all the appointments I have over the next few months as the Southern Tribe ambassador.” 

“Speaking of the Southern Tribe,” Aang said, scrubbing a hand along the back of his neck and looking a little sheepish, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. When do you think you’re going to move your things here, to the Air Temple?” 

Katara sighed. She had expressed to Aang how much she admired the model Suki and Sokka subscribed to, each having their own homes but traveling frequently to visit one another–allowing each to have their own careers while maintaining their relationship. 

But Aang was single-mindedly focused on rebuilding the Air Temple and the Air Nomad way of life, which required him to be here. 

He didn’t have time to gallivant across the world anymore. He didn’t have time to spend weeks at the South Pole. 

But Katara didn’t have the time, either. And one of them was going to have to give eventually. 

“I told you, Aang. I still have so much work I am needing to do in and for the South. That requires me to be in the Southern Tribe, or travelling on behalf of my people. I don’t think I’m quite ready to make the Air Temple my permanent home base.” 

Aang’s face fell at that. He never had been very good at hiding his emotions, especially from Katara–they always played out plain as day for her to see. 

“It’s just that, after the wedding, you know…when we start having kids…they’ll need to be in one place. It’s not exactly easy to shepherd a brood of children across the world on the back of a sky bison.” 

“But we’d talked about…waiting. For a little while, before having children. Giving ourselves some time to enjoy being married, to still work at the goals we need to accomplish,” Katara said. “You are only seventeen. And I am nineteen. We have nothing but time, Aang.” 

His face softened, just a little, at that. Aang knew she was worried about the timeline of when she was expected to bear children, and had done his best to take into consideration all her concerns. But sometimes, she worried that he could not look past his own sense of duty. 

He had abandoned his people when they needed him the most. And now, he was the last of his kind. He had told her time and time again that he could not let the air bender line end with him–and she knew that was important to him. It was important to her, too. 

“I just worry,” Aang admitted, folding his hands along the stone railing of the window, dipping down to rest his chin atop bridged fingers. “What if…” 

He trailed off then, and Katara had half a mind to challenge him to finish the sentence, even though she knew exactly what he was going to say. What if Katara did not birth any airbenders? 

But she did not push him. 

“I know,” Katara said. “Everything will come in its own time, I promise.” 

Aang nodded at that. 

Katara, since she was young, always knew she wanted to be a mother. She loved children and had long since dreamed of having her own one day, of raising them up to enjoy and respect the world around them, a world Katara herself had fought so hard to save. 

And she knew that Aang would be a wonderful partner and a fun, doting father. 

But she couldn’t help but worry that she would be expected–by Aang, by the acolytes, by the world at large–to keep on and keep on having children until the next airbender was born. 

Katara was powerful in her own right. A master water bender, a healer, a warrior. Her bloodline was arguably just as strong as Aang’s. There was no guarantee that with their lineage mixed, she would give him what he was hoping for. And in no world would she allow herself to be nothing more than a brood mare. 

Which is why she was keeping the worst secret from him of all. 

“You’re right,” he said with a small smile, rising from where he crouched and slinging his arm over her shoulder. She nestled into his chest, feeling the steadying inhales of his calm, rhythmic breath. Together, they walked slowly through the Grand Hall and back to Aang’s room, nuzzled together, talking low. 

Katara hoped that after the wedding, there would be more moments like this. Of just the two of them, enjoying each other’s company. There would always be hard work, be adventures in the time in between. But she enjoyed this quiet, peaceful intimacy they shared. 

“I’ll need to go back to the South one more time before our wedding,” Katara said when they reached his bedchambers. She sat on the bed as he helped her pull off her boots. 

He tried hard to hide the wince on his face but was not extremely successful. 

“Do you have to?” he asked, setting the boots down on the floor before seating himself beside her on the bed. “I’m just going to miss you so much.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll miss you, too.” she reassured him, placing her hand over his. “It’s only for a short time. Preparations are well under way for the Glacier Spirit Festival, and as ambassador, I’m going to be traveling to the different nations, encouraging everyone to come visit. It isn’t far away now.” 

“Okay,” Aang said, dipping his head low. “I understand.” 

She was not being mendacious in telling Aang she needed to travel back to the Southern Tribe to help with prepping for the festival. 

But she also needed to return to see the tribe’s head healer, Amaka. Katara was almost completely out of fertility suppressant herbs. 

It had not been a spur-of-the-moment decision to start taking them, all those months ago. In fact, she had thought about it long and hard, rolled it over and over in her head, and came within inches of mentioning it to Aang. 

But, just like when she went to find Yon Rha, she knew it would be something he would not be able to understand. He would see it as some sort of an affront to himself and the future line of his people that she was doing anything to hinder her ability to carry a child, even if they weren’t quite ready for that step yet. Even if she could stop taking the herbs whenever she wanted.

As soon as Katara and Aang were engaged, the comments and whispers from the acolytes began. How they could not wait for the next generation of air benders, could not wait for all the little feet pattering around the air temple. 

Katara was excited for that too, but not yet. Not now. 

And while her and Aang were certainly careful with their intimacy, she had come to loathe the notion that she was not fully in control of her own body, her own timeline, her own decision. 

She could not afford any mistakes. 

So, on her first trip home after her betrothal, in the still quiet of the freezing night, she snuck in the back door of the healer’s hut. She knew it was not heavily staffed in the twilight hours, and knew exactly where to go to find the bundles of herbs she needed. After all, she had done much work here, learning and healing alongside Amaka. 

She snuck quietly past the healer who was on duty, through the dark hallways past sleeping patients, and down to where the supplies were kept under lock and key–Katara had long since been given her own key, and could easily slip in. 

That was, until she was stretched up on tiptoe, reaching for the glass jar full of green herbs on the topmost row, when the door behind her creaked open. 

Unfortunately for Katara, Amaka was the healer on duty that night, covering for another young man who had a sudden emergency. She was always like that, helping the people who worked under her. 

“Can I ask what you are looking for that must be located in the dead of the night?” Amaka asked. Katara nearly knocked the whole row of jars from the shelf, she was so badly startled, but thankfully caught herself just in time. 

Unfortunately, she also made it painfully obvious exactly what she was there for. 

Katara turned, cheeks beet red as she turned to face the healer. Amaka’s salt and pepper hair was braided back from her face in the traditional style of the Southern Tribe, her blue eyes piercing. 

It took Amaka just a moment to clock exactly what Katara was doing there. 

With a tiny, knowing smile, Amaka grabbed a satchel from one of the low shelves and walked to Katara. She started grabbing the little jars of fertility suppressant herbs and lining the bag with them. 

“You know, you could have just asked. These resources are free to the people of our tribe, and then I wouldn’t have to wonder who was stealing from me.” 

Katara’s blush only deepened then. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, watching Amaka load up the bag before handing it over. 

“This should be enough to get you by until the next time you return home from your travels,” Amaka said, her voice gentle. 

“Please…please don’t tell anyone,” Katara said, even though she knew it wasn’t a necessary request. She had worked alongside the healer long enough to know that Amaka took the privacy of her patients extremely seriously. That if anyone came in these doors questioning what Katara had been doing here, Amaka would protect her at all costs. 

“I would never,” Amaka echoed Katara’s exact thoughts with an admonishing look. 

“You have to know,” Katara stumbled over her words, trying desperately to explain, “It’s not that I don’t love Aang, it’s just…” 

She didn’t know how to finish that sentence, to put a name to all the feelings wheeling through her mind. 

Amaka placed a gentle, soothing hand on Katara’s arm. “I have helped a great many women who have stood exactly where you are standing now. You do not have to explain yourself to me, dear. Take what you need. But do let me know next time so I can stay stocked up. Wouldn’t want you, or anyone else in the South, getting caught in a bind. Understand?” 

Katara nodded, guilt seeping into her very bones. She hadn’t even thought about how her theft would affect the other women of the tribe. 

From then on, anytime Katara was home, she made it a point to volunteer her time in the healing huts, working alongside Amaka, trying to make up for what she had done. In those moments, she understood a little why Zuko was so hard set on making reparations on behalf of the Fire Nation, on righting the wrongs that had been done. 

And whenever Katara was done working, Amaka passed her a small satchel filled with fertility suppressant herbs. They never talked about it, and they never mentioned that night again. 

But, no matter where she was in the world–at a school in the Fire Nation or the docks of the Earth Kingdom or quietly in the washing room of the Air Temple after Aang had gone to sleep–Katara took the herbs, religiously, every single night. 

Notes:

I have had a (mercifully) slow week at work and was able to knock out two chapters back to back, but will be busy this weekend. So it might be a few days until I can write and upload another chapter. Hope you enjoy! All the comments, kudos, and subscriptions truly keep me going. I cannot wait to write more. :)

Chapter 6: The List

Zuko

“Would you like some tea?” Zuko asked, pouring the steaming liquid into a porcelain glass for himself. He had made sure Azula’s home had all the finer things she had been accustomed to during her reign as princess, teacups included. 

“Sure,” she said placidly, tucking one long strand of hair behind her ear. It had grown out considerably since the end of the war. 

Zuko never knew what these weekly visits would be like–it was impossible to predict his sister’s moods. Some days, she was calm. So unlike how she used to be, Zuko wondered if she had truly succumbed to some kind of madness. Other times, she was hostile–biting and snarling and snapping at anyone who had the gall to speak in her direction. 

If he was being quite honest with himself, Zuko wasn’t sure which version of Azula he preferred. 

At least when she was cruel, Zuko knew what to expect from her. 

He poured his sister a cup and handed it over, white steam billowing from the lip. She took it, blowing slowly on the beverage to cool it down before taking a long sip. 

“Your tea-making has improved greatly. Must have been all that time with Uncle,” she said. Zuko searched her tone for the edge of biting haughtiness he had grown accustomed to, but it wasn’t there. She was genuinely paying him a compliment. 

“Thank you,” he said, dipping his head ever so slightly. 

She gave him a small smile that didn’t show her teeth, which he was grateful for. His last visit to see Azula had been…gruesome. She had been on yet another tirade about wanting out of her house. It had escalated so badly that he actually thought she might summon up lightning, even though she had not conjured even one spark of flame since their Agni Kai at the end of the war. 

But no, there had been no fire. Only Azula screaming and begging, over and over again. 

Let me out, Zuko!! Please, please, let me out. 

Fat, wet tears and rivers of snotty mucus ran in rivulets down her face as she clung to his tunic and pleaded with him. When Zuko remained steadfast in his resolve, she began to grow violent, throwing glass plates and porcelain vases at the wall, leaving shattered fragments in her wake. 

Zuko was able to dodge most of the projectiles as he attempted to talk Azula off the metaphorical ledge, until a large piece had clipped his shoulder. 

After that, Suki made him leave. And he wasn’t going to fight his friend on the matter, not in front of Azula. 

The subject of being liberated from this house was a common question that came from the exiled princess. After Ozai had been subdued and apprehended, it had been no question at all for Zuko what would happen to him–his father would rot in prison for the rest of his days. 

But he had struggled, quite a bit, over what to do with Azula. She had made her own choices, aligned her loyalty with the wrong people. He couldn’t help but think, however, that he had very nearly turned out just like his sister. Zuko’s banishment, in the end, had been a blessing–it had pulled him away from the nation he had blindly sworn fealty to, allowing him to see the damage the Fire Nation had done on the rest of the world. Under Iroh’s tutelage, he had yanked himself free of the propaganda fed to him by his father. And he had aligned himself on the correct side of history. 

Azula had appeared to be the lucky one, on the surface. But Zuko knew that wasn’t necessarily the case. 

So, after the war, he had constructed a small home for his sister on the edge of the royal property. He thought that best, that she wasn’t in the palace, surrounded by bad memories. 

It was a gilded cage. Made entirely of stone–nothing for her to burn, because he wasn’t sure whether or not her inability to produce fire was a choice. He’d constructed one wall entirely from fortified glass, and filled it with the vibrant, tropical plants native to their nation to create a greenhouse effect. And no mirrors. Not one. 

The home was heavily guarded at all times by both Fire Nation soldiers and Kyoshi warriors. With only one door in and one door out, and impenetrable windows, Azula–at least, this version of Azula–was kept firmly in place. Zuko sometimes woke with a start at night wondering what would happen if one day she decided to return to her full level of power. 

Despite that–or maybe, because of it–Zuko had done his best to fill the home with things he thought Azula would like–foods she enjoyed, clothing she had been comfortable in, photos and trinkets that had once been in her bed chambers. 

At the end of the day, though, it was impossible to know who the princess really was, without Ozai’s vitriol inked into her skin and bones. 

“You look…unwell,” Azula said, surveying him over the rim of her teacup. 

Zuko wondered if there would ever come a time that he wouldn’t study every little intonation of his sister’s voice, trying to parse out secret meanings and hidden agendas. 

Reading her tone, her words, her body language whenever she spoke–it had been a means of survival to him. And he could not seem to break the habit now. 

“Being the Fire Lord is no easy task,” Zuko said simply. “The nights are long, and the moments of respite are few and far between.” 

He was very cautious about what he was willing to tell Azula. She knew that the Fire Sages wanted him to be wed, but had no idea how high the stakes were. She was aware that Suki worked at the royal palace now, but had not been informed that she was the captain of the guard. And she knew nothing–absolutely nothing–of the assassination attempts that had been made on Zuko’s life. He intended to keep it that way. 

“You’ve been ruling for five years now. Shouldn’t you have…acclimatized?” 

Azula had piercing moments of lucidity like this, where she knew and remembered everything in sharp, perfect detail. And then there were times he wasn’t even sure she knew her own name. 

“I was thrust a bit abruptly into the role,” he said with the slightest edge of humor. 

“Better step things up, brother. Wouldn’t want someone threatening your claim.” 

Zuko really studied her then, searching hard for any veiled intimidation, any coded message. Five years ago, that same sentence would have been used as a threat, or at the very least, a way to taunt a reaction out of him. 

But today, Azula seemed like she was genuinely warning him to be cautious. Zuko took it with a grain of salt, though. Tomorrow, she might be a different person entirely. 

He glanced longways at his sister, arching a brow. “I think I like my odds.” 

Azula opened her mouth to continue speaking, but the door to the house thrust open and Suki appeared on the threshold. 

“Your presence is requested by councilwoman Kyoko. It is a matter of urgency,” Suki said, her voice level and calm. But Zuko knew if she was interrupting his visit with Azula, it was something serious. 

The ousted princess looked over Zuko’s shoulder towards Suki, cocking her head to one side. 

“Tell me, what warrants a matter of urgency in the Fire Nation these days?” Azula asked. 

Mostly just everyone’s insane obsession with my love life, Zuko thought to himself. But he didn’t dare say it aloud. 

“I believe it is an issue with the Fire Sages,” Suki said diplomatically. 

“Now that, I must attend to,” Zuko said, setting down his tea and rising from his seat at the table. “I’ll see you next week, Azula.” 

His sister gave a dismissive wave of her hand and let Zuko leave without comment. As far as their visits went, this was one of the more…docile ones. 

Suki led him out of the house, closing the door behind them. Kyoko was waiting on the front step of the house, dressed in her formal robes for a council meeting. Which was certainly reason to be concerned because there was no meeting on the schedule for today. 

“Either I’ve grossly mismanaged my calendar or an emergency session of the council is being called,” Zuko said, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

But the look on Kyoko’s face made it clear that this was nothing to joke about. 

“I tried to stop it,” she said, wringing her hands nervously in front of her, looking every year of her youth. “But I couldn’t, so I came to warn you instead.”

Tightness gripped Zuko’s chest. He glanced over at Suki, who also had a dismayed look on her face. 

“The council and the Fire Sages, they are…enforcing the marriage law. The last assassination attempt has them worried. They’re to give you a list of brides to choose from or they will—” she cut herself off, looking down at her feet. “They will remove you from the throne. Raijin will rule in your stead until Iroh can come take your place.” 

So this was it, then. Zuko’s bluff had finally been called–and now it was time to bend to the will of the Council and the Fire Sages. He would not force his uncle to take up the mantle of Fire Lord. He would not force his people to endure another upheaval of power. 

Zuko closed his eyes, inhaling a deep breath. He could feel rage simmering beneath the surface of his skin, white hot. It was an effort in will to tamper it down. 

And it took him a moment, but he did. Instead of lashing out like he so badly wanted to, he put his hand on Kyoko’s shoulder. “Thank you for giving me warning so I was not caught off guard. I will meet you in the council chambers.” 

And then he stalked off, away from Azula’s house and back towards the palace. But he could still feel the anger, could still feel the need to scream bubbling up at the back of his throat. 

When he arrived in his bed chambers, there was already a scroll waiting for him–a notice that an emergency council meeting had been called. Quickly, he donned his formal robes and pulled his hair up from his face, securing it with the golden headpiece. 

He was the last to arrive, which was no surprise. Without Kyoko’s warning, he would have been entirely caught off guard. 

As he moved to his chair at the head of the table, she couldn’t even bring herself to meet his eyes. He was confident she’d done everything she could to fight for him, but…Raijin and the other councilors were not always welcome to hearing differing points of view once they had their minds made up. 

Zuko waved a hand for the other councilors to be seated, but remained standing himself. He was full of too much restless energy, and wanted to hold on to some semblance of power in this moment, even though he felt helplessly weak. 

“I’m going to hazard a guess that this meeting was called to discuss my need to take a wife,” he said, straightening his shoulders–trying for all the world to emulate a confidence he certainly did not feel. 

“Yes,” Raijin said, unsurprisingly speaking on behalf of the group. “This past assassination attempt was certainly too close for comfort. You were awfully lucky that Master Katara was in the Fire Nation the same evening you were poisoned. Otherwise, we as a council are quite doubtful you would be standing in front of us today.” 

Zuko inhaled a breath, because Raijin certainly wasn’t wrong. But instead of using this fact to strengthen their relationship with the Water Tribe–to employ their healers throughout the Fire Nation, where they would certainly be needed–the council was choosing instead to focus on Zuko’s shortcomings. 

“We are certainly indebted to Master Katara,” Zuko said as calmly as he could manage. It was about the only thing he could agree with Raijin on at the moment. 

“It’s important you marry, Fire Lord,” Raijin continued, pushing the issue. 

“You certainly seem concerned with what goes on in my bed chambers,” Zuko said. It was a biting, snarky comment–one that was certainly beneath him. But Zuko was angry, and couldn’t seem to bite it back before it rolled off his tongue. 

The Grand Advisor folded his hands in front of his face, glancing around at the other council members. It was clear they had all discussed this at length, and Raijin had been nominated as the group’s spokesperson on this particular issue. 

“We take no pleasure in this, Zuko,” Raijin said, addressing him casually. “If your family situation was…different, if there were any other heirs to speak of, you know we would not be insisting on this. Our people have been through enough tumultuous years as it is. You are the one person who can move the royal family forward into a new era of peace. You must marry, or we will remove you from the throne.” 

The hardest part of this whole thing was that Raijin wasn’t wrong. Zuko had known since he was very young that the role of Fire Lord came with the duty of marrying well, of fathering and raising up strong, powerful children. 

He could not run from this any longer. 

“Who would you have me wed?” Zuko said. He tried to keep his tone neutral, but it ground out from between his teeth, sounding more like a threat than anything else. 

Raijin slid a piece of parchment in Zuko’s direction. He grabbed it before reading a list of three names. They were familiar to him.

The first, Kao, was a girl he remembered from his time in school. She had been a callous, cruel thing. Even though her family had been one of the first to denounce Ozai, he could never imagine building a life alongside her. 

The second, Torran, was a friend of Kyoko’s. He only knew of her in passing; had seen Torran sparring in the royal arena, and her strong firebending skills were certainly a contrast to her quiet, reserved personality. 

And the last name, he was shocked to see, was…Mai. Her inclusion on the list certainly felt like the council was trying to throw him a bone, making this whole ultimatum feel not so much like it bordered on the edge of a coup. 

Zuko glanced up then, scanning the faces of the council members. 

“Mai agreed to be considered for engagement to me?” he asked, curiously. 

“She did,” one of the councilmen spoke up.

“Yeah, after being strong-armed into it by her father,” Kyoko spat under her breath.

The other council members looked less than pleased at Kyoko’s comment, but Zuko didn’t quite have the heart to tell them it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. He had tried to make things work with Mai for two years after the end of the war. They had connected as angsty, frustrated teenagers. But they had little in common as they became adults with real responsibilities. 

Mai’s apathy towards…everything around her…became something that Zuko couldn’t force himself to look past. She did not want to sit with him while he met and heard complaints from citizens. He stayed up alone late at night, pouring over documents and laws and proposals, desperate for a shoulder to lean on or an ear to listen, while she slept unbothered in his bed. 

She would have married him, and would have had his children. But she certainly wasn’t passionate about the whole thing. She didn’t burn with an inner, innate fire for him, for their people. She just merely…existed. Bored by everything and everyone. Content to lounge in the garden, drink tea, and read the latest stories from the Royal Library. 

That was why, two years into his reign as Fire Lord, after a particularly difficult Summit meeting, he had called things off with her. 

What he would never admit to Mai–what he could barely admit to himself–was that he had spent the week of the Summit watching Katara fight, tooth and nail, against every obstacle in her way, to get trade deals for the Southern Tribe. He witnessed her hunt down diplomats, practically grabbing them by the ear to make them listen to her. 

After seeing that, it was hard to tolerate Mai’s bored indifference when there was just so much wrong that the Fire Nation needed to set right. 

They hadn’t ended on a bad note. Mai, too, had sensed that Zuko had grown far beyond the bounds of the boy she had fallen in love with. He had become a man with a purpose. And they simply no longer fit into each other’s lives. 

It was telling, though, that the council would trade apathy for good breeding and strong bloodlines. 

“I’m surprised there are no potential brides from the Sei’naka clan here,” Zuko observed, switching gears, buying himself some time to think. “It would have been wise to extend an olive branch to them, given their complaints lately.” 

One of the other councilmen gave an audible scoff. “They’re hardly much of a threat–nothing more than a bunch of grouchy scholars on a lonely island, complaining about petty things.” 

Zuko arched a brow. “I disagree. It certainly is foolish to underestimate them.” 

But that mattered little. Zuko was faced with a choice now, one that would impact his life, and the lives of his people, for many years to come. 

From where he stood, he glanced up at the council before him. Kyoko was clearly frustrated with herself and ashamed she didn’t have enough sway to talk the council out of this truly horrific ultimatum. She raised her head, allowing him to meet her gaze for the first time since this whole mess started. 

At that moment, Zuko recalled the councilwoman’s words to him after the last meeting: I grew up with a lot of girls who are intelligent, kind, and powerful. I could try and pair you up with someone at least remotely tolerable, if not the love of your life.

He leveled a questioning glance in her direction. Kyoko knew Torran, and had likely used what power she had to get the girl placed on the list of potential brides. If Kyoko was vouching for her, then…it was likely his best option. 

Kyoko nodded, almost imperceptibly, in his direction. She had not said anything about Torran when she’d come to warn him of the council meeting earlier today. Because she wanted him to make his own choice, his own decision. 

He inhaled a deep breath, holding on tight to the last sliver of hope he had for a life where he could choose who he loved, could love her proudly and without consequence. 

“Torran,” Zuko said. “On the condition that there will be no extravagant party to celebrate. There is no need to waste coin on this. We will have a simple ceremony at the Fire Sage temple on my twenty-first birthday. You may announce the engagement immediately.” 

Otherwise, he might lose his courage and change his mind entirely. 

“Your highness–” Raijin started, likely to protest Zuko’s desire to forgo an elaborate party attended by all the wealthy, noble people of the Fire Nation. 

“I am doing what you want. My conditions are not up for debate” Zuko said with a tone of finality before stalking from the chamber. 

That evening, the announcement went out into the Fire Nation and into the world at large that the Fire Lord was engaged. 

Engaged to a woman whom he had only met in passing, that he knew almost nothing about. The people celebrated en masse, drinking and dancing and rejoicing in the street. The people of the Fire Nation were ones of passion, and they loved love. 

When Kyoko came knocking at his door, likely to apologize, to broker the initial exchange between Zuko and his new fiance, he did not answer the door. 

He locked himself in his bed chambers and drank spiced wine until dawn.

Notes:

How many times did I listen to "family line" by Conan Gray while writing this chapter? A lot. Like, a lot.

Chapter 7: The Wedding

Katara

 

It was the eve of her wedding. And Katara couldn’t breathe quite right. 

The sun was beginning to set, hovering hazy just over the rim of the horizon. The smallest sliver of a crescent moon was just beginning to appear overhead. It was the time of day when she could just barely feel her power beginning to surge and swell as the day made way for the night. 

She sat and fretted nervously with the hem of her wedding dress. The dark blue beads were hand-stitched onto the white and cerulean gossamer, trailing down to the floor. 

She was grateful that she had this one piece of her mother to hold onto on her wedding day. Especially now that her mother’s necklace, always secure on her collar, had been replaced with the betrothal necklace Aang had carved for her. 

But was it the dress, tight across her ribcage, that was making it so hard to get oxygen down into her lungs? 

She glanced at the clock keeping time above the door. The small sitting room she was sequestered in was supposed to be for meditation. It was tradition at Air Nomad weddings to meditate for the hour leading up to the ceremony, uninterrupted–bride and groom in separate spaces before joining together. 

But Katara had never been much for meditating, and she was beginning to grow restless. In fact, it was starting to feel like maybe there was simply not enough air at all in this small room. Or maybe in the whole world. 

She still had thirty minutes left before she was supposed to join Aang before their many, many guests. Such a vast number of people had descended upon the Southern Air Temple over the past few days–some of whom she didn’t even recognize. 

Katara was starting to wish she had fought a little harder to blend the wedding customs of her and Aang’s cultures. Southern weddings were a simple affair, really. Held at night on the full moon and officiated by a family member, the ceremonies were kept short, sweet, and to the point. Afterwards, a long party was held where everyone danced into the early hours of the morning. There was good, hot food and barrels of ale to drink. 

Something in Katara’s stomach ached for the comforts of home. 

She tried to inhale deeply to steady her nerves–pre-wedding jitters, she was sure–but she was only able to hiccup a small mouthful of air. 

Katara paced some more. There was a small mirror on the far wall, and in it, she could see part of her reflection. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face, loops secured with white ornamental beads. Smudges of dark kohl lined her eyes, making her look older than she really was. 

She felt like a child playing dress up. 

If Katara was being honest, she didn’t understand why the Air Nomads valued silence and solitude before a wedding. In the South, it was all about community, about coming together. Weddings were unions, after all–the joining of two hearts into one. Brides were dressed and prepared alongside their closest female friends and family members. It was almost a goodbye to girlhood, one last giggling moment of getting ready alongside the women you had grown up with. 

She wished desperately that Suki or Toph were here with her now. She could use a joke or a small piece of wise advice. But rather, the girls were already seated for the wedding. In Air Nomad culture, just as the bride and groom had to meditate to prepare themselves before marriage, so the guests sat and offered prayers and platitudes to the spirits to bless the upcoming union. 

Katara smoothed her dress down and continued pacing. Last night, as she and Aang lay in bed alongside one another, chest to chest and nose to nose, she felt at peace. She had come to fully accept her decision, her role in the history of the world. She would wed the Avatar after one hundred years of war, symbolizing a new era of peace, of unity between nations. 

Aang had whispered sweet nothings in her ear as they fell asleep. Promises of a happy life, of long years alongside one another. Of travels and hard work and diplomacy. 

Of many, many children. 

This was the role she had taken on. This was the duty she was happy to fulfill. Although she and Aang hadn’t quite figured out all the logistics, she knew that she could be a devoted mother and still work hard as Southern Ambassador. 

Right?

Katara inhaled another breath, but this time, the air didn’t go anywhere at all. There was a tightness constricting her lungs, like a rope had been tied around her chest and was being pulled, tighter and tighter. 

She forced herself to sit on the small couch along one wall, trying to focus hard on the inhale and exhale of her breath. She was supposed to be meditating, after all. 

But she couldn’t breathe. 

She could not breathe. 

Why couldn’t she breathe? 

A small, strangled sound tore from her mouth–like a caged animal realizing its been caught. Fear gripped at her, her heart ratcheting up in speed as her body came to the realization that there was not enough air in this room. 

Another garbled cry escaped her, louder this time. Tears sprang, hot and wet, at the corners of her eyes, and she blinked up at the ceiling, desperate to keep the kohl on her lids from smudging. Today was her wedding. 

She wanted to look beautiful. 

“Katara?” she heard a small knock at the door, followed by a voice it took her entirely too long to place. Ty Lee. She was in charge of watching over Katara during meditation, of making sure the bride arrived safely to the ceremony. 

Suki had wanted to do it, but Katara and Sokka had both insisted that she attend the wedding as a guest, not a guard. 

Katara opened her mouth to answer, but no words came out. She was still fighting, hard, to get enough air in her lungs. She placed a hand atop her chest, trying to count each rise and fall, to center herself once more. 

She suddenly did not feel much like a master waterbender at all. 

The door creaked open, and Ty Lee, wearing her Kyoshi warrior markings, peeked through the small crack of light. Much like Aang, she had always worn her emotions all over her face. When her eyes fell on Katara, Ty Lee’s eyes widened in a way that was…unmistakable. 

And Katara knew something was wrong. Something was wrong with her, fundamentally, that she was feeling so panicked on her own wedding day. She was to wed the Avatar, after all. She should be feeling nothing but joy at this moment. 

She and Aang had fallen in love with one another over shared campfire meals, had gone back-to-back in battle, had built a life off the ruins of a world nearly burned to cinders. With Aang, she knew she had a life that would be secure. It would be safe. She would be well-loved. 

Well-loved, indeed. Loved enough that she would conceive child after child after child, until a new airbender was born. 

“Oh, Katara,” Ty Lee said, stepping further into the small room. The pity in the girl’s voice was what drove Katara over the edge, in the end. This girl, who had once been her enemy, who she had once fought–nearly to the death–looking at her and seeing how truly broken she felt in this moment was simply…too much to bear. 

A truly awful, ragged cry broke free from Katara’s mouth, accompanied by tears that sprung forth in earnest. 

She really, truly, could not breathe. 

Katara slumped, like a boneless sea slug, from the couch onto the floor, placing her head between her knees to try and calm herself down. All the while, she prayed the black kohl on her eyes would not ruin Kya’s beautiful dress. 

Katara knew that if her mother were here, she would have exactly the right thing to say; the perfect piece of advice to get her over this brief moment of insanity before her wedding. 

But her mother was not here. 

Surely all brides experienced a moment of panic like this, right? It was only the rest of her life she was promising away–her loyalty, her womb, her career. 

Barely, she could only just register Ty Lee saying something with a note of finality. But all Katara could hear was this insane, high-pitched ringing.

Then, Ty Lee was gone and the door snicked shut. 

It could have been ten years or ten seconds that passed Katara by. There was no way to mark time, nothing that she could register besides the whine in her ears and the tightness yanking at her ribs, making it impossible to breathe. 

And then there were hands on her shoulders, calloused and warm. The too-familiar smell of cinnamon. No words, but a heavy presence she would recognize anywhere, anytime, any place. She’d know it underwater or upside down. 

First, for the way that presence had tracked her across continents. Then, for the way it had made her anger feel valid. And now, for the way it stilled everything, silenced the ringing in her ears, allowed her to take a breath. 

Zuko.

Her initial reaction to him was relief. Then, when a small sip of air finally hit her lungs, fury. What on earth was he doing here, alone with her before her wedding? 

As if she had anticipated this train of thought, Ty Lee started babbling. “I went to get Aang, but there was a very stubborn and annoying acolyte…Tashi, maybe…guarding the door. I mean, I thought about just chi blocking her to get my way in but that didn’t seem very professional or appropriate before a wedding. And everyone else was already seated for the ceremony, dead silent because they’re supposed to be meditating, or whatever it is Air Nomads do. But Zuko was in the back row because he’s this big security risk these days, you know…because of all the assassination attempts…” 

Ty Lee seemed to realize all at once that her stream of consciousness being blabbered into the void was not helping anything. 

Zuko rose from where he was crouched by Katara. She felt him release her shoulders and panic gripped her anew. 

“Thank you for fetching me, Ty Lee. Would you give us a moment?” 

Katara didn’t hear anything but the door closing once more. 

She was alone with Zuko. 

She was alone with Zuko moments before her wedding. 

She was alone with Zuko moments before her wedding to Aang. 

The little bit of air she had managed to get into her lungs seemed to vacate all at once. She kept her head buried in her knees so that Zuko couldn’t see the absolute mess she’d become. 

Katara heard the rustling of clothes as Zuko sat down besides her, a respectable distance away. Their arms did not touch, but she could feel the heat radiating from his body nonetheless. Like a walking furnace. 

The small room was silent for a moment, before Zuko’s low, husky voice thrummed near her ear. 

“You’ll never believe what happened to me on the way here,” he finally said after a long pause. “I decided to come by ship, because it had been a while since I’d been out at sea. It was a really peaceful journey–I had forgotten how much I enjoyed being on the water, even though I never fancied myself much of a sailor.” 

Katara was only halfway listening to him, but couldn’t help but recall the furious prince he had once been, chasing her and her friends through hell and high water on the bow of a Fire Nation ship, all those years ago. 

“Anyways, I’m walking out on the deck and talking with the captain, who is quite high ranking in my navy. Has lots of pull with my council members. I’ve been trying for months to get him to see my side of things regarding some trade deals we could make with the Earth Kingdom, and he wants nothing to do with it.

Right as we’re about to pass through the Great Gates of Azulon, the biggest–and I mean biggest–flying dolphin fish I’ve ever seen in my life launches out of the water and hits me in the face.” 

Katara’s ragged inhales began to slow, just a bit, as the tiniest laugh bubbled up in her throat. But she kept her head between her knees. 

“You know I’ve always been one for grace and poise,” Zuko said, self-deprecatingly. “The sound that came out of my mouth was certainly not what I would call royal. But the captain thought it was just about the funniest thing he’d ever seen in his entire life. So, either I will have a new trade deal with the Earth Kingdom lined up when I return home, or I have embarrassed myself so badly that I can never show my face to the Fire Nation navy again.” 

Katara sucked in a breath. The shuddering of her chest was starting to ease a bit more, and she cracked open her eyes, turning her head and stealing a glance at Zuko. 

He was watching Katara from where he sat, elbows propped casually on his knees beside her–his posture was certainly a stark contrast from the extremely formal robes he was wearing. The last time she had seen him dressed for a formal event, all his hair had been pulled back away from his face. 

But now, it had grown out long enough that he’d only pulled up half, letting the rest of it brush the edge of his collar. 

She wiped at her face, praying her makeup wasn’t too badly smudged, and breathed in again, deeper this time. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

Zuko nodded, but there was no light, no joy in his face despite the story he’d just told to cheer her up. He seemed so sad. Sad and tired. 

“You look beautiful,” he finally said. 

She felt a blush deepen her cheeks. 

“I surely must be a mess after all this crying,” she replied, shaking her head and trying for the smallest attempt at humor. “I think I’m just nervous. Lots of people here, you know.” 

Zuko didn’t take the bait, and leveled her with a serious glance. “You can lie to yourself, Katara. But don’t lie to me.” 

She didn’t know what to say to that. It wasn’t fair of her to feel so trapped, so caged in, resenting her place as the brood mare for the Airbender line, when Aang had lost his entire culture and way of life. His sense of duty must feel like a shackle at times. If he did not continue on the Airbender bloodline…it would be extinct forever. 

Carrying on that legacy should be an honor for her. 

But she couldn’t quite voice all of this to Zuko. 

He seemed to sense this, and rose to stand–his work here done now that she was mostly breathing properly again.

Katara looked up at him, waiting, watching. 

“Aang is one of my closest friends. I quite literally denounced my family line to go to war with him, beside him. So I feel uniquely qualified to say that he may be the most powerful man in the world,” Zuko said, pausing just for a beat, “But the things that you want matter, too.” 

Katara didn’t know how to respond to that. She wanted to be angry at Zuko for saying such a thing, but it was hard to be upset when he was so…right.

Zuko turned to leave, but at the last moment, his golden eyes snagged on her neck. He hesitated for just a beat, as if questioning himself. 

And then he stepped back in her direction, in her space, and all she could smell was the cinnamon spice of him as he leaned in, his rough fingers reaching for the necklace that fell over the hollow of her throat. 

She forgot to breathe all over again as he gently grabbed the pendant Aang had carved for her, his fingers lightly brushing her pulse point. 

“I thought betrothal necklaces were a tradition of the Northern Water Tribe,” he said. It was less of a question and more of a statement, something he said with too much confidence. 

She looked at him then, really looked at him. 

What could they have been in another lifetime? 

They were both promised to others, now. Katara had been in the South when word had come regarding Zuko’s engagement. He’d sent a messenger hawk to Sokka ahead of the formal announcement from the Fire Sages, warning him that news of an engagement was coming. 

Sokka had come running to the training ring where Katara was sparring with one of the older students at the waterbending school–a cocky boy who needed to be taken down a peg or ten. 

“Katara! A letter just came. Zuko’s getting married!” 

The boy she was sparring with was wound tight in her water whip, and upon hearing that, so many emotions assaulted her senses all at once–surprise, anger, curiosity, jealousy–that she’d tightened the whip to a near lethal point. Water spilled into his mouth, choking him, robbing him of all his air. 

But Katara didn’t care. Couldn’t see anything past the blinding rage shining in her chest. Sokka had finally lunged forward, grabbing at her arms. 

“Spirits alive, Katara, he yields! Let him go!” 

She’d dropped the boy to the ground and stalked off before she could learn any more information about Zuko’s engagement. Since then, she’d pointedly avoided it. Even when Aang brought it up upon her return to the Air Temple, she’d feigned focus on wedding plans. 

To this day, she still didn’t even know the name of the woman he was now promised to. She couldn’t seem to articulate it to herself why it bothered her so much. 

And now, with him kneeling before her, she realized she still hadn’t answered his question about the betrothal necklace. 

But a sharp, piercing clarity came over her all at once as she stared at Zuko. Just behind him, over his shoulder, she could see through the window the light of the crescent moon beginning to glow brighter.

There had been one moment where she and Zuko had collided, and been given a brief chance at being something real. In those hectic moments as power transitioned in the world, they could have clung to each other. 

But then she remembered his words to her, after he realized she had chosen Aang. 

Please, Katara, do me this one small mercy. Let’s keep this between you and I.

There was no world in which the Fire Lord could love a girl from the Water Tribe, and Zuko knew it. That heated kiss between them, all those years ago, had only happened in a confusing moment of passion, adrenaline, relief. It wasn’t anything real. 

Katara looked at Zuko, still holding her necklace and an important question in his eyes. 

And then she knew, with peaceful surety, what she had to do. 

She stood so abruptly she nearly knocked him backwards. “I need to talk to Aang.” 

Zuko simply nodded, stepping aside to make way for her. She stalked to the door before pausing for just a moment, turning back to him. 

And then, she did something she shouldn’t have, not in this moment, not when she was about to fracture the trajectory of her life. She took three, four hurried steps towards him and threw her arms around his neck, allowing herself to sink into the warmth of him, to inhale the cinnamon-spice smell of his hair. 

He did not hesitate for even a moment before winding his arms around her waist and burying his face in the crook of her shoulder. They held each other for a long, long moment before Katara disentangled herself from his grip. He let her go without protest, but his hands lingered for just a moment at her hip. 

“Thank you, Zuko,” she said simply. And then she was barging out of the room, past Ty Lee, and down the hall to where Tashi was standing vigil outside of the room where Aang was meditating. 

“Master Katara,” she said with genuine surprise on her face, “Aang is not supposed to see you yet, it’s still time for individual meditation…” 

“Move, Tashi,” Katara said briskly, with a wave of her hand. She was past the forced niceties with this woman. 

“I really should not let you in there–” Tashi began, but Katara cut her off. 

“Either you let me in there of your own free will or I will make you let me in there,” she snarled. Tashi was so taken aback by the sudden, harsh tone of Katara’s words that it caught her off guard. The woman was unaccustomed to the violence that Katara could bring when it was necessary. It was just enough hesitation for Katara to push past her and into the room. She slammed the door behind her and bolted it shut before Tashi could protest. 

The loud noise was enough to startle Aang out of his meditative state. 

“Katara?” he asked, confusion across the lines of his face. He was dressed in umber, yellow, and orange. A swath of wooden beads hung loose around his neck, and he sat comfortably on a small pile of cushions, cross-legged. 

Aang took in the expression on Katara’s face, along with the smudged makeup. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Is it something with the wedding?” 

“I can’t do this,” Katara gushed out before she lost her courage. “I can’t marry you.” 

Confusion and hurt plastered Aang’s face. Silence hung between them for a long moment before he finally spoke. “Why are you saying this now? We’re supposed to wed in fifteen minutes.” 

A red-hot flash of anger swelled through Katara all at once, that Aang wasn’t so much bothered by the fact that she wanted to end things between them, but rather that she had waited until the last moment to make this decision. 

As if he knew, all along, deep down. That they were not meant for one another. And he had gotten close, so close, to claiming her nonetheless. 

She swallowed hard, then. Doing her best to tamper down her rage, because this was not a conversation to be had in anger. She could not let her emotions get the best of her, she had to show Aang that she was serious. 

Taking a deep breath, she crossed the room to where Aang was sitting and knelt before him, taking his hands in hers. They were cool, smooth. They felt so different from the way Zuko’s had, gripping her shoulders just minutes ago–rough and calloused. 

Katara inhaled a shaky breath.

“Your people were taken from you in a terrible way–in a genocide that never should have happened. Aang, you are the last of your kind, and I know it means everything to you, to be able to restart the airbender line. But I will not be a….a…vessel for that dream.” she asked. 

“I thought that was what you wanted, too, Katara,” Aang said, hurt shimmering in his eyes. “I thought you wanted a family with me.” 

Katara shook her head, trying to get him to understand what she was saying. 

“I do want a family. I do want kids. But you need them now. When I still have so much to do as ambassador. You would continue your work as Avatar while I cook and clean and tend to babies. How many children would you have me give birth to in order to get the airbender child you so badly crave?” 

Her words might as well have been a slap to the face, the way Aang looked at her. He pulled his hands away from Katara’s, betrayed.

“There are other people who can work as ambassadors in your stead. I am the only one who can continue on the airbender line,” he said defensively. 

It pierced her heart, just a little, to hear Aang say that. Something small in her had hoped that maybe this last-ditch ultimatum might be the thing to get him to see her point of view, to change his single-minded focus on the duty he felt towards the memory of his people. 

The words Zuko had just imparted upon her rang, clear as day, in her head. 

The things you want matter, too. 

So she repeated the question she had just posed to Aang, determined to show him where the root of their issues lay. 

“How many children, Aang? Two? Four? Seven? What if I never give you an airbender?” 

He shook his head in her direction, clearly growing frustrated. 

“Statisically, Katara, it would happen eventually.” 

“There’s no proof of that.” 

“I want it to be you. I need you to be my wife, to be the mother to my children,” he pleaded, his voice bordering on desperate. 

“That’s just it, Aang,” Katara said, shaking her head. “You want me. But is it love if you would have me give up my dreams, my ambitions, my goals in exchange for yours?” 

That silenced him, then. But hurt and sadness swelled up in Katara’s throat, choking her. For all the confidence she had now, that she was doing the right thing, Aang had been a part of her life for years. She wasn’t sure what her daily life, her whole world view, looked like without him in it. 

But it was time for her to find out. 

Katara rose before she could lose the momentum she had. 

“I’m going home to the South, for a while. I’m sorry to do this to you, Aang. I’m sorry I did not realize sooner that this is not….the life that I want for myself.” 

Tears spilled over her cheeks, and she could see the emotion shining in Aang’s eyes too, although he was doing his best to keep ahold of himself. Katara could tell it was a losing battle. 

“This is really it?” he asked, voice barely a whisper. 

She didn’t have any words left in her. She felt like she had been drained of all color, all life, had become near boneless with emotion. 

“Yes, Aang. I truly am sorry.” 

He didn’t say anything. It felt awful, excruciatingly awful, to leave on this note. But she knew it was better to realize now then a year later, or five, or ten. 

There was more she could say, but the words did not come. Instead, she took one last look at Aang–he seemed so small, still seated on the floor where he’d been meditating, eyes cast downward into his lap. 

“Goodbye,” she whispered. 

He did not look up. 

Katara made quick work of rushing to Aang’s room and shedding her mother’s dress. She hung it carefully inside a garment bag. She would use it again one day, in another lifetime, when she found someone who saw her, body and mind and soul, for the person that she truly was. Who would not have her sacrifice her work and her dreams. Who would raise her up, cheer her on. Who would love the darkness and the light that coexisted within her heart. 

She changed into regular clothing and threw her things haphazardly into a bag, swiping at her tears the whole time. It felt a little like it had all those years ago, traveling alongside her friends during the war, when they had to make a quick departure. Gathering everything at speed in order to make a safe exit. 

As she worked and cried, the door clicked open and Suki, Sokka, and Hakoda all appeared in the room–the three of them were all still dressed to the nines for the wedding of the century. 

None of them spoke. Instead, her family moved alongside her, gathering her things from the room, scrubbing all evidence of her existence here from memory. 

When it was done, they stalked quickly from the air temple and out towards the docks. 

It wasn’t until the four of them had cast out and were at sea, the Air Nation a blip on the horizon, that Katara allowed herself to fall into Hakoda’s arms on the bow of the boat and weep.

Notes:

Took a pause on writing this weekend to go see Rocky Horror Picture Show and enjoy spooky season but now I'm back baby!! Enjoyyyyy!

Chapter 8: The Bride

Zuko

 

Zuko stumbled back towards the wedding ceremony. Everyone was still seated, stoic and silent, awaiting the bride and groom. 

Would there even be a wedding? 

He fell back into the chair beside Iroh, who looked more like he was sleeping than meditating and offering prayers to the spirits. For someone who claimed to be so spiritual, Zuko thought he would have taken this time a little more seriously. 

But Iroh cracked an eye open from his seat next to Zuko, in the last row. It felt strange to be seated so far away from the rest of his friends, but Suki had insisted on it, in case anything went awry and he needed to make a swift exit. 

Oh, things had gone awry. 

“Everything okay, nephew?” Iroh asked. “The happy couple should be here soon.” 

“Yes, I…I think so.” Zuko said, leaning forward and fidgeting with his hands. 

Iroh raised an eyebrow. Zuko had spent enough time alongside his uncle to know that the man didn’t quite believe him. But he didn’t press the issue. 

Zuko had always appreciated that about Iroh–his ability to know when to push for more and when to let off. 

“Hopefully your wedding won’t be so…demure,” Iroh remarked, glancing around at the silent guests. The acolytes seemed quite focused on communing with the spirits, while the visitors from other nations were certainly starting to grow restless after over half an hour of silent prayer and meditation, unused to the quiet confines of the practice. 

“My what?” Zuko asked, only half listening. 

“Your wedding, Zuko,” Iroh said, arching a brow. 

“Oh, right,” he murmured, “I told the council I don’t want it to be a big affair. I won’t waste coin on a party when there are people still starving. Still suffering.” 

“There will always be suffering,” Iroh said. “Thinking that you can fix the problems of the entire Fire Nation–of the entire world–while denying yourself any sort of happiness is a quick recipe for burning out entirely.” 

Zuko didn’t know what to say to that, and didn’t quite want to meet his uncle’s too-knowing gaze. How was Iroh always able to level Zuko with words that were layered with meaning, cutting right to the quick of what he was feeling? 

When Iroh realized Zuko had no smart reply, he closed his eyes once again. Too much time seemed to pass, much longer than the thirty minutes that had been allotted for meditation. 

Quiet whispers started to break out across the crowd, spreading like fire. Zuko could tell the acolytes were quite annoyed by this, shooting sidelong glances at those speaking. 

Zuko’s heart was a live wire within his chest. 

I need to talk to Aang. 

What had Katara meant by that? Talk to him about what? 

Zuko wasn’t entirely sure what had made her so upset before the wedding, or why she was in a panicked, teary mess when Ty Lee led him into the room. All he knew was that he’d just about been brought to his knees at the sight of Katara in her wedding dress.

He’d been overcome, all at once, with a vision, a dream. Of his own hands pulling the beaded material slowly off her shoulders, exposing a stretch of tan skin. Of planting his mouth along her collarbone. Of kissing away the hurt, the pain, the tears. 

He had shaken the thought violently from his head, and focused instead of the very real version of Katara weeping before him.  

The whispers in the Air Temple grew to chatter. The space was truly beautiful, a long aisle lined with flowers leading towards a raised dais with giant windows overlooking the valley below–the sky was painted a brilliant marigold as the sun dipped down, down, down. Each passing second it grew darker, and the guests grew more restless, and Zuko wondered what Katara had said to Aang. 

Finally, an Acolyte bustled down the aisle, garnering curious looks and hushed whispers as she walked. 

She came to a stop at the dais, before raising her head and looking out towards the crowd.

“There will not be a wedding this evening,” she said. Her voice was just loud enough to reach Zuko, all the way in the back row. “Thank you all for coming. We apologize for the inconvenience.” 

It felt like the floor had been ripped out from underneath him. 

The whole room erupted. In the front row, Sokka, Suki, and Hakoda rose quickly from their seats, moving as one unit. 

As if…as if they knew. Or had, at least anticipated this outcome. 

Suki caught Zuko’s eye as she passed him. 

“Stay here. Ty Lee is in charge of you.” 

He nodded, as if he could go anywhere if he even wanted to. His legs were suddenly rooted to the floor, his arms heavy as branches of a timber tree. 

Katara had called off her wedding. 

And he had been the last person to speak with her before she had done so. 

Iroh seemed to piece this information together quickly, because he turned to Zuko and hissed, his voice a low whisper, “What did you do?” 

“Nothing,” Zuko hissed, voice low as his eyes darted around. But nobody was paying him any attention. People were starting to rise, and the acolyte who had come in and made the announcement was scurrying off again. “I just talked to her. She was freaking out.” 

Iroh grabbed his nephew by the collar and dragged him from the room, away from prying ears and eyes. He yanked Zuko into a quiet corner and put his hands atop his shoulders. 

“What exactly did you say to Katara before she called off her wedding?” 

“We don’t know that she called it off,” Zuko said with a huff, even though he knew that was a stupid thing to say. When Iroh fixed him with a glance, Zuko shook his head. 

“Fine, okay. She was crying, she was clearly upset about…something. I don’t know what. So I told her about how I got hit in the face by a fish on the way here. And that her aspirations, her hopes and dreams in life matter, too. Not just Aang’s.” 

Iroh looked wildly confused. 

“How did you go from talking to her about a fish to inspiring her to leave her betrothed?” 

“I don’t know!” Zuko whisper-yelled, “And then she hugged me and said she needed to talk to Aang. Then she was gone.” 

Iroh stared at Zuko for a long, long time before shaking his head. 

“We need to get you out of here, now. Go collect your things,” Iroh commanded, dropping his grip on Zuko’s shoulders and pushing him in the direction of his room at the Air Temple. 

Barely able to string together a coherent thought, Zuko obliged, stumbling past the whispering throngs of people who were exiting the ceremony hall, talking behind cupped hands. Something about it enraged him. Had none of these people ever been faced with a decision in the last moment before everything went to hell? It seemed unlikely–all the royalty and high-breeding the world had to offer converged on the Air Temple. What did they know of impossible choices?

Zuko kept his head down and made for his room. He was almost there, had almost avoided raging at the people gossiping about Katara and Aang when a small hand grabbed at his elbow. 

“Where are you going?” Toph asked. There was something unnervingly natural about the way she held herself when wearing nice clothing—he had gotten used to her barefoot and belching, unbothered by societal expectations. How could she carry herself so well in a tightly laced dress?

He pulled up short, unsure of what to say. There was no point in trying to school the raging beat of his heart from Toph now, she’d certainly already clocked it. 

“To gather my things. Uncle wants me to–” he wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence without entirely revealing his hand. It didn’t matter anyway, because Toph cut him short.

“Oh, no you don’t. Suki and Sokka went off with Katara. That means it’s up to you and me to make sure Aang is okay.” 

“Toph, I really shouldn’t–” but again, she didn’t let him finish speaking. Rather, she dragged him by the elbow with brute force through the air temple. She navigated her way around the hallways with impressive efficiency, expertly dragging Zuko into nooks and crannies at random intervals to avoid run-ins with anyone, until they appeared at a large door that he could only assume was Aang’s room. 

Toph didn’t knock, but that certainly had never been her style. Rather, she barged in. Aang was–surprisingly–alone. Zuko would have figured that he’d have any number of people buzzing about, trying to soothe things over, make him feel better. 

But Zuko figured, if he had been the one to lose Katara, he would be nearing the edge of a breakdown he wouldn’t want anyone to bear witness to. 

The Avatar was seated on the bed in his room. The place looked half-stripped, like a storm had torn through and taken only some of the possessions. It really hit him, then. Katara had left. She’d broken off her engagement and gone…where? Probably home, if Zuko had to wager a guess. Back to the South. 

“Listen, twinkletoes, there is just a ton of food waiting to be eaten in the Great Hall. Once all these fuddy duddy royals–no offense, Zuko–take off, let’s go have ourselves a feast, alright?” Toph asked, collapsing with little grace onto the bed beside Aang. 

Zuko stood a few feet away, still entirely unsure how he’d been dragged in here. All he knew was that he was the last person on the planet that should be comforting Aang. 

And as Aang looked up from where he sat on the bed, still dressed for his wedding, his eyes locked with Zuko’s in a way that was…truly horrific. And all at once, Zuko’s perspective on the world narrowed to a pinpoint when he realized in one shocking moment that Aang knew. 

Maybe not that he had kissed Katara, all those years ago. But Aang certainly knew that Zuko had been the last person to speak with her before she called off the wedding. 

“You,” Aang said, pointing at Zuko. “What did you say to Katara to make her leave me?” 

Confusion plastered Toph’s expression. She must certainly regret dragging him in here now. “What is he talking about, Zuko?” she asked. 

“According to Tashi, our Fire Lord over here went and spoke to Katara when she was supposed to be meditating before the wedding. And then all of a sudden she shows up and says she simply cannot marry me anymore. So what did you say to her, Zuko?” 

“Aang, it’s not like I went looking for her! Ty Lee came and retrieved me because she was having a complete breakdown at the thought of getting married!” Zuko spat back, defensive. Even though he knew he had no right to be. 

“Why didn’t she ask to speak to me, then, if she was so worried? Why were you the one that just had to comfort her?” Aang yelled back, rising to stand. He took a step forward to advance upon Zuko, but Toph stood with him and quickly shot a hand out, blocking his progress. He stayed put, knowing better than to fight against her. 

“Because your acolyte wouldn’t let anyone in to see you!” 

“Why did you tell her to leave me, Zuko? So you could have her for yourself? I knew it back on Ember Island, when we saw that stupid play, and I know it now. Everyone always assumed it was the two of you who were together!” 

Zuko threw his hands up in frustration. The director’s choices in that ridiculous drama on Ember Island had stuck with Aang through the years, even though it was all false. Zuko wished his friends had listened to him when he said the play was a bad idea.

“I didn’t tell her to leave you!” Zuko yelled. “She came to that conclusion all on her own. And I am engaged, Aang!” 

It was the weakest defense he possibly could have thrown up. He had only seen his future bride in passing, and had never had a real conversation with her. It was an arranged marriage for the good of his people, not a love match. And Aang was smart enough to piece together that Zuko had never once mentioned Torran. 

But Zuko had thrown himself in front of a lightning bolt for Katara. 

“Besides,” he added, “She’s not a prize to be won. She is a person who is allowed to make her own choices.” 

Aang’s eyes were piercing, full of too much emotion as he finally got the courage to shove past Toph. He stepped into Zuko’s space, extending one finger and pushing it against his chest. 

“You’re supposed to be my friend.” 

Shame and anger warred for a place in Zuko’s ribcage–what a mess this had all become. Katara had chosen Aang five years ago, and yet Zuko was still stuck in the same stupid place, never able to leave well enough alone. 

Giving her the encouragement she needed to abandon her fiance and chase her own dreams. Feeling too many terrible, wonderful things at the sight of her in a wedding dress. 

“Katara is my friend, too.” Zuko said simply. 

This seemed to deflate some of Aang’s anger, just a bit. He removed his accusatory finger from where it was pressed into Zuko’s sternum and turned away, falling back down onto the bed. Toph stood between them, tense and ready to intervene if things took a turn for the worst. 

“Just get out, Zuko,” Aang said. But there was no more vitriol in his words, just…a terrible sadness that Zuko was all too familiar with. 

He stood there, stunned, for a long moment. His feet felt cemented to the floor. Enough time passed that Toph gave him a pointed look and nodded for the door. 

“Go,” she hissed through her teeth. “I’ve got him.” 

So Zuko did. 

Everything was a bit of a blur as he gathered his belongings and headed for the dock where his ship had been moored besides Hakoda’s. But now, the Southern Tribe ship was gone. 

Iroh was waiting for him by the gangplank, his own bag slung over one shoulder. 

“What are you doing here, Uncle? You need to return to Ba Sing Se,” Zuko said miserably, brushing past Iroh and stalking up onto the ship. 

“I have good workers now. The Jasmine Dragon is in good hands until I can return, and you seem like you might…need some company,” Iroh said, trailing behind him. 

Zuko did not fight his uncle. 

And Iroh did not press Zuko for more information. Not as Ty Lee and the rest of the security detail boarded the ship. Not as the captain hauled up the anchor. And not as Zuko barged into the small store room and liberated several bottles of spiced wine. 

All along, Zuko knew his uncle was there–a steady, consistent presence in the background. Just like he had been during the war. Just like he had been when Zuko came to grips with his own destiny. Just like he had been in every letter, every meeting, every exchange since then. 

Zuko wasn’t entirely sure if he should feel gratitude or resentment at Iroh’s presence on the ship. It was nice to know he was there, that he didn’t want his nephew to journey back to the Fire Nation alone after all that had just transpired.

But on the other hand, it certainly made downing goblet after goblet of spiced wine less enjoyable, knowing Iroh was watching, concern lining his face. 

As the ship entered open waters, and Zuko had firmly put away a full bottle of wine and was starting to feel markedly better about the events of the evening, Iroh came to join him on the balcony of his room, overlooking the ocean. Night had truly fallen, and it was impossible to tell where the sky ended and the sea began. 

“Perhaps a cup of tea, Zuko? Or maybe some water?” Iroh suggested, eyeing the discarded bottle lilting back and forth across the floor of Zuko’s room, in time with the rocking of the ship. 

“I’m good with the wine,” Zuko said bitterly, pouring himself another cup. 

Zuko knew that he was being cruel towards his uncle, knew better than to treat him like this. That was a hard lesson he had certainly learned during the war. But Iroh had always been a person with which Zuko felt completely safe. Safe to be callous, and bitter, and angry at the world. 

Iroh didn’t fight his nephew on the matter, but rather returned with a plate of bread, fruit, and cheese, along with some water. He placed it on the table of Zuko’s room and saw himself back out. 

Zuko couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten properly drunk. Such is the life of a dedicated Fire Lord–little time for imbibing, little time for small, silly pleasures. 

But now–now that he had really, truly created such a tangled disarray for himself and his friends, and had nothing but time out on the open sea–Zuko indulged. 

Over the past five years, he had certainly felt the distance of continents between himself, Aang, Sokka, Katara, Toph, and Suki. They operated in different spaces across the world, coming together when they were able, when they could. All of them had taken on leadership roles in the era after the war, eager to shape a new society of respect, justice, education, and inclusion. And that often meant operating far, far from one another. 

But suddenly the distance between them all felt insurmountable. Aang and Toph were still at the Air Temple, dealing with the fallout of canceled nuptials. Sokka and Suki had gone off with Katara to the Southern Water Tribe, supporting her in the aftermath of a painful decision. 

And Zuko–once again–was alone, accompanied only by Iroh. Maybe it was always meant to be this way. Maybe the brief respite he’d been granted as a member of the Avatar’s cabal had always been on borrowed time. 

He got lost at the bottom of several bottles of spiced wine as he thought about it–as the ship made headway towards the Fire Nation. 

Eventually, he brought himself back inside his quarters on the ship as the tilt of the sea paired with the alcohol became too much to manage. He had enough coherence left in his body to realize falling off the back of a ship into the ocean and drowning because he was drunk was certainly a terrible way for a Fire Lord to go out.

So he collapsed into sleep atop his bed, a half-empty bottle of wine in his hand. 

When he woke, there was dim light filtering through the port window. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. All he could be sure of was the headache that threatened to split his brow clean in two. He suddenly wished so desperately for Katara to be there, to take his head in her hands and soothe away the pain, to heal him from the hangover he’d drunk himself into. 

But his need for Katara was what had gotten him into this predicament in the first place. 

He felt the ship dock, the jolting motion nearly threatening the meager contents of his stomach to force themselves back up. 

He grabbed desperately at one of the cups of water Iroh had left behind for him, gulping it down before he felt steady enough to rise. 

The ship was quiet as he made his way down out of his room and towards the gangplank. He wasn’t much concerned for his belongings left behind on the ship. What he wanted badly was to return to the palace and find solace in his own bed, to forget the events of the past few days. 

But as he stepped down the gangplank, he saw Raijin standing on the docks, his hands tucked neatly into his sleeves. Waiting. Watching. 

There was an expression on Raijin’s face that made Zuko’s stomach dip. Surely, news of the disrupted wedding hadn’t traveled that fast. And even if it had, Raijin had no way of knowing about Zuko’s involvement, or the history he and Katara had once shared. 

“Raijin,” Zuko nodded his head in greeting as he approached the Grand Advisor. Zuko knew he certainly looked worse for wear–he had slept in the formal robes he’d been wearing for the wedding, and they were rumpled and wrinkled. Moreover, he knew he reeked of spiced wine. 

He rubbed at his temple, knowing it wasn’t something he could hide. He hoped beyond hope that whatever it was Raijin needed that had him waiting out here in the twilight, on the docks, was not that pressing of an issue. That it could wait until Zuko had slept off all the wine. 

But of course, Zuko would not be so lucky. 

“Fire Lord,” Raijin bowed slightly. “Your bride is awaiting you in your chambers.”

Notes:

I have 24 chapters planned for this story and this is chapter 8!! (If you didn't know I'm a big old sucker for a three-act story). I can't believe I'm already a third of the way through this! Something about this fan fiction is making me write so quickly. I am truly enjoying it and it feels so much less high-stakes than original WIPs. I can just write and enjoy it.

My fave Zutara fics are the ones that take place after the war, and see Katara and Aang breaking up (clearly, lol). But sooooo many of them have Aang just take it on the nose when Katara leaves him, or have him acting desperate and clingy to get her back. I wanted a fic more in the vein of him being MAD at this turn of events. So I wrote it myself. Definitely went more in line with the "you muzzled Appa" version of Aang instead of the "I won't kill Ozai" version of Aang here. I hope you all enjoy this take on his character!

Thank you all for your kudos, comments, and subscriptions! It makes me so happy to read them. Since I just whipped out two chapters in two days, it might be a little bit before I post again. I wish I was more organized and had a consistent schedule but I'm just too Type B for that.

Thanks again everyone!

Chapter 9: The Healer

Katara

 

“I’m pleased to report that we anticipate having King Kuei and Firelord Zuko in attendance for the Glacier Spirit Festival,” Katara stood before the Southern Water Tribe council, papers in hand. “Along with several dignitaries from all of the different nations.” 

What Katara didn’t say was that the amount of dignitaries from the Fire Nation was severely lacking. She had roused up everyone she could, but their attendance numbers were shockingly low compared to the other nations. 

Despite all her abilities as ambassador, she was having some difficulty cracking into where the Fire Nation elite sat sequestered in the Caldera. 

Hakoda sat at the head of the table, nodding along with what his daughter said. Sokka was to his right, and the smattering of council members formed a semi-circle around them. 

Katara had spent the past month following the last-minute cancellation of her wedding traveling about the four nations upon an airship gifted to the tribe by the Fire Nation. Her goal was to garner attention and promote attendance to the Glacier Spirit Festival set to overtake the Southern Tribe in a few weeks. 

It had been a bit demoralizing. Everywhere she went, she was followed by whispers and sidelong glances. She couldn’t shake the judgement. It had left her grappling for purchase, floating adrift. People did not see her as the Southern Tribe’s goodwill ambassador; they saw her as the Avatar’s former lover. They saw her as a girl who had run from a commitment. 

And while most people had the good sense to whisper where they thought she couldn’t hear, some felt emboldened enough to outright ask her why she had broken off her engagement. 

During her visit to the Earth Kingdom Palace last week, one attendant even got up the gall to ask her if she had been unfaithful to Aang. Katara quickly shut that down before rumors started swirling about. 

“And what about the Avatar?” Kail, one of the councilmen asked Katara as she finished with her report. “Will he be in attendance at the festival?” 

The question was a challenge. It was something Katara normally would have risen to fight against, replying with a snarky comeback. 

But she had none of that in her today. 

The truth of it all was that she had written Aang several times, explicitly asking about the festival. No questions or commentary on their failed relationship–but rather, simply seeking confirmation that he would be attending as promised. 

But what did Katara know of promises, anymore? 

Aang had not written back. In fact, they hadn’t spoken at all in the four weeks since Katara had left the Air Temple in a hurry, wedding dress shoved into her bag. 

Sokka had offered to write as well, to even go to the Air Temple and speak with him on Katara’s behalf. But she didn’t want that. Katara was the ambassador, and while Sokka certainly had responsibilities towards their tribe, it was not his job to mediate this crisis. 

She could tell her brother wanted to help anyway, but she wouldn’t allow it. 

Katara thumbed the edges of the paper in her hands, attempting for all the world to give off a confidence that she certainly did not feel. 

“He had initially confirmed attendance. Given…given recent events, I am not sure if Aang will still be coming.” 

“You mean, given your broken engagement,” Kail said, his tone a shade too haughty for Katara’s liking. 

But she had made her bed when she left Aang. And now it was time to lie in it. 

“That is correct.” 

“The Avatar is the bridge between our world and the Spirit world. How would it look if he was not in attendance?” Kail pushed, eyebrows furrowing together. 

Katara chewed on the inner corner of her cheek. As if she hadn’t already thought about that. How it would look. What it would mean. 

Such a big piece of the reason she had called off her wedding was because she could not bear the shackles of being nothing more than the Avatar’s bride–she wanted more for herself, wanted to find success as the ambassador of the Southern Tribe. 

Something raw and aching gnawed at her, a terrible thought she hadn’t been able to shake since coming home. 

What if she was only good at her job because of her connections to the Avatar? 

She and her friends had all become powerful people in their own ways after the end of the war–taken on different leadership roles–but Aang’s status as the Avatar made him revered in a way the rest of them just weren’t. 

And Katara was painfully aware that she had been linked to Aang in a different manner than her friends. The Avatar’s girl. 

It burned something up in her. 

So, despite the fact that she had little confidence in making the claim, she tilted her chin up towards Kail and defiantly said, “I’ll make sure he attends.” 

From his place at the table, she saw Sokka’s eyes widen just an inch. He, too, was aware that it was a brash and baseless statement to make, in front of the entire Southern council. 

Kail seemed to sense this, too. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

Katara couldn’t seem to get away from the council meeting fast enough once Hakoda had dismissed them all. She stalked out of the building, back towards her hut in the village. 

This late in the year, even Katara was not immune to the cold. It was the dead of winter, and snow fell in thick sheets, leaving the ground blanketed in banks of icy sleet. 

She bundled herself up tighter within her parka, pulling the hood up over her head–partially to stave off the chill, and partially so nobody would be tempted to talk to her. 

Sokka, however, had never been very good at taking a hint. 

He caught up to her quickly, falling into step at her side. 

“That was a bold thing to say on record at a council meeting,” he told her, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Have you spoken to Aang even once since you broke things off with him?” 

“I’ve sent letters,” she said, her tone bristly. 

“And has he…I don’t know, responded to any of those letters?” Sokka asked, watching her from the corner of his eye as he walked quickly, trying to keep pace with her. 

“I haven’t received any correspondence yet,” Katara replied through her teeth. 

Sokka stopped her then, grabbing her by the elbow. They stood in the middle of the street, but due to the biting cold and heavy snow, there weren’t too many people out today to bear witness. 

“Katara, I’m not one of these stuffy council members. I’m your brother. You can level with me.” 

She dropped her head, letting the shame she was feeling deep in her chest let itself be seen, for just a moment. 

“I don’t know if I can get him to come to the festival, Sokka. I don’t know if he will ever speak to me again, actually.” 

“He will. Just give him time. He’s hurting.” Sokka said. 

As much as she was loath to admit it, Katara knew that her brother was right, about this at least. Time would soothe the sting she’d left behind in her wake. The only problem was, she didn’t have time. Only weeks stood between her and the festival, and she could not bear it if she let her people down so badly by failing to produce the Avatar for an event honoring the spirits. 

Held on the days leading up to the winter solstice, the festival marked the time that the veil between their world and the spirit world was the thinnest. It was a time of meditation and reflection, of communing with the spirits and giving thanks–but also of fun, food, and excitement. More than that, the festival was a way to show the world just how well the Southern Tribe was faring in the years after the war. After being wiped down to almost nothing by the Fire Nation, this was the one time a year that the South had to show off. 

And it would not look good if Aang wasn’t present. 

“Come on,” Sokka said, hooking his arm through hers and spinning her in the opposite direction, towards the harbor. “Suki should arrive any minute now. She said she needed to talk to you about something, anyways.” 

Katara stuck out her tongue. “Ugh. I don’t think I want to bear witness to a reunion between you and Suki.” She had certainly seen enough of those to last her a lifetime. 

But she kept walking alongside Sokka nonetheless. 

Suki and Sokka’s alternating visits to each other’s respective homes were a study in what love could truly look like when it thrived. When distance and time did not matter. When two people were committed to making something work. 

And though she loved her brother and her new sister-in-law deeply, Katara couldn’t help it when Suki disembarked from the Fire Nation ship anchored at the dock and launched herself into Sokka’s arms–she turned away, unable to watch. 

She didn’t know if she would ever be loved like that. 

Although Katara was sure the couple likely would have preferred to go off on their own, they drug her along with them throughout their day, which she was begrudgingly grateful for. 

Sokka and Suki’s easy banter and lighthearted laughter lifted something heavy that had been nestled down in her chest. They pulled her into their jokes and included her in their teasing–it was all so effortless and easy between them, as if no time at all had passed since they last saw each other. 

After he finished with council business, Hakoda joined the trio for dinner in Sokka’s hut that night. By the time they had finished eating, Katara had nearly forgotten that Suki needed to speak to her about something. But it came rushing back to her all at once when Suki turned to her at the end of the meal, her face–which had been soft and open all day–suddenly darkened with seriousness. 

“As much as I came here to enjoy time with my husband, there is unfortunately something I am hoping to ask of you, Katara,” she said. 

“Is everything okay?” Katara asked, concern settling like stones in her belly. 

“There was another assassination attempt on Zuko’s life,” Suki said, glancing down at her hands. “One of the attendants in the palace died.” 

Katara inhaled a sharp gasp. As serious as the assassination attempts were, Zuko and everyone around him had been able to come away mostly unscathed. A death at the hands of the New Ozai Society was certainly cause for elevated concern. 

Sokka stretched out a hand and ran his fingers gently over Suki’s shoulders, comforting her. Katara was well aware that Suki would view any success by the New Ozai Society as a massive failure on her part. 

Hakoda looked down at his empty plate, eyes dark with worry. He and Zuko certainly hadn’t gotten off on a good foot–with the whole stalking of his children across continents, and all–but since the end of the war, the Chief of the Southern Tribe and the Fire Lord had become quite amicable. 

“What happened?” Katara prodded, keeping her voice gentle. 

Suki shook her head, as if trying to shove off the shame of it all. “It seems the would-be assassin thought that sneaking into the kitchen and trying to impersonate an attendant was a good way to get close to Zuko. One of the real attendants recognized the imposter and started to make a scene about it. The assassin killed her and ran off.” 

It was impossible to miss the emotion that swelled in Suki’s voice. Sokka continued rubbing slow, small circles across her back. 

“The council is very concerned,” Suki continued. “They wanted to move Zuko’s wedding up, but he refused. So, their next best suggestion was to have a healer from the South come and stay at the Royal Palace until his wedding in three months. The best healer there is.” 

Suki’s eyes raised to Katara then, and it hit her all at once–what was being asked of her. That she would come and stay in the Fire Nation, prepared to heal Zuko if anything were to happen to him. 

So he could make it to his wedding night. 

And sire an heir. 

The realization seemed to come to Sokka at the same time, and he barked out a short, humorless laugh. “You can’t be serious. Zuko’s perfectly capable of handling himself, he doesn’t need Katara there.” 

Another flash of shame crossed Suki’s face before she looked over at Sokka. “I agree with the council, actually. Katara has healed Zuko twice before, and if I continue to…let these assassination attempts happen, then…she should be there. Just in case.” 

“Suki, it’s not your fault!” Sokka said, an edge of frustration creeping into his voice. This was clearly a conversation that had taken place between the two of them several times already. 

But Suki put a hand up to her husband, warning him not to say any more. And Sokka–to Katara’s surprise–obeyed. She wasn’t sure anyone but Suki could silence him so easily. In fact, she was kind of surprised anyone could silence him at all. 

“This isn’t about you, Sokka,” Hakoda cut in. “This is a decision for Katara.” 

Katara wasn’t entirely sure what to say. The thought of hanging around the palace, doing nothing but being on call should someone try to claim Zuko’s life sounded painfully dull. On top of that, she would certainly be subject to seeing him and his fiance, day in and day out. For some reason, the idea of that twisted her up a bit inside. She had no claim over Zuko, no real reason to be jealous. 

But there was a tiny seed of envy, deep with her chest, nonetheless. 

“It would only be for three months? That I would stay?” Katara asked. 

“You can’t seriously be considering this insane idea,” Sokka said, whirling on his sister. 

“Listen, no part of me wants to be just stuck doing nothing in the Fire Nation,” she said. “But what if I wasn’t doing nothing?” 

Sokka arched a brow in her direction. “I’m not sure I follow you.” 

Katara thought of the incident on the docks of the Fire Nation, all those months ago. When the Harbor Master had blown up on the Southern Tribe, furious that they got to park their ships for free. 

She thought of the guest list she had spent the past month carefully curating for the Glacier Spirits Festival, how hard she had worked to get as many people from as many nations to attend as possible–and how the number of Fire Nation guests was severely lacking. 

If she couldn’t guarantee that Aang would attend, maybe padding the list of attendees with Fire Nation citizens–Fire Nation elite–would be the next best thing. It would sure wipe that smug smile off of Councilman Kail’s face. 

“This could be my foot in the door to actually get some ambassadorial work done in the Caldera–something I’ve been trying to achieve for years now. The high-ranking people in that city still view us as nothing more than backwards peasants. They only tolerate us at Zuko’s behest. What if I can actually get us a working relationship with officials there that transcends our relationship with their Fire Lord?” 

Katara wanted that, badly–for the South to be seen as a powerhouse by the Fire Nation. Because the ties she and Sokka had to Zuko would only last their lifetime. And she wanted to leave a legacy behind, something her children and grandchildren could cling to. A world in which the Southern Water Tribe was a force to be reckoned with. When it was tied to the Fire Nation in a manner of peace, and not of hatred, or mistrust. 

“You wouldn’t be able to leave whenever you feel like it, Katara. You’d be expected to go where Zuko goes. Is that really something you want?” Sokka asked. His words were layered with a message she didn’t have to dig deep to reveal. 

She had confided in her brother, during the aftermath of her failed wedding, how trapped she had felt at the Air Temple. 

But this wasn’t forever. This was only for three months. Three months for her to make a real impact on how the Fire Nation viewed the South. Three months for her to do real, meaningful work. 

Three months for her to be tied closely to Zuko. 

“I would travel back here in a few weeks for the Glacier Spirit Festival, anyway, since Zuko will be in attendance. If everything goes well, hopefully I can bring several Fire Nation denizens along with me.” 

Sokka glanced over at Hakoda, then. “You really think it’s a good idea to just ship our ambassador off to the Fire Nation to serve as a healer?” 

Hakoda was quiet for a long beat, and Katara struggled to read what emotion lay in his dark eyes. 

“I think our ambassador has been working herself into an early grave over the past four weeks, traveling around the world, throwing herself into everything she does for our tribe. This would give Katara an opportunity to work while remaining still. She could be in one place for a bit. A palace, no less.” 

Katara bristled a bit at that. “Dad, you think this is some sort of, what, spa vacation? It’s not! I would be doing real work, every day. Advocating for people to come to our festival, creating ties with Fire Nation officials, brokering trade. It would not be a time to relax.” 

Hakoda’s eyebrows knitted together. “I’m on your side here, Katara. I’m just suggesting that balancing work and pleasure at the same time might be a good thing for you.” 

Her stomach soured. In no world did she need the word pleasure being in any capacity associated with Zuko. 

“Ever since you broke off your wedding, it’s like…” Hakoda started, then trailed off. 

“Like what?” Katara hissed, tipping her chin up in challenge. 

“Like you feel guilty. Like you believe you’ve done something to hurt our tribe.” 

She might as well have been transparent for how well her father saw through her in that moment. Katara had been feeling guilty. Because no matter what she did, no matter who she loved–she was the daughter of the Chief. She was the last of the Southern waterbenders. She was the ambassador to her tribe. Whoever she loved would inherently be a political statement, whether she wanted it to be or not. And being married to Aang would have been a good thing for the South. 

It just wasn’t a good thing for her. 

Katara stood, her chair shoving backwards. “I’m leaving with Suki when she returns to the Fire Nation. It’s not up for debate.” 

She strode through the door of the hut, leaving her family behind. But as she walked away, she heard Hakoda click his tongue in exasperation. 

“Why did I get yelled at? I agree with her!” 

 

+++

 

A week later, Katara stood at the helm of Suki’s Fire Nation ship, bag slung over one shoulder, snow flurries landing on her nose. Even she could admit she was excited to spend the coldest, darkest part of the winter in the tropical weather of the Caldera, where it was seemingly warm year-round. 

Suki stood beside her on the boat as they waved goodbye, bundled up in a coat that definitely belonged to Sokka, her hair mussed and eyes bleary. 

“You look like you’ve been up all night,” Katara said. 

Suki’s cheeks deepened into a crimson blush, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear sheepishly. 

“I didn’t get much sleep.” 

“Oh, gross,” Katara pretended to retch. “Why did you have to go and marry my brother? It sure makes it weird when you want to tell me about your…activities.” 

Suki laughed. On the docks, Sokka and Hakoda were disappearing into little dots on the horizon. They grew smaller and smaller until they were taken over entirely by sheets of white snow. 

“How do you do it? Spending weeks apart from each other?” Katara asked quietly. 

“We love each other. But both of our careers are fundamental parts of who we are. I wouldn’t be Suki, and he wouldn’t be Sokka, without the passions that drive us. It’s an honor for me to continue the tradition of my people, of Kyoshi. Just as it's an honor for him to represent the South. Neither of us could ask the other to give up such a huge piece of themselves.” 

Katara thought of Aang, what he had said to her as she clasped his hands in hers moments before their wedding. 

There are other people who can work as ambassadors in your stead. 

He had wanted her to give it up, all of it. Her culture, her job, her passions. In exchange for his. 

And then Zuko’s words, which had given the her confidence, in the end, to say the things that needed to be said.

The things you want matter, too.

“Plus,” Suki said, nudging Katara’s elbow conspiratorially, “The time apart makes the reunion so much sweeter.” 

Katara really thought she would retch, now. She moved to swat at Suki, but the Kyoshi Warrior lunged away, graceful as ever, dodging below deck to the warmth of the boat. 

For a long time, Katara stayed at the helm of the ship, watching the boat slice through the ice floes, bound towards warmer waters. Towards the unknown. Towards the hope of diplomacy. 

Towards a Fire Lord, who was betrothed to someone else. 

Notes:

Finally, I have survived the last chapter where Zuko and Katara are apart and now I can get to the really good stuff of forcing them to be together literally all the time!!!!!! (Alternatively; when you decide to write a slow burn and then you actually have to make it go slow instead of forcing your characters to make out all the time)

I had a little fun making Suki and Sokka be all flirty and in love with each other in this chapter in the meantime.

Hope you guys enjoy!!!

Chapter 10: The Harbor

Zuko

 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Zuko said, hurrying into the formal dining room. 

Torran was seated at one end of the long mahogany table, an empty plate before her and a small stack of books at her elbow. She looked up at him and smiled, sticking a piece of parchment into the tome she was reading to keep her place. 

“That’s quite all right, my lord,” she said, her voice a small, quiet thing. 

“Torran,” Zuko chided. “What did we talk about?” 

The tiniest blush crept up her face, and Zuko could sense the shame on her. 

“That I should call you Zuko,” she said. 

“And what else?” Zuko asked, motioning to the empty plates set before them. 

“To eat when I’m hungry, and not to wait until you are finished with meetings.” 

Zuko waved at the attendant standing near the door to the dining room, signaling that they were ready for dinner. 

“Our food, please, Hanka,” Zuko said, addressing him by name. 

Hanka nodded and disappeared, and Zuko dropped down into the chair at the head of the table. He still wasn’t really used to eating in the formal dining room—for the most part, he took meals in his office or in the sitting room attached to his bed chambers. 

Zuko didn’t even use this space when his friends came to visit—for the most part, they went into the Caldera to eat, or picnicked by the turtle duck pond. The only time he ever was forced to use the stuffy, elaborate formal dining room was when he hosted dignitaries, governors, heads of state—people too high ranking to feel comfortable taking tea in Zuko’s messy office. 

But Torran had insisted on it when she’d arrived at the palace; moreover, she’d insisted on waiting to eat until Zuko was done with his work for the day. Which made him feel pretty terrible, since he often didn’t finish until well after the sun had dipped below the horizon. 

Like tonight. It was well past dark. 

He knew she was trying to do a good thing. She was trying to take on the role of future Fire Lady with grace and poise—by being endlessly doting, kind, and accommodating. These were all things Zuko supposed he should appreciate. 

Torran had been raised to be a wife. Her father was one of the highest ranking judges in the nation, and had an almost untapped pool of money and power. It seemed her mother’s main focus in life was ensuring that Torran was as docile and well-bred as possible. A mold made for her inevitable husband to shape as he pleased. 

But this made it difficult for Zuko to parse out what was real about her, and what had been drilled into her head at a very young age. 

She read voraciously, constantly. But she never seemed to read for the pure pleasure of it—only serious political texts. 

She rose at dawn to practice her firebending, and Zuko knew that she was quite powerful. But when he watched her spar, she only employed the most basic defensive maneuvers, the simplest of forms. Never anything too extravagant or bold. 

Even the way she presented herself, how she dressed, seemed like it was all done to appear as small and unnoticeable as possible. Her hair was dark and short, tinged with one long streak of white from her temple to just past her ear—a sort of birth mark, she’d told Zuko—that she always kept braided back. Like she was afraid it would draw any sort of attention to her. 

She reminded him a bit of the person he’d been before his banishment—so blindly loyal to the ideals he’d been raised with. He’d had no idea there was any other way than the way of his father, the way of a violent nation. 

If he was being honest, he hoped he could curb the constant corrections on her overly accommodating behavior soon. It wasn’t that he disliked her kindness. It’s just that it was almost suffocating how much she would bend over backwards to keep him happy.

Please, just call me Zuko. 

He’d said that sentence a million times in the past month, it seemed. 

Hanka arrived back at the table, setting down the plates before them. Torran thanked him before he exited quietly. Zuko watched Hanka go. He could tell the attendants were…jittery after what had happened with the New Ozai Society. After the young attendant had been killed in the kitchen. 

Zuko had done what he could to make them feel at peace after that incident. He posted round-the-clock guards outside the attendant quarters. Went and spoke with them personally to apologize for the tragedy. Lit the girl’s funeral pyre himself. 

It still wasn’t enough. 

“How was your day today, my…” Torran paused mid-sentence and cut herself off abruptly “…Zuko.” 

Zuko gave a small smile. He appreciated the effort, at least. He grabbed a fork and tucked into his meal. 

“Busy. Raijin and I have been needling back and forth over the budget for the next year. It’s due to the council soon. He’s very good with numbers, which is an asset. But as soon as we think we have it finalized, he finds some error or discrepancy we have overlooked.” 

Torran wiped delicately at her mouth, taking small bites. 

“I’m sure you’ll get it sorted out soon,” she said pleasantly. 

He would have to. Ember-Lee, head of the Sei’naka clan, had written to him once more, requesting funding be allocated towards the clan’s education budget. It was not a good thing to receive that letter. He had hoped that, after their last conversation, she would let it go. But that did not seem to be the case. 

“And your day?” Zuko questioned. 

“Oh, it was quite lovely. After training I attended an opera in the Caldera. And then took tea with Kyoko. She was informing me of her library restoration project.” 

The library had certainly become Kyoko’s pet project as of yet, and Zuko was grateful for it. Under Ozai, much of the Royal Library had been severely redacted to focus solely on the glory of the Fire Nation. 

And Ozai’s idea of redacting was…well, complete incineration. 

When Zuko had gotten his throne back, he had found the Royal Library stripped down to the studs. Any mention of other nations was almost entirely erased. 

Kyoko was happy to take on the role of restoration, and under her—it had begun to flourish again. 

“It’s good she’s overseeing that. Kyoko has an eye for organization,” Zuko said. 

Torran nodded amicably, but didn’t say anything else. They fell into silence, which wasn’t uncommon. It had been uncomfortable at first. They were simply strangers who had little in common other than their pedigreed upbringings. 

Zuko had assumed as time went on, they would find more common ground, more things to share and connect over. But that had hardly been the case. 

So Zuko decided to find comfort in the silence instead, to allow it to be the one part of his day where his brain wasn’t running circles in his head. 

But sometimes, the quiet scraping of forks against porcelain, the lack of conversation—it grated on him, just a bit. He’d had plenty of silent dinners growing up. He and Ursa and Azula seemed to silently agree that sometimes it was better to eat with no conversation whatsoever than to say something to get on Ozai’s bad side. 

And he didn’t want that for his future. 

Thankfully, the silence did not stretch on for too long, as an attendant appeared in the doorway of the formal dining room. 

“Fire Lord Zuko,” the attendant said, giving a small bow. “I’ve been sent to notify you that your Captain of the Guard and Master Katara are passing through the Great Gates of Azulon. Their ship should be docking soon.” 

Zuko’s fork dropped from his hand, clattering to the table. 

“What?” Zuko asked, confusion lining his voice. 

“Um,” the attendant said, looking caught off guard. He repeated himself, louder this time, as if he assumed Zuko hadn’t heard the initial announcement. 

It took Zuko a moment longer than it should have to piece together why Katara, of all people, was gracing his doorstep. 

Suki had gone against his wishes and brought her here. To be his healer, on call, always lingering about and waiting for someone to try and claim his life. So she could swoop in again and put those damned, nimble fingers against his rib cage again. 

His dreams were still haunted by the way her hands felt against his skin after the last time she’d healed him. 

After the attendant had been murdered in the kitchen, the council had tried to force Zuko to move his wedding up sooner. But he would have none of that. 

Their next best solution was to have Katara live in the palace for the three months leading up to the wedding.

Zuko shut that idea down even quicker. Had suggested any number of other perfectly qualified healers to come in Katara’s place. 

But the council insisted on having only the best, and Katara was it. 

Zuko put his foot down. He told the council and his captain of the guard that he would not tolerate them asking the Southern Tribe’s Ambassador to give up her work for three months on the off chance that someone might try to assassinate Zuko. 

It wasn’t fair to Katara. And though he’d never voice it out loud, it wasn’t fair to Zuko, either. 

It would be a unique form of torture, knowing she was in the palace, only a few doors down from where he slept, next to a woman he refused to touch, bound for a marriage he did not want. 

But Suki had been just as determined to bring Katara to the Caldera as Zuko was to keep her out. 

And instead of respecting his wishes, she’d…snuck Katara through in secret. 

Zuko rose abruptly, his seat nearly toppling backwards. 

“Excuse me,” he said to Torran. “Enjoy the rest of your dinner.” 

He was gone before she could reply, headed out of the dining room and down towards the harbor, his food left almost entirely untouched on his plate. 

There was a cool breeze blowing through the night as Zuko rushed out of the palace, anger building in his chest. It wasn’t cold—it never really got cold in the Caldera—but it was as close to winter as the weather would get this time of year. 

He hardly felt it. He wasn’t sure who he was more upset with—Suki for going behind his back, for making him look weak in front of his council, or Katara for having the pure nerve to be here. For three months. 

The light of the moon reflected off the water as Suki’s ship slowed to a crawl and came to rest along the edge of the harbor. Zuko climbed aboard the moment the gangplank hit the docks. 

The crew scurried out of his way, surprised to see the Fire Lord down at the docks late in the evening. 

He found Katara and Suki on the deck of the ship, laughing loudly, heads tipped back towards the night sky. 

Suki’s expression smoldered immediately when she saw him, all joy leaking from her face. 

“Zuko…” she started. He could sense the perfectly rehearsed excuse about to come sprawling from her mouth, and in that moment he was grateful that Suki was his friend and he would not disrespect her, that Sokka would rip him limb from limb if he was cruel to her, because he wanted to yell. He wanted to chastise the Kyoshi Warrior for what she’d done. 

He tried to soften his tone before speaking, but it still came out harsh. 

“You shouldn’t have brought her here,” he said. 

Suki started to speak, but Katara didn’t let her. 

“If you have a problem with my presence, take it up with me, not Suki.” 

Zuko whirled on Katara, and her eyes so full of fire it nearly set him ablaze from sheer proximity alone.

“Oh believe me, I have plenty of things to say to you, too, Katara,” he hissed. 

“Hey!” Suki interjected, grabbing Zuko by the arm. “This was my idea. I went against your wishes. But I will not stand by and let these assassins do you harm. So you need to get on board. So kiss and make up with Katara, because she’s going to be here for the next three months, whether you like it or not.” 

The idea of kissing Katara, the fact that the words had come from someone else–even in jest–was enough to nearly take him out at the knees. 

But he didn’t say that to Suki as she fixed him with a pointed glance and stalked off the deck of the ship to collect her things, leaving him alone with the waterbender. 

He turned to Katara then, who had her arms crossed over her chest, one eyebrow cocked. 

“For the record, Zuko, I had no idea you were so adamantly opposed to this idea when I agreed to do it. Suki conveniently didn’t mention that little fact until we were well out of Southern waters and on our way to the Fire Nation.” 

Zuko scoffed at that. Clever, scheming girl, his captain of the guard. 

Katara continued on. “It wouldn't have mattered anyway, though. I still would have come.” 

“Why? To what end, Katara?” Zuko asked, throwing up his hands in frustration. “You stay here for three months until I am married. And then what? For another nine while my wife carries our child? For another eighteen years until that child comes of age?” 

What he didn’t have the heart to say to Torran, or the Fire Council, or any of his friends, he almost blurted out right now. He almost laid himself bare for Katara–that after this last assassination attempt, it felt so very wrong to dream of bringing a child into this world.

He had always planned on being a father. First because it was part of his duty as Fire Lord, but now—now because the cycle of violence and hatred in the royal family would stop with him. He would not perpetuate that onto another generation. He would raise his children to know love and kindness, and to put that love and kindness out into the world. 

But Zuko would not be able to sleep at night if he was always wondering when the New Ozai Society was going to tire of chasing him and start targeting his offspring instead. 

He would not put this burden of fear onto his children, nor let them live their lives feeling like they were constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Katara’s eyes narrowed, and Zuko could sense the anger broiling within her. She took a step closer to him, that smell of mint and sage she always carried about her stuffing itself up his nose. It almost disarmed him entirely. 

“I am doing this because I believe in what you are fighting for. And I don’t like the idea of the Fire Nation scrambling to appoint a leader and undoing everything you have worked so hard to build in our world,” she said, voice low and lethal. “And beyond that, Zuko, you are my friend. The idea of someone trying to kill you makes me sick to my stomach.” 

“I can take care of myself. I was just fine until you came along,” he said, pointing a finger in her direction. It was a dirty, dirty, lie. 

“Zuko, I have saved your life twice now. You would have been dead before you were even crowned Fire Lord if it were not for me. So do not sit there and try to diminish just how much I am able to help you, how much power I have to heal.” 

He was never going to argue against the fact that Katara was a powerful healer, bender, and leader. That much they could agree on at the moment. 

“You have work to do outside of waiting for people to try and murder me,” Zuko said with a scowl. “Surely the Southern Tribe could not spare you for three months.” 

It was the smallest shift in her demeanor, but Zuko caught it immediately. 

“I may not have been entirely altruistic in coming here,” she said with a sigh. “I have some work to do as ambassador in your Caldera.” 

“Why is this the first I’m hearing of this?” Zuko asked, his tone already defensive. “Whatever you need, it’s yours.” 

Katara grimaced, and he was so close to her he could see the small lines that crinkled around her eyes, the ornate design of the carved white beads threaded into her hair. 

“That’s the problem,” she said bitterly. 

“What?” 

“The entirety of the Southern Water Tribe’s relationship with the Fire Nation hinges on you. On the reparations you made to us. I cannot convince your dignitaries and elite to even deign to attend one simple festival. And worse than that…” 

Katara cut herself off, shaking her head. Like she’d gone too far, had almost said something she shouldn’t. 

“Tell me, Katara.” 

Zuko’s voice edged between desperation and fury. Whoever had hurt her in any way would pay the price. 

“Don’t worry about it. We can handle ourselves.” 

Katara made to brush past him, but he grabbed her by the shoulders—perhaps a bit too boldly— and spun her to face him. His chest heaved with anger, anger at whoever had dared to disrespect Katara and her people. 

But the words did not come. 

“Go on. Say whatever it is you’re holding back,” she said the second she recognized his hesitation, jutting her chin defiantly in his direction. 

“If someone has done you wrong I will burn them to the ground,” he said, not caring how insane and possessive he sounded. 

“No need to get all dramatic, Zuko.” 

Spirits alive, but she could be infuriating. 

“I’m not being dramatic. I’m being serious.” 

They were still so close. He could smell her scent, and it was driving him towards the brink of insanity. But in the same beat, something was soothing itself in his chest. Like a wrinkle that was finally getting ironed out. 

It took him a moment to realize what it was—the bickering. The arguing. It felt…good to fight with her, fight about something real, something that mattered. To hear Katara say his name in that critical, concerned way. 

It had been some time since Zuko had been so close to her, so overwhelmed by her proximity, that he seemed to have lost the ability to fight back the natural instinct of his body when it was around Katara. 

Zuko could see the pulse point thrumming in her neck, just above where his hands clasped onto her shoulders. He was overwhelmed by a vision of himself biting gently over that point, hearing the soft whisper of a moan that came from her mouth at that action. 

Her words were like ice when she spoke, jarring him back to the present. 

“Well, while you are busy punishing people for having the sheer audacity to question your reparations and tariffs, I will be hard at work in your palace. Trying to get any of your annoying, stubborn council members and governors to attend the Glacier Spirits Festival.” 

She shoved his hands off of her, and he missed the cool touch of her skin instantly. 

His mind was already going a hundred miles a minute, calculating what he could leverage in exchange for people to attend this festival in a few weeks. 

“And before you even think about it, don’t. It’s my job to raise the attendance numbers at our festival, not yours. The South does not need to rely on your help,” Katara said over her shoulder, as if reading his mind. 

Zuko heard her footsteps falling away, making for the gangplank to get off the ship. At the last possible moment before she got too far, he called out to her. 

“Who was it that stood against the South?” 

She stopped, turning her head to look over her shoulder at him. Considering. 

“Your harbor master,” she answered. He knew it was both the truth and a test—to see what he would do, if he would go against her wishes and duel out some sort of punishment. 

She turned again, but this time he followed her. Katar seemed more than a little put out by this, clicking her tongue in his direction. “You don’t need to escort me to the palace. I can look after myself. If anything, you’re putting me in danger, with everyone trying to assassinate you all the time.” 

It was half of a joke, and Zuko huffed a humorless laugh. “I’m not walking with you to keep you from harm. I’m walking with you because if I see that damned harbor master, I’ll need to have someone stop me from throttling him.” 

The pair kept walking together, down the gangplank and off the dock. Zuko caught Suki sulking a few feet off, and as he and Katara walked toward the palace, the Kyoshi warrior followed a respectable distance away. 

Would he ever know solitude again? Surely not as long as these assassination attempts continued. 

He heard Katara sigh, then. The sound was resigned, frustrated. As if she knew, but didn’t want to admit, that Zuko had succeeded in bringing up a good point she hadn’t thought about. 

“I don’t want you to think me, or my tribe, ungrateful, for…for all you have done for us.” 

“I never thought that for a second,” Zuko replied honestly, making an effort to soften his tone to match hers. If she could concede a bit, then so could he. “The Fire Nation wiped out the South almost to extinction. Reparations are the least I can do, and if any of my citizens have a problem with that but decide to take it up with you instead of me…” Zuko trailed off. 

Then he wasn’t doing a very good job as Fire Lord. 

But he couldn’t make himself say that out loud. 

“Then they’re stupider than they look. And believe me, that harbor master looks plenty stupid,” Katara said, finishing his sentence for him. Sparing him from a truth he could not admit. “I’m pretty sure he has seaweed for brains.” 

Zuko smiled, just a little at that. 

This was their way, he and Katara. To fight and bicker and then move on, united once more. 

It had been that way from the start—he would never, as long as he lived, forget Katara threatening him on the cliffs of the Eastern Air Temple when he’d decided to join the Avatar. 

So they fought, and then they apologized, and then they were fine. Or as fine as two people could be when one was still hanging on to the distant memory of a kiss, now five years passed. 

They walked in silence for a long while, Suki a shadow in their wake. Zuko had half a mind to invite her to walk with them, but knew she was still upset about all the assassination attempts, about feeling like she had failed to do her job. 

And Zuko was still a bit upset that she’d brought Katara here behind his back. So he let her have her space. 

After a while, Zuko bumped Katara with his elbow, nudging her to look over at him. “If I had to have a healer watching over me night and day, well, then I’m at least glad we got the best one there is.” 

Katara rolled her eyes, but he caught her small smile when she turned away. 

That night, after showing Katara to her room—which of course, Suki had chosen to be right next to his own—Zuko retired to go to sleep. He stripped down and changed into sleeping clothes, finding himself startled yet again to find Torran propped up on the mattress, reading by candlelight. 

He wasn’t sure if he would ever become accustomed to her presence in his room. She surely had to wonder why he never made any move to kiss her, to touch her, to draw her close. 

At first, he had done it out of respect. They didn’t know each other in the slightest, and Zuko didn’t want her to think he was trying to force himself upon her or take advantage of her.

But it had been weeks, and he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not even a chaste kiss. 

Torran removed her reading glasses as he appeared by the bed. 

“You’re still awake,” Zuko said. He had hoped she would already be asleep when he returned so he didn’t have to feel guilty about abandoning her at dinner, or not attempting to pull her body against his as they lay together. 

“I wanted to finish this chapter,” she said, her voice gentle and sweet. “It’s so exciting that Master Katara is here to visit. How long will she be with us?” 

Zuko climbed into bed, feet of space separating himself from Torran. If she was bothered by it, she gave no indication. 

“Three months. Until the wedding, in case…there is another assassination attempt.” 

“That’s very wise. Once we have children, the threat of assassination will feel much less severe with heirs lined up.” 

Zuko’s stomach turned over. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take of people treating his future children like tally marks on a board. 

The Fire Lord has an heir, so it’s no big deal if he is killed in cold blood. 

If Zuko was dead, then he was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that the New Ozai society would turn their focus on the very heirs everyone wanted him so badly to produce. Could nobody but him see the fault in that logic?

And how could Torran remain so unbothered by this? Shouldn’t she concern herself with the fact that these assassins might one day have her future children in their cross hairs? 

“I’ve never met a Southern Waterbender before!” Torran said, lighting up with an enthusiasm Zuko had yet to see from her. “I’ll have to take tea with her tomorrow, make sure she feels welcome. What’s she like?” 

Zuko didn’t know how to answer that question without exposing himself entirely to Torran. 

“Stubborn,” he scoffed. “Obssessed with justice, and hope, and doing the right thing. Passionate as all get out.” 

Torran fixed him with a smile, and Zuko was pleased she hadn’t picked up on any of the emotion lurking beneath his words. 

Torran grinned before raising the candle to her lips and blowing it out. 

“Hmm. She sounds just like you.”

Notes:

This chapter was 99% done in the google docs app on my phone while I rocked my sick baby to sleep, RIP my own personal sleep schedule.

Also we get to meet Torran for the first time here!! Hope you all enjoyed!

Chapter 11: The Desk

Katara

 

Katara got right to work when she awoke on her first morning in the palace. 

She dressed quickly and surveyed the room she had been given across the hall from Zuko. It was more than spacious enough for her and her things, but she would need somewhere to conduct business as ambassador. 

For the time being, she was going to set her sights on bumping up the number of Fire Nation attendees to the Glacier Spirits Festival. That was something concrete she could control, something tangible she could work towards. 

Twisting her hair away from her face, she began rearranging the furniture in her room. She shoved her bed up against the wall to make more space, and moved the small sitting couch away from the window, pushing it haphazardly into the closet. 

The best her room had to offer in terms of a desk was nothing more than the small nightstand, and it would not suffice as a place to keep all her work and correspondence. 

Katara thought she recalled there being a large table out in the hallway between her room and Zuko’s, so she set out to commandeer it. 

She peeked out of the door to make sure nobody was watching—she wasn’t exactly stealing anything, just relocating it, but it was likely frowned upon to move furniture all about the royal palace. 

When the coast was clear, she propped open the door to her room and started to shove the table down the hall. 

The only problem was, it seemed to be made of real oak, carved and ornate, and was certainly heavier than it looked. Katara was strong, but she still grunted and strained to move the large thing more than a few inches at a time, all the while cursing Zuko and his family for choosing such…elaborate furniture. 

A bead of sweat broke out on her brow as she worked, getting the table closer and closer towards her room. When she finally had it halfway in the door, she was startled by a soft, delicate voice behind her. 

“Master Katara! What are you doing?” 

Katara froze and spun slowly around. 

Standing in the threshold to Zuko’s room was a woman she’d never seen before—small and petite with short, dark hair, streaked with a solitary strand of white, like a lightning bolt jutting just over the shell of her ear. She was dressed in elegant crimson clothing, the perfect picture of Fire Nation elite. 

It smacked Katara in the face all at once who this was, exiting Zuko’s bedchambers. 

Torran, his fiancee. 

Her stomach bottomed out.

Torran sleeps in the same room as Zuko? 

She knew the people of the Fire Nation were certainly a bit more accepting than she was accustomed to in terms of relationships. It was not like in the South, where the people still had half a foot in the antiquated ways of their forefathers. Fertility suppressant herbs were readily available for women in the healing huts at no charge—but the cranky council members had still snuck Katara judgemental glances whenever Aang had stayed in her quarters with her. As if she were committing some grave sin for having the audacity to sleep beside her own boyfriend. 

But why did something that felt suspiciously like jealousy creep up her throat at the thought of Torran sleeping beside Zuko? 

Katara thought of the times she had been beside him in that very bed—the night after the Agni Kai with Azula, when she’d told him she had to try and make things work with Aang. 

And then, a few months ago, when she’d knelt on the bed and healed him from the poison. She could be reincarnated in a hundred lifetimes and she didn’t know if she would ever be able to scrub away the feel of the rough star-shaped scar across his chest, the warmth of his body after she collapsed beside him, completely spent from exhaustion.

Katara supposed she had no real reason to feel so envious. She had never been truly beholden to Zuko in any way, and at most had been living on stolen moments with him. 

It was only fair that he got to sleep beside his fiancee. 

His astoundingly beautiful fiancee. 

Katara realized Torran had been staring at her for some time, waiting for her to speak. 

“Oh, I…um, didn’t have a desk in my room. And I need to get some work done.” 

Torran nodded, her face passive and expressionless. “I can get you a space to work in so you are not sequestered to your room,” she offered. 

“That’s quite alright,” Katara said, nodding down at the massive oak desk. “I’ve already moved this thing pretty far, anyways. And it’s…heavy.” 

“Let me help you then,” Torran said, stepping towards Katara. “I’m Torran, by the way. Zuko’s fiancee” 

Zuko’s fiancee. 

Katara watched as the future Fire Lady extended one elegant, pale hand in her direction. She took it and shook, surprised to find Torran’s grip firm. 

“Katara, but you already knew that,” she said, doing her best to keep her voice level, to not let it betray the shocking gambit of emotions she was experiencing.

Torran leaned down and grabbed one end of the desk, and together the two girls lifted it through the doorway and into Katara’s room. 

“Oh, yes. It’s a lot to keep tabs on all the different dignitaries, kings, and governors that pass through here, but I’d know you anywhere.” 

Katara motioned with a nod of her head to the corner of the room, by the window, where she wanted the large desk to reside. Torran followed without question–making it more difficult than Katara wanted to dislike her. It was hard to feel any real anger towards someone who was actively helping you move furniture. 

“You would? Why’s that?” Katara raised an eyebrow. 

“You’re a master waterbender, and responsible for defeating Princess Azula in an Agni Kai. Those are no small accomplishments,” Torran said, her voice frustratingly neutral. “Besides, Zuko speaks very highly of you.” 

Katara nearly dropped the desk on her own foot, but quickly recovered. “He does?” 

“Well, yes. You’ve saved his life several times. He respects you deeply.” 

Katara looked at the girl as they moved to set the desk down with as much grace as possible. She wondered if Zuko had told his betrothed the truth about what had happened between them after the Agni Kai–that kiss they had shared, how they had harbored that secret together all this time. 

To the grave, she and Zuko had promised each other. 

But Katara doubted Torran would be here, speaking to her with any modicum of respect, helping her move this behemoth desk this way and that, if she knew the truth. 

“We need a good Fire Lord ruling over this nation. It’s either him or Iroh–and the whole of Ba Sing Se might fall apart without his tea shop. It’s the least I could do,” Katara said, trying to make light of the whole thing as the girls finally dropped the desk down. 

What Katara didn’t say was that Azula and Ozai were both alive, both out there, both royalty. That the New Ozai Society was actively working to demolish everything Zuko had built. 

The thought of Zuko’s father or sister taking the throne was incomprehensible. 

“Well, I am grateful for you, at the very least” Torran said, dusting off her hands and surveying their handiwork, the large desk nestled carefully by the window. 

“Thank you for helping me with this,” Katara said. Something cruel and dark inside her heart wanted to hate this girl–wanted to resent her for all she meant to Zuko, for the title she got to carry without fear or burden. 

But it was hard to do so when she was just so nice and helpful and generally pleasant. 

Even if it had been an arranged marriage, Zuko had chosen well. Chosen someone who would reach out a hand to those in need. 

Would Torran have reached out a hand to Katara if she knew the truth? Not even their closest loved ones were aware of what had transpired at the end of the war–that damned kiss. Katara had to admit there was something…darkly thrilling about having something shared only between her and Zuko, and nobody else in the world. 

“Of course. Honestly, I was hoping to ask you to tea today–to get to know you a bit. Why don’t you join me for breakfast?” 

Katara wanted to refuse, but she felt a bit like she owed the girl, now. Torran could have easily passed her by without offering any assistance. 

So she nodded. Torran extended her arm, and Katara took it, letting Zuko’s fiancee lead her away to an ostentatious dining room. Katara had never seen it before in her life. The sheer size of the space made her bark out a laugh as Torran sat at the head of the table. 

“Is something funny?” Torran asked, waving an attendant down to bring them a pot of tea. 

“Nothing, it just…feels a bit odd for the two of us to sit here alone, at a dining room table meant for about a hundred people.” 

If Katara was being honest, the best meals she’d had in the Caldera were when she had dined with all her friends on a blanket beside the turtleduck pond, the sun like a heavy, orange weight in the sky, illuminating the whole world in copper. 

“This is the dining room. This is where we’re supposed to take meals,” she said, as if it were the most obvious fact in the world. And she was so serious that Katara almost felt bad for laughing. 

“There’s plenty of things I’m supposed to do. By Southern law, I am supposed to defer to my brother in all Tribe matters since he is the future chief, but I certainly don’t allow that to happen,” she said, surveying the enormous room. “You really eat all your meals here, alone?” 

Torran glanced down at the mahogany table. “I wait for Zuko when I can. But he often works long hours.” 

Katara cocked an eyebrow in Torran’s direction. “So make him eat with you.” 

Torran’s eyes widened a sliver, and her voice sounded completely shocked when she spoke. It was the first real show of emotion Katara had seen from her so far. “Make him? He’s the Fire Lord, Katara. I can’t make him do anything.” 

A terrible, violent thought zipped through her mind before she could stop it–that there were a great many things Katara would like to make Zuko do. 

She reined it in quickly, not allowing it to take root. She would not be a petulant child who grew jealous because the thing she had always secretly admired was now being enjoyed by someone else. 

“It’s easy. I’ll show you,” Katara said, stalking off towards the kitchen, not waiting to see if Torran was following behind her. 

In the large kitchen, Katara grabbed a basket from the shelf and began filling it with muffins, scones, and travel mugs of tea. She heard the scrape of boots on the floor beside her and saw Torran’s short frame out of the corner of her eye. 

“Where is Zuko, now?” she asked the future Fire Lady. 

“In his office, most likely,” Torran replied, looking at Katara curiously.  

Katara wasn’t entirely sure what had taken over her. What was she doing, getting in between Torran and Zuko? Acting as a liaison for their relationship? She was supposed to come in and buckle down, work hard, get people to attend the festival in the South that was taking place in only a few weeks. 

But something in her felt just terrible for wanting to dislike Torran so badly. For feeling such an insane jealousy when she spotted Torran standing in Zuko’s bedroom door. And if Zuko was really, truly going to marry this girl–well, then the least Katara could do was make sure they both had half a chance at a real, happy life. 

Zuko deserved that much. Even if it made something small and dull ache within her chest in a way she was not quite brave enough to analyze too deeply. 

Katara had journeyed to the Royal Palace enough alongside Aang since the end of the war to have a general idea where Zuko’s office was, and she took off in that direction, picnic basket tucked in the crook of her elbow. It was only a few long hallways down from the kitchen, and she reached the door in no time, Torran keeping stride with her. 

Katara raised her hand and rapped twice on the large, golden door. A confused silence lingered on the other side for just a moment–clearly Zuko was not expecting any visitors–before his low voice called out, “Come in.” 

With a sweep of her hand, Katara pushed open the door. The room was so unbelievably cozy and warm, she knew if she had half a moment to lie down on the plush couch with a blanket and rest by the fire burning in the hearth, she could likely sleep for the next decade. All the lights were dimmed low and the curtains drawn open. Candles burned in golden votives on the floor and on Zuko’s desk, illuminating the whole space in warm orange light. Katara understood in that moment how fire was the element of life, not death–energy, and not destruction. 

Zuko sat at his desk, Kyoko across from him, papers spread in every direction. They both looked as if they had already been working for several long, difficult hours, despite the fact that it was barely mid-morning. 

“Katara!” Kyoko called with a smile. “It’s so good to see you again.” 

With a smile in response, Katara lifted the picnic basket in one hand. “We’re having breakfast by the turtleduck pond. Come join us,” she said. It was less of a question and more of a statement. 

Zuko’s eyes flickered over Katara’s shoulder, for only a moment, to where Torran waited, arms tucked into her sleeves, standing firmly with the idea despite having only met Katara twenty minutes prior. 

Katara had to admit, she was impressed by Torran. 

“We have quite a bit of work to do,” Zuko said, gesturing towards the mess of papers littering his desk. 

Kyoko let out a whine that mirrored that of an angsty teenager. “Come on Zuko, we’ve made so much progress. Some fresh air will do us good.” 

Zuko hardly looked convinced, and Katara could read, plain as day, the stress on his face, the burden he carried–of a Fire Lord trying desperately to break a cruel cycle. 

So Katara pulled out all the stops, reaching into the picnic basket and procuring a piece of day-old bread she’d snagged from the kitchen. 

“I brought bread to feed the turtleducks.” 

Zuko arched a brow at her, questions in his eyes. Katara tried to convey with one look everything she was trying to do, even though she wasn’t quite sure she fully understood the logic behind her own motivations.

Look, I can play nice. It won’t be all bad that I’m here. 

It was a peace offering after their argument down at the harbor last night, an olive branch extended. A small bit of gratitude. 

Zuko sighed reluctantly, shaking his head and dropped his quill onto the desk. 

“Fine,” he said. Kyoko screeched with joy and leapt from her seat at the desk, grabbing Torran and Katar on each arm and dragging them out to the courtyard, Zuko in their wake. 

As they sat on a small cluster of benches by the turtleduck pond out in the courtyard, Kyoko became the surprising link that knitted the group together. 

The council woman kept them all talking and laughing, a boon that prevented Katara from feeling like some awkward third wheel that simply did not belong. 

Zuko broke off pieces of stale bread to feed the turtleducks, who all seemed to know and trust him implicitly, waddling up to eat right out of his hand. 

None of the girls had such luck coercing the little creatures. But Zuko was far more somber and reserved than the rest of them–smooth and fluid, making no sudden movements. And he had certainly spent hours out here. 

As they all tried to convince the unwilling babies to waddle up and snatch a bite of crust, Katara watched the interactions between Torran and Zuko. They were pleasant towards each other, thighs just brushing as they sat side by side on the concrete bench. Zuko poured her a cup of tea, leveling her with one of those rare smiles of his whenever she thanked him. 

Katara felt like she was a world away. 

When she started to grow tired of the whole thing, she rose to excuse herself, but Kyoko grabbed her by the arm. 

“Katara, I was hoping I could get your help with a project while you’re staying with us,” she said. 

“What kind of project? I made some rather bold promises to the Southern Council that I would be returning with a small army of Fire Nation attendees for the Glacier Spirit Festival in a few weeks.” 

Zuko’s brows knit in frustration when she said that, and Katara knew he couldn’t stand it–feeling helpless. Powerless. He’d had enough of that to last him a lifetime. 

Well, he would just have to get over himself on this matter. 

“I have been working on restoring the Royal Library after Ozai purged it so severely. We have made great progress, but our section on the Southern Water Tribe is…how do I put this…” Kyoko trailed off, looking down, embarrassed. 

“Abysmal before my father’s influence, entirely nonexistent now,” Zuko said. Katara thought she caught the barest hint of guilt streaked in his voice. As if it was all somehow his fault that Ozai had redacted the library into bits. 

Kyoko gave him a pointed look, clicking her tongue in his direction. “I was trying to put it in a more pleasant way than that.” 

“You don’t need to sugarcoat anything with Katara. She’s tough enough to take the truth.” 

Zuko blinked once the words were out of his mouth, as if he realized all at once he had said something entirely too forward. But Katara didn’t mind–it was a high compliment coming from the Fire Lord himself. 

“Any knowledge you could offer for the library, or resources your tribe would be willing to give us about your people, your culture, your history, your way of life–it would be most appreciated,” she said. “And, if it helps, I have curated quite a network of Fire Nation citizens to work on this project. If they see you helping, it would certainly be a means of spreading the word about the festival. Which I will be attending, by the way.” 

Katara sat up straight. Kyoko was serving her a wonderful opportunity–a chance to educate the Fire Nation, first hand, about the Southern Water Tribe. And a chance to gain influence in a place where she had historically been overlooked as nothing more than the Fire Lord’s friend. 

“I would love to help with that, actually,” Katara said. 

“Wonderful!” Kyoko clapped her hands together. “Meet me in the library tomorrow and we can get started.” 

 

+++

Katara fell, almost too easily, into a routine at the Royal Palace. She quickly got to work writing to Sokka, requesting books and scrolls from the library in the South for her to transcribe for Kyoko’s restoration project. 

The young councilwoman was true to her word–on Katara’s first visit to the Royal Library, the building was packed with people, all working to piece together the fragments of knowledge that Ozai had ripped apart. She did not hesitate to jump right into the fray, introducing herself to everyone who would look her way for more than a moment, offering her help in any way she could until the books and scrolls from Sokka arrived in the Fire Nation. 

Kyoko had been right–it was a good way to connect with many powerful people. By the end of her first week, she had recruited over a dozen citizens–scholars, judges, and educators, to name a few–to attend the festival. Those who could not attend passed on names of friends or family that Katara could likely convince to attend, and she jotted them all down dutifully. 

At night, she would dine with Suki and Kyoko–and sometimes Torran and Zuko, although the Fire Lord might as well have been a planet away, for all he spoke to her. 

Katara didn’t mind that, though. Slowly but surely, she was making strides towards what she had set out to do here. She would not let Zuko’s guilt about her presence bog her down. 

In the late evenings, she would retire to her bedchambers, catching up on correspondence. 

And every night, through her open door, she would watch as Torran, and then–hours later–Zuko, would retire to the Fire Lord’s bedchambers. 

She told herself it did not bother her. He was engaged. Of course he was going to lie down beside his betrothed. Katara did not acknowledge Zuko when she saw him go into his room, late at night, to join his fiancee. 

But she could only keep the thoughts out of her head for so long. Especially after the end of her first week in the palace, when she had finished all her work for the day and settled down for a glass…or three…of the spiced wine that could only be found in the Caldera. Her mind began to wonder. 

To dangerous places. 

Did Zuko make love to Torran? 

Did he strip her bare and lay her down against those soft, velvet sheets of his? 

The girl was so soft, so kind, so docile that she certainly seemed like she would snap in half beneath Zuko’s firm grip. 

Not like Katara. Katara could take him, take all of him–his sharp tongue and that quiet, unspoken anger that lay thrumming just beneath the surface. 

She had never balked from Zuko, never backed down from him. Not when they were enemies, not when they were friends, and certainly not now that they were…what? What was Zuko to her? 

Ugh. 

She should not be having thoughts like this about another woman’s future husband. 

Katara tipped the last sip of crimson wine hurriedly into her mouth before setting the glass too abruptly down on the desk–any more force and it would have certainly shattered. 

She stood, striding to the door to slam it closed and lock herself away, alone for the night. With one hand on the knob, she looked up, startled, to see Zuko standing across the hallway, just outside his bedchambers. 

Their gazes locked, and Katara stared across the way at his golden eyes. Every day he looked more tired than the one before. Was he sleeping? 

Spirits alive, was he not sleeping because he was…busy with Torran? 

Her stomach felt like it was slick with oil, and tears threatened at the back of her throat. 

Zuko seemed to sense this all at once, and took one nervous, stuttered step in her direction. But then he stopped, considering himself. 

The distance between them was maybe four feet, but it might as well have been an impossible chasm for how far apart Katara felt from him at that moment. 

She could see it, all at once. The sense of duty, and honor, that washed over him. The need to be good, to do right. 

He stepped back away from her, opening his bedchambers. 

“Goodnight, Katara,” he said, his voice barely a whisper before disappearing into the room. 

Notes:

Me: Has an entire English degree
Also Me: googles "difference between fiance and fiancee" 11 chapters into writing this fic

Chapter 12: The Reception

Zuko

 

Zuko was well aware that Royal Reception was one of the most important things he did as Fire Lord. Once a month, the palace opened its gates wide to the people, allowing them to come in and ask for assistance, air their grievances, and make issues known. 

It was not a practice Ozai had ever employed. 

But Zuko had revived it the moment he had ascended the throne. 

In hindsight, hosting Royal Reception only four weeks after he had overthrown his father hadn’t been the smartest move. Raijin had warned strongly against it–Zuko had just ended a century of war, had just curbed the cruelty of his family line. Of course the denizens of the Fire Nation were going to have grievances. How could they not? 

Whole cities had been wiped out in the aftermath of the war. People were starving and their homes were destroyed. Beyond that, the entire world had its eyes on Zuko’s country. Even those in the Fire Nation who had not supported Ozai in the slightest suddenly felt as if they were being labeled as complicit for the sheer fact that they resided beneath a dictatorship.

What the Fire Nation needed, Raijin told Zuko, wasn’t a platform upon which they could offer protests. They needed aid, and funding, and the supplies and support necessary to rebuild. 

But Zuko had been young, dumb, and proud. He wanted to show his people that he was different, that he was neither his father nor his grandfather. 

The first Royal Reception had been a nightmare. 

Raijin, thankfully, had the composure and strength to shut the whole thing down, leaving Zuko with some small sliver  of decorum intact. 

Zuko made it a point to heed Raijin’s advice much more carefully after that. 

Now, five years after the war had concluded, Zuko had a better handle on Royal Reception. He had grown in his ability to read people, to see their true intentions–even if it was a skill that had been hard earned. 

This Royal Reception, however, was different. It was the first with Torran seated at his side as the future Fire Lady. 

She was doing quite well, Zuko had to admit. She received every citizen with a graceful, placid smile, nodding dutifully as they spoke. 

When Katara had arrived so abruptly in the Fire Nation, she’d awakened feelings in Zuko he thought he had long buried in the month he had spent betrothed to Torran. But the waterbender had caught him so off guard, leaving him totally disarmed. 

After that, he swore he would collect himself. He would squash down whatever strange things Katara’s presence stirred up within him. He had made a promise to Torran in agreeing to marry her–and he would stay true to his word. 

He had allowed himself to consider it for just one long moment of atrocious weakness in the early morning after Katara had arrived, when pale yellow light streamed over the bed he shared with his future wife. 

He and Katara had always been ships in the night. But what if–what if–there had been a moment when the stars had aligned and neither of them had been sworn to another? 

If he were to choose Katara, publicly and out loud, would the people of the Fire Nation accept it? Did they respect Zuko enough as a leader, respect all he had worked to do over the past five years? 

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that question. 

They certainly knew and respected Katara. She had taken down Azula, had aided the Avatar, and had saved Zuko’s life on multiple occasions. 

But while Katara was many great and wonderful things, she was most definitely not Fire Nation. 

Besides, the chance with Katara had passed. She had work to do as ambassador, and he had a duty to his people–to marry someone from the upper echelon of his home country and produce a litany of little firebending heirs to one day claim the throne. He owed his citizens that much after all the torment they had been through–they deserved a ruler that was sure, and steady, and predictable. Who did the right thing and did not buck the system. 

So he boxed Katara out, as much as he could, without being downright rude. He began making a real, honest effort to be present and genuine with Torran, instead of keeping her at an arm’s length. 

After the breakfast by the turtleduck pond, Torran seemed much less adamant about having meals in the formal dining room every night. In a genuine bid to get to know his fiancee on a more personal level, Zuko asked why she’d been so passionate about it in the first place. 

“That’s the way that I was taught,” she told Zuko sheepishly, tucking her lone streak of white hair away from her face. “My mother had formal dinners every night, where we were dressed and well-presented. Often joined by a host of important and pretentious people. We did not eat unless my father had finished his work. I just assumed… assumed that since you are the Fire Lord…” 

Zuko saw her clearer in that moment, then. Torran had been raised in a similar vein to him and Azula. Under the thumb of a man who claimed absolute power, who would have everyone bend to his way. 

“In the spirit of complete honesty, I would much prefer eating in my sitting room or office each night,” Zuko told her, “If you would like to join me.” 

So she had. They didn’t talk much. Torran ate and picked through books. He noticed her choice of titles had changed from political tomes to ones about the cultures and practices of the different nations. It was an amicable silence that they existed in. 

He felt better, making a real effort with her. 

Now, in the thick of Royal Reception, as a man with a small child hanging off his legs complained in depth about the taxes he was being asked to pay, Zuko studied Torran. 

He had begun to pick up on her mannerisms, a bit. And he could tell she was enamored by the sheer mass of people crowding the palace today–a host of characters from across the wide reaches of the Fire Nation. Her expression changed little as people presented her with their problems, but he noticed her eyes wandering, looking at the vast diversity the country had to offer. 

It made sense to him. In their dinners together, Torran had confessed that she had seen little of the Fire Nation, little of the world. She’d only left the Caldera a few times in her life, and they were all on business trips for her father’s job–and always accompanied by her mother and her watchful, scrutinizing eye. 

That had floored Zuko. She seemed so educated, so knowledgeable, that he assumed she’d traveled the world over. But instead, she had been trapped here in the royal city. Much like Zuko had been, once upon a time. 

When he discovered that she’d been so sequestered in one solitary place her whole life, he asked her if she would like to attend the Glacier Spirits Festival with him in a few weeks. It would be expected of her to be there as his fiancee, regardless, but he hadn’t brought it up to her yet. Plus, it would certainly be a subtle way for him to help Katara bolster attendance. 

The way Torran reacted to his invitation to visit the South, Zuko would have thought he offered her a ship full of gold and jewels–he had never seen her break her stoic composure in the entire time he’d known her. But her face lit with joy at the suggestion. 

“...and personally, I just don’t like the idea of paying taxes that go to those farmers. All they do is drive up the price of water in our city!” the man in front of Zuko was beginning to raise his voice, jolting the Fire Lord out of his thoughts. 

Five years ago, this would have felt like an attack on his policies, something that kept Zuko awake at night. But now, he was glad these were the kind of complaints he was getting. 

Taxes are too high. 

The postmaster’s building isn’t up to code. 

The curriculum at the local school focuses too much on the other nations. 

These were problems that were easy to swallow. They were not the problems he had encountered when he’d first assumed the throne. Starvation, destruction, families ripped apart. Kids who had never set foot in a formal school setting. Towns with no clean drinking water. Those had been real problems that he’d bent over backwards to solve. 

“Where do you get your food from?” Zuko asked with a raised brow when the man finally stopped speaking. The child clinging to his leg wiped her runny nose on his pants. 

“The local bazaar in the center of town,” the man answered, confused. 

“And where do you think the bazaar gets that food?” Zuko pressed. 

The man stared at the Fire Lord, eyes narrowed. Zuko continued speaking, unbothered.

“I could certainly lower the taxes in your town. But then the farmers will not receive funding. And you will have to travel upwards of…you said you were from Dao Ri, right?” the man nodded. “Twenty miles, I think it is, to the next town.” 

The man blinked twice, considering Zuko’s words, before turning away with a huff, unwilling to admit that the Fire Lord was right. 

Zuko was glad his problems were as small as this, certainly. But that didn’t stop a headache from beginning to build in the back of his neck. He got them, from time to time. On days like this, the ones that were full to the brim with the worries of a nation resting upon him. 

Raijin, who was always mercifully present at Royal Reception in case things went awry like they had all those years ago, waved the next citizen forward. She was a woman only a few years older than Zuko himself, maybe mid-twenties. Her belly was heavily swollen with life, and Zuko guessed she maybe had days left of her pregnancy before the baby arrived. 

She waddled forward, a stack of papers in her hands, and attempted to genuflect before him and Torran, as was custom. 

But Zuko was up in a flash, putting a hand up to stop her. He stole a glance at his Grand Advisor. 

“Spirits alive, Raijin, has she been standing in line this whole time?” 

Zuko dashed quickly to the edge of the throne room and grabbed a chair, bringing it towards the woman and offering his hand as she made to sit. 

“Thank you, my Lord,” she said, gratefully. 

Zuko nodded, kneeling before the woman. He could feel Torran’s eyes on his back, as well as the stares of people waiting to get into the throne room, curious to see what had moved the Fire Lord so quickly from the dais.

“What can I help you with?” Zuko asked the young woman. She ran a hand over her stomach nervously. 

“I almost didn’t come,” she said, voice dropping low, just loud enough for Zuko, Torran, and Raijin to hear. “It’s such a long journey from the Iron Claw. But I finally scraped together the proof of what was happening…” 

The young woman tried to suck in a full breath of air, but seemed unable to do so, and rubbed at her stomach once more. With words stuck in her throat and her lungs short of oxygen, she simply thrust the papers clutched in her hands into Zuko’s waiting palms. 

“It’s all there,” she said breathily. 

Zuko took the papers with a nod of thanks and glanced down at them, his eyes scouring over the numbers and figures inked before him. 

The Iron Claw was a mining town on the Eastern side of the Fire Nation–and it had become a major focus for Zuko’s Prisoner Reintegration Project. 

Following the end of the war, Zuko had done a thorough sweep of those Fire Nation citizens that had been wrongfully imprisoned or banished under Ozai’s reign–and there were a lot of them, to say the least. People were cast out from the country for so much as looking at Azula the wrong way. 

Zuko thought the issue had been solved when he released these people from prison, or paid for their passage back into the Fire Nation. But he should have known better than to assume the issue was so one-dimensional. 

As these citizens attempted to reintegrate back into society, they all seemed to hit the same roadblocks, over and over: nobody would hire them for jobs, and nobody would rent housing to them. 

It seemed landlords and superintendents cared extremely little for the minutiae or details–only that one’s records were stamped with a red mark of imprisonment or banishment. 

So Zuko had come up with the Prisoner Reintegration Project, which gave grants and funding to employers and housing projects that would take on these citizens. The Iron Claw, a town in desperate need of miners, was the biggest boon in this venture, taking on nearly half of the formerly incarcerated. 

Since the start of the project, the revenue of the town flourished. Everyone was happy. 

But as Zuko scanned the documents before him, he ran numbers in his head, trying to get a sense for what this woman was so concerned about. 

It clicked into place within his mind all at once, the sums suddenly adding up in glaring clarity. 

He looked up at the woman before him, and he could do little to maintain his normal composure. She must have thought him confused rather than infuriated, because she began stumbling to explain. 

“Lord Callum, the superintendent of the mines–” she started 

“Is not paying those in the program what they are owed,” Zuko finished. 

Not by a long shot. When new employees under the Prisoner Reintegration Project started at the mines, they were being shorted nearly four silver pieces in their starting wage. Each time they were due for a raise, they were shorted yet again. 

The woman nodded, her expression relieved that Zuko had pieced that information together from what she had given him. 

“How did you come across this information?” he asked. 

“I am the executive assistant to Lord Callum. I manage all his correspondence, all his affairs. I am privy to all his documents and taxes. My family has worked for him for decades, and been compensated heavily to look the other way as he fudges the numbers and makes back-alley deals. But money cannot buy my silence any longer,” she said in a breathy whisper. “I will not allow my child to grow up in a world where this is allowed.” 

Zuko waved to Raijin, who appeared at his side in an instant. “Take this woman to meet with Kyoko. She will handle this issue moving forward.” 

Zuko turned to the woman and offered her a hand, helping her up from the chair. 

“Thank you for your honesty. Myself and my council will make sure this is handled swiftly. The Fire Nation owes you a great debt.” 

Raijin offered her his arm, and she waddled off beside him, taking slow and deliberate steps. Zuko returned to his seat on the throne, but had to force himself to focus on the continual line of problems that came before him. He could not get his mind off of the corruption taking place in the Iron Claw. 

Throughout the rest of Royal Reception, it ate at him. This was no small piece of corruption. If this woman hadn’t been bold enough to step forward–how long would this have gone on under his nose? 

He met with hundreds of citizens after the pregnant woman left the dais, the headache at the base of his neck growing more and more intense as the day passed on. When the sun finally began to tip down beneath the caldera and the last of the citizens had been seen, he extracted himself painfully from his seat, rubbing at his temples. 

It was so bad, even his scar ached–something that had become more and more rare, something that only happened now when he was extremely stressed. 

Torran didn’t seem to notice the pain Zuko was in as they walked towards his bedchambers. He heard her talking, alight with excitement, about all the different people she’d been able to meet. Circus performers and farmers and families and even a Komodo Dragon breeder. 

Zuko couldn’t find it in him to match her enthusiasm. 

They took dinner in his sitting room, joined by Kyoko, but Zuko had pretty much lost his appetite. His mind was still stuck on the Iron Claw, on Lord Callum. 

There was much he needed to do. 

This would need to be dealt with swiftly. The formerly incarcerated people within the program would need to be backpaid. Zuko would need to find out where all that money had gone, and would need to send Kyoko out to the mining town at first light to launch a full investigation. 

But all he wanted to do at this moment was crawl into bed and sleep for a thousand years. 

“Are you alright?” Zuko heard Kyoko’s voice break through the fog in his brain. He realized he’d dropped his head into his hands and was massaging at his eyes, trying to fight off the stark, beating pain of the headache thrumming in his temple. 

He glanced up to see both Kyoko and Torran looking at him with concern. 

“I’m fine. Just a headache,” he said. But Zuko’s voice sounded like he had swallowed a handful of gravel and was trying to talk through it. 

Spirits alive, when was the last time he’d had something to drink? He reached for the glass of water before him to take a sip and found his hand shaking almost too hard to grasp it. 

“I’ll fetch Master Katara,” Torran said, standing from the small table where they were eating and crossing the room quickly. 

“No, that’s really not necessary,” Zuko protested, a bit more adamantly than was necessary. Kyoko shot him a confused glance. 

“Nonsense, what’s the point of having the best healer in the world living just across the hall if we can’t ask for her assistance when we are ill?” Torran said, pausing with her hand on the doorknob. 

“I don’t want to bother her,” Zuko insisted. “I only have a headache, it’s not like my arm is about to fall off.” 

But Torran just shook her head and stepped out into the hallway, returning only a few minutes later with Katara in tow. 

Katara, it seemed, had been ready to retire for the night, and stepped into the room in her sleep clothes–a blue satin dress and a crimson robe tied loose at her hips that Zuko knew she must have procured from somewhere in the Fire Nation. The contrast of the two colors on her dark skin was…stunning, to say the least. 

Her hair was down and brushed, and Zuko realized all at once that he hadn’t seen her completely undone like this since they traveled together during the war. 

“Torran said you needed help with a headache,” she said, arching a brow in Zuko’s direction. 

“No, I do not,” he replied, shaking his head. 

Katara rolled her eyes and crossed to the sitting room, gathering a host of throw pillows in her arms. She crooked a finger in his direction, motioning for him to come sit. 

“Quit being stubborn,” she chided. 

“I’m not being stubborn.” 

“No, you’re just being self-deprecating for no good reason whatsoever. Spirits forbid that somebody try to help you,” she said, plopping down on the couch and pulling a pillow onto her lap.

“I don’t need help.” 

“Oh, look at me, I’m Fire Lord Zuko,” Katara said, dipping her voice down low in a mock imitation of him, “I do everything by myself and never let anyone in for any reason, even when it makes me physically sick,” 

Kyoko barked a laugh. “Hey, she does a pretty good Zuko impersonation.” 

Zuko scowled, and–sick of being mocked, but quite honestly, more sick of feeling like the sun was raging behind his eyes–rose and stalked over to the couch where Katara was sitting. 

“Lay down,” she commanded, pointing at the pillow resting on her lap. 

He nearly balked at the proximity, the nearness of her, but obeyed nonetheless. She was clean and bathed, and he could smell that mint and sage scent even stronger than usual. 

From his cup on the table, Katara drew water up into the air and cloaked it around her hands. Zuko faintly heard Torran take a seat, making quiet, polite conversation with Kyoko as Katara set to work. 

Gently, the cool liquid shrouding Katara’s hands touched against his temples. Everything in him bottomed out as, for the first time in hours, the pain began to subside–like a wave pulling back away from the sandy shore. 

He closed his eyes, not allowing himself to look at Katara above him. 

But he couldn’t help it when she sucked in a sharp inhale of breath. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, blinking quickly and looking at her. 

“Zuko…” Katara’s voice went low, laced with concern. “You need to be taking better care of yourself.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Your energy…it’s all tangled up. You’re stressed to a level that I don’t think I like.” 

“I’m the Fire Lord,” Zuko explained with a scoff. “What do you expect?” 

Katara clicked her tongue, continuing to work over him, pulling the pain away from his head bit by bit. 

“You can’t run a country if you don’t tend to your own needs first.” 

Zuko closed his eyes once more. He didn’t have much to say to that. 

In fact, he didn’t have much to say at all, because for the first time in months…no, in five years…there was silence in his mind. There was no pain. There was no anger. There was no guilt. Just cool, calming water running over him. Mint and sage. Katara’s steady breath as she worked. 

“Does your scar ache sometimes, too?” she asked quietly. Torran and Kyoko continued with their conversation across the room, unbothered by the healing session. 

“How did you know?” Zuko asked. 

“All the energy is knotted up badly in there,” she explained. “It used to happen to Aang, where the scar is on his back. And Sokka, with his ankle. Our bodies have a way of not letting us forget where we’ve been wounded.” 

“Tell me about it,” he said with a humorless, small laugh. 

Katara continued to work at his temples, and the rough, quiet sound that came from his mouth as she massaged and healed was truly explicit. It seemed to startle Katara, just a little bit, but it did not break her composure. She was every inch the professional. 

“You should have healing sessions like this regularly. I can help with them for the next few months. But after…after your wedding, I can dispatch another one of our healers to take over from there.” 

“Nobody can do what you do, Katara,” he said. “I understand why the South touts you as their best healer.” 

“Well, unfortunately, I can’t always be around. But I can help you work out some of this tension, some of this pent-up energy,” she said. 

Zuko was grateful that he had his eyes closed, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep himself together if Katara had been looking at him when she said that. 

“I appreciate that,” he said quietly. 

Katara worked for a while in silence, and the pain he’d been feeling continued to drain from him. He let himself feel the relief of her cool hands against his skin, her fingers pressing lightly against his face, over his scar. It did not bother him that she touched him in this way–that she had access to the part of him he had always been insecure about, always kept hidden. 

“Kyoko told me about what happened with the Iron Claw,” she said quietly. “It’s awful, truly. When will we leave to go pay Lord Callum a visit? I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he’s completely stripped of his position.” 

Something lit, warm, in Zuko’s chest at Katara’s furious eagerness–that finally, it seemed, someone matched his same level of anger at the whole injustice of it all. At how something that was supposed to be good for his people was flipped upside down on its head. 

“We aren’t going anywhere. I’m dispatching Kyoko first thing in the morning. She’ll deal with it.” 

“What? Why aren’t you going?” Katara’s voice, now sharp, betrayed the gentle touch of her hands on his cheekbones, his jaw. 

Zuko rose to the challenge, invigorated by her opposition. 

Were Kyoko and Torran still even in the same room anymore? Zuko couldn’t hear their voices, and they seemed a world away.

“Because, Katara–my presence will only draw attention to the wrongdoing. If Kyoko goes alone, the matter will be handled quickly and discretely. The result will be the same–Callum will no longer have his position, and will go to prison for fraud. And even if I did go, you wouldn’t be getting involved. The South has no stake in the Prisoner Reintegration Project.” 

Katara’s hands gripped Zuko’s jaw, tight and sudden. It was…strangely thrilling, and he rocked his head back into her, just a bit. But he did not allow his thoughts to wander any further, did not let his imagination run amuck. 

“So what?” she asked. “Just because I’m not Fire Nation I can’t offer aid where it’s needed?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying. I let this issue go on long enough without realizing what was happening. If I go, and bring the ambassador to the Southern Tribe along with me, people will know something is wrong. Believe me, there are plenty of diplomatic missions where I would love to have your help, but just…let me take this failure on the nose, okay?” 

Katara sighed, and he could tell she wasn’t happy with his answer. Silence fell between them, thick and heavy, for several minutes before he dared to speak again. 

“I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate your help,” Zuko said.

Katara kept kneading at his headache, though it was more soothing than anything else, the pain had gone out entirely. 

“You have a way of looking at the world that…inspires others to do better,” Zuko continued. “I like having you on the side of the Fire Nation. I’m glad you’re working with Kyoko on restoring the library. I’m glad you’re stretching out a hand to invite my people to learn more about the South. And I promise you, the issue in the Iron Claw will be handled. Or I will go there myself, and I will take you with me, and let you unleash your full wrath upon Lord Callum.” 

Katara removed her hands from Zuko’s face before sending the water sloshing back into the cup on the table. Torran glanced their way once more, offering a smile to Zuko. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked. 

“Much better,” he replied. 

In fact, it was the lightest he’d felt in a very, very long time.

Notes:

I remember watching Avatar for the first time as a kid when it first aired in the early 2000's. It would be the span of a decade before I did a full rewatch, as an adult. It was then I realized how many serious topics and deep issues they addressed. I tried to do a little of that here with Zuko's Fire Nation programs after the war. I also wanted to shed a little more light on Torran and show Zuko actively working to fight against his feelings for Katara....but sometimes they just slip through!!!

Hope everyone enjoys :)

Chapter 13: The Avatar

Katara

 

Katara paced back and forth across the small office attached to the Royal Library. It was a gorgeous winter day—the sun shone, clear and bright against a cloudless sky, through the stained-glass window overlooking the Caldera. The light refracted into little rainbows across the stacks of books and papers piled high. 

She didn’t usually like to do her work for the restoration project alone in this room–she much preferred to be in the main area of the library, elbows deep alongside the other scholars of the Fire Nation, making conversation to pass the time. 

But today was different. 

Aang would be here any minute, and she would much prefer to meet with him in private. 

Last week, she’d finally received a letter back from the young Avatar about his attendance at the Glacier Spirit Festival. All he said in the correspondence was that he would arrive in the Fire Nation to discuss it with her in a week’s time. 

Katara thought that strange. Why couldn’t he just give her an answer? What was there for them to possibly talk about? 

But she certainly couldn’t reject his request for a conversation, not if it meant his attendance at the festival–a win she desperately needed as ambassador. 

Even though she’d been successful in procuring nearly all of the Fire Council to attend, she still would find herself lacking if the Avatar did not show for the festival. 

The only council member who had given her any sort of resistance had—surprisingly—been Raijin. He told her someone had to be in the Fire Nation while she drew all the country’s dignitaries and leaders to the South for a week of merriment. 

Katara hadn’t liked the curtness of his voice when he spoke to her—as if she were some common whore entrapping the Fire Lord, rather than the ambassador for the South. 

But she’d let it go. She supposed most council members were simply cranky old men, like the ones she’d become accustomed to in the South. Perhaps it was just a prerequisite for the job. 

Zuko liked and trusted Raijin so explicitly that she did not want to fuss over it. 

Still, her successes in recruiting Fire Nation attendees would be pocket change if she could guarantee the Avatar’s presence. 

Even if meeting with him scared her, a little. 

Late last night, as she worked in her room, Zuko had rapped twice at the door, hovering nervously over the threshold, like he didn’t dare step inside. 

“Are you going to be alright with Aang tomorrow?” he asked her. 

Katara rolled her eyes. “Of all the things you’ve watched me face, Zuko, I’d think you would have a little more faith in me to navigate one single conversation with my ex-fiance.” 

Zuko gave her a half-hearted smile. “I know you can handle yourself. I just wanted you to know that I’m…available…if things get, I don’t know, dicey?” 

Five years ruling as sovereign over the Fire Nation had smoothed out some of the awkward edges of Zuko’s youth, but sometimes it still poked through–his endearing nervousness. 

“No offense, but I don’t think your presence will be much of a boon,” Katara said. Zuko had told her about his argument with Aang after Katara took off from the wedding. How Aang had been jealous, and angry. 

“I don’t suppose that it will. But just in case, I’ll be in my office tomorrow if you should need me.” 

Katara smiled then, truly grateful for the offer, for the fact that he was not insisting on being there to make sure everything was handled, that the politics of the whole situation didn’t get out of hand. 

“Will you meet with Aang while he’s here?” Katara asked. 

“I’d like to, but he has not spoken to me since our argument at the Air Temple. I don’t want to force anything. We’ll see how the day progresses.”

Katara nodded, and Zuko slipped out of her room and across the hall to his own bedchambers. 

Now, a small part of her secretly wished that she’d insisted that the Fire Lord be in attendance for her meeting with Aang, because she was slowly but surely losing all confidence in how this would go as each minute slipped slowly by. 

When an attendant finally knocked at the door to the office, she nearly jumped clean out of her skin. Katara’s hands trembled as she went to answer. 

The attendant, a large man with dark hair, stood at the door. Just over his shoulder, Katara could see Aang, cloaked in the oranges and yellows of the Air Nomads. It was a strange thing, seeing him after all this time. How she had gone from sleeping beside him most nights to just…nothing. 

“Avatar Aang to see you, Master Katara,” the attendant said. “Please let me know if you need anything at all.” 

That, Katara knew, was a message straight from Zuko. One last reminder that he was just across the palace should this whole thing go awry. 

“Thank you,” Katara said, inviting Aang in. He stepped inside, his emotions unreadable. Katara closed the door and sat at the large desk beside her stacks of papers, motioning for him to sit across from her. 

He didn’t. 

Rather, he crossed to the stained-glass window, looking out over the Caldera. 

Everything in Katara urged her to speak first, to ask Aang how he was doing, how he had been in the months since she’d last seen him on the eve of their would-be wedding. To tell him she was so sorry for how the whole thing had gone down. 

But, in her heart, she knew that was what he wanted–for the guilt to eat her up and pressure her into apologizing. 

So she bit her tongue. 

After some time, Aang turned from the window, facing Katara. She took stock of herself then–waited for her heart to do the usual flutter it did whenever she saw him, or for her chest to settle with a sense of peace, of home, of this is right. 

Those feelings did not come. 

“I got your letters,” Aang finally said, looking at her. “About the festival.” 

“Yes,” Katara breathed out a sigh of relief that they were at least starting off on the topic at hand. “It’s in two weeks, and although you initially confirmed that you were attending, I wanted to ensure that was still the case.” 

Katara kept her voice steady, not letting any emotions leak into her tone. 

This seemed to bother Aang much more than it helped anything, however. He sighed heavily, leaning against the end of the great table. His fingers brushed gently along the scrolls and tomes–of waterbending forms and the history of the South. 

“You can drop this whole professional thing you’ve got going on, Katara. It’s just me. We’re friends, aren’t we?” 

Katara had to school her expression to keep from recoiling at his words.

“I don’t know how to be around you anymore, Aang. This is the first time I am seeing you since the eve we were supposed to be wed. I am only trying to remain cordial, is all.” 

“Why didn’t you write to me about anything else? Only the festival?” he asked, prodding more. This time, Katara knew she was not in control of her emotions, and surprise washed across her face. 

“What is there for us to talk about, other than the festival?” 

“I’ve thought about it a lot, Katara. I know I got too focused on having airbender children, on pushing forward the line of my people to keep us from extinction. The pressure I’m under is just so all-consuming, being the last of my kind.” 

Katara bit her lip so hard she tasted the iron sting of blood. 

“I think I would know a thing or two about being the last of my kind,” she said, her voice hard. 

Aang shook his head. “It’s not the same. You’re the last Southern waterbender. There are still so many waterbenders other than you in the North.” 

It suddenly became so clear to her at that moment. Aang saw no difference between the North and the South. Had carved her betrothal pendant because the cultures and norms of one tribe were, of course, the cultures and norms of the other. 

But the North and the South were not the same. They were sisters, but they were not twins. 

He may as well have slapped her for how the words hurt. He seemed to sense that and backpedaled quickly, putting up his hands as if he might have to physically defend himself from her. For all the rage she was feeling, he actually might. 

“No, no, that’s not…that’s not what I meant. I just–I…” he trailed off, unable to articulate what he wanted to say without wounding Katara’s pride even further. 

In the past, Katara would have jumped in to save him, given him a life raft to hang onto–something so that Aang could get his bearings. She did no such thing now. 

Aang inhaled a deep breath, re-centering himself. 

“What I was trying to say is that I’ve thought about it. And I don’t want to have children if it isn’t you by my side. I don’t want to marry another. I am willing to wait, for as long as you want, to have children.” 

Katara sucked in a lungful of air. 

“And if I decided I never wanted children?” she asked, pushing, testing. 

Aang stared at her, as if he knew her to be a liar. She wanted children, that was a fact they’d discussed over and over. But what if she had changed her mind? Would he push her into a fate she no longer wanted? 

“What do you mean?” he asked, clearly confused. 

“Would you still want to marry me if I never gave you a child?” 

Aang’s silence was deafening. 

Katara dropped her head down into her hands, rubbing at her temples. In this moment, she was so painfully grateful that she’d had the wherewithal to break off her engagement, even if it had been at the last possible moment. Better late than a lifetime of this.

“You want me, Aang. That much is true. But you want the version of me that fits so neatly into the plans you have for yourself. And you don’t know how to reconcile the person who is standing before you with the person you have made me out to be in your mind.” 

“It’s supposed to be you, Katara.” Aang’s voice was painful with the sting of loss. She could sense the emotion choking him. He’d been stripped of so much–his culture, his people, and now her. And it was weighing on him. “I’ll do whatever it takes for it to be you.” 

“You say that. But you will not see me for who I am, for what I want,” Katara said, rising to stand. She crossed to where Aang was standing at the head of the table. She would force him to look at her when she spoke her next words. 

“I cannot marry you. It’s not in the cards for us, Aang. We had our chance, and it just…isn’t meant to be.” 

She could see tears welling in his eyes, could see him fighting to keep the emotion from spilling over. 

And even though she knew it was cruel, she pushed onwards. 

“You are my friend, you will always be my friend. I want you to be a part of my life. But I think it’s best if we focus on our own interests and goals for the time being. Now, to the matter at hand–will you be at the festival, or not?” 

Aang swiped at his face, the hurt at her change of topic evident in the hard set of his mouth. 

“Of course I’ll be at the festival. It’s when the veil between the spirit world and ours is thinnest–it’s my duty as Avatar. I was always planning on attending.” 

Hurt electrocuted Katata when the full force of Aang’s words rang through her. At that moment, she saw him as clearly, for exactly who he was.  

He had done all this—ignored her letters for weeks, refused to give her a straight-up answer, insisted on visiting her in the Fire Nation–all so he could trap her into a conversation about their relationship. Aang had allowed her to worry and fret endlessly over his attendance at the festival, had allowed her to feel like a failure at her job, simply so he could, what, make a case for them to get back together? Even after Katara had made her feelings about their relationship so clearly known. 

Katara suddenly cared, very little, if Aang was going to attend the festival or not. She stalked across the room and opened the door. 

“I think it’s best that you leave. I’ll see you in two weeks in the South Pole.” 

There were so many cruel, nasty things she wanted to say to him then. 

Did that go the way you wanted it to? You flew all the way to the Fire Nation for this ten minute conversation? 

But she kept her tongue in check, with much effort. 

“Katara…” Aang started, stepping towards her. She held up her hand. 

“Goodbye, Aang.” 

She could tell he wanted to, but he did not protest any longer. He simply smoothed a hand over his tunic and stepped, with the composure he had left, out into the Royal Library. 

Katara couldn’t help it. She slammed the door behind him. 

 

+++ 

 

Katara did not dine with Zuko, Kyoko, and Torran that night. In fact, she didn’t eat at all. Her stomach ached from the conversation with Aang, from the realization that he was simply not the person she’d believed him to be. 

Instead, once she’d finished her work for the day, she marched straight to her room and collapsed into bed, finally allowing the emotion of the day to overtake her and the tears to fall. 

Her heart felt all twisted up—it hadn’t hurt this bad calling off her wedding. But now, with the full brunt of the realization hitting her all at once that Aang had never cared to really understand her at all, she could feel a terrible yearning deep within her bones. 

To have somebody that saw her for all she was. That did not balk at her darkness, her fears, her anger, her ambition, her drive. 

She could not seem to stop the tears. 

Not as she went to her bathing room and changed into the silk dress and robe she wore to bed. 

Not as she sat at the vanity and slowly brushed out her hair. 

Not as she picked up a quill and ink pot at her desk and composed a letter home to Hakoda and Sokka, informing them that Aang would be at the festival. 

Fat, wet tears dropped onto the parchment, so aggressively that she had to crumple up three different drafts of her letter before finally just giving up and admitting defeat. 

She dropped her head onto the desk and sobbed into the wood grain. Her cry was a heavy, ugly thing. It was a display of emotion that she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in some time. 

And once the well had opened, she couldn’t seem to turn it off. 

Katara wasn’t sure how long her tears went on for before she heard soft footsteps approaching. 

“Katara?” Her head shot up in surprise to see Zuko standing across the room. 

Spirits alive, she’d left her door open out of habit. Anyone walking by had full access to her embarrassing, horrifying meltdown. 

And of course—of course—it was Zuko standing before her now. 

A long, long beat of silence stretched between them as the pair stared each other down. Katara was trying, desperately, to read the emotion in Zuko’s shining golden eyes. 

There was a hurt there, a painful ache as he stood, watching the tears drip slowly down her face. Like he was tied back by a single, frail ribbon that was held on by a thread, threatening to snap right in two. 

“He never knew me at all, Zuko,” Katara said. Her voice cracked and broke, welling up with emotion. 

The anger and hurt on Zuko’s face could have razed empires. 

He clenched his fists at his side, inhaling a deep breath, as if he was fighting some terrible battle she was not privy to. 

And then, with one foot, he kicked the door behind him closed with a definite thud. 

His next words slipped through his teeth, strung with tight emotion. “Damn it all, Katara.” 

He crossed the room in three long strides. And then he was upon her. 

Zuko’s lips came down to meet hers—warm, hungry, demanding. It was the answer to a prayer Katara had been offering to the Spirits her entire life. 

She rose from her seat to meet him, her hands going to the strong line of his jaw. There was a light smattering of stubble there, just this side of rough under her fingers. 

He pressed the kiss deeper, the warmth of his tongue curious at her lips. She opened for him on an inhale, drawing him into her mouth. 

Zuko’s fingers wound down to her hips, slipping beneath the fabric of her robe but over the tight, blue silk of her sleep dress. 

A whimpered moan escaped his lips and she swallowed it down, greedy, grateful. As if the sounds he was making for her were as good as oxygen. 

Some small, foggy part of her brain screamed at her that this was wrong, this was bad, this was cruel. That there was another whom Zuko had promised his life to. But the rest of her thrummed with excitement–desperate, starving for more. She had no scruples when clasped tight in his grip, even though she knew, deep down, that she should. 

Katara arched closer to Zuko, aching for the warmth he provided. With a lithe, swift movement, he lifted her with one strong hand, and she wrapped her legs around his hips. 

She felt every inch of him, of how badly he wanted her, as she pressed against his body. 

With his other hand, Zuko swiped the papers, quills, and ink pots from her desk, sending them flying in a messy heap onto the floor. Black ink spooled out beneath them, a lake of onyx she knew would leave a terrible stain upon the tile. 

She could not find it in her to care. 

Zuko lay her down against the desk, pulling away from her mouth and peppering small kisses across her neck, across her clavicle. He pulled the strap of her satin dress to the side, giving himself access to the upper swell of her breast, before kissing her there too. 

“Katara,” his voice was a breathy moan as he moved to press his mouth against the shell of her ear, and her whole body shivered in response to the hum of it. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.” 

Katara, though she was loath to admit it, had thought about this a great many times. 

“All of you,” she moaned as he continued to kiss down her jugular, biting and nipping as he went. She knew she would have love marks all over her tomorrow morning, and there was something thrilling about the idea—a secret that belonged only to her and Zuko. “I need you bare and raw and I need all of you.” 

If the words weren’t clear enough, her hands moved to the belt tied at his waist, making quick work of undoing it. She sat up, shoving the crimson robe from her shoulders, allowing it to fall in a puddle onto the floor. 

Katara shivered, exposed, and Zuko’s hands ran, warm and steady, over her skin, heating her up. 

She pulled hungrily, madly at his tunic, and then his pants, leaving him completely bare in front of her, his body making no secret of the desire he was feeling. 

Zuko replied in kind, shoving the hem of her sleep dress up her thighs. 

He sucked in a breath when he realized she was bare beneath the dress. 

His fingers dipped slowly, tentatively, against her core, and he seemed to nearly come untethered from the world at finding such proof of how badly she wanted him. He dropped his forehead against hers and pressed deeper. Pleasure ricocheted through Katara, and she gripped the side of the desk where he had her pinned in place. She was panting, her chest heaving in great, rapid bursts. 

“Hey,” he soothed, claiming her mouth with a kiss once more. “Breathe with me.” 

Katara obeyed without question, matching the rise and fall of his chest as he worked her, pushing her further and further into a world of pleasure and desire. 

When she thought she would break and shatter against the slow, tortuous motion of his fingers, she moaned his name. “Please, Zuko.” 

She did not have to say any more. He withdrew the calloused pads of his fingers from her core, and instead lined himself up against her entrance. 

Her whole body was coiled so tight, she knew she would rip apart in only a matter of moments. 

He seemed to know this, to recognize what he had done to her, grinning a wicked, devilish grin as he pushed, finally, into her. 

Katara woke with a start. 

She was in her room, in her bed. The light in the fireplace had died out, and her door was firmly closed. All her letters and papers were arranged in neat piles on the desk, the lid screwed tight on the ink pot. No black stain marred the floor. 

A dream. 

It had been a dream. 

A dream about…making love to Zuko. 

It had been so real, she’d been so sure of it. In glancing down, however, she found herself still fully clothed. 

But every part of her hurt with need. 

How could she feel so much desire over a dream? 

She pushed thick strands of hair away from the dampness of her face. There was a thrumming live wire strung tight from the crown of her head down to the tips of her toes, and she knew, just knew, that if she dipped her fingers down to her slick core, she could finish herself off in seconds. 

But she did not want to reward her traitorous body for how it had betrayed her tonight. 

Instead, despite the fact that it was mid-winter in the Caldera, she went to her bathing chambers, drew a freezing bath, and plunged herself down into it. 

That seemed to numb some of the desire, some of the urge that buzzed incessantly through her body. But not enough, not nearly enough. 

As she sat in the cold water, teeth chattering, Katara tried to talk herself off of the precarious ledge she now found herself balanced upon. 

Zuko was an attractive man, she could admit as much to herself. Katara had always found him handsome. And now, he had an illicit edge to him–he was engaged. He was someone she could never have. Surely that was something that made him more enticing to her? 

Right? This was just her body being petulant, desiring a man who was off limits. 

Katara swirled the frigid water around in the tub, making waves lap at her dark skin. Her body had begun to acclimate to the cold, and had started to come down from the wanton desire she’d felt during her dream. 

With her head beginning to cool and the fog of lust beginning to part, she took stock of her heart, her body. 

And in that moment, she knew the truth, as plain as day. 

No matter how much she wanted it to be the case, it wasn’t just a physical thing, this need she was feeling for Zuko–though that was absolutely a part of it, she was certain their bodies would have chemistry if pulled together. That kiss they’d shared after the Agni Kai had imprinted itself upon her brain, had left a lasting mark–a memory she relived over and over and over. She and Zuko had always moved in a synchronized rhythm, always matched each other breath for breath, blow for blow. 

No, it was far more than that, Katara realized all at once, with astounding dread. And it made her physically ill, what this meant for her, for Zuko, for his very real and very kind fiancee.

Katara was in love with Zuko.

Notes:

hehehehehehe I love you all, and I am sorry (not sorry) for the bait and switch. OUR GIRL KATARA IS DOWN BADDDDDDDDDDDD!

Chapter 14: The Library

Zuko

 

For all Zuko was paying Kyoko, he thought she might be a little bit easier to track down. She had just returned from her trip to the Iron Claw, and he wanted a full report on how it had gone. But the councilwoman never seemed to be working in her office, or in her villa on the upper rim of the Caldera, or any of the other places that would possibly make sense. No, Zuko always seemed to find her tucked with her papers, lounging on a random bay window in a secluded hallway in the palace. Or seated in the royal kitchen, devouring muffins and scones as she worked. 

And although it was now growing late into the evening and he didn’t assume she would be there, Zuko headed to the library in one last bid to find Kyoko. 

The sun had set already, and low fire light flickered in the sconces along the hallways as he pushed forward through the doors of the Royal Library. 

Of course, it was already quiet–most everyone had retired for the night. 

Except…there. 

In the back corner of the library, he could see one singular candle burning at a table against the far wall, a figure hunched over a spread of tomes. One last person holding vigil into the night. 

Zuko stalked towards the table, and realized all too late that it wasn’t, in fact, Kyoko. It was Katara. 

It took him a beat too long to recognize her, shrouded in a crimson red Fire Nation cloak to stave off the brisk winter chill that had settled over the library. It did something to him that he didn’t entirely like, seeing her in the color of his country, layered over the blue of the Southern Water Tribe. Two very different things united. 

Zuko stuttered to a stop. After what had happened today with Azula, he didn’t really know that he could be normal around Katara.

He had been trying to make more progress with his sister–had begun taking heavily chaperoned walks with her about the gardens, letting her out of her house. 

They were quick little jaunts, one or two laps around the turtleduck pond. But it had been weighing on him recently, the fact that Azula was sequestered into a small little home in the far reach of the royal grounds. She had been making good progress–her mood a bit more steady, her meltdowns becoming few and far between. Not perfect, but it was progress nonetheless. It was hard to have a true barometer of…normal when it came to Azula. 

So, under the extremely watchful eye of Suki and a baker’s dozen of Kyoshi warriors, he and his sister took their walk today. 

After much deliberation, he decided to confide in Azula about his upcoming nuptials. 

“I wanted you to know,” he said to her, voice quiet as they passed by the rose bushes in the garden, “That I am engaged to be wed. I will be married soon, on my twenty-first birthday.” 

Azula glanced over towards Zuko as her hand stretched out, running a finger along the soft petal of a rose bud as they continued to walk, slowly. 

“Hmm. It seems the Fire Council decided to enforce their antiquated laws. Let me guess, they threatened you with deposition if you did not comply with their request for marriage?” 

Zuko did not bow to Azula’s assumption, even if it was correct. 

“It’s my duty as Fire Lord to marry well, to sire heirs.” It was a canned response, one he felt he kept giving to people out of habit. And it was the safe thing to tell Azula. 

Azula nodded. “That explains it.” 

“Explains what?” Zuko asked. 

“I’d heard whispers that the waterbender had arrived in the Fire Nation. Bold choice of a bride, but it tracks with the whole peace and unity thing you’ve got going on.”  

Zuko stopped walking, his emotions betraying him. The usual composure he held around Azula was nowhere to be found.

“I’m not marrying Katara,” he told her firmly.  

Azula arched a brow, a chuckle catching at the corner of her mouth. 

“I pity your future wife, then.” 

Zuko had not deigned to indulge the conversation any further, and he and Azula finished walking in silence before he deposited her back into her home. 

He spent the rest of the day trying to convince himself that her remarks meant nothing. 

Azula always lies. 

Even after years of healing, of making progress, he couldn’t be sure she wasn’t just picking at him, trying to get a reaction.

Zuko could not afford to put stock into her words, to be affected so deeply by them. 

So why did the sight of Katara, sitting in the library before him now in the colors of his homeland, nearly bring him to his knees? 

He could not be around Katara now, not when he was trying so hard to make things work with Torran–who was as sensible and polite as he could hope to achieve from an arranged marriage. 

Zuko took a step backwards, making to move out of the library before Katara saw him. But his foot caught on the edge of the ornate crimson rug on the floor, and her eyes snapped up all at once to seek out who was intruding on her space, hands flying from where they were marking the edge of the book, ready to defend herself. 

Some fears never left, even after years of peace. 

As soon as Katara’s eyes caught on Zuko’s frame standing a few paces away, a blush–redder than fire–that he’d never seen before deepened in her cheeks, and she glanced back down at the book before her. 

What was that about? 

“Sorry,” Zuko muttered, scrubbing the back of his neck. “I was just looking for Kyoko.” 

Katara looked up at him. “I haven’t seen her today.” 

“That’s all right. Thanks,” Zuko said. 

This conversation was uncomfortable, stilted, awkward. It lacked all of their usual familiarity and teasing. Zuko knew why he felt so strange, after Azula’s comments regarding his marriage. But why was Katara acting so closed off? Had something happened he wasn’t aware of? 

Although it should have mattered little, it rubbed at him in an uncomfortable way. He wanted to stay, wanted to ask her about her day, about what she was working on. 

But he turned away, instead. 

He’d gotten maybe six steps away when Katara called out to him.
“Zuko?” 

He glanced back over his shoulder at her. She looked sheepish–as if she hadn’t wanted him to leave, either. 

“Yes?” 

“I’m working on compiling texts about the Southern Tribe for the Royal Library. I’m having a hard time finding anything about relations between the South and the Fire Nation before the war. Do you know where I could find…any sort of information?” 

A memory clicked into place, like a key sliding home into a lock. A vision of his childhood, of a brief place of respite in the midst of terror. 

Zuko walked over to where Katara was seated with a fresh determination, a renewed sense of purpose. He hated to admit it, but he was relieved that she’d called out to him. 

“Actually, yes. There’s a spot in the library that has something that might be helpful. I can show you.”

Confusion etched itself across Katara’s face. “Are you sure? I’ve searched thoroughly through all the library’s records. There are no tomes regarding that topic here. There’s almost nothing about the Southern Water Tribe at all.” 

“They’re a bit hidden. You’ll have to trust me,” Zuko said, nodding towards the dark inner belly of the library. He lit a small flame in one palm as Katara set down her quill and took up to join him. 

Zuko led the way, palm extended, gingerly cupping the flame, keeping it warm and alive. The library was almost eerie at this time of night, as if ghosts or spirits wandered the halls, lurked around the corners.

Katara trailed a half step behind him, and he could smell her lingering scent of mint and sage, mixed with a tinge of ancient parchment. 

“How is it going? The library restoration?” Zuko asked as they tread further into the bowels of the library. 

“Really well, actually. Kyoko is brilliant. She has a lot of the attendants helping to transcribe the Southern Tribe texts. It’s moving quicker than I anticipated. But I have a long list of tomes I will need to procure from the South when we attend the festival this week,” she said before scoffing. “I requested several specific titles from Sokka, but asked him to send anything else that seemed important. Does a recipe book for the best ways to cure seal jerky seem like a relevant title to you?” 

Zuko laughed at that, from deep within his stomach. He could imagine Sokka perusing the Southern Library, genuinely thinking he was being of aid by sending a cookbook. 

“Everyone has different priorities, Katara,” he teased. “And Sokka’s has always been food.” 

The tightness in his chest eased now that all the initial awkwardness was gone, and they were back to their usual bantering. 

Katara hummed with disapproval at her brother’s antics. 

“Torran has been here too, most days. She’s taken to interrogating me and transcribing the adventures of the Avatar, from his emergence from the iceberg leading up to his battle with Ozai.” 

Zuko nodded, grateful Katara had the presence of mind to mention Torran, to keep that wall up between them. 

“Yes, she’s been asking me a lot about my time spent traveling with all of you,” Zuko said. 

What Zuko didn’t say was how much he had to omit from his recitations—how he and Katara had been at each other’s throats for weeks when he’d first found Aang. How she had threatened him within an inch of his life. How it…awakened something in him. Watching her blood bend, seeing her power had thrilled him to his toes. When she’d finally decided to stop raging against his presence–when she’d finally put her arms around him–it cracked something that had been long, long frozen within him. And that cold, frozen thing began to blossom into something warm, and real, and alive. 

And then those sun-drenched days spent training on Ember Island. Flying atop Appa to confront his sister. The way he and Katara had kissed after the Agni Kai. All of it, every memory, was cloaked in the first tentative feelings he’d begun to have for her. 

And now—now, he didn’t know what to call how he felt towards the waterbending master. Some days he thought himself a coward for being so unwilling to put a name to it. 

“Torran needs to get out of the Caldera every once in a while. She’s practically itching to see the parts of the world I’ve been telling her about,” Katara said, voice darkening with concern. 

Zuko agreed wholeheartedly. “I know. It’ll be good for her to see the Southern Water Tribe, I think. After that, I was planning to send her and Kyoko to visit Toph in Ba Sing Se. It’ll give Torran an opportunity to get Toph’s version of events about traveling with Aang.” 

Zuko could hear the grin on Katara’s face whenever she spoke next. 

“Don’t put poor Torran through that,” Katara said. “Having to watch Toph and Kyoko bumble aimlessly around each other, always flirting but never doing anything about it.” 

“Oh, it’s actually infuriating isn’t it?” Zuko asked. It was a rather funny thing, watching two of the most confident, funny, and tough women in his life reduced to blushing awkwardness whenever they were around one another. They were far too similar for their own good. 

“Maddening, actually,” Katara agreed, laughing. 

Before she could say anything else, they came upon a great, far wall of the library–a dead end. Katara peeked about, glancing towards the edges of light cast by Zuko’s flame. 

“So, where are these mysterious Water Tribe books?” she asked, hands on her hips in challenge, doubt clear in her voice. 

Before them was nothing but one enormous wall, arching high into the air, painted in taupes and golds. There were no bookshelves lining this far back corner of the library–just a dusty, dank darkness–as if this corner of the palace had long since been forgotten, lost to time. 

Zuko didn’t say anything as he leaned forward, with the hand that was empty of fire. It had been years since he’d been back here, and yet his memory served him well–he pressed against a small niche in the wall. It gave way with a great, creaking groan, revealing a dark and hidden passageway. 

“Oh,” Katara said, with surprise on her face. Zuko smirked at her lack of confidence and continued forward without a word.

In the hidden recess, a thin, tight spiraling staircase climbed upwards into the sky. With a flick of his wrist, Zuko lit the rusty sconces, littered with cobwebs, alight. He glanced back to make sure Katara had followed him. Her face was outlined with glowing tangerine light, and she pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders–it was significantly colder in this cold, forgotten edge of the library. 

“What is this place?” she asked, voice tinged with wonder as she glanced upwards at the spiral staircase that stretched towards the heavens. 

“A long-forgotten tower. I think it was once used for storage. But in my boyhood, it became a place I could hide from my family after my mother had…after my mother was gone,” Zuko said, tripping over his words. Even after all this time had passed, why was it still so hard for him to talk about Ursa? 

But Katara did not balk at this. She understood the pain of losing a mother. 

“I used to come up here whenever my father wanted me to duel with Azula. Nobody seemed to know it existed. During my time up in this tower, however, I found several texts stashed away. I had forgotten about them entirely until you mentioned something about the Water Tribe texts. Come on, I’ll show you,” he said, heading up the steep staircase. 

The steps were tiny, the passage narrow as could be. Zuko’s shoulders brushed both sides of the cylindrical tower walls as he stepped upwards. It had been much easier to scamper up through this space as a child–now, as a man, he barely fit. 

Behind him, he could hear Katara’s cloak brushing the floor as she followed his lead. 

They reached the top of the tower, where the staircase ended in a small platform, surrounded on all sides by tall, rectangular windows stacked atop rows of bookshelves. It was dark outside, but through the glass panes, Zuko could see the burning lights of the Caldera, and the Fire Nation beyond, stretched out before him like smoldering embers. 

He turned back, offering Katara a hand up onto the platform. 

Zuko realized all at once the error of his ways. In his memory, this place had been enormous–a giant tower. 

But now, all these years later, he was finding it to be…much smaller. 

As Katara stepped up beside him, he saw that there was almost no space to be found between them, and it was quite impossible for either of them to back up and create more room. 

A blush, similar to the one from earlier this evening, crept up Katara’s cheek as this knowledge seemed to hit her, too. They were standing, chest to chest, breath mingling, eyes locked. Too close. She was too close for comfort, too close for Zuko’s slowly dissolving control over himself. 

Blue eyes, impossibly blue eyes. Like the waters at the Southern Tribe. Sage and mint, so crisp and clean. And there she was–just staring up at him, like nobody in the entire world existed outside of this tower. 

He thought to himself, then, just how easy it would be to lean in and kiss her. 

But that would be the wrong thing to do. And people did exist outside of this tower. Namely his fiancee, and the vast many citizens of the Fire Nation who relied on him to be a predictable and stable leader. 

Zuko coughed and broke the eye contact he and Katara were holding. He looked over her shoulder to the shelves beneath the windows, littered with stacks of tomes that had certainly seen better days. 

“Here…just, right there…” Zuko said, leaning over her shoulder and reaching towards a weathered blue spine, coated with a fine layer of dust. He was so close as he grabbed for the book that Katara had to put up her hands to keep him from invading her space entirely, her curled fingers just brushing against his tunic. 

“Sorry,” he whispered, his voice sounding far too loud in the intimate space. 

“It’s quite all right,” she reassured him, taking the book from his hands. 

In faded golden letters, the title read: The Relations of the Fire Nation and the Southern Water Tribe. 

Katara watched as Zuko licked his index finger and thumbed through the pages, and they glanced at the content of the text together. 

“Zuko, this is perfect!” she exclaimed. “What is a title like this doing hidden away? Surely it would have been destroyed by Ozai.” 

“I’m not sure,” Zuko said. “These books were here when I was a boy. I would often pass the time looking at all the illustrations.” 

Katara turned on her heel then, to face the other tomes stacked on the shelves behind her. Soft wisps of her thick hair brushed against Zuko, and he could see directly over the shell of her right ear. He braced a hand against the railing and leaned past her, skimming against her once more. Katara’s back was to his front, and he felt her stiffen for just a moment, and then relax, as they made contact. 

He grabbed another title–one about the Air Nomads, and pulled it from the shelf. 

“My best guess,” Zuko continued, “Is that some bright librarian saw what was coming–how my father intended to purge the library. And they did what they could to salvage important texts. I’m not sure if these tomes were just forgotten over time…or if whoever ferreted these away did not survive to come back and retrieve them.” 

Katara nodded, just beneath him, her breaths even and measured. 

Spirits alive, she was so close. It would be the space of an inch to sweep her hair aside and plant long, languid kisses along the exposed expanse of her neck. 

Desire, too much desire, surged through him, hot and sudden. He forced himself to think of baby turtleducks and endless council meetings and the sight of Sokka sloppily inhaling a rack of ribs without breathing, nearly choking himself to death. All things that would curb the overwhelming need pulsing through his veins. 

Once he had taken a moment to compose himself, he continued speaking. “I wish I had remembered these were here earlier. Kyoko might actually flay me alive when she finds out I’ve been holding out on her.” 

Katara hummed a laugh, reaching forward and grabbing armfuls of texts. 

“Come on, then. Help me carry these down to the library–better later than never.” 

And then she disappeared back down the steps, and Zuko could breathe properly again. 

It took three trips for them to gather all the books from the tower and stack them on the table Katara had been working at earlier in the evening. 

There was something liberating for Zuko, to see all these titles out in the open, exposed and safe from harm. 

They worked quietly, never allowing themselves to be pressed together in the tower once more. When they had finished, Zuko was coated in a fine layer of dust, and Katara couldn’t stop sneezing. He fished a handkerchief from his pocket, and she accepted it gratefully. 

“This is enough work for today,” Katara said. “Besides, if I don’t get out of here soon, I might sneeze the roof off the place. Walk me out?”

Zuko nodded, and fell into step beside the waterbender. 

“Did Aang ever come and talk to you when he was in the palace the other day?” Katara asked. The way the question nervously left her lips, Zuko knew she’d been holding onto it for a long time. 

“No. He didn’t. But then again–I didn’t really expect him to.” 

“Hmm,” Katara said, clearly concerned by this turn of events. 

“How did it go…when you spoke with him?” Zuko asked, a bit nervously. It wasn’t really his place to be privy to the details of their relationship, especially since Aang had placed so much blame on him after the failed wedding. 

Katara sighed, a deep and heavy thing. “Not well, to be quite honest.” 

“What did he want?” 

“He was making a bid for us to reconcile.” 

Zuko raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Oh?” 

Katara chewed at the corner of her thumbnail, nervous. As if she were making a great decision about what to say next. She glanced sidelong at Zuko, and he saw a bit of her walls come down, just a fraction of an inch. 

“To be quite honest with you–Aang and I disagreed a lot about when to have children, and how many to have.” 

Emotion rang through Zuko like someone had hammered a giant bell in his head. He knew, logically, that Katara and Aang were lovers, and knew with both of them being the last of their lines–thanks to the Fire Nation–they would likely want to have a whole brood of babies. 

It’s not like Zuko could ever put his hands on Katara, but still–he hated the thought of anyone else having the chance. Even though he knew, deep in his heart, how vile and unfair it was to be so unjustly possessive. 

Katara continued, eyes on her feet as they walked. “He wanted to have kids right away. And I knew…just knew that I would be expected to carry child after child after child until I gave him an airbender. And I know I’m certainly not the Avatar, but my bloodline is powerful, too. There was no guarantee he would get what he wanted, and I would be…chained…to mothering a dozen children for the rest of my life.” 

She paused, sucking in a lungful of air. Zuko could sense her anger at the injustice of it all gathering, her fists clenching and voice rising in volume. It felt all at once like a great wave that had been held back for far too long. 

He knew what it was to take Katara’s anger. And it did not bother him one bit. 

“I have responsibilities too, a job and a nation that I love. I’m not ready to give up my work as ambassador. He never said it–but I knew Aang would have expected me to abandon my post with the South, sooner rather than later–to raise his children, to keep his home.

When he came to visit the Fire Nation, he said he would put it all on hold, move our relationship at my pace. Whatever I wanted. But I knew, deep in my soul, that he would resent me if I wanted to take my time, and resent me even more if I never gave him an airbender child. It’s not that I don’t want children, I do, I always have. But I have spent enough of my life mothering everyone around me, making sure everyone has what they need and is well tended to. For once, just once, I need a moment to put myself first.” 

She ran out of breath, like a balloon deflated of all air. 

It struck Zuko then, how he and Katara were in painfully similar boats. How the joy of children had been tarnished by duty, by responsibility. How the idea had come to feel more like a shackle than a blessing. 

Katara’s next words were barely a whisper. “You and Suki were the only ones I never had to mother, when we were all traveling together.” 

This, Zuko hated to admit, sent a thrill through him. He had tried so hard to lift some of the burden off of Katara’s shoulders when he saw how much she did around camp, and how little it was acknowledged by…anyone. 

“Suki, I expected not to give me any trouble. She’s the leader of the Kyoshi warriors. But you…a spoiled prince,” Katara said with a laugh, “But that wasn’t the case at all. You were more than I bargained for.” 

She glanced up at him then, and seemed to realize all at once that she had been too candid, too honest–showed too much of her hand. 

Zuko tried to ease some of her discomfort, then. “If it makes you feel any better, you would have hated me in the months following my banishment. I was a spoiled prince. And angry, too. But life as a refugee, in a country that wasn’t my own…it gave me some perspective.” 

Katara nodded at that. It was something they both understood on a bone-deep level–how it felt to be miles and miles from the place you call home.

They arrived at Katara’s door then, and Zuko swore he saw another scarlet blush creep up her face as he waved goodnight at the threshold of her door. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why.

 

+++

 

When Zuko retired to his room that evening, he found Torran packing garments into a bag, preparing for their upcoming departure to the Southern Water Tribe. 

She had recently taken to wearing her hair down and around her face, letting the strange steak of blonde on one side of her temple run free. Zuko thought it rather suited her, much more than the tight, twisting updos she had worn when she arrived at the palace. 

Something about her seemed…strange tonight, as she quietly folded dresses and coats for the cold snow of the South. 

He greeted her warmly before beginning to pack his own things, and they worked in companionable silence for several long minutes. Zuko didn’t mind the quiet between them, and thought to himself it was something he could learn to get used to over time. 

As he pulled clothes from his wardrobe, he heard Torran heave a heavy sigh. He glanced up at her to see her twisting her fingers anxiously together, clearly nervous or upset about…something. 

He was tired. He did not want to have to guess at what was bothering her. 

“Is everything alright?” he asked when she did not speak up. 

Torran sighed again, closing her eyes, as if steeling her resolve. “Zuko…after we are wed, are you to…to take a concubine?” 

Zuko dropped the shirt he was holding in his hands. 

“What?” 

“A concubine, you know–” 

“No, Torran, I know what a concubine is,” he said, picking the shirt up off the floor and throwing it into a messy pile atop his bag. “That is an outdated practice of my forefathers, and not something I intend to partake in.” 

Torran’s shoulders sagged with relief at the same time guilt flared through Zuko. Had he really been acting in such a manner that she thought him to employ such a cruel facet of his royal status? 

“Where is this coming from?” he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“It’s just…well it’s just that we…we’ve never made love. We barely even kiss.” 

Zuko studied her then. He was still becoming familiar with his fiancee, but he had never known her to be jealous in any capacity. It seemed strange, as if this whole thing had appeared in her mind out of the blue.

“Torran, I did not want you to feel uncomfortable. You came into my palace as a near stranger to me, I would not dream of immediately expecting anything from you. If you are to be my wife, I promise you that is a bond that is beyond sacred to me. The intimacy…it will come in time.” 

She turned to the window then, away from him. Zuko could not see her face, and though he took pride in his ability to read people, he simply did not know the ins and outs of this woman, did not have a handle on the nuanced changes in her emotions, the small hitches of her breath, the dip in her tone. Not like he did for…

For Katara. 

From the window, Torran sniffed. 

Was she crying? 

A full headache began to throb behind his eyes. 

“Torran?” he asked, taking a step towards her, trying to infuse a gentleness into his voice that he did not entirely feel.

“I’m sorry, it’s just…I dined with my mother today. And she asked me if I was with child already. I told her I hadn’t exactly participated in the activities needed to make a child and she was…” Torran trailed off, tears choking at her words. 

That was all Zuko needed to know. 

Torran’s mother was a cruel, wicked woman. Each time they crossed paths, she put a bad taste in Zuko’s mouth. He wondered where Torran had gotten any of her kindness from if she had truly been raised under such oppression. 

Nothing Torran did seemed to be good enough for her mother. The woman criticized everything about her daughter–what she wore, how much she ate, how she spent her time, who she was friends with–and apparently, now, her lack of a sex life. 

Zuko had made it a point, when in the presence of Torran’s mother, to defend his fiancee at all costs–he spoke up for how well she handled herself at Royal Reception, or how she went out of her way to be kind and good to the citizens of the Fire Nation. 

None of that seemed to matter to Torran’s mother. 

Zuko paused for a long moment, carefully choosing the next words to come from his mouth. Regardless of the fact that Torran was a perfect Fire Lady on paper, he could not quite fathom the idea of taking her to bed. She was pretty, sure. She was kind and lovely. 

But she did not light a wild, insane fire deep in his belly. She did not make him feel consumed with need, unable to think straight. She did not make him have to force his thoughts onto monotonous paperwork to regain control over his body. 

None of that would matter, in the end though. Zuko, eventually, would have to face reality. 

“And how do you feel about all this?” 

Torran turned and looked at him then. The kohl around her gold, Fire Nation eyes had streaked onto her cheeks, black and runny with tears. 

“What?” 

“You told me how your mother feels. How do you feel?” 

By the expression on Torran’s face, Zuko wondered if she had ever been asked this question in her entire life–if she’d ever been given the autonomy of choice, the ability to speak up for her own desires. 

It took her the full breadth of a minute to come up with an answer. 

And Zuko, if he was being quite frank with himself, was surprised to see her grow just an inch of backbone when she spoke. 

“I feel as if I barely know you. And that I am not ready for that quite yet.” 

Zuko nearly sagged with relief. 

“Then there is no reason to be upset. That is a step we will take when we are both at that place–mentally, emotionally.” 

“But, the need for heirs–” 

“I will not force you into something you are not ready for, on the pure fact that a bunch of grumpy old men can’t keep their stuffy noses out of my love life.” 

It was a rather bold promise to make, knowing how the council was breathing down his neck about marriage and children. 

But he would forfeit his throne before he would force a woman to bed with him. 

What Zuko did not say, what he was not sure he would ever have the heart to say–was that he wasn’t sure making love to Torran was something he himself would ever be ready for. 

Between his conversation with Katara and his conversation with Torran, it had been entirely too much talk of children for three people who were, collectively, barely scraping at the age of twenty. 

But such is the responsibility when one lives in the aftermath of war. When one is responsible for the continuation of an entire bloodline. 

That night, Zuko struggled to fall asleep. Torran collapsed easily beside him, instantly swept under into a realm of dreams. Zuko could tell his promises to her—to not force their intimacy—had calmed her greatly. It made him sick to think what would have happened to the poor girl if her parents had shackled her to some other noble with less scruples than he had. 

After hours of lying there, tossing and turning, trying desperately to find the peace that came with slumber, Zuko was finally sucked into a fitful, restless sleep—where he dreamt of holding blue-eyed babies in his arms, swathed in crimson and navy.

Notes:

I will likely not be posting the next chapter for at least another week, as I will be away from my computer and on vacation! Hoping to work on it as soon as I return, but in the meantime, I wanted to get this chapter out before I left. I will be back soon with more updates from our favessss! Next chapter will see us with a change of scenery in the Southern Water Tribe and the gang (+ Kyoko and Torran) all together!

Chapter 15: The Festival

 Katara 

 

Katara sat at the head of a long, wooden table in the Great Hall of the Southern Water Tribe–surrounded by her friends and her family. lt seemed as if all the nations had descended on her little corner of the world. The white snow, usually punctuated with the blues of Water Tribe attire, had turned into an amalgamation of colors–bottle green, lemon, and maroon. 

It warmed something in her heart, to watch Earth Kingdom citizens feasting heartily on sea prunes, to see Fire Nation citizens bundled in warm red cloaks. To have her Tribe welcome Air Nomads for the first time in over a century. 

Katara had worked hard for such an outcome. Last night it had been something of a scramble to make sure there were even enough accommodations for everyone who had arrived in the South. It had taken some rearranging–and maybe a little meddling–on her part to free up some space. Kyoko and Toph were now conveniently sharing a room together. And if the bright blushes and knowing glances on their faces were any indication, well then, Katara’s interventions had been successful. 

“...and then Sokka drank the cactus juice straight from the plant!” Toph said, leaning over and dictating wildly to Torran. 

“Don’t the cacti of the Si Wong desert contain extremely strong hallucinogenics?” Torran gasped, eyes wide with amazement. 

“Yes,” Sokka groaned, slapping a hand over his forehead and dragging it downwards, embarrassed. “They do. But I was desperate!” 

Torran giggled behind her hand. Katara was pleased to watch the future Fire Lady settle so naturally into the landscape of the Southern Tribe. In fact, Torran almost acclimated too well. On several occasions, she had disappeared to explore the festival, or the Southern library, or the docks teeming with ships from all the nations. 

Zuko, at first, had made a half-hearted attempt to keep tabs on his fiancee–for safety, more than anything, with all the assassination attempts. But Torran always seemed so disappointed when Zuko–with Katara as his guide–eventually found her. 

Katara and Suki reassured the fussy Fire Lord that there was nothing to fret over, and that Torran was perfectly safe to wander about the festival and the Water Tribe unrestrained. 

“I can’t believe you all got to see Wan Shi Tong’s Library,” Torran exclaimed, eyes shining. “What was it like?” 

Sokka, Toph, and Aang launched into a vivid, and a bit embellished description of their adventures in the library, with Torran hanging on their every word and detail. 

To Katara’s left, Zuko sipped his tea, steam curling up about his face as he drank. She hated to admit it to herself, but there was something…fascinating about the red cloak he wore, thick and warm and lined with fur about his neck. The Caldera was so warm, even in the winter, that Katara didn’t think she’d ever seen him dressed for the cold. It suited him. 

Sitting about the table during the festival like this–all of them together, it felt almost normal. Like old times. Katara had been worried that things would be strange and awkward, given how she and Aang had parted after their last conversation. 

But everything had been fine so far, and Katara was relieved. She wanted to just enjoy watching all her hard work pay off, enjoy the merriment the Glacier Spirits Festival had to offer. 

And she had certainly enjoyed wiping the smug smile off of councilman Kail’s face when he realized Katara had been successful in securing the Avatar’s attendance. Not only that, she had also brought with her a whole host of Fire Nation elite. 

The event had certainly been a success, even though she had spent the weeks leading up to the festival in the Caldera. 

Of course, that wasn’t to say there hadn’t been little hiccups and bumps in the road here and there—a near-crash in the harbor between two ships, a small kitchen fire. But these had all been things Katara had been able to handle in stride. 

And then, as if she had summoned a problem up just by thinking about it, Katara noticed Hakoda making his way towards her across the expanse of the Great Hall, his steps hurried. 

But, it turned out, Hakoda was not aiming for Katara, but rather for the Fire Lord. 

He knelt down beside Zuko, clapping his hand against the Fire Lord’s shoulder. 

“Zuko, my boy, it seems we are having a bit of an issue with the fireworks for the show tonight. The winds coming in from the north are getting too severe, and we are having a hard time keeping a flame lit. Do you think you could spare a firebender to help us with the show?” 

Zuko nodded, rising without a beat of hesitation. “I’m happy to do it.” 

Suki, as per usual, had been eavesdropping, and now leaned across Sokka to wag her finger in Zuko’s direction. 

“That’s not necessary. Send someone else to help,” she instructed him. 

“Please, Suki, you’ve got Kyoshi warriors crawling all over this place. There’s few places I could go that would not be under your very watchful eye,” Zuko shot back. Sokka sat between them, unbothered as he ate handfuls of seaweed-wrapped scallops. It was not the first time he had been caught in between their bickering, and it would certainly not be the last, either. 

“Plus,” Zuko continued, pushing forward, “It’ll be a good thing for the relations between the South and the Fire Nation. Symbolic, even–the Fire Lord himself lighting the fireworks on opening night of the Glacier Spirit Festival.” 

Suki hardly looked convinced. But Katara had to admit it wasn’t a bad idea–in fact, it was one she sort of wished she had thought up herself. 

Katara rose then, nodding at Zuko to stand as well. “He’s right, Suki. I’ll go with him, it’ll be perfectly safe.” 

Katara was beginning to think she would have to lock Zuko in an impenetrable metal cage and wheel him down the streets of the South in order for Suki to relent. After a moment though, she finally conceded–but not before nodding at Ty Lee and another warrior, who were on guard nearby, to follow them down to the docks where the fireworks were located. 

Sokka slung his arm around Suki’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

“Look at you delegating, just like we talked about. I am so proud of you!” 

Suki looked about ready to raze the whole of the Southern Water Tribe if it meant she could keep eyes on the Fire Lord, but she stayed put, much to the chuckles of Toph, Kyoko, and Torran. 

Katara couldn’t help but watch Aang’s eyes darken, following her and Zuko as they walked side by side out of the Great Hall and into the cold of the early evening. But he did not say anything, or make a motion to follow. Rather, he sat, hands folded in his lap, and tried to look invested in what the rest of the group was saying. 

But Katara noticed. Katara always noticed these things. 

She didn’t have time to linger, though, not when the sun was making a quick descent down through the sky, and the fireworks were set to begin any moment now. 

Hakoda had been right about the wind–it was kicking up something fierce. Katara giggled behind her hand as she watched the visitors from the Fire Nation scurry about the festival, burrowing deep down into their coats and mittens, unaccustomed to the cold. 

“Your people are so sensitive about the low temperatures,” Katara teased Zuko. 

He glanced sidelong at her, a smile edging up the corner of his mouth. “Not all of us are firebenders who can warm ourselves, unfortunately.” 

“Standing near you is a bit like being near the surface of the sun,” she jabbed back. 

“A personal heater, at your service,” Zuko replied, pausing to make a mock bow. 

Katara rolled her eyes and laughed, and they continued walking through the crowd. The smell of fried food and the sounds of squealing laughter surrounded them on all sides as they hurried towards the docks. Children ran through the streets, waving paper kites above their heads. Banners and ribbons in cerulean and cream fluttered in the wind. 

“Being tailed by Kyoshi warriors seems a bit extreme at a place like this,” Zuko said after a moment. His breath fogged out before him. “Sometimes I wonder if there will ever come a day where I don’t have to be constantly monitored by an entire team of intense women.” 

“Not as long as Suki’s in charge,” Katara told him. 

“I’d pay her handsomely to retire early.” 

“No offense, Zuko, but I’m pretty sure she would work for free.” 

“I know,” the Fire Lord replied, shaking his head. 

They walked quietly for a while after that. Katara could not help but admire just how many people were here–she felt as if she were surrounded on all sides by the deep red of the Fire Nation. It struck a bit of awe in her, that she could see these people, the color crimson on the shores of her homeland in a manner of peace, and not of fear. That she could shake hands and break bread with them. 

She had done that, alongside her friends. Made something like this possible–a world in which the four nations could coexist harmoniously, could come together to celebrate. 

As they neared the docks, Katara felt Zuko stiffen beside her. It was almost imperceptible, but she caught it immediately–the straightening of his shoulders, the narrowing of his brow. Something was wrong. 

“Zuko–” Katara started. 

She didn’t get to finish speaking. Zuko grabbed her by the elbow and started moving her quickly through the crowd, bobbing and weaving through the throng. 

“We’re being followed,” he said, his voice a low thrum as he bent down near her ear. 

“By whom?” she hissed. Katara did not glance around–she knew better than that, better than to show her hand. She kept her gaze down, made it look as if she and Zuko were only having an intense conversation. 

“I don’t know. More than one person. Look, up ahead.” 

Katara let her eyes flick upward for a moment, and caught the shadow of a man hovering in an alleyway just to her right, the hood of his red cloak pulled up around his eyes, shielding his face. 

Watching them. 

Katara’s heart sunk into her toes then. She watched the young people, the children and babies playing carelessly in the streets. 

“There’s too many people here,” she said to Zuko. 

“I know,” he hissed between his teeth, his anger a barely leashed animal.  

Katara looked around, taking stock of her location. They were just at the edge of the festival, down near the docks. There were a series of cut-throughs and alleyways just up ahead that would bring them out on the other side of the harbor, away from all the people gathered around them. Zuko still had his fingers gripped on her elbow. With one look, he kept his hand on her and fell back, letting Katara guide them up and out of the crowd. 

They did not need to speak. They moved in tandem with one another. The brightly-lit streets began to fade away, traded instead for the quiet dim of narrow back pathways, littered with crates and boxes. 

They walked silently, quickly. Down one alley and up over to the next, moving further and further from the festival. 

Katara did not know if she should feel grateful or angry that Suki had dispatched Kyoshi warriors to trail them. On one hand, she felt relieved that they would at least have assistance in taking on whomever was following them. On the other hand, Katara had wanted the festival to go off without a hitch. And if she and Zuko were being followed, that was certainly a much bigger problem than a small firework mishap. 

“They’re getting closer,” Zuko’s voice was a low, lethal thing in her ear. His hand was warm where it gripped her arm. Katara knew he was right–she could hear footsteps approaching. 

But–just there, at the end of the alley, was their pathway out. It would dump them on the other side of the docks, far from any innocent lives. 

Just a few more yards, and then…

Katara was yanked, suddenly, into a narrow, shaded doorway, a hand clamped tight over her mouth. She began to buck and fight, reaching for her waterskin, when she finally inhaled a deep breath and sucked in the smell of cinnamon. Zuko. 

“Shhh,” his lips just barely scraped the shell of her ear, and it made her shiver. He had her pressed tight against his body, one strong arm holding her in place, keeping her from yelling out. Zuko was warm, so warm, his presence alive and real at her back. 

Despite the situation they found themselves in, Katara couldn’t help it. She allowed herself to melt into him, to relish in the touch of his fingers over her lips. 

It was a brief, beautiful moment of respite before the whole world came crashing down around her. 

Fire. 

Fire everywhere. 

Katara was yanked from Zuko’s grasp and thrown into the narrow alleyway. She went down hands-first, and pain twinged up her wrist and into her elbow. Her arm would be bruised by the time the sun fully set, no doubt. If she survived that long. 

Because, looking up, Katara realized that she and Zuko were facing down over a dozen men. They were all dressed in black, with red cloaks drawn over their faces. 

Zuko was already in combat, dueling singlehandedly against three of the men, fire flaring in an orange plume all around her, hitting the walls of the tight walkway. The flame came so close to her face, Katara swore it singed her eyebrows. 

She blinked, trying to get her bearings, trying to ignore the stabbing pain that threaded up her arm, when another blast of fire shot her way. 

With a flick of her wrist, she gathered water from the ice and snow beneath her and flung it up in a protective arc, halting the fire just before it scorched her alive. 

Katara rolled to her feet, turning to face their assailants. She and Zuko were both backed against opposite corners of the alley. There were too many men, and it was such a narrow space. She needed the high ground, desperately. 

Just then, she heard footsteps from overhead, then saw the flick of a golden fan. Ty Lee and another of the Kyoshi warriors appeared as green shadows on the rooftop above–apparently having the exact same thought as Katara. 

The two warriors took out several of the cloaked men in the alley. Katara used the distraction as an opportunity of her own, bending heavy snow to crush two more of the attackers. 

There, that was better. Less people in the tight space, but still—they did not have the advantage. 

Katara formed shards of ice with both hands and shot them off in the direction of the men Zuko was fighting against. The sharp points took down one man, and then another. Katara froze them in the snow, rendering them immobile. 

Ty Lee flipped down from the roof and rushed past Katara quickly, punching once, twice, a third time at the pressure points of one of the assailants. 

But then, more arrived. It seemed as quickly as they dispatched one man, two more appeared. The cramped space was working against them, badly. But there was nowhere to go, no way to get out–not when she, Zuko, and the two Kyoshi warriors were each fighting off three or four attackers at a time. 

Katara had not had to battle like this in a while, and she felt dangerously out of practice. When this was over and they were back in the Caldera, her first priority would be getting into the training ring again–an era of tranquility had made her lazy, and standing against these hooded men right now was a dangerous reminder that peace was a tentative and fragile thing, easily threatened, easily destroyed. 

But not on her watch. 

She needed to get away from this wall–she did not like being backed into a corner. She flicked out a water whip to her left first, and then to her right, knocking two different attackers into the snowdrifts. 

She took the opportunity of space and surged forward, away from the wall. Zuko’s eyes rose to hers and he seemed to realize, all at once, what she was trying to do. He threw out a rampart of flame and leapt atop a pile of crates–Spirits alive, Katara forgot how agile, how quick he really was–before darting down into the middle of the alleyway, next to where Katara was standing. 

They fought back to back. 

Even with the help of the Kyoshi warriors, even with how strong Zuko and Katara were in the  bending of their elements, they were not in a good position. And in their bid to get away from the festival crowd, nobody was around to hear or see them–they were far from the center of town, out near the edge of the docks. 

And then–as if things were not bad enough already–a too-familiar, crackling sound filled her ears. One of the hooded men was beginning to draw up lightning. 

Katara took quick stock of the men she was fighting against, and did not see jagged blue light filling any of their hands. Behind her, she felt Zuko stiffen and inhale a deep breath–preparing to redirect. 

Fear sluiced through her all at once. Katara threw up a giant wave of snow between her and her assailants, giving her one moment to glance over her shoulder and see that there were four men lobbing balls of fire in Zuko’s direction as one more summoned up a bolt of lightning. 

Zuko could redirect lightning, sure, but could he do it while fighting off four other attacks? 

No. 

Nobody could do that, not even the Fire Lord. 

All Katara could picture was the star-shaped scar that bloomed over Zuko’s chest, from where he’d absorbed Azula’s lightning for her. 

She could not allow this to happen again, could not allow these men to do harm to Zuko’s life. Could not bear to imagine a world in which he was not breathing. 

Even if he could not be hers, she needed him alive. 

She knew, with painful clarity, what she had to do. 

Katara raised an enormous wall of thick, hard ice to protect herself from the men hurling flames in her direction, to give her a moment to focus. 

She turned fully in Zuko’s direction. His back was still to her, and he did not see what she was doing. Katara’s eyes latched on the man with lightning growing in between his palms. She turned her hands in his direction, feeling for his pulse, his heartbeat. 

The blood of the hooded man was warm in his veins, pounding out an aggressive beat as Katara reached forward, fingers extended. 

She redirected the flow of blood through his arms, and the lightning between his hands vanished all at once as she forced him down onto his knees. His eyes went suddenly wide with fear as he realized he was no longer fully in control of his own body. 

Zuko glanced over his shoulder quickly, realizing all at once what Katara was doing. He had seen her bloodbend once before, and knew what she was capable of. He did not question it for even a moment, but rather took the opportunity to continue fighting back against the other men who were attacking him, the threat of lightning now removed. 

But Katara was shocked to find the man she was bloodbending was strong, railing against her control–trying to get back up from the ground, trying to get at Zuko. 

And a sudden anger like she had never felt took over Katara all at once–a fierce protectiveness that went beyond the bounds of anything she had ever known. 

She would not allow harm to come to Zuko. 

The hooded man surged against her once more, his limbs twisting at odd, unnatural angles as he tried to wrest control away from Katara, tiny sparks of blue lightning forming at his fingertips. 

No. 

Katara searched for his heart, the source of his life. 

And in that moment, she did not care about the consequences. She did not care about right and wrong. She did not care about justice, or truth, or honor. The darkness she had felt settle over her in the shadow of the war came out fully, unrestrained, undiluted. 

She felt the blood pumping from his heart. 

And she squeezed, bringing it to a halt. 

He collapsed onto the snow. Dead. 

Before Katara had even a moment to realize what she had done, to be surprised by her own power, the attackers on her other side finally broke through the wall of ice she had erected as a means of protection. 

Flames engulfed her all at once, singing up the same arm she had fallen on earlier. The whole left side of her body screamed with pain, her skin bubbling and boiling, and she screamed out. 

“Katara!” Zuko turned, calling her name as she fell to the ground, submerging her burnt arm into the snow, sobbing, desperate for a small iota of relief. 

And then, one assailant went flying into the air, over the roof–shot upwards by a large chunk of earth ripped from the ground. 

Toph. 

Katara glanced up to see her friends, all of them, coming to their aid. Her vision was starting to go a little fuzzy with pain, the world sliding in and out of focus. 

But there–warm hands, golden eyes. Pulling her from the snow just before she lost consciousness. 

 

+++

 

When Katara woke, she was aware of only two things: she was in her hut in the Southern Tribe, and somebody–likely Amaka, the tribe’s head healer–had soothed her burns away.

Although she had been healed, that did not mean her arm didn’t ache. Peeling back the layers of furs atop her body, Katara could see the skin of her left forearm was pink and raw from the attack. But the worst of the damage had been, mercifully, reversed. 

She propped herself up on one elbow, rubbing exhaustion from her eyes. One glance out her window showed it was dark outside, but she had no idea how long she’d been asleep for. Hours? Days? She had so much to attend to with the festival in her role as ambassador. 

Guilt ate through her all at once for falling down on the job, and she forced herself from bed. Just outside her door, she could hear familiar sounds of conversation and laughter–something she hadn’t heard in a long time. It touched something in her memory, forcing her backwards to the days at the end of the war, of her little cabal traveling together. 

Pushing through the thick curtains sectioning her room off from the rest of the hut, she looked out to see her friends all gathered at her kitchen table. It seemed that Torran was trying to–unsuccessfully–explain to them all how to play Pai Sho. Sokka and Toph were in fits of laughter attempting to understand Torran’s instructions, while Aang, Suki, and Kyoko were genuinely trying to learn the rules. Zuko was the only one, it seemed, who had any grasp on the nuances of the game–likely in thanks to his uncle. 

Katara hovered at the threshold of her room, watching them all gathered around the table, a small fire lit in the hearth. She allowed herself a moment to soak it in–all of them here, together. These people she cared about so much, gathered in her home, her native land. 

Zuko was the first to notice her, eyes flicking up to meet hers. Something akin to relief settled over his expression at the sight of her. He exhaled a deep, relieved breath when Katara offered him a smile, a small promise that she was fine. 

For a quiet moment, it was just the two of them. 

And she remembered what she had done, how she had murdered a man to save Zuko’s life. She waited for the normal wave of guilt to slam into her. She waited for her stomach to drop like it always did when she had to bloodbend. But those feelings did not come. All she felt, deep in her heart, was an overwhelming sense of peace. She would have killed that man, again and again, to keep Zuko safe. 

“Katara, you’re awake!” Aang saw her then, and every head turned in her direction. They all rose, ushering her to sit at the table with them, making room on the pillows and cushions lining the floor around the low table. 

“How long have I been out for?” she asked as Suki poured a cup of tea, setting it down before her. Katara took it gratefully, inhaling a long sip and letting the liquid warm her chilled limbs. 

“Only a few hours,” Sokka said. “The festival is continuing just fine. Nobody other than the council members and the Kyoshi warriors are even aware there was an attack. Dad has taken over your responsibilities for the evening to give you a chance to rest.” 

Katara nearly bowed over with relief at this news. 

“Who were those men?” she asked, rubbing at her neck. There was a tension, a knot in her shoulders, that felt bone-deep. She was tired. 

“We’re not sure,” Suki chimed in. “Firebenders, all of them. It was another assassination attempt on Zuko’s life. The one that you…the man that you…killed, we brought him to the healer’s hut, but nobody recognized him. We were able to capture three of them for interrogation, and they’re being held in prison for the time being. But have not been successful in getting any information. I’m going to take another crack at them in the morning.” 

Suki stumbled over her words nervously, not sure how to broach the topic of how Katara had killed a man tonight. All of them–Aang especially–seemed to be watching Katara nervously, waiting for the inevitable tears to fall. Katara herself expected emotion to swell in her veins, to overtake her composure. 

But it did not come. 

Silence fell over her kitchen, but it was quickly broken by Toph. “Who knew you had it in you, sugar queen? Color me impressed.” 

Nobody reacted at first, warily watching Katara to see how she would take Toph’s comment. It was no secret that the two women had gone at it in the past. Aang, in particular, shot Toph a glaring, dirty look when her words hit his ears–as if he certainly did not appreciate her making light of the topic. 

But a small bubble of laughter escaped Katara’s mouth. “Who knew foiling assassination attempts was on the list of duties as an ambassador?” 

“Anything for our Fire Lord, hmm?” Toph raised one eyebrow. A blush crept all the way up Katara’s cheeks, and she instantly regretted her earlier meddling in Toph’s love life. She should have known better than to poke at the one person who could monitor heart rates and certainly knew that Katara, as of late, was in complete shambles around Zuko. 

And although Katara had not voiced her feelings toward Zuko aloud to anyone, Suki had the wherewithal to realize this conversation was headed in a bad direction and dove in, interrupting. “Torran, tell me again where this piece goes on the board? I can’t quite seem to keep it straight, there are just so many rules to this game!” 

Katara shot Suki a grateful glance, and they all fell back into calm conversation after that. Torran attempted to teach them Pai Sho again, with only minimal success. Sokka and Toph gave up completely, and took to, instead, sampling the different liquors of the Southern Tribe that Katara kept stocked in her kitchen. 

After a while, exhaustion began to pull at Katara. It had been a long day. 

Zuko, thankfully, seemed to recognize this and stood. 

“It’s getting late. Let’s give Katara a chance to rest,” he said, extending a hand to Torran and helping her from where she sat. 

Something in that motion cut clean through Katara’s heart–even after fighting at his side today–back to back, moving in wordless synchronization–it was still Torran whom Zuko was promised to. Not Katara.

Sweet, gentle, docile Torran–who certainly would never dream of killing a man in cold blood. 

“Yes, I need to sleep,” Katara said, suddenly wanting to be very much alone. The emotion she had expected to overtake her earlier at the memory of stopping that man’s heart surged through her chest now, as she watched Zuko lead Torran out of her home, away to the bed they shared together. 

Katara felt tears begin to prick at the back of her throat, and she wished desperately that everyone would just leave.

“Are you sure you don’t want one of us to stay with you tonight?” Kyoko asked, brows lined with concern. “You’ve had an incredibly difficult day.” 

“I’m sure,” Katara nodded, eyes cast down at the abandoned Pai Sho board on the table.

Suki threaded her arm around Sokka’s waist. Worry twisted up her expression, and Katara knew she would be beating herself up about another assassination attempt. 

“There will be extra Kyoshi warriors posted outside your quarters tonight,” she said. “Get some rest, okay?” 

“I should be saying the same to you,” Katara nodded. Sokka and Suki left her house then, followed soon after by Kyoko and Toph. 

Only Aang remained, still seated at her kitchen table. She realized, then, that he could see the sadness pulling at her, and assumed she was upset about the battle from earlier today. Assumed he understood her better than she understood herself–that deep down, she really was troubled by bloodbending and was trying to cover it up for the sake of everyone else. 

“Katara?” he asked, looking across the table at her. 

“Hmm?” 

“Are you alright?” Aang’s brows knitted over his eyes, and he tilted his head, studying her. Katara spun a Pai Sho tile over and over in between her fingers, not making eye contact with him. 

“I’m fine.” 

“I just know…I know when you’ve had to bloodbend in the past, it’s bothered you quite a bit. I know you don’t like doing it. And after what happened tonight, after you killed that man…” 

“It had to be done, Aang. They were going to assassinate Zuko.” There was no vitriol in Katara’s words–she wasn’t angry at the airbender, but all the fight she had left had gone out of her entirely. Exhaustion clung to her every limb, lined her every breath. 

Katara let her eyes meet Aang’s then, let him see that she truly felt no guilt at what she’d done today–that she remained completely unburdened by her actions. 

He studied her for a long moment, and Katara could almost see the pieces sliding into place in his mind–that the girl he had once loved was not the woman who stood before him now. That there was a dark sort of power within her he could never understand how to handle properly. 

“We never were going to work together, were we?” Aang asked. The question did not shock Katara. She knew the realization had been a long time coming, but that it was something he had to work towards on his own. It seemed, now, that he was finally there. 

“No, Aang. We weren’t.” 

The young airbender nodded then, and then stood. 

He paused at the door to her hut, turning back to look at her. And in his expression, Katara could tell that Aang just knew–knew that if she was willing to kill for Zuko, there was something more than friendship, more, even, than tentative, flirtatious feelings. 

She felt wholly transparent then, as if Aang could see straight through to her heart, how it pounded out a desperate beat for the touch of a man she could never have. 

“I hope you find everything you’re looking for, Katara.” 

And then he was gone. 

Despite how exhausted she was, Katara slept fitfully that night, even after crying and crying until her body was completely spent. She rose at dawn, as the sun was pouring soft gray light over the snowy horizon. 

She poured herself a cup of tea and stretched out her sore, stiff arm. It felt awkward and uncomfortable, but she was grateful it had been healed quickly, leaving behind nothing but tender, rosy flesh–rather than a blistered burn filled with pockets of puss that would linger for months. 

As she went to open her door, she found a piece of parchment slid under the threshold. She opened it up to find Zuko’s loopy, elegant scrawl–the writing of a royal. 

 

Katara–

 

You’ve got to stop saving my life. I owe you more than I can ever repay. 

 

Zuko 

Katara threw herself into her work for the remaining days of the festival. She gave waterbending demonstrations to crowds from the four corners of the world. She was the deciding vote on the competition for best saltwater taffy. She took meals with King Kuei to discuss trade deals with the Earth Kingdom. She sat up late with her friends in Sokka and Suki’s home, passing around a bottle of Southern Ale and telling stories, trying not to watch Torran lean against Zuko by the fire. 

She went with Suki, Zuko, and Aang to interrogate the would-be assassins, with little success. They would be held in the prison of the Southern Water Tribe until they could be transferred over to the jurisdiction of the Fire Nation. None of them would give an ounce of information on who had hired them to take Zuko’s life. 

Katara did not let herself rest for a moment. If she let her brain slow down, even a little bit, all of the feelings she had as she stood at Zuko’s back, willing to cut down whomever might threaten him, came rushing in. And she simply could not stand the way it made her feel–a deep, helpless yearning down in the marrow of her bones. 

Her friends continued to try and get her to open up about the battle, to talk about the fight where she had ended a life. But she didn’t have anything to say. She simply did not feel any remorse, not if it meant Zuko was still standing. 

For what it was worth, Zuko himself did not try to press Katara on the issue–for which she was endlessly grateful. If he got her alone, the thin restraint she had on her feelings for him might come bursting out, the floodgates busted wide open, and she would confess that she was deeply, madly, insanely in love with him. 

The festival ended with wild success, and all manner of people heaped praise onto Katara. She did not enjoy it as much as she should have. 

And just like that, it was over. 

Katara was in her hut, packing up her things to return to the Fire Nation for the few weeks standing between Zuko and his twenty-first birthday, and subsequently, his wedding, when Suki appeared. 

Katara could tell that the Kyoshi warrior had something to say. Sokka had probably sent his wife in yet another bid to get Katara to open up about murdering the assassin. 

“Look, Suki, I don’t want to talk about that fight, okay? It’s over, it’s done. Let’s move on.” Katara said, not looking up as Suki stepped into her hut, sitting down at the kitchen table.

“I’m not here to talk about that,” Suki replied. 

This gave Katara pause. She halted the methodical folding of her clothes and looked up at her sister-in-law. 

“Oh?” 

“I just wanted to say that…if you did not want to return to the Fire Nation, and would rather send another healer in your stead, I would understand. And I would not blame you one bit.” 

Katara’s shoulders grew heavy, then. She sighed. It seemed that Toph, obviously, had clocked Katara’s feelings for Zuko. It was hard for Katara to hide the way her heart skittered to a halting stop around the Fire Lord. Now Suki too?

If Suki knew, then so did Sokka. There were no secrets between those too. 

And Aang, even, had seemed to realize. That was nearly everyone in her little group of friends. 

Horror dawned on her, all at once. Did Zuko know? Did Torran? 

And suddenly, Katara was so grateful that Suki was here. She couldn’t lie about this anymore, couldn’t pretend, couldn’t keep it all bottled up in her chest. She would go mad. Explode into a million little pieces, splattered all over the walls of her hut. 

“Is it wrong of me to want to stay near him? Just for the small time I have left before he is wed, even if it hurts?” Katara’s voice was small. It was the closest thing to a confession she would ever get, when it came to how she felt about Zuko. She could not bring herself to say the words aloud. 

I am in love with him. 

“No. If it were me, if it were Sokka, I would take every scrap I could get.” Suki’s voice was soft, sympathetic. 

“I gave my word that I would stay until his birthday. I won’t go back on that.” 

Suki nodded then, standing and grasping Katara’s arm. “I understand. And I support you. But do not forget, he is engaged, Katara. He has a duty to his people. There is nothing you can do about that.” 

Katara nodded, and Suki left. 

It was a fact she knew all too well.

Notes:

Hiiiii!

Just wanted to take a minute to say THANK YOU for the lovely readers who always comment on each chapter with their thoughts, theories, and feedback. It means so much that people are invested in an incomplete work, and following along with each update. I know it's hard to be patient for chapters to update in real time. It brings me a lot of joy to see familiar names commenting on each chapter. Every kudos, subscription, and comment keeps me so motivated. We are getting close to the end!

Thanks for being patient for this chapter update while I was gone on vacation! :)

Also, I do not have a *ton* of experience writing battle scenes so this was definitely something new for me. Hopefully it reads okay!! <3

Chapter 16: The Lagoon

Zuko 

 

Something was wrong with Katara. After they had fought together in the alleyway in the South, fending off the assassination attempt, she had not been entirely herself.

Throughout the remainder of the festival, Zuko barely spoke with her. That, at the very least, he chalked up to her dedication to her job, her need to prove herself as ambassador. Zuko assumed that once they departed for the Fire Nation, she would return to her normal self. 

But he was wrong. 

Katara sequestered herself in her quarters once aboard the ship bound for the Caldera. She did not eat her meals in the main dining area with Zuko, Torran, Kyoko, and Suki. 

She did not wander about the bow of the ship, letting her hair be blown back by the breeze, feeling the spray of water against her fingertips as she so loved to do. 

Zuko wasn’t sure he saw her, even once, on the ship. Even though it was a journey of several days. Finally, he all but begged his Captain of the Guard to go below deck to Katara’s room to check on her, to make sure the waterbender was alright. 

Suki gave him a strange look before going in search of Katara. She returned an hour later, telling Zuko that everything was fine. But the expression on Suki’s face made him feel doubtful—something was not right. 

Zuko saw Katara for the first time in days when they docked in the Caldera and disembarked from the ship. 

He couldn’t believe the relief that surged through him at putting eyes on her once more, even if the expression on her face was…worn. Weathered. Tired. 

What was wrong? Was she upset about the assassination attempt? About having to bloodbend? Was it something Aang had said to her? Zuko knew the Avatar had lingered in Katara’s hut the night she had been injured. Had he made another attempt at reconciling with her? 

Katara didn’t say anything as she encountered Zuko and Torran on the gangplank. She simply dipped her head in a deferential nod and made her way into the harbor. 

Torran didn’t seem to notice that Katara’s demeanor was all wrong. The future Fire Lady was talking on and on in Zuko’s ear about how she wanted to make a trip to see Ba Sing Se after they were wed. 

Although Zuko was glad to see her coming out of her shell a bit, invigorated by the travel and his friends’ stories of the war, he felt ready to cart Torran anywhere she wanted in the world if she would just give him a moment of peace to figure out what was happening with Katara. 

Zuko studied the back of the waterbender’s head as she made her way through the harbor, trying to piece together what had gone wrong and what he could do to make it right. 

He was stuck in the middle of his thoughts when a voice rang out across the docks. 

“Master Katara!” 

Zuko turned and saw that it was the harbor master, the one who had shown resistance to the South docking their ships free of charge—the one who had openly ridiculed both his orders as Fire Lord and Katara’s people in one fell swoop. 

Zuko had purposefully stayed away from the docks as of late, for fear of what he would do to the harbor master—especially after promising Katara that he wouldn’t meddle or intervene. 

But here was the harbor master now, running towards Katara. All of Zuko’s senses went on high alert, ready to bolt in her direction if she needed it. 

Katara turned, one eyebrow raised, as if her mind were in the same place as Zuko’s—expecting another challenge. 

The harbor master bowed low before Katara. Zuko watched as her eyes went wide—this was certainly not what she was expecting. 

“My lady,” the harbor master began. “I…I owe you a great many thanks. My daughter was traveling to the Earth Kingdom last week, on holiday from school. She was attacked by a gang of bandits, who attempted to rob her.” 

Katara’s shoulders straightened at that. It was something Zuko had always admired about her—the unwavering sense of justice that guided Katara’s every decision. She seemed almost driven by the need to help those around her, even those she did not know or owe anything to. Even those who had wronged her. 

“She is fine, but…when she refused to hand over her money, one of the bandits shot lightning at her. She was, thankfully, able to redirect it.” 

After the events of the last week, Zuko felt about ready to reach back through the history books to admonish the imbecile who’d figured out how to bend lightning. It was more trouble than it was worth. 

The harbor master looked at Katara then, eyes earnest and shining. “She is a student at the Huǒ Firebending Academy. She said your lessons on redirecting lightning…saved her life.” 

The harbor master bowed low once more, his nose nearly touching the wooden planks of the dock. 

“I am glad my demonstration was of use to her,” Katara said, voice controlled and demure. 

The harbor master rose then, taking one of Katara’s hands in both of his. “I am deeply sorry for how I treated your people. The Southern Water Tribe is always welcome in my harbor. Please forgive me, Master Katara.” 

Zuko waited for her to throw an I told you so look in his direction, a sly smirk, something. But it did not come. 

She merely accepted the praise and apology of the harbor master, her expression schooled into one of complete calm. 

“Thank you, that is much appreciated.” 

And then she was on her way. 

Zuko nearly broke into a run to catch up with her. 

“Looks like you were right, in the end. It’s a good thing I did not interfere,” he said, baiting her. The true meaning of his words lie right beneath the surface, barely concealed. Come on. Play with me. Banter with me. 

“A good thing, indeed,” Katara said, not looking in Zuko’s direction. 

The next days passed like molasses, slow and languid. Zuko was busy–he was the Fire Lord, he was always busy–but he tried wholeheartedly to throw himself into the minutia of his day, to keep himself distracted. 

He visited with Azula, and they took a long walk about the gardens. He attended endless council meetings, convened with Raijin again and again as they tried to finalize the budget for the upcoming year–his thumb becoming nearly raw from flipping through all the papers. 

He took dinners with Kyoko and Torran, listened as the girls talked excitedly about Torran’s wedding dress. With how busy everything had been, Zuko was just now beginning to realize his twenty-first birthday, and the eve of his wedding, was now just three weeks away. Less than a month. 

And then, Katara would be gone. She’d go back to the South, back to her work as ambassador. 

Something about the idea of her not being around anymore soured Zuko’s stomach enough that he excused himself for dinner and went to bed. 

That night, he did not sleep. He tossed and turned, staring at Torran, who lay peacefully beside him. 

Finally, after several hours of studying the shadows on the ceiling, he rose, pulled on a robe, and went out to the turtleduck pond. 

He didn’t know if it was his own dumb luck, or a cruel twist of fate, that he found Katara was already there. 

She had a large copper bowl on the bench beside her, and was manipulating water out of it, letting the liquid glow bright blue around the arm that had been burned during the fight in the Southern Water Tribe. 

Was that what was wrong? She was in pain? 

Guilt and anger twisted through Zuko all at once. Katara had been hurt because of him, because the New Ozai Society wanted him dead. In that moment, he had half a mind to write Sokka and tell him to get the assassins transferred over to the Fire Nation prison immediately. Zuko wanted to torture them, slow and sweet, for what they had done to Katara. 

“Everything okay?” Zuko’s voice was nervous, tentative. She had been avoiding him for days now, and he didn’t want to force her into a conversation if she didn’t feel like talking. But if Zuko couldn’t parse out what was wrong, what was making her so upset, he might truly go off the edge of madness. 

His words surprised Katara, and the water dropped from her expert hands into the grass. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, coming to stand in front of her. Katara waved a graceful hand, pulling the water up and out of the dewy ground and placing it back into the copper bowl. 

“It’s alright,” she said, eyes focused on the bowl. Her gaze did not meet his. “My arm just–hurts. Amaka did a good job healing it. But it was a bad burn and a bad sprain, and the pain is lingering more than I’d like it to.”

Zuko glanced down at her arm. It looked much better than it had when he’d initially yanked her from the snow, clutching her limp body against his chest, praying to every Water Tribe and Fire Nation Spirit he could think of that she was okay. That she would heal. That Katara would not resent Zuko for the role he held, or how her sheer proximity to him put her in danger. 

“I have that happen, too, sometimes,” Zuko said. “With the burn on my face, mostly. The one on my chest was thankfully tended to by the world’s best healer.” 

The comment was an olive branch. And Zuko was relieved to see the ghost of an appreciative smile flash across Katara’s face. 

And then, as if the words ripped themselves from his mouth, unbidden, he was offering something he knew he shouldn’t have. 

“I have something that can help with the pain, if you want.” 

What was he doing? His fiancee lay in their bed, blissfully unaware that Zuko was down in the gardens, late at night, speaking with Katara. A woman he had kissed, a woman he had felt a great, great deal for. These were not the actions of a good man, an honest man. Half of him prayed that Katara would turn him down. 

But the other half of him was desperate for her to take up his offer. 

He felt, as of late, that he was balancing precariously atop one of Ty Lee’s tightropes–constantly toeing the line between being the Fire Lord his nation deserved, and throwing all caution to the wind and indulging himself in the things he wanted, the things he desired. 

It felt, dangerously, as if there could never be any sort of middle ground. 

“I would like that, actually,” Katara said, surprising him. 

“It’s a bit of a walk, if you’re okay with that,” Zuko told her. Why was she always unearthing these little hidden treasures that he had always kept tucked away for himself? First the tower in the library, and now...now this. He was taking Katara to places he’d never even mentioned to Torran, never deigned to show to Mai. 

But he would do anything–anything to get a smile on her face after days and days of melancholy. Since Torran arrived, Zuko had been so careful to honor his duty to his people, his duty to future wife. To not let those long-buried feelings towards Katara come bubbling up to the surface. But now, watching her downcast face, her saddened eyes–was this all it took for him to lose his control? 

Zuko was growing concerned about the way his chest tightened, the way his fingers ached to soothe away whatever it was that bothered her. He thought that he might just crawl on his hands and knees if it meant Katara would tease him for even just a moment, her mouth lit with that knowing smirk. 

It felt so much like when Zuko’s body had betrayed him after he’d decided to denounce his father and join up with the Avatar–when his uncle had to nurse him back to health as he was swallowed up alive with fever. What he was experiencing now was a new crisis of self, a different loss of identity. Who was Zuko, if he was not honorable? If he did not keep his word? 

But being near Katara, in this moment, made him want to break every vow he’d ever made. 

He didn’t let any of that emotion poke through, though, as he set off besides Katara, away from the palace, towards the edge of the Caldera. 

Against all his better judgement. 

Zuko and Katara did not speak as they walked down to the empty beach. The light breeze kicked up a bit of a chill, but it was overall a pleasant evening, constellations shining bright overhead, the full orb of a moon illuminating their path. 

He led the way to where an outcropping of rocks was cloistered down on the far edge of the shore, creating groups of caves and caverns. Together, they picked their way up and over the rocks, before Zuko led them down, down into a great, open maw in the earth–it was a bit foreboding, he had to admit. As if a giant hand had reached down and cracked a hole open in the sand. 

Katara looked at him warily but offered no commentary on their journey. Zuko wished she would say something, say anything, even if it were only to poke fun at him. 

He jumped down from the rocks that acted like jagged teeth around the cavern, offering a hand upwards to Katara. She took it after a moment of pause, and he pulled her down into the cave, plunging them into a temporary moment of darkness. He could feel her breathing behind him, feel the cool touch of her hand against his. And he wished, despite all the odds, that they could stay here, like this, forever. 

But then, they pushed through the narrow hallway and out into the open expanse of a large cavern. In his good ear, Zuko heard Katara gasp. 

Before them lay a small lagoon of crystal-clear, turquoise water. A giant break in the wall of the cave allowed the light of the full moon to shine through, and Zuko thought to himself that he couldn’t have brought her here on a more perfect night if he tried. The whole cavern was illuminated in soft, opal moonlight. 

He turned, then, to see Katara. Relief etched itself in his blood, his bones, as a smile–a real, genuine, smile–lit her face. 

There. Much better. 

“Zuko, this is…it’s beautiful,” Katara whispered, blue eyes shimmering in the starlight. “What is this place?” 

“It’s a hot spring. The lagoon is heated by the volcano. Go on, feel it–the water is warm. My uncle told me about this place after I was shot by Azula’s lightning. He said the heat of the water would help to soothe the ache, the burn. I come here at times when my scars won’t let me rest.” 

Katara obeyed his command, yanking the hem of her cloak up to her knees and stepping into the steaming water. 

She nearly moaned in response to the feel of it on her skin–a sound Zuko’s paper-thin restraint certainly did not need to hear at the moment. 

And then, to his absolute horror, Katara shucked off her cloak and dress entirely, leaving her in only her underclothes, and dove head first into the lagoon. 

The Fire Lord had half a mind to turn around right then and there, and march himself back to his room in the palace, to lie down besides his fiancee. 

Instead, as if he were a man possessed, a man not in control of his own body–he, too, yanked off his cloak and shirt, wading into the water beside Katara, waist-deep. Close, but not too close. If she reached out, if she touched him…he couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t keep himself in check. 

Zuko watched as Katara swirled water about her hands, directing it with her fingers, until it glowed a bright, bright blue beneath her control. She placed the water atop her injured arm, and he looked on in awe as the pink from the burn faded a bit more, the skin returning a shade closer to her natural tawny complexion.  

She let out a sigh of relief before turning to look in Zuko’s direction, for what felt like the first time in a week. 

“You were right. Thank you for this, I feel much better already.” 

He nodded, letting the small waves of the warm lagoon lap lazily at the bare expanse of his stomach. It was late at night, and for a moment, it felt like he and Katara were the only two people in the whole world. Here, in this cave, there were no responsibilities. And Zuko found himself wishing, so selfishly, that she could stay in the Caldera forever. 

But that would not be fair to anyone. Not to Katara, who had a role to fulfill as ambassador, a job that she loved. Not to Torran, whom he had given his word to, had vowed to marry. Not to his people, who were owed a host of strong, upstanding, firebender heirs after centuries of chaos and uncertainty. 

And certainly, not to himself. If Katara were here, he feared that despite all the promises he made, he might just hold a torch for her for the rest of his damned life. 

“Of course. It always helps me.” 

“What hurts you more, Zuko?” Katara asked, cocking her head in his direction. “The scar on your face, or the one on your chest?” 

“My face,” Zuko answered immediately. “It was never healed in any capacity. Just bandaged. My father wanted…he wanted me to suffer.” 

Katara’s expression darkened into a raging storm at that, a tempest that could not be controlled. And Zuko could see in her eyes then, that waterbending was certainly not all gentle, healing motions and calm quiet. Katara, he knew, could destroy worlds with her power if she so wished. 

She motioned, then, for him to step closer to her, and he obeyed without a moment’s hesitation. He had always been at her beck and call. She kept the glowing water gloved around her hand, and reached out to touch his face. 

They were close, now. So close. 

He could feel her body pressed lightly against his, feel the bare strip of skin between the bindings on her breasts and the underskirt she wore. 

He could feel her fingers, pressing cool water to the scar on his face. It was too late to remove the mark left behind by his father, and Zuko wasn’t sure he would want it gone, even if he could somehow make it so. But whatever Katara was doing to him–power hummed along his cheek, his jaw. The small, tight ache that always seemed to exist just beneath the surface of the burn seemed to disappear entirely. 

He let out a ragged breath, pain assuaged. 

“Katara–”

He meant it to be thankful, to express his gratitude. But it came out more like a prayer, a benediction. A plea for more. Zuko wanted her touch all over him. He wanted to incinerate the small amount of space keeping them apart. 

He was in big trouble. 

“You can’t say my name like that,” Katara whispered. But she kept her hand against his cheek, the water thrumming over his skin. 

“Why not?” Zuko’s voice was a low, husky thing as he challenged her. 

“Because,” she said, shaking her head. “I was willing to kill a man for you. I have not allowed myself to bloodbend in years, have not allowed myself to feel that kind of dark power. But I did, at the festival, because the thought of them hurting you, the thought of them taking you from me…” She trailed off then, shaking her head. As if she couldn’t get the words out quite right. 

“I don’t even feel bad about it. Everyone expected me to, but…I am more bothered by the fact that it did not bother me. Not at all. Not if you are okay.” 

Zuko could not breathe, when Katara was here, so close, touching his face, confessing how much she cared about him. 

“You would have done it for anyone,” he said, denying her affection. 

“No, I wouldn’t have,” Katara said with a simple, calm, confidence. “But I didn’t hesitate when it was you.” 

He knew, all too well, how she felt. Hadn’t he been in the same exact situation when he jumped in front of a lightning bolt to protect her? What did that say about them? 

Zuko felt as if the floor had gone out from beneath him. He was having a hard time sorting through the layers of meaning to her words, now. After all this time, with both of them always promised to another, they had never dared to speak of the tentative feelings that lay buried beneath the kiss they’d shared after the Agni Kai. 

If Katara felt anything for him, would it matter? Would it change the course of his actions? 

He leaned into her touch, then. Let her fingers cup his face. Allowed himself to rest in the peace she offered. 

And without a thought towards the consequences of his actions, he reached forward in the water, his hands going to her hips. Pulling her closer. And Katara did not shy away. 

But that insurmountable distance still remained between them, that threat they could not be together, they could never make something like this work. 

“What are you saying?” he asked. It was a raw and rare opportunity for honesty, a chance to lay it all bare. 

Katara’s blue eyes stared into his, and Zuko could tell that she was waging some kind of internal war with herself, trying to decide what degree of honesty she could afford to give him. 

His whole body thrummed with the ache to close the gap between them, to see if her kiss was just as sweet five years down the line. 

But Zuko knew, in his heart, how bad of an idea that would be. 

Because it wouldn’t be just as sweet. It would be better. 

Outside of the cave walls, a gull cried out into the night, and it seemed to startle Katara back into herself. She pulled her hand away from Zuko’s cheek, retracted from his grip on her waist. The pain instantly rushed back into his face, and the loss of her touch left a gnawing hole in him he did not think he could ever fill. 

“I was wrong,” Katara said, more to herself than to him. 

“About what?” 

She shook her head, and a drop of water ran down her face, past the corner of her eye. Zuko was tempted to reach out and run his finger across it. 

“I think it’s best if I leave the Caldera. I’ll send straight away for a new healer,” she said, wading up and out of the water. “Once a replacement arrives, I’ll depart for the South.” 

“Katara, wait–” Zuko started, trying to follow after her. But he was not as graceful as her in the water, and clumsily fought against the heavy push of the waves. 

With a smooth flick of her hand, Katara pulled all the moisture from her clothes, and they were dry in an instant. She quickly dressed and scurried up out of the cave. 

By the time Zuko made it out of the lagoon, she was gone. 

 

+++

 

Zuko woke the next morning to utter chaos. 

There was a rapid hammering on his door that beat in time to the pulse pounding behind his temples. 

It had been early dawn when he’d finally crawled into bed beside Torran, his body spent and his mind exhausted. Sleep had been a sweet relief, an escape from the litany of questions swirling around his mind–questions about Katara. If she really felt something for him, didn’t they owe it to each other to at least see where things could go? To at least attempt to merge their lives, their duties, their responsibilities into one? 

But Zuko knew that would be a foolish task to take on. There was no room for mistakes, no room for selfish indulgences in the public eye for those who carried titles like he and Katara did. 

And he would not love Katara in secret. 

“Zuko!” It was Kyoko’s voice on the other side of the door, hurried and frantic. “We’ve got a problem!” 

Zuko cracked open his eye, realizing by the streams of sunlight pouring in through his window that it was already mid-morning. Beside him, the bed was empty–Torran had already risen. 

He yanked himself quickly from his pillow, not bothering to pull on a robe and answering the door in only a pair of sleeping pants. 

On the other side, stood Kyoko, a letter clutched in her hand–her usually aloof features twisted into an expression that Zuko didn’t quite like–and….Katara. 

Dressed for the day, there was no evidence of the moment they’d shared in the lagoon the night before left on her face. Except…her eyes. They looked tired, like she hadn’t really slept much at all. 

Zuko wondered if he should tell Torran about what had transpired between him and Katara. It felt dishonorable to lie, but almost stupid to tell the truth. What was there to say, after all? 

Katara and I went for a swim last night? 

There was certainly nothing scandalous about that. But it wasn’t the things they did that were so terrible. It was all the dark, lascivious, hidden things they wanted to do with one another but simply couldn’t. 

But Zuko knew in his heart, it was more than just desire. That just getting a touch, a taste of her would never be enough–if he got her in his system, it would be like a drug. He would need more and more and more to survive. 

Once upon a time, he had been in love with Katara. 

Spirits alive. Was he still in love with Katara? 

For all his prowess in managing politics, in delegating people to their duties, in running an entire empire, Zuko suddenly felt like a bumbling, idiotic school boy once more as he stared at Katara. It seemed as if Kyoko were on another planet entirely. 

For what it was worth, the blush that crept up Katara’s neck at the sight of Zuko–shirtless and sleepy–gave him some vote of confidence that he hadn’t imagined the events of last night. Hadn’t dreamt up the way she looked at him. 

“Hello? Fire Lord?” Kyoko asked, snapping her fingers in front of his face and drawing him back to the present moment. She shoved the parchment she was holding into his hands. “It’s the Sei’naka clan. They’ve made good on their threats.” 

Zuko scanned the letter, trying to wake up his brain enough to absorb the information. 

The first thing he noticed was that the letter was addressed to him, not Kyoko. 

“Why are you opening my mail?” he asked, scrubbing a hand through his messy tangle of hair. 

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Kyoko scoffed, mouth agape. “Read the rest of the letter. You have bigger fish to fry. I saw a letter on your desk from Ember-Lee and figured, I don’t know, that it might be important?” 

The worst part of it all was she was not wrong. 

Ember-Lee, in no uncertain terms, had reached out to the teachers and educators across the far reaches of the Fire Nation that had graduated from the Sei’naka clan’s prestigious school. She’d informed them that Zuko was planning to make slashes to the budget that would take funding from the clan’s enormous well of coin. 

And she had managed, somehow, to rally over three hundred teachers to agree to leave their posts if Zuko did not give the Sei’naka clan the money they wanted for their education budget.

A long, terrible list of names were signed in black ink at the bottom of the letter–all of the teachers who would abandon their classrooms, who would leave hundreds–-possibly thousands–of Fire Nation children without access to education. The main export of the Sei'naka clan was not technology, or grain, or animals, but rather it's ability to produce scholars. And Ember-Lee had found a way to exploit that, to rally the clan's alumni in a dangerous way. 

And that wasn’t all–on top of her threat to pull the educators from the vast majority of Fire Nation schools, she wanted more. Part of the deal Ember-Lee intended to make included Zuko mediating a bargain with the Southern Water Tribe. She wanted a dozen healers to come teach their medicinal and herbal knowledge to the students of the Sei’naka clan. 

Zuko’s eyes shot up to Katara then, realizing in painful clarity why she was standing here besides Kyoko. 

“I don’t understand why Ember-Lee couldn’t have just reached out to me to make that deal. The South would have been more than happy to oblige her request for healers,” Katara said bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest. “She didn’t need to involve you.” 

“Because,” Zuko replied, “She’s using it as a means to get back at me. I didn’t do what the clan wanted, so now she is going to bleed me dry, however she can. And Ember-Lee knows I have a strong relationship with the South, and with…with you.” 

Zuko hesitated too much, feeling awkward with Kyoko there, watching them. 

He felt entirely stripped bare after what had happened last night. 

But he was still the Fire Lord, and he still needed to deal with this issue, even if it came at great personal cost. 

“Both of you, go pack your things. We’ll depart for the Sei’naka clan tonight,” Zuko said. 

Kyoko took off immediately, hurrying down the hallway. But Katara lingered, staring at him. He wasn’t sure what battle she’d been fighting with herself last night as they stood toe-to-toe in the water, fingers grazing one another delicately. 

But he knew, just knew, deep in his heart, that Katara felt something for him. 

And he was terrified beyond belief, because after all this time spent burying away that tentative affection towards her, he could not stop it now from shining through, like little pinpricks of light in his heart.  

Those big, blue eyes held worlds in them. Zuko teetered on the precipice of a decision, then. Katara had thought it best to go back home to the South, to be away from him. She, at least, had the presence of mind to realize that their duties came before any feelings that might linger between them. 

But now, she was sucked into this mess of a situation with the Sei’naka clan–would have to be present as ambassador to help with the brokering of this deal. She could not be free of him, free of the Fire Nation, quite yet. 

Zuko wasn’t sure if he was grateful or heartbroken over this. 

“Kyoko,” he called out to the council woman, who had nearly made it all the way down the hall. But he did not look away from Katara. “Tell Torran to be ready to depart with us as well.” 

It was a wall up between them, a reminder of their roles, of their duties to their respective nations. 

Katara gave him a grim, small smile before turning on her heel and walking away.

Notes:

I have learned a terrible fact about myself and it's that I do my absolutely best and fastest writing when I have an enormous amount of work to be doing!!! So!!! Enjoy this fic while my career languishes in the background, begging for attention.

ALSO! We are in the final third! of! this! fic!!!

Chapter 17: The Deal

Katara

 

In an attempt to get to the Sei’naka clan as quickly as possible, they departed by airship into the pastel sunset. The island, on the far reaches of the Fire Nation, was a half a day’s journey as the crow flies, and their delegation group arrived by early morning. 

Ember-Lee stood in the field as the airship landed, salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a golden hair piece. Her eyes were sharp, taking everything in. 

Katara had not met the governor of the clan before, and was certainly not thrilled with the circumstances that brought her to Sei’naka, but nonetheless–she had to admire a woman who knew what she wanted, knew what her people were worth. 

And while Katara certainly did not admire Ember-Lee’s methods–threatening to strip educational resources from the youth of the Fire Nation–she had to admit that maybe she and Ember-Lee were not so different. If Katara were faced with the same dilemma in the South, a threat to her people, her way of life–well, she would certainly do a great many things to take care of her own.

The island, lit by the soft early light of the just-rising sun, was stunning to behold. A low cloud of mist shrouded the green grass, and even with the trails of night still clinging to the edges of the sky, it was warm. So unreasonably warm. 

The main building of the clan was their university, a great stone structure that stood atop a craggly hilltop, overlooking the vast expanse of blue sea. Small homes peppered out beneath the school, tendrils of smoke curling up into the sky as the people woke and started their days. 

“Welcome to Sei’naka,” Ember-Lee said, bowing as their group–Zuko, Kyoko, Torran, and Katara–departed from the air ship. 

Suki had stayed behind in the Fire Nation, but had sent a whole host of Kyoshi warriors to accompany them, tucked away on ship for now. But watching, Katara knew. Always watching. 

“It’s good to be back,” Zuko said, greeting Ember-Lee with the sign of the flame. “Thank you for hosting us.” 

Katara thought that Zuko was being much nicer than was deserved, but she supposed that was all part of politicking. It amazed her, truly, how the angry prince who had once chased her across continents was now such a composed and patient leader. How much he had transformed over the past few years. 

Katara shook her head, trying to throttle any lingering thoughts about the Fire Lord from her mind. She could not afford to be weak here, not when the Southern Water Tribe had been roped into the dealings. She needed to keep her head down, broker the exchange of healers, and get out. From here, Katara would go back to the Fire Nation, where a new healer would be waiting for Zuko. She would jump straight off the air ship onto a boat bound for the South, leaving Zuko to marry Torran, to have a nice, happy life with lots of little babies. 

Katara did not allow herself to think about how the idea of them together, and her alone, back in the South, made her want to vomit. 

“I’ll show you to your rooms. Take a moment to get settled and rest after your journey, grab some food to eat. We will meet formally for discussions this afternoon.” 

The cliff-top university was even more stunning up close. Open-air classrooms and courtyards were already teeming with students, scurrying around with books tucked under their arms. 

Katara was surprised to see that not all of the students were Fire Nation. In fact, she saw several young people dressed in the green attire of the Earth Kingdom. 

Torran, on her right, seemed just as surprised as Katara. 

“You teach Earth Kingdom citizens?” she asked Ember-Lee as they walked. 

“Yes, of course. Out here, on the far tip of the Fire Nation, we are quite close to the Earth Kingdom. It has been a natural progression over time for their citizens to come to our university,” Ember-Lee explained.  

“But you can’t…you can’t teach them earthbending,” Kyoko voiced, watching the early-morning crowd of young students stream past, laughing and talking–some sitting in groups outside, clutching cups of tea in their hands. 

Ember-Lee turned to face the council woman as they continued walking, giving her a derisive glare. 

“You think access to knowledge is just for benders?” she asked. 

“No,” Kyoko said, shaking her head. Katata wasn’t sure she’d ever seen the usually aloof council woman so ruffled before. Ember-Lee had a strange sort of quiet power to her that kept everyone on their toes. “No, of course not. It’s just…I’ve never seen a school run this way. It’s not how things are usually done.” 

Ember-Lee huffed a small laugh through her nose. 

“What a dangerous way of thinking. It will keep the Fire Nation stuck in the past.” 

Kyoko blushed with an uncharacteristic redness and kept walking, tucking her chin down. 

Katara, even though she knew it was not her place, even though she knew better than to speak up–could not stop the words from flying off her tongue. 

“How strange, that you would defend the students of your island, while threatening to strip education from the children of the Fire Nation, who have little control over things like budgets.” 

They arrived at the hallway that held their private quarters, then, and Ember-Lee came to a stop. She took stock of Katara, studying her up and down. Katara did not balk from the assessment; rather, she kept her chin tilted up in challenge. 

“Hmm,” Ember-Lee said, “I’m glad you came to this delegation, Master Katara. You will keep things interesting, I think.” 

Ember-Lee opened the first door in the hallway, showing them each to their rooms.

But Katara could feel Zuko’s eyes on her, as hot as if he had branded her with iron. She could not tell if he approved of her commentary or wished she would keep her opinions to herself. 

After settling in her room, Katara let herself take a long bath to wash off the hours of travel. She had scarcely slept as they flew through the night, as she had been preparing alongside Zuko for this meeting. But she felt oddly invigorated and ready to take on whatever challenge Ember-Lee might present to her. 

Being here, doing this–it felt like an echo to those days, five years ago, traveling about the world on the back of a sky bison. Doing the good she could manage wherever she went, surviving on broken pockets of sleep and scavenged meals. 

Even though the sun had fully risen, she was not tired in the least, and she set out from her rooms to wander about the grounds of the University. Everything about the island was so lush and tropical–it all felt like such a contrast to the cold, icy plain she had grown up on. 

And yet, not entirely uncomfortable or strange. In fact, she felt oddly at home among the lush greenery. The stone fortress was lined with bright, colorful flowers and citrus trees heavy-laden with over-ripe, juicy fruits. 

Katara could not stop herself from plucking an enormous tangerine from a nearby tree, peeling it absentmindedly and popping the slices of orange fruit into her mouth as she walked. 

She nearly hummed with pleasure at the too-sweet taste of it. The path she was on wound down through the university and out to a little garden overlooking the seaside, and she followed it, called all at once by the distant roar of waves crashing against the cliff. 

When the path dumped her out into a pleasant little grove of trees, offering a view of the foamy blue waves below, she was surprised to find Kyoko and Torran seated at a small table in the garden. 

Torran had her head bent low over a book, and Kyoko was sipping slowly from a ceramic cup of tea. 

“Katara!” Kyoko called out, waving her arm about wildly in greeting when she spotted the waterbender. Katara was relieved that Kyoko’s upbeat attitude had not been deterred by Ember-Lee’s gnarly comments from earlier. As if this moment in the garden were a normal day, without the threat of an educational coup looming at their backs. 

Katara waved to Kyoko, hesitating for just the breath of a moment before moving to sit at the table. It was a little nerve-wracking, to be honest–being around Torran. Katara felt so much, so ardently for Zuko, that she wasn’t sure how Torran didn’t see it written plain as day across her face. And if Torran did realize Katara’s feelings, well then–it was a testament to the girl’s confidence in herself, in her relationship with the Fire Lord. 

“It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” Kyoko asked, her dark hair blowing in the sea breeze. Katara nodded, popping the last bite of tangerine into her mouth, piling the scraps of peel atop the table in a little orange tower. 

“Stunning,” Katara agreed. “Too bad we aren’t here under better circumstances.” 

“Bad circumstances or not,” Torran chimed in, scarcely looking up from the tome in her hands, “This clan might just be my personal paradise.” 

“Of course it is,” Kyoko said with a braying laugh, “It’s an island filled with books and scholars and knowledge. We might never get you to leave.” 

Torran glanced up sheepishly at that, with an expression that seemed to say that Kyoko wasn’t entirely far off the mark with her assessment. 

Good, Katara thought, cruelly. Maybe she can stay here forever. 

But that was unfair of her. Torran was a good woman, a kind woman. She would treat the people of the Fire Nation with fairness. She would be a better partner to Zuko than indifferent, apathetic Mai, or any of the other wealthy daughters of power-hungry royal families, who only saw the Fire Lord as a symbol of status. Torran, at the very least, seemed to respect Zuko in a way Katara imagined many other suitors would not have. 

Besides, Torran had been nothing but kind and welcoming to Katara. She would do well to remember that. 

“What are you reading?” Katara asked, lifting the spine of the book in Torran’s hands to get a glimpse of the title. It flashed at her in gilded gold letters–Poisons and Toxins. 

She laughed, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper before addressing Torran. “Thinking of poisoning Ember-Lee so we don’t have to negotiate a trade?” 

Torran blushed at that. Katara almost forgot sometimes, that she was raised in a stuffy, well-mannered household, full of people who would never dream of joking about something so serious. Katara, on the other hand, had been raised around…Sokka. If he wanted to make a joke about something, no topic was off limits.

Katara, then, was startled when Torran leaned into the jesting, just a little. “A tempting offer, but no. Ever since Kyoko told me about how Zuko was poisoned, it’s been…bothering me a little. There are no texts on the Black Jade poison in the Royal Library, but I was able to find one here.” 

Katara had all but scrubbed from her mind that memory of Zuko being poisoned. It had been too intense, too personal, too intimate. The sick feeling that thrummed through her veins at the thought of losing him, the way she’d fallen into his warm body atop sweat-slicked sheets after he’d been healed. She felt heat rising in her belly just at the thought of him, half-bare beside her. 

“He collapsed immediately after eating the apple, which doesn’t make any sense,” Torran hummed, flipping a page over. 

“Yes, because Black Jade is a slow-acting poison,” Katara said. She’d told the exact same thing to Suki that night, all those months ago. 

“Exactly!” Torran said, brightening. As if Katara were the first person to listen to her on the matter. “I’ve asked Zuko a dozen times, but he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink for hours before he went out to the turtleduck pond. And he was all alone in his office, working on the budget report. It just doesn’t add up at all.” 

“Not much does, when it comes to the New Ozai Society,” Kyoko said, leaning back in her chair, picking lazily at her cuticles. “They probably pumped air full of poison into his office.” 

“Not possible,” Katara and Torran said at the exact same moment. Katara hated that she found it so funny, a little laugh escaping her mouth. 

In another world, she and Torran might even be friends, she thought. 

But not this one. Not when Torran could have the life with Zuko that Katara so desperately craved. 

Torran smirked at Katara. “Black Jade must be consumed.” 

Kyoko threw her hands up. “They tried to poison Zuko. Do their methods really matter?” 

“I just hate that a piece of this puzzle is missing,” Torran said, flipping through the pages of the tome once more, as if answers would magically reveal themselves to her if she stared at the text hard enough. 

A line creased in between Torran’s eyebrow, her focus obvious. 

“This setting suits you,” Katara said, the words surprising her. It was a genuine compliment–no hidden layers of meaning behind it. Even if–Katara had to admit–she’d feel a lot less burning, insane jealousy if Torran would just hide out on this little island, wrapped up in her books, leaving Zuko alone. 

Torran glanced up at her. The compliment seemed to take her aback. 

“Thank you. I would like to think I would thrive at a university like this one.” 

“You would,” Kyoko chimed in. “Annoyingly so, I think–you’d be the teacher’s pet, for sure.” 

Torran’s cheeks blushed a deep red at that, but beyond it all, she seemed deeply flattered by the compliments she was receiving from both women. 

“You didn’t want to pursue university? It seems like your type of thing,” Katara asked. 

“I would have liked to,” Torran admitted, eyes casting down at the book in front of her. “I enjoyed my time at the Royal Fire Academy for Girls. But my parents would not let me further my education beyond that. My father, I don’t think would have minded with a little bit of a push, but my mother–she was very adamant about me being a part of society.”

Torran’s eyes darkened as she continued to speak. 

“I was raised from birth, it feels like, to be a wife. When I came of age, I was paraded around to endless balls and galas and theatre performances, made to wear formal, uncomfortable dresses and rub elbows with the highest members of society. Made to be available and kind and welcoming to any suitor. But I never lost my love of learning. My mother wanted me to be well-versed in modern issues, so I read every book I could find on politics. I became a bit of an expert on the whole thing–gave myself the closest thing to a university experience as possible. I found solace in books, found that I was able to teach myself just about anything I wanted, if I set my mind to it.” 

Katara could not help it–her heart hurt for Torran. She had seen such a similar thing far too often in the Northern Water Tribe–girls that had so much drive, so much ambition, so much power, reduced to nothing more than marital status. 

Katara herself had nearly fallen victim to the same fate. 

There was certainly nothing wrong with being a wife, being a mother–in fact, she knew it could be a source of great joy to find a loving partner, raise a family–it was an ambition she craved herself. But Katara knew with painful clarity how much she would have struggled to lose her sense of identity and purpose beyond the bounds of those roles. 

“It’s important that we’re here, today,” Torran continued, pressing on. “Fighting for the education of our youth, making sure everyone has access to schooling. It’s not something that should be taken for granted.” 

Katara felt a terrible ache in her as she listened to Torran speak. Emotion choked at her throat, and she had to force herself to swallow it down before speaking. “You will make a fine Fire Lady, Torran.” 

And even though it cracked something vital within her soul to admit those words out loud, Katara knew them to be painfully true. 

But there was something in Torran’s eyes, an expression Katara could not quite name, as Torran turned her eyes almost…sadly towards the waterbender. 

“Thank you, Master Katara.” 

 

+++

 

It was silent in the council room as Katara and Zuko sat alone, waiting for Ember-Lee. After how they had left their last conversation in the lagoon, what was there for them to talk about? Besides, Katara had begun to feel a begrudging admiration for Torran after hearing how she had been brought up with so little autonomy under her mother’s thumb, and still turned out…good, and kind, and honest. Not bitter or angry. Not like Katara would have been if she had been in Torran’s shoes.

There was a painful wedge lodged in Katara’s throat as she sat at the large metal table, watching Zuko, seated by her side, as he flipped through a stack of papers before him. To an outside observer, it might seem as if he was totally calm, and cool, and collected–ready to go toe to toe with Ember-Lee, to go down swinging if he had to. 

But Katara could see the nervousness he was fighting to hide–how his leg bounced beneath the table, or how his golden eyes darted up to the door anytime there was the slightest sound. 

She studied him sidelong out of the corner of her eye, watching as he licked his thumb before turning through the pages on the table. 

Spirits alive. 

Katara had certainly made the right choice in deciding to leave the Fire Nation and return to the South after this, if such a simple act from the Fire Lord had her nearly coming undone in her seat. 

Just then, the large wooden door to the room slid open, and a teenaged boy dressed in a red tunic with green pants–an amalgamation of colors from both the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom–stepped inside. He was absentmindedly twirling a handful of stones in the air with one hand. An earthbender, then. 

Zuko and Katara both looked up as he approached the table with a placid smile. 

“My grandmother wanted me to let you both know she’s running late from her last meeting, but will be here in just a few moments,” the boy said. 

The look on Zuko’s face was strange, all twisted up. He did not say anything for a long, drawn out minute–long enough that the boy started to fidget uncomfortably. Finally, Katara jumped in to say something. 

“Thank you, hun. Tell her she does not need to rush on our account.” 

The boy nodded, relieved that the silence had been broken, and bounded back out of the council room, still juggling little stones up in the air. 

“Zuko, are you okay?” Katara asked. Worry lined her gut. She needed him to be fully present and ready to take on Ember-Lee if they had a prayer of getting out of here without ceding entirely. 

“Yes, it’s just…I’ve traveled all over the Fire Nation, in the years since the war. Been to nearly every province and territory. Of course I’ve seen places where Fire Nation families had merged with those of other nationalities. But I don’t think…” 

He trailed off then, as if he either did not want to finish his sentence, or wasn’t entirely sure how to. 

“What is it?” Katara prompted. 

Zuko lifted his eyes to her, then. There was such a deep well of emotion there, and try as she might to piece together what he might be thinking, he was keeping himself closed off from her. His golden eyes shimmered in the low firelight as he spoke. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a high-ranking government official or royal leader with family members who were not of Fire Nation descent. I simply thought it was something my people would not tolerate.” 

Katara’s lips parted, then–surprise taking over her. She knew what realization had clicked into place within his mind in that moment, the implication clear as day. 

She didn’t know what to say. That uncomfortable, anxious wedge was still deep in her chest. She was suddenly sick to her stomach that she hadn’t immediately departed with haste from the Fire Nation after what had happened in the lagoon, leaving the Fire Lord to deal with his own domestic problems alone. 

Before their conversation could go any further into dangerous territory, the doors to the room flew open once more, and Ember-Lee entered, alone. 

Katara could appreciate that–no delegation, no fussy group of advisors whispering in her ear, trying to persuade her this way or that. Just a woman on a mission, bound and determined to take care of her own. 

The soft, vulnerable expression Zuko had been wearing just for Katara disappeared all at once, replaced in an instant by the duty-bound mask of the Fire Lord. 

Katara had to admire him, in that moment. The power, the composure that thrummed beneath his skin. She couldn’t help herself–it called to her. 

Ember-Lee sat in a chair across the table from Katara and Zuko.

“I’ll get right down to it, Fire Lord. Sei’naka is requesting two thousand more gold pieces than you have planned for next year’s budget. As well as a dozen healers from the South to come teach at our university.”  

Katara had to fight from blanching at what Ember-Lee was asking for. She knew that the Fire Nation was, in terms of geography and population, much larger than the Southern Water Tribe. But still–this one clan was wanting that much coin? 

Zuko shook his head, folding pale fingers delicately over top of his papers. 

“That amount of money is not going to be something I can accommodate, Ember-Lee. I am willing to adjust the numbers a little. But you are simply asking for too much.” Zuko turned to Katara then, and she knew it was her turn to speak. They had gone over the details of this a half dozen times on the flight over from the Caldera, and she knew exactly what to say. 

“The South would be happy to provide you with the healers you request. They can be here in two month’s time. I believe this will be a great exchange of culture between our two peoples.” 

Ember-Lee nodded, clearly pleased by Katara’s words, and clearly put-out by Zuko’s. 

“How much coin are you willing to capitulate, then?” she asked the Fire Lord. 

“Three hundred gold pieces.” 

Ember-Lee laughed, tipping her head back at the ceiling. Stray salt-and-pepper hairs fell from her golden hair piece at the motion, framing her face. 

“Fire Lord Zuko, you cannot be serious. Have you seen our university? It is an enormous institution. Three hundred gold pieces would barely get us through the first term.” 

“I understand that Sei’naka is the pillar of higher learning and education in the Fire Nation, Ember-Lee. But I am simply trying to spread the wealth a bit. I have spent my morning here sitting in on your lectures, exploring your campus. Your students lounge on velvet seats while attending classes. They eat lamb stew paired with sweet rice from the Air Temple. How much does that cost you to import?” Zuko challenged. 

“Meals are paid for by student tuition. The money we receive from the palace goes to paying the wages of our esteemed faculty, or maintaining our state of the art equipment, such as telescopes and greenhouses,” Ember-Lee replied. 

“Have you ever thought,” Zuko said calmly, raising a brow, “That maybe your students could eat simple fare and sit in normal, wooden chairs? And their tuition, instead, could go to covering salaries and equipment?” 

Ember-Lee shook her head. “We have a certain standard to maintain here. A reputation, if you will.” 

Katara could not help herself from barking out a laugh, one that mirrored Ember-Lee’s from just a few moments prior. Both Ember-Lee and Zuko turned to look at her. 

“Is something funny?” Ember-Lee asked in challenge. 

“You are threatening to strip schools around the Fire Nation of their teachers because you want to maintain a reputation?” 

Katara tried to piece together the thoughts going through Zuko’s mind at the moment, but he was hard to read when he was acting every inch the Fire Lord. He was watching her with a sort of quiet calm–as if he…trusted wherever she was taking this. 

Ember-Lee’s eyebrows furrowed together. “You would do well to remember, Master Katara, that Sei’naka has no major exports. Not textiles or grain. What we do have is a university that is nearly unparalleled within the Fire Nation. Education is our export. It is our way of life. Without it, our clan would buckle.” 

“You can have an esteemed school, and can produce a litany of scholars without all these elements of luxury,” Katara said, shaking her head. 

She had more to say but bit at her tongue, keeping herself in check. This was not her nation, not her place. She was only here to offer the exchange of healers, which was already a done deal. 

But she glanced over at Zuko, who was watching her with rapt interest. He nodded, almost imperceptibly, encouraging her to go on. 

“Where were you during the war, Ember-Lee?” Katara asked, pushing on. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Where were you? Here, sequestered on your island?” 

“Yes, I was here. Making sure my people were safe.”

“And after the war?” Katara continued.

“Here, of course,” Ember-Lee said, clearly confused. 

Katara nodded, clicking her tongue. “So you have not taken the time to see the rest of the Fire Nation, how they are faring in the aftermath of Ozai’s reign? Because Fire Lord Zuko and I have traveled the world over both during the war and in the subsequent years, and I can guarantee that not everyone has fared as well as Sei’naka. A great many people, in the tentative new years of peace, are still without access to basic things such as food or stable housing, let alone education. So forgive me, governor, if it’s a bit hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that you would be so incredibly selfish when there are people in your own country that are still suffering a great deal–when your Fire Lord is doing everything he can to make things right. And you are, quite frankly, standing in the way of justice.” 

Katara’s fingers shook with a barely-concealed rage. That familiar, dark anger–the one that led her to bloodbend without qualms, the one that led her to dress as the Painted Lady, thrummed heavy in her heart. 

Beside her, Zuko studied her with an expression that pushed heat into her cheeks. 

But across the table, Ember-Lee rose, the anger evident in her eyes. Katara had clearly struck a nerve. 

“How dare you accuse me of such things, girl? You know nothing of our country, our people. The only reason you have a seat at this table is because I need healers from your tribe. So forgive me if I don’t put much stock in what you have to say.” Her words were dripping in nasty, venomous vitriol. 

Zuko pushed back slowly from his chair, rising next to Katara. He stood a good few inches over Ember-Lee, forcing her to look up at him across the expanse of the table. His voice was lethal and calm as he spoke.

“Master Katara has a seat at this table because I trust her explicitly with the politics of our world, regardless of if she is Fire Nation or not. You will treat her with the respect she deserves, or there will be no negotiations whatsoever, regardless of your hollow threats.” 

His words skittered over Katara’s skin, raising goosebumps across her flesh. She found herself suddenly, terribly, wishing that he would speak to her in that voice as he stripped her bare, laid her down atop velvet blankets. 

She shook her head, extricating that thought from her mind. 

The commanding presence of the Fire Lord was enough to silence Ember-Lee, to put her back down in her seat. 

Zuko remained standing. “For all your talk of knowledge, and harmony–for someone who herself has an earthbender as a grandson, I would imagine you would have a little more understanding towards and respect for the other nations.” 

Katara started, leaning forward in her seat. A solution came to her all at once in stunning, brutal clarity. 

“Zuko, I…I have an idea. If I may.” She nearly forgot herself, addressing him so personally. She had tried so hard to maintain titles and rank as she spoke of him in this meeting, as he always did for her. 

Master Katara. She loved when he addressed her in such a manner. 

The eyes of the Fire Lord fell upon her. But in that moment, his expression softened. The mask slipped just a little, and she was able to see the man underneath it all. 

Zuko nodded, gesturing a hand for Katara to speak, and returned to his seat. 

“The University here already enrolls a smattering of students from the Earth Kingdom. But what if it…expanded beyond that? I have great reach in both the Northern and Southern Tribes. Fire Lord Zuko and myself have connections across the globe–to Avatar Aang and the Air Nomads, to King Kuei and the Earth Kingdom. What if Sei’naka had a truly global school system? It could rival Ba Sing Se University.” 

Katara saw something flare in Ember-Lee’s eyes at that. And she knew she had the governor in the palm of her hand. The woman wanted power, influence–wanted to be the best. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Katara could see Zuko let loose a small smile. 

“Keep talking,” Ember-Lee said. 

It took all afternoon and the better part of the evening. 

By the time the three delegates finished their conversation, the sun had fully dipped below the horizon, plunging the world into darkness. The room was lit only by low firelight. 

Katara thought it quite highlighted Zuko’s features, the flickering orange flame, as he tabbed through the tentative drafts of the deal they had all drawn up together. 

Their dealings included a scholarship program to encourage students from the other three nations to attend the university in Sei’naka. It allowed for three hundred extra gold pieces in the upcoming budget, and the exchange of healers from the South to come and teach on the island, among other minutia. 

And most importantly, the deal included an inked promise for Sei’naka to funnel their teachers into communities not only in the Fire Nation, but around the world, that were suffering in the aftermath of the war, and badly needed strong school systems. 

Ember-Lee seemed satisfied, if not thrilled, with the final arrangement. 

When they finally rose from the table, Katara’s joints creaked and groaned, stiff from hours of sitting bent over, elbow-to-elbow beside Zuko, needling out the finer points of a trade deal. 

Of course, there were still details they would need to finalize with the leaders of other nations. Zuko said the final budget would of course need to be reviewed by Raijin. 

But it was a start, and a major crisis had been averted. 

Ember-Lee saw them to the corner of the university where their private quarters were located before bidding them goodnight, letting the door to the narrow hallway snick shut behind her. 

Finally, after a long day of haggling, they were alone. 

Katara turned to Zuko, finally letting the excitement and joy shine through on her face–the joy she had kept suppressed, in order to keep from giving away too much to Ember-Lee. 

Zuko swept her into his arms all at once, as if he could not help himself. It took Katara by surprise, that overwhelming scent of cinnamon, strong in her nose. His long, dark hair brushed against her skin, a gentle whisper. For a painful moment, she did not allow herself to embrace him. It was too much, way too much, all at once. She shouldn’t be here at all in the first place–should have run far and fast for the South after all that had happened in the lagoon, when she’d nearly spilled her truth all over him. 

I am so madly, desperately in love with you. 

But now, with his arms around her, she could not help it. Could not stop herself from touching him.

She let her hands curl about his neck, allowing herself to bury her face into his neck. She sunk into the feel of him, the warmth of him. So warm. As if he had swallowed the sun. 

“You were brilliant in there,” he whispered into his shoulder. “I couldn’t have done it without you.” 

Katara hummed in dissent. “You would have figured something out.” 

She expected Zuko to extricate himself from her, but he didn’t. He continued to hold her, pressed against his body, for a long time. Too long, too impossibly long. 

Katara couldn’t stand it. Was going to be sick with being this close, so close, and yet so unbelievably far away from the life she truly wanted for herself. 

Finally, she pushed herself off of him, even though it physically broke something within her chest, like the snapping of a bone. But she could not hold onto him for much longer without confessing every dark and depraved thought she’d ever had about the Fire Lord. 

Spirits alive, she was going to do it. She was going to tell him–could feel the words threatening at the back of her throat. 

But then, her heart ratcheted to a stuttering stop. 

For there, just over Zuko’s shoulder, was Torran. Staring. Watching them. 

There was a knowledge on her face, a sudden knowing. A realization. 

Torran shook her head before spinning on her heel, stalking off into her bedchambers–the bedchambers she shared with Zuko–and slamming the door shut.

Notes:

Spending all my spare time reading smutty Zutara fics to hold me over until I can write and publish the absolute filth I am going to make these two do to each other here soon!!!! Drop your recs and your own personal fics pls or I will explode. Also thinking of writing a smutty Zutara one shot or short couple chapters when I finish writing this fic????

Chapter 18: The Curator

Zuko

 

Katara’s eyes were full of a deep sadness that Zuko could not possibly take. 

“Go,” she said, disentangling herself from him, nodding towards the bedchambers where Torran had just disappeared into. 

Zuko felt as if he were being torn straight down the middle, ripped in two like a piece of parchment paper. Half of him was bound to the sense of duty and honor that had always dictated his life. The other half ached and yearned for the woman before him–what all she could give him, could make him feel. 

In the end, his honor won out. It always had. It wasn’t fair to Torran or to Katara, what he was doing now–holding the future Fire Lady in one hand and the master waterbender in the other. He could not have both. 

“I’m sorry,” Zuko said, emotion pinching at his stomach. His shoulders felt heavy and tight with the weight of the day. Both of them knew that he was apologizing for a great deal more than just leaving Katara standing here in the hallway, alone. 

She did not say anything, but rather nodded her head sympathetically as Zuko stepped away from her embrace. Katara stood, watching him. They kept eye contact for longer than was necessary as he backed up to the bedchamber. 

Finally, when he could take it no longer, he turned away from her, opened the door, and stepped inside. 

Torran was pacing the length of the ornate room, clutching both elbows in her hands. 

Zuko sucked in a deep breath, trying to orient himself. He needed a level head, a clear mind. He had to get the words out just right. 

If he was being honest, this conversation had certainly been a long time coming. Even if this was an arranged marriage, it was unfair to take a wife when he still held a candle for Katara, no matter how many times he’d tried to extinguish it.

“Torran?” 

She turned to face him then, an odd kind of anxiety lining her brows. Zuko was surprised–she didn’t seem hurt, didn’t seem angry, just…curious, unsure. As if she were searching for information, trying to put all the pieces of the puzzle together.

“You love her, don’t you?” Torran asked, low and soft.

Zuko blew out a breath of air. For a long moment, he was silent. He considered lying, dodging the question. But what was the use, now? Better to get it all out in the open. 

“Yes. I do. I think I always have.” His voice was raw, aching. It was the first time he had confessed such a thing out loud in five years, and all at once, an enormous weight lifted from his shoulders. 

Torran studied him for longer than he liked, as if he were an insect under one of the microscopes here at the university–something to be dissected and analyzed. 

“Then why didn’t you marry her? Why involve me at all?” 

The pure frustration and desperation in Torran’s words made Zuko want to cave in on himself. He had done this to her, put her in this awful situation. 

Zuko’s hands went to his hair. It was long enough now that he’d taken to wearing only half of it up in the royal topknot, but the golden crown pinned in place still hurt. Especially after hours of wear. He yanked the pin free, letting his hair fall around his face, running his fingers through it. He tossed the headpiece on the nightstand, watching as it rolled and came to a stop. 

“I tried,” he explained, “After the war was over, after Katara and I bested Azula, I told her how I felt, and she—she chose Aang instead.” 

“But she broke off her engagement with the Avatar,” Torran said, eyebrows pinching in confusion. “Your feelings for Katara clearly didn’t fade over time, so why not make another attempt?” 

Zuko shook his head, collapsing down on the edge of the bed. He and Torran were only on opposite sides of the room, but there may as well have been an enormous chasm between them–miles and miles of distance.

“I had already agreed to an arranged marriage–had already chosen you as a bride. I would not go back on my word.” 

Torran breathed a laugh through her nose, then, shaking her head. 

“What a mess.” 

“You’re telling me,” Zuko said miserably, sucking on his teeth. 

Silence fell between them, a heavy, living thing. They were at a great precipice now, Zuko knew. Guilt gnawed at his insides. He didn’t want to think about how Torran’s mother would react if she found out there was another woman in the picture, or–even worse, yet–if they called the engagement off, so close to the wedding. 

Was that even an option? Calling off the engagement? 

Seeing Ember-Lee’s earthbending grandson had messed with his head, badly. It had given him a dangerous sense of hope that he didn’t need. Zuko knew that many of his people–especially those in geographic proximity to the Earth Kingdom–had merged lives and families between nations. 

But he had never imagined a world in which he–the highest-ranking member of the country–could take a wife like Katara, who was so clearly Water Tribe.

How would his people react, if he sired a waterbending heir? Would that child be recognized as Fire Nation royalty? 

Beneath the working mechanisms of his mind, the grinding gears that were trying to play out potential scenarios, heat and lust pooled in his stomach at the thought of taking Katara to bed. Pressing into her, spilling into her. Claiming her, marking her as his own. 

Of Katara, a baby bundled in her arms. 

Zuko ran his fingers through his hair again, feeling it stick up on all ends. He couldn’t go down that route of thinking, not now. He had to handle one mess, one problem at a time. Besides, Katara had made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t ready for children. And he would not force motherhood upon her, not like Aang had tried to do. 

He looked across the room at Torran, dressed in Fire Nation finery–a red and gold dress, with that small shock of blonde hair, like a lightning bolt over one ear. He looked at her, really looked at her, and tried to summon up even a fraction of the emotion, heat, or longing he experienced whenever he saw Katara. 

Katara, who had gone blow for blow with Ember-Lee. Who had defended his country, his people, his decisions, with such passion that it had nearly taken him out at the knees. 

And he knew, in that moment, that he could be with Torran for a hundred years, and he would never feel even an echo of what he felt for Katara. 

“Can I be honest with you, Zuko?” Torran asked. 

Zuko let loose a small, breathy laugh. “If there was ever a time for it, it’s right now.” 

“I think…I think that, given time, I could come to enjoy a life at your side. You are not what I expected. Everyone said you were so different from Ozai–focused on justice, on fixing the things in our nation that were so badly broken in the aftermath of the war. But I assumed you would still be…well, royal. Cruel underneath it all. Expecting me to bear dozens of children while you sat on your throne, oblivious to my needs or emotions.” 

Torran gave him a small, weak smile, dropping her arms to her side. “But you are not like that at all. Your greatest flaw, in all of this, truly, was loving a woman that you convinced yourself you couldn’t have.” 

Emotion choked at Zuko’s chest when Torran’s words hit his ears. It was a compliment he felt he did not deserve, not when he had lay in bed beside Torran and dreamed of doing such vile and delectable things to Katara. 

Torran continued on, her soft voice rising, if not a bit timidly. 

“You took me to see parts of the world I have only read about in books. You introduced me to people of other cultures, other ways of life. You showed me that there is so much more than our Caldera, where I have been held prisoner by my parents for two decades now. They raised me to believe that the greatest thing I could ever aspire to be was a wife; the greatest thing I had to offer the world was not my mind, but my womb.” 

Tears pricked in Torran’s eyes, years of clogged emotion finally surging to the surface, a dam bursting free. Anger gnawed at Zuko’s chest, and he suddenly felt the urge to return with haste to the palace and strip Torran’s parents–her mother, especially–of their titles before banishing them to the far reaches of the world, where they could never bother their daughter again. 

“You and your friends have given me hope that there is another way.” 

It took Zuko a moment of staring at Torran, at the tears spilling from her wide eyes and over onto her cheeks, to realize exactly what she was saying. 

“You do not wish to be Fire Lady,” he said. “You do not wish to marry me.” 

“No,” she replied without hesitation, her words quivering with a tentative, nervous strength, “I do not.” 

Zuko sat and tried to process the life-altering information being thrown in his direction right now. 

He and Torran were just two duty-bound victims of circumstance who felt like they owed it to everyone else around them to wed. 

“Then we will break off the engagement, Torran,” he said, simply. Even though it was a reckless thing to offer, even if the claim to his throne hung in the balance, he offered it nonetheless.

Saying those words out loud for the first time gave him a temporary moment of freedom. He knew it was fleeting, though; he knew that if he was not to wed Torran, then he would be expected to wed someone else. And time was running out. 

“But what of your crown? The Council and the Fire Sages are enforcing the law that you must marry before your twenty-first birthday. If I am not there as your bride–” 

Zuko cut her off. 

“Then I will find a willing wife. I will not force you to wed me, to bear my children, when that is so clearly not the life that you want for yourself. That is not the leader nor the man I wish to be.” 

Torran stared at him, bewildered–as if she could not believe what she was hearing. 

And then a sob broke free from her mouth, unrestrained. She clasped a hand over her lips in a poor attempt to keep the guttural, desperate sound from escaping. Zuko recognized it, though–the sound of a prisoner finally set free of their cage. 

Zuko could not help himself then. He rose from the bed and went to her, taking her into his arms. She fell against him, crying. And although he was furious on her behalf, would do whatever he could to right the wrongs he had gotten her into–she was not Katara. His body, his heart, his mind–they did not sing for Torran. 

“This promise of freedom is more than I could have ever dreamed…but I can’t go home, Zuko. My mother will have my head on a platter. She’ll immediately pawn me off to the most powerful suitor she can find in order to recover from the shame of a failed engagement with the Fire Lord,” she choked into his tunic, her fists grabbing at the material of his shirt–an anchor, a lifeline. 

Zuko almost laughed, wanting to point to the burn mark across his eye and tell her things could be so much worse. 

But he knew that wasn’t fair. He knew that just because he had survived a parent as cruel as Ozai, who had permanently disfigured his face for simply speaking out of turn, did not mean that Torran’s fear wasn’t extremely valid. 

And he knew that Torran had been cut off from the rest of the world by her parents. She had no money or home of her own, no career prospects. They had isolated her, raising her up in such a way to ensure she was never allowed to become anything more than a dutiful bride, a doting mother. 

And if he did not intervene, he was painfully aware that she would just end up under the boot of some other man–and likely, one less benevolent than Zuko. 

“Torran,” he said, pulling her away, grasping her by the shoulders at arm’s length. “That should be the least of your worries. Just because we are not to be wed does not mean that I will leave you hanging in a lurch.” 

Torran looked up at him, eyes still shining with unspilled tears. 

“You wouldn’t?” 

“No. I am the Fire Lord. And I have gone the past five years without indulging myself in any sort of personal pleasures whatsoever. I have not spent a single coin on things for me. I am more than happy to help you however I am able to. If you had the freedom, what would you do with yourself? Whatever it is, Torran–I will fund it.” 

He knew it wasn’t his best look–offering an unlimited well of coin to this woman after fighting so hard with Ember-Lee over Sei’naka’s education budget. But he couldn’t quite find it in him to care. 

She shook her head, the flood of tears beginning to finally slow. 

“I can’t ask you to do that.” 

“Torran,” Zuko repeated, admonishingly. “I am about to publicly break off our engagement after nearly dragging you into a sham of a marriage while I pined after one of my best friends. You are an intelligent and capable woman–do you want a position in my palace? Tuition for university? An air ship to see the world?” 

Zuko would give Torran all of those things and more, if it meant he had the opportunity to tell Katara how he felt–even if she turned him away. 

Zuko wasn’t sure what Katara was going to say, how she was going to react. He was confident now, that she surely felt something for him. 

Whether she would be willing to risk everything she’d built for herself on the slight chance that they could make this work…now that was another question entirely. 

“Let me think for a minute–what I would like to do with my freedom. This is a lot of information to process,” Torran said, dabbing at her inner eyelid with her sleeve.

Zuko nodded. She was a smart woman, not prone to rash decisions. 

She moved to sit at the small window by the table, pouring both herself and Zuko a cup of tea. 

He watched as her hands shook around the porcelain saucers before sitting down across from her. 

“You should go to her,” Torran encouraged after taking a sip of the drink to calm herself. “You should tell Katara how you feel.” 

Zuko shook his head. “Like you said…this is a lot. I need to get my head on straight before barging into her room and spilling my guts all over her.” 

Silence hovered between them, then. Both Torran and Zuko were lost to their own thoughts–the future seemed so tentative and uncertain at this moment. 

Finally, Zuko turned to her, cocking his head in question. 

“Did you know? That I had…feelings for Katara?” 

Now that all this truth was bubbling to the surface, he realized with sharp clarity that he had loved her every moment of these past five years, even when he had tried to convince himself he didn’t. Aang himself had nearly unraveled when he found out that Zuko spoke to Katara before calling off her wedding. Maybe it had been more obvious to his friends, to outside observers, than it had been to him. 

Spirits alive, were he and Katara as bad as Toph and Kyoko? 

Torran gave him a soft, sad smile. 

“I suspected. At the very least, I knew that something romantic had happened between you two at some point. There were whispers, gossip around the palace–that during your Agni Kai with Azula, you took a bolt of lightning to save her. Is that true?” 

The details of the Agni Kai had not hit the public. Zuko made sure of that. It was a deeply personal, private matter. All the Fire Nation needed to know was that Azula no longer held any semblance of power. They didn’t need to know how she’d been on the brink of madness, or how Zuko had nearly given up his life to protect Katara. 

He rubbed at his chest, at the star-shaped scar fanning out over his pectoral muscles. Torran had seen it, sure. But she hadn’t asked about it, hadn’t known the truth. 

“Yes,” Zuko said sadly. “I did.” Thinking of that day hurt. The way Katara had kissed him, how it had felt. The sliver of hope that had wedged itself into his heart before shattering, completely and totally, when she chose Aang, in the end. 

The hero gets the girl. And Zuko was no hero. 

“Oh, Zuko,” Torran said, settling her hands on her teacup. Her voice was full of a deep, sympathetic pity that he could hardly stand. 

“Why didn’t you say anything? If you suspected I had feelings for Katara, why didn’t you speak up? You didn’t seem even the least bit jealous about it,” Zuko asked. But even as the words left his mouth, he already knew the answer. 

Torran huffed a self-depricating laugh. “The perfect, dutiful wife is never jealous of other women. Never makes a problem for her husband. She just sits in silence and takes everything on the nose.”

She took a deep inhale before continuing, looking up at Zuko across the small tea table where they sat together. “But in all honesty, I wasn’t jealous. Because I did not feel anything for you, nor did I have any real desire to rule at your side. It’s hard to experience any kind of envy for a role I was told to want.” 

Zuko knew a thing or two about having a destiny thrust upon him, and about flipping that destiny on its head. 

Watching Torran slowly but surely come into the realization that she could be more than what was expected of her, just as he had five years ago, sparked something in his chest. 

And he found himself confiding in the woman who, in another lifetime, would have been his bride and the mother to his children.
“I don’t know if it’s going to change anything–telling Katara how I feel.” 

“You think she does not feel the same way? Zuko, I can tell you without a doubt that by the way she was holding you out there in the hallway–there is something there.” Torran almost laughed as she spoke, as if she were shocked he could not see it himself. 

“Will it matter, though? She called off her wedding because she was not ready to be shackled to a domestic life. Katara still has much work to do as ambassador, and will need to spend so much of her time traveling, or in the South. I can’t ask her to marry me in less than three weeks when I turn twenty-one. Even if she did agree to marry me, the council would then be breathing down her neck to produce an heir, which is where so much of her problems with Aang stemmed from. And beyond that–would our people even accept a waterbender as Fire Lady?” 

Too many questions. Too many variables. Too many places where everything could go wrong. 

“The only way to find out is to ask her. You’ll never know if you don’t try. As far as our people…” Torran paused, placing her hand atop his on the table. “You have done a great deal to fight for each and every one of us, myself included, over the past five years. I do not think we would begrudge you this small piece of happiness.” 

Zuko smiled at her, but he knew, deep in his heart, that things would never be that simple for him. His people might be accepting, but the Council and the Fire Sages were a different matter entirely. 

And at the end of the day, he was still gripped by a suffocating sense of responsibility. If it was not him or his heirs that wore the crown–then who would it be?

That night, he insisted that Torran sleep in the bed alone, and he curled up on the settee, a blanket drawn up around his shoulders. He knew it was silly–he had lain beside her all these months. But now, with their engagement firmly terminated, it felt strange. Besides, he needed space to think. 

Zuko’s sleep was restless, coming in fits and starts. Thoughts circled and ran around in his head, chasing one another in a miserable loop of what if?

He dreamed endlessly of Katara, of his kingdom, of the Caldera. Of Raijin and his budgets. Of Ember-Lee. Of the Avatar. Of Torran. 

He woke and watched as the hands on the clock inched slowly, slowly forward–as the light outside the window turned from onyx to pale gray to opalite. 

Sometime around dawn, as his brain was trying to sort out what to do with the great mess that had become his life, an idea struck him with such painful clarity that it had him up on his feet in an instant.  

He rushed to the bed, shaking Torran awake, not caring that it was early morning and she was clearly sleeping after what had been an emotionally draining day. 

“Torran,” he whisper-hissed. She rubbed her eyes, flopping over with little grace to look at him. He almost laughed. She looked so ungraceful–nothing like the stitched together royal she always presented herself to be. He found himself thinking, then, that even though they were not meant to be wed—that he and Torran could come to be good friends. 

“Hmmff?” she groaned into the pillow. 

“Torran, wake up. Wake up. I have an idea.” 

She begrudgingly rose from the pillows, scrubbing the sleep out of her eyes. 

“What is it, Zuko?” 

“I have a job offer for you, if you want it,” the words came out of him in a hurried rush. “One I think might just be a perfect fit. Kyoko is nearly done with the library restoration, but there is still so much knowledge, so many books that would benefit the Royal Library. I need a curator–someone who can travel the world over, finding new and rare titles to add to the Fire Nation collection. So we may have a comprehensive library with knowledge from across the four nations.” 

Torran was awake, now–the idea of journeying freely, hopping from continent to continent, searching for books, for knowledge, had her eyes bright with intrigue. 

“You don’t have to agree to anything yet. You can think about it if–” Zuko rushed to say. The last thing Torran needed was yet another person telling her what she should be doing with her life. 

“I accept,” Torran cut him off with a wide, beaming smile. “Of course I accept.” 

“Good,” Zuko replied. “Can you start today?” 

 

+++

 

It was a hectic morning after a long, restless night. But the rising of the sun invigorated him, made the blood hum warm in his veins. He felt awake in a way he had not for some time now. 

It took the help of Ty Lee and the other Kyoshi warriors on duty with him, as well as a favor he took no pleasure in procuring from Ember-Lee, to get Torran, accompanied by Kyoko, on a boat bound for Ba Sing Se. 

The pair were headed to Iroh, who–Zuko assumed and hoped, since he hadn’t had the time to send a letter–would help them gain entrance to Kuei’s personal library to search for some tomes regarding herbs and medicines. It would be Torran’s first assignment as curator, and one he had no doubt she would excel at. 

Torran and Kyoko had both hugged him tightly on the docks of the Sei’naka clan before boarding one of Ember-Lee’s boats, armed with a small crew and two Kyoshi warriors. 

“Thank you for everything,” Torran had whispered, tearfully into his ear. She already had a new, different sort of confidence about her–one he hadn’t seen during her time as prospective Fire Lady. “Now go get your girl.” 

After waving goodbye to them, Zuko quickly gathered his things with haste and scampered up into the airship, where Katara was already waiting. He knew she was eager to get out of Sei’naka so she could go home to the South.

It didn’t bother him in the way it would have, if he still had Torran on his arm. Because he knew how she felt–he had been just as much a wreck the night Katara was supposed to wed Aang. 

But now…now, he had a chance. He had an opportunity to swing for the fences, one last time. 

The airship crew closed the door to the bridge before launching into the sky. 

And Zuko went to his room and waited. 

He watched from his window as the island grew to a tiny spec in the distance, swallowed up by a great expanse of deep, blue water. Somewhere out there, among the waves, he knew Torran was standing on the bow with a smile, finally free from the shackles of a life not meant for her. 

It was an hour before there was a great, loud banging on his door. 

“Zuko!” Katara’s voice was half-nervous, half-angry as she slammed her fist against the metal wall. “Zuko, open up!” 

Nervous, frenetic energy zapped through him all at once. It felt a bit like the times he’d had to redirect lightning–power singing through his core, wrapping around his heart. A dangerous live wire. 

Even though he wanted to run and launch himself at Katara, he forced himself to take quiet, measured steps. 

Zuko opened the door to her big, blue eyes, wild with concern. She was dressed in Fire Nation red, and as always, it did terrible, wonderful things to his heart, his body. A strip of brown skin was exposed beneath her cropped one-shoulder top, and he had to fight to keep control of himself. 

“Yes?” he asked. He almost laughed when he spoke, almost laughed at the sheer insanity of what he was about to do. 

“Kyoko and Torran aren’t on board; we have to go back to Sei’naka,” she said, looking absolutely bewildered. Zuko ran a tight ship, both metaphorically and literally–and forgetting his council woman and fiancee was certainly out of character for him. 

“I’m not sure what could have happened to them, maybe just a miscommunication, or do you think Ember-Lee is being intentionally malicious after negotiations yesterday? Or–” 

Zuko cut her off then, grabbing her by the shoulders. He felt that one point of contact all the way in his soul, where her cool touch met his warm one. 

“I know.” 

“What?”

“I know they’re not on board the ship. I sent them to Ba Sing Se.” 

The confusion on Katara’s face twisted deeper, and she cocked her head in his direction. He could see her trying and failing to come up with any logical explanation for why Kyoko and Torran were bound for the Earth Kingdom, instead of heading back to the Caldera. Especially when Zuko and Torran were supposed to wed in less than three weeks. 

“What did you do that for?” 

“I offered Torran a position as curator of the Royal Library, and she accepted. Her first assignment is to Ba Sing Se. Kyoko went with her to help her get her bearings.” 

Katara stepped back, then, out of Zuko’s hold. 

“Oh,” she said, shaking her head. “I see. That is a good position for her, I think. It will make her even more likable when she becomes Fire Lady.” 

“Torran is not going to be Fire Lady. I broke off our engagement.” 

Katara’s eyes snapped up to his, and the look she was leveraging at him was more than he could stand. There was so much tentative, nervous hope in her expression. 

“Why?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the air ship. 

He hadn’t imagined it, then–what she felt for him. 

“Because,” Zuko said, inhaling a deep breath and steadying himself. “I am not in love with Torran. I am in love with you.”

Notes:

MY BBY GIRL TORRAN GOT HER FREEDOM! I think curator is such a great role for her, it gives her the chance to travel and see the world that was kept from her while also satisfying her love for learning. And she gets to have a place of power/influence in the Fire Nation after her parents kept her SO powerless for SO long.

ALSO- thank you to everyone who gave me Zutara recs to check out!! I was not prepared for the sheer amount of titles. I want to read them ALL. I so appreciate the aspect of community that comes with AO3 and the Zutara ship. You have all been so lovely with the comments, theories, encouragement, and analysis of my writing. Thank you for sharing the fics that you love!! I love reading/supporting other authors.

Thank you and happy reading, friends!

Chapter 19: The Storm

Katara

 

“I am in love with you.” 

Zuko’s declaration echoed in his small, tidy room aboard the airship. Katara felt her lips part in shock as the words clanged around in her mind. But she couldn’t seem to process them, couldn’t seem to understand what he was saying to her. 

For what it was worth, Zuko did not push her. He let the silence settle over them, and gave her the space to think. 

Which would have been much appreciated if she could actually string two thoughts together. Rather, all she could hear was a dull, roaring static between her ears. 

She was, mercifully, spared from her tongue-tied awkwardness when a member of the air ship crew appeared in the doorway, making the sign of the flame with his hands and bowing low. 

“Fire Lord Zuko, Master Katara–apologies for interrupting. The captain sent me to let you know there is a tropical storm on the horizon, and that it is not safe for us to continue flying. Ember Island is twenty minutes away, we will make landfall there.” 

Zuko nodded, unbothered. 

Katara was glad he, at least, had his head on straight. She was beginning to think that if someone asked her to spell her own name, or walk in a straight line, she would be unable to perform accurately. 

“That’s fine; thank you for the warning. Ask the captain if it is possible for us to dock near my family’s home. I would like to stay there tonight if possible," Zuko said, every inch the calm, cool monarch. 

How was the nervous, unwieldy boy who had stumbled upon the steps of the Western Air Temple in an attempt to aid the Avatar, five years ago, the confident man who stood before her now? 

But Katara knew that Zuko was only awkward and uncomfortable whenever he didn’t know what he was doing. When he wielded fire or swords, when he met with his people, when he had kissed her–he did not hesitate in those moments, and moved only with lithe assurance in himself. 

“Of course, Fire Lord,” the crew member said before bowing once more and disappearing back down the hallway. 

Zuko turned to face Katara, then. His golden eyes were alight with a clarity Katara hadn’t seen since…since, well he’d kissed her after defeating Azula in the Agni Kai. 

“Why don’t we speak when we arrive on Ember Island?” he asked, gently. She was endlessly grateful for Zuko then, that he was able to see how much she was scrambling for purchase. 

“Okay,” Katara managed, her voice a quiet, breathy thing. 

She turned on her heel then, hurrying down the hallway to her own quarters, where she slammed the door shut and collapsed onto her bed, screaming into her pillow. 

Spirits alive, what was wrong with her? For weeks, she had held these secret feelings for Zuko wrapped up in her heart–feelings that seemed like they were constantly threatening to burst forth at any moment, uncontrolled and unbidden. And now–now that he was standing before her, confirming that he–against all odds, all hope–actually felt the same, she’d run off like a child? 

She needed to collect her bearings and get herself together by the time they landed on Ember Island. For Katara knew that somehow the Spirits had smiled upon her, granting her a second chance to make things right with Zuko. 

There would not be another opportunity. 

The air ship descended quickly from the sky; indeed, Katara could see a maelstrom looming off in the distance, a heavy wall of gray-black thunderheads, headed straight in their direction. 

When the ship landed on Ember Island, and Katara climbed out onto the rocky shoreline, the wind blew heavily, whipping long strands of dark hair up about her face. She could feel it in the air–the tension brewing on the horizon, the way the sky simply had to let loose all the pressure it was holding, bottled up. 

The tempest was still a ways off, but growing nearer every second. 

Katara took her things inside the Ember Island house. She had not been here since those tense, tentative days near the end of the war–when Aang had disappeared and she had gone off beside Zuko, off to do what they could to bring peace to the world. 

The house, somehow, felt as if everything had changed, and yet everything was still the same. 

Perhaps it was only her perspective. She was seeing it now through the eyes of an accomplished and powerful woman–one who had successfully felled a dictatorship and taken up the role as ambassador to the Southern Tribe. One who had loved and lost and learned to let go. 

She tossed her bags down on a bed in one of the spare rooms before making her way back down to the porch that wrapped around the Ember Island house. She pushed through the creaking side door, stepping down onto long, stone stairs that led from the house towards the beach. 

The power of the ocean, chopped and foaming with the storm, called to her. She could feel the deadly forcefulness of it, swirling down against the sand below. 

She allowed herself to breathe in the salty air, let it steady her racing, nervous heart. 

Zuko loves me. 

The confirmation of such a thing nearly paralyzed her with hope. After all this time, they were finally, finally on the same page. Neither of them were promised to another. 

If they were different people, this would be where the story ended. No more conflict, no more toil. Just two lovers who could finally enjoy each other’s company and be together in peace. 

But both Katara and Zuko had taken on important roles in the world, in the shadow of the war. They both had duties to their respective nations, on near opposite sides of the globe. 

That had been something she had already been more than willing to work around, however, when she was betrothed to Aang. 

What had broken her apart from the Avatar was that he refused to see her for who she was, refused to let her continue holding a title beyond that of wife and mother. 

There were no other heirs to continue on the royal line, no one else to take up the mantle of Fire Lord beyond Iroh or Azula. Iroh could rule for some time, sure, but at what cost? 

Would Zuko shackle her to domesticity, in the end? When faced with the same sense of duty as Aang? 

Katara supposed, deep down, that she already knew the answer to that. 

She sensed him at her back before he could say a word, but then again–she always had. She could have found him in a pitch black abyss, both of them blindfolded and gagged, on the way his energy sang out to hers alone. 

Frustration snapped through her. Not at him, but at their situation. She longed, desperately, for things to just be simple.

“I broke things off with Aang because I refused to be the brood mare for the Airbender line. I will not trade his cage for yours,” she said, her voice low but steady. 

Katara heard Zuko’s booted feet scuffing against the stone until he was at her side, standing on the same step–although his height still stood several inches over her. 

Zuko looked out at the raging sea, the incoming storm. 

“I know,” he said simply. “I intend to challenge the marriage law when we return to the Fire Nation. So that I may be free to marry if and when I choose to.” 

Katara looked up at him then, his golden eyes steady with resolve. “You think you can achieve such a thing?” 

“I spoke with Kyoko at length this morning, before she departed for Ba Sing Se. We believe we can sway six of the fourteen councilors to side with us, about abolishing that law. They are all newer blood, not aged and worn into politics. Our guess is that they initially sided with Raijin on enforcing the marriage law to keep from rocking the boat. I am hoping that if the council sees me standing in strong opposition to it now–that it might influence more than a few people to change their minds.” 

Katara had been in the Fire Nation long enough to have a thorough understanding of how their council system worked. It was one of the simpler models she’d seen in the four nations, really. Fourteen council members each represented a province, clan, or district of the Fire Nation. Zuko sat as the fifteenth member of the council, so there would never be a split vote or a tie on any matters. 

Her heart sank, then. Because at the end of the day, the numbers didn’t lie. Zuko was living on hope alone. 

“That’s not enough, Zuko,” she said, her quiet voice nearly swept away by the wind. 

“I know. But I’ve been thinking about this since late last night. I’ve barely slept a wink, I’ve just been going out of my mind,” he said, pushing a hand through his long hair. Katara could see it on his face, then. How many times he’d run through every possibility, every outcome, every way to make this work. 

For her. 

For them. 

“To what end?” Katara asked, turning to face him fully. The first few tiny, scattered raindrops began to fall, darkening the stone steps they were standing on. “Say you challenge the marriage law, and are somehow able to get the numbers to fall in your favor. Then what? What will become of you and I?” 

He did not hesitate. 

“I would love you, if you let me. Court you properly. Take our time.” 

Katara shook her head, frustration building within her. 

“You’re not answering the important questions, Zuko. What of marriage, of children? You are staring down the barrel of a law that expects you to be wed in three weeks. The obvious logical assumption by everyone in your court is that babies will come very, very soon after.” 

Her voice was rising with the storm, growing angrier with each word. “We are not the type of people who can just casually court and hope it works out, we are the helms of entire empires.” 

“Don’t you think I know that?” Zuko asked, voice strained. Katara’s frustration had clearly spilled over into him. But she knew, deep down, that they were furious only at the duties that bound them. 

He was so close, now. Standing on the same concrete step, little drops of rain clinging to his onyx hair, his pale skin. She could see the pulse point on his neck thrumming. Katara had to channel all of her restraint, all of her training, to shove down the longing that was threatening to burst to the surface. 

“I would marry you tomorrow, Katara,” he said. “But I know that is not the life you want for yourself; I know you still have so much left to accomplish as ambassador. Spirits damn me, I would crawl on my hands and knees through a sea of broken glass before I would ask you to give up your goals for me.” 

Katara couldn’t think straight when Zuko made promises like that, but he pressed on in earnest. 

“I have no loophole around this law. I have no concrete way out of it. I am taking a calculated risk here that I have bought enough favor with my council and with my people that they will cede to me on this; that the Fire Nation has enough faith in me as their leader to trust that I am making the right decision,” he continued, voice lined with a terrible, desperate frustration that Katara recognized intimately. “You would be a good thing for my people.” 

Everything in her ached. For him. For what he was trying to do. And all the anger went out of her, replaced by quiet, calm resolve.

He didn’t know. He really didn’t know how much the denizens of his country respected and admired him. 

“Zuko, when I healed you after you were poisoned—you have no idea how many Fire Nation citizens reached out in thanks. I was practically drowning in gift baskets of wine and cheese,” she said, a sad, small laugh coming forward. 

He cocked his head at her in curiosity, then. And she saw it—some final piece of resolve sliding into place within that beautiful mind of his. 

“I didn’t know that,” he said quietly. 

Spirits above, he was so self sacrificial and he cared so damn much, was so hell-bent on justice, could he not see how much everyone loved him? 

And she knew then, with blinding clarity, what path she was going to take forward. There would be no going back from this. 

She loved this beautiful, broken boy who did not believe he was worthy of anything good in the world. 

“I will stand with you, against the marriage law,” she said, finally. “I will fight at your side until the bitter end.”

Zuko couldn’t hide the relief that flooded his face at her words, the way all the tight, held breath went out of his lungs on a heavy exhale. 

“You will?” 

Katara held up one hand, the last meager barrier between them. “On one condition. If we are not successful, if we are not able to get the council to overturn the law–then I will not allow you to give up your throne on my account.” 

Two could play in this game. He wouldn’t have her give up her ambitions, and she would not see him abandon his birthright. 

She gathered her courage, then, to say the words that had been growing, tentatively in her heart, for weeks now. “I am in love with you, Zuko. But I have watched you work too hard and for too long to throw away all that you have built. It may be cruel, and wrong, and unfair to us, to deny ourselves just how deeply we could love one another. But the good of our peoples, and the good of the world, is more important and much bigger than the two of us. You must remain the Fire Lord, regardless of what happens to the marriage law.” 

She could feel tears burning in her eyes, then. At how they were so, so close to having each other and yet still miles and miles away. Ships in the night. Always, always ships in the night. 

“Katara,” he said, stepping closer to her, cupping her jaw in between strong, calloused hands. She could feel herself so close to coming unraveled–so close to giving up on her sense of justice and rightness and throwing all caution to the wind. After all they had been through, all they had done to bring peace to the world, didn’t they deserve just the smallest silver of happiness? 

“Promise me,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “You will not relinquish the throne, no matter what happens. Even if it means you are to be wed to someone else.” 

Zuko looked about ready to splinter in half, at what he was going to swear to her. Katara thought, for a moment, that he might not agree to what she was asking. 

“I promise,” he said. She couldn’t tell if the moisture dripping down his cheekbone were tears or raindrops. 

“So what do we do now?” she whispered, staring up into resplendent eyes. She had so little control left in her body when he looked at her that way. 

The rain began to fall in earnest. No more tentative, nervous droplets, but a full, heady downpour fell around them. Neither of them made any motion to move. 

“The next council meeting is in two weeks. There, I will formally call off my engagement to Torran and challenge the marriage law. I would call an emergency one sooner, but Kyoko is currently on a boat to Ba Sing Se and she is…for better or worse…my loudest supporter on the council. I must wait for her to return.” 

Katara placed one hand atop Zuko’s, where he still clutched her face. His fingers were warm, as always, his grip firm but gentle. 

“And until then?” The words felt fragile as glass as they passed her lips. Rivulets of water streaked down Zuko’s skin, plastering his hair to his face. 

“I would rather have two weeks of loving you, then none at all,” his voice was barely a whisper against the raging storm. Thunder boomed over the tumultuous ocean, just behind where they stood. Nothing was promised for them, nothing guaranteed. 

Katara wasn’t sure if it was going to be better or worse to have these two weeks with Zuko, if it was all ripped away from her by the council in the end. If she and Zuko could not successfully challenge the marriage law. 

But in the end, she had to know. Better to have this time to cling to, than always wondering, for the rest of her life. 

“Then have me.” 

Katara’s words were an undoing. All Zuko’s scruples, his need to do right, broke away, the manacles binding him shattered, and he unleashed himself on her. 

His soft lips were firm, claiming as they pressed suddenly against hers. All the breath went out at once from Katara’s lungs as he kissed her. Rain drove hard against them now, the full force of a tropical storm, leaving their skin wet and slick. 

Zuko’s fingers pressed harder against her jawline, tilting her face up in a demand for more. Katara let her tongue tentatively press against his mouth, and he opened for her at once on a greedy, starving moan. 

She felt that sound reverberate all the way down in her bones. 

His hands went away from her face, to her hips. She leaned into him, hard, wrapping her legs about his waist. He took her full weight as if it was nothing, and Spirits alive, she forgot how strong he was. Katara ran her hands down the corded muscles of his arms, taking in every inch of him that she had lusted after for months now. 

Zuko broke his lips away from hers and turned his attention to the pulse point at her neck, pressing filthy, luxurious kisses along her damp skin. She was soaked to the bone in this rain. But she couldn’t find it in her to care very much at all. 

She let out a low, whining whimper. Katara thought maybe she said his name, but was so lost in the feeling of pure, unbearable need that was forming in her stomach that she couldn’t be entirely sure. Either way, Zuko’s answering growl nearly unglued her from this realm entirely. 

Carrying her, he walked them up one of the stone steps towards the house, and then a second. He didn’t get very far at all, though, before he came to a complete stop, laughing low in her ear. There was something so mischievous about it that Katara pulled away from him, just an inch, to look in his eyes. 

And the light that was there, the undiluted joy–she hadn’t seen such an expression from Zuko in quite some time. 

He laid her down, slowly, gently, atop the stone steps–his strong hands supporting her spine. The rough edge was hard against her back, a stark contrast to the reverent way he was touching her, kissing her. 

Zuko kneeled in between the cradle of her legs, just on the steps below Katara. One of his hands was at her thigh, the other touching her cheek gently. And as he rucked her skirt up about her hips, she realized what he intended to do. 

Here, out on the steps of the Ember Island house, where anyone could see. Granted, they were in the middle of a tropical storm and she doubted there would be many people just putzing about the island. But she knew the air ship was parked only a few hundred yards away, knew the Kyoshi warriors–though not visible to the untrained eye–were always watching. She couldn’t decide if it thrilled her or terrified her.

“Zuko–” she started, propping herself up on her elbows. He looked up, taking her in. 

“Please,” he begged, his voice a wretched thing. “I cannot wait any longer to taste you.” 

They seemed to communicate all at once, without having to say a word. He saw the nervousness in her and gave her a small, reassuring smile. One that told her that she only had to say the word and he would be more than willing to take this into the dry safety of the house. She nodded in assent, because he saw her. He understood. 

And she recognized then, that she was able to communicate with Zuko through the way their bodies tensed and relaxed, in the sharp inhale of their breaths. With only the barest exchange of words. 

She could have written full length books for Aang about her emotions, and he still would not have recognized the depths of her. But she did not even need to speak to the Fire Lord for him to know what she wanted, what she needed. 

And she very much needed him, here, and now.  

Zuko shoved the gauzy, red material of her skirt up even higher, exposing her to the elements. Cool rain fell against her stomach, her thighs, soaked her underwear even damper than it already was at just the thought of him. 

His eyes on her, Zuko pulled at the soft cotton of her underwear, tugging it slowly down past her knees, her ankles, before casting it aside, leaving her stripped completely. 

This was it, then. She was bare to him now, and there was no going back on it. 

Still kneeling on the stone steps, he took his index finger and traced it slowly, so slowly, along her center. 

Katara’s head bucked backwards at the touch, her long, soaked hair spilling over her shoulders and pooling on the stone. 

“Katara,” Zuko hissed, shaking his head. “You’re so beautiful.” 

One touch. He had only given her one touch and she already wanted to crumble to pieces atop the steps. 

He took his thumb now, and pressed the pad of it firmly, softly, against her clit. Tension gripped her whole body at his first tentative touches, and she arched against the stone. 

Katara hazarded a glance downwards at where Zuko knelt before her, smirking. 

“Relax for me, Katara. Let me take care of you.” 

All her life, Katara had always been the one making sure everyone around her had what they needed. During her time traveling with Aang and their friends, she had been the one to make sure the food was cooked, the campfire stoked, and the tents pitched and ready. When Zuko had joined them, she hadn’t wanted to admit to herself how much…help he had been. She’d wanted to resent him, wanted to hate him for all the wrong he’d done. But that was so impossible to do when he never made himself a burden to her. 

And now, as she tipped her head up and watched him, near feral, kneeling before her, she realized that Zuko had been the only one who had ever really taken time to make sure she had the things she needed, and did not have to take on the world alone. 

Aang had cared for her, sure. He had nearly worshiped the ground Katara walked on. But he also relied on her so much to fix up every single one of his problems, tied up in a neat little bow. 

Katara realized, then, that there was a great difference between caring for someone and taking care of them. 

As Zuko dipped lower down between the cradle of her legs, still holding her skirt shoved up at her hips, she knew that he was about to take very, very good care of her. 

The first swipe of his tongue along her soft, pink skin was the most luxurious, unreal sensation she’d ever experienced in her life. The thought that this was only just the beginning, that there was more to come, that this was only foreplay, nearly had her bursting at the seams. 

And in the same breath, her heart ached. Because if they could not convince the council to reverse the marriage law, then they were living on borrowed time. 

And she did not think she would ever find anyone, anywhere, in any space of time, that could make her feel the things she was feeling right now. 

Zuko’s tongue lapped at her again, tantalizingly slow, as he worked one finger inside of her, and then another. 

Katara reached down, grabbing strands of his long, dark hair between her fingers. The rain continued to pour in torrents, drenching them. All of the sensations–Zuko’s touch, his hot breath on her wet skin, the rain drops dripping across her body–it was all too much. She felt so overloaded with sensation, with pleasure. 

His wide, strong palms pushed gently at her inner thighs, gently requesting access to every inch of her. She obliged him eagerly. 

And he feasted like a starving man. 

Katara’s heels dug into the stone steps, and she arched against him once more. Electricity zinged along her spine, in time with the lightning crackling overhead, the roll of thunder booming in the sky. In that moment, she was wild and reckless, as if she were a part of the storm herself. 

Every thread that had ever held her together was slowly unstitching itself, and she was about to explode into a million pieces. 

The beginning of an orgasm began to build in her stomach and thighs. It was somehow familiar, and yet–not. Before it could even start to ricochet through her, it was so intense, so different from anything she’d ever experienced, at her own hand or the hands of others. 

“Zuko,” she panted, grabbing at his wet hair, tugging gently. Warning him about what was coming. At that, he made a moaning, desperate sound into her clit that was her absolute ruination. 

She came apart then, stars bursting behind her eyelids. She whined helplessly into the stormy sky, riding Zuko’s tongue and fingers through the extent of her mind-shattering orgasm. And then she fell, spent and boneless, onto the stone step. 

Rain drops fell on her, cooling her heated skin, as Zuko pulled her skirt back down and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth before picking her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her hands around his shoulders, and felt every astounding inch of his desire pressed against her. 

And he carried her, both of them soaked, up the steps and into the Ember Island house. Slowly. Reverently. 

The assault of the rain stopped suddenly when they stepped into the house. Zuko supported her easily with one hand as he shoved the door closed behind them. 

Katara inhaled deeply, slowly coming back into herself. He smelled like cinnamon and rainstorm. Nuzzled in the crook of his neck, she began to kiss at the soft, tender spot where his earlobe met his jawline. 

“Katara,” he moaned, slowly moving them back into the bowels of the darkened house. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to have to fuck you on the floor right here instead of in that big bed.” 

“Mhmm,” she murmured into his skin. She didn’t think she would mind that. “We have all night. Fuck me here, fuck me there. Fuck me everywhere.” 

She felt Zuko shake his head. “Not this first time. I want to do it right. I’ve thought about this, dreamed about this too much.” 

Katara thought she could live a thousand lifetimes, and she would never experience again the way she felt when Zuko spoke to her in that dark, low voice, full of need. 

He walked them into the big primary bedroom, and with a single flick of his hand, without even looking up, lit all the candles and wall sconces in the room, filling the space with dim light. An enormous balcony looked out over the ocean, and the thundering storm sounded in the background. 

Zuko laid her down, slowly, atop the velvet blankets. Their clothes and skin were soaking wet still, and Katara knew it would take no effort at all to pull the water off of them. 

But there was something about it–the sensation of the dampness between them–that thrilled her. 

She backed herself up onto the bed, leaning up on her elbows as Zuko stood over her, taking her in. Katara knew she looked a mess–cheeks pink from the orgasm he’d just given her, long hair soaked and messy, clothes askew. 

But he looked at her like she was a holy thing. 

Katara nearly came all over again just watching as Zuko crawled, slowly, onto the bed before coming to a stop atop of her. He yanked her top off in one lithe movement and peppered agonizing kisses across her exposed collarbone, down her breasts. He pulled a nipple into his mouth and sucked slow before moving to the other. 

“You drive me absolutely mad,” he moaned, “You always have.” 

Katara felt a laugh skitter out of her at that, at the thought of the furious, young prince who had pinned her down, fought against her. If only the girl she had been before the end of the war could see her now. 

“You have entirely too much clothing on,” Katara said, starting to pull the jacket from his shoulders. It fell off in a heap and she shoved the wet material off the bed, out of the way. His pants came next, leaving him in only his underclothes. She could see the cut of his pectoral muscles beneath his thin, cotton shirt. Katara wanted it exposed, wanted all of him. 

She pushed her hands beneath the hem–and at that, she felt him pull back just a fraction of an inch, hesitating only the space of a breath. 

But it was enough for her to recognize his pause. 

“What is it?” she asked, looking up at him. 

Zuko shook his head. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t tell her, wouldn’t be honest. But lying to each other when they were this close, this exposed felt…wrong. He seemed to sense that too, and pushed through whatever uncomfortable thing was holding him back. 

“It’s just…that scar.” 

The star-shaped burst of red skin blooming across his chest. Where he had taken Azula’s lightning. For her. 

Katara paused, then. Removed her hands from him, instead looking up into his golden eyes. 

She could not fathom how someone as rough-cut and disciplined as Zuko could possibly be insecure about how his body looked. 

But she knew that how his family had attacked him, how they had marked his body in a way that made it not fully his own–it was shameful to him. 

Katara gently cupped his cheek, the side with the scar on it. 

“May I?” she asked gently, motioning to his shirt. 

He nodded. And she knew, then, that he trusted her in a manner that he had never trusted anyone else. 

Slowly, she tugged at the white shirt, pulling it up over his arms. She ran her fingers in slow, measured lines over the puckered red skin. 

“Beautiful,” she whispered. Zuko’s golden eyes darkened with desire. 

Katara let her fingers dip lower, disappearing below the waistband of his undershorts, letting herself really feel for the first time the hard, long length of him. 

She sucked in a tight, nervous breath. She couldn’t believe this was really happening. 

Moving slowly still, she helped him out of the last of his clothing. The only thing left between them was her skirt, which they both wiggled her out of together, laughing quietly as they did. 

“I’m on the fertility suppressant herbs,” she told him breathily. 

Zuko dropped his head against her chest, between her breasts. “Why would you tell me that information?” 

“Because,” Katara said, running her fingernails slowly along the line of his jaw, focusing on the scarred side of his face. Paying it extra attention. “I want to feel you finish inside of me.” 

The moan that left Zuko’s lips at that was truly, truly filthy. 

He rose above her, then, taking his cock in his hands, pumping himself once, twice–rubbing the slick head along her entrance, teasing her. 

“Please,” she whined, writhing beneath him. 

And then he slowly, gently, pushed inside of her. Not the full length–he seemed to know better, knew to work himself slowly in. Just the head at first, enough to feel how unbelievably soaked she was. 

He tilted his head back to the ceiling, a desperate whimper leaving his parted lips, before turning his gaze back upon Katara. 

“All that, for me?” he asked. 

“You make me crazy,” she moaned in response.

Zuko pushed further into her then, an inch at a time with each thrust until he was seated to the hilt, fully inside her. 

Katara gripped at the blankets and sheets around her, scrambling for purchase. She was going mad with how full he made her feel. He was everywhere, all over her–he leaned down and started kissing along the swell of her breast. She reached up and grabbed long pieces of his hair between her fingers, tugging just a bit. Zuko moaned in response to that, the rough edge of it. 

“I swear to the Spirits, Katara, it’s like we were made for one another. You are so sweet. So perfectly tight for me,” he said, his voice like gravel. 

He moved at a slow, languid pace as he explored her body with his lips–moving along her mouth, her collarbone, her ear, her breasts. Katara wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him tighter within her. 

“I love this,” she groaned, writhing against him, “I love the way you feel. Better than my wildest dreams.” 

He raised up above her then. One palm came to rest on her knee, and the other hand stretched forward, his thumb running along her swollen mouth. 

“Open,” he instructed, with the lethal confidence of a Fire Lord who commanded entire armies. He pressed gently at her lips, requesting access, and she took his finger in, running her tongue along the pad of it before he pulled away. 

Zuko took his thumb, now slick with her saliva, and pressed it against her clit, rubbing slowly as he continued to thrust into her. 

“Zuko,” she moaned, pleasure spiking in her spine, her stomach, her thighs. 

“Don’t say my name like that,” he shook his head, “Or I’m never going to last.” 

“I want to make you come,” she said, desperate. She could feel him moving within her, full and thick. 

He continued to worship her clit with his thumb while rocking his cock into her in increasingly quick strokes, and she could feel it. The orgasm building slowly within her–could recognize it in Zuko too as he panted, thrusting faster and faster, both of them barreling at speed towards the edge of a cliff. 

“Katara,” he whined. He was so close now, and so was she. The sight of his pleasure only heightened hers, only brought her closer to release. “I love you. I am so in love with you.” 

That, in the end, broke her apart completely. She bucked against his cock, his thumb, crying out loudly, desperately, as her orgasm shattered through her, pleasure pulsing through her veins. 

He followed after her almost immediately, spilling into her, gripping her thighs tight with warm hands as he came. 

And then they both collapsed, spent–their bodies in a tangled, wet, sweaty mess. 

When she awoke, hours later, the storm had subsided a bit, but rain still fell, heavy on the roof. She was naked and tucked underneath the large velvet blanket, a warm, steady presence at her back. Warm. Dry. Safe. 

She nestled into Zuko’s arms, clasped tight around her. 

Katara didn’t know if she had ever, ever felt so at peace.

Notes:

Happy Thanksgiving, have some smut!

Chapter 20: The Lovers

Notes:

Should have done this last chapter but better late than never, I updated tags to reflect the specific sex acts that have taken place so far and/or will take place in this chapter.

Zuko

Zuko woke with the smell of mint and sage in his nose, Katara’s dark hair spread out across his arms, and an ache of need throbbing dangerously through him. 

If he thought one night with Katara would get her out of his system, he was sorely mistaken. 

If he thought two weeks would be enough to hold him over for a lifetime…well, he couldn’t take it if the council didn’t overturn the marriage law. Would live the rest of his life with an empty, gaping wound in his chest where Katara had once been. 

He rolled over in bed, tucking her into his chest, burying his lips into the nape of her neck, waking her with languid, delicate kisses. 

She stirred just slightly, arching her back into him. He was already turned on, rock hard and frenzied without her even having to do anything. Only the barest brush of her against his body had him completely lit on fire. 

She murmured something incoherent, still stuck in that in-between place of wakefulness and dreams. This certainly all still felt like a dream to Zuko–something he couldn’t even begin to comprehend as real. 

“Good morning,” he murmured against the shell of her ear. That seemed to startle her to life. 

Both of them were bare beneath the blankets; it hadn’t even been a thought in either of their minds to bother with something as trivial as clothing after the evening they’d spent together. 

Especially when Katara had woken in the night–invigorated by the moon, Zuko’s polar opposite–and began kissing and biting at his neck, his jawline. And even though he usually rose with the sun, he had no problem living in the darkness if it was Katara leading him through it. 

They’d gone another round, and then another before finally ceding to the pull of sleep. 

Zuko could feel the tiniest blue and purple stains beginning to form along the skin of his collarbone and the hollow of his throat, where Katara had kissed just this side of bruising. 

He didn’t mind. In fact, he loved the idea of being marked by her. Even if it was something he would certainly need to cover up when they returned to the Caldera. Torran was all the way in Ba Sing Se, and nobody but the Sei’naka delegation knew that the royal engagement had been broken off. 

He and Katara would certainly have to conduct themselves with more subtlety when back at the palace. 

The thought of that made him sick. He wanted her everywhere, all the time. Wanted to take her in the library, in his office, along the rolling green lawns of the palace garden. The thought of hiding Katara–all her joy, all her goodness–felt so unbearably cruel. Especially after shoving down the feelings he’d had for so long to do right by her and Aang. 

Aang. 

That would be another obstacle, should they be successful in overturning the marriage law. Aang had, for years now, harbored a quiet jealousy of the relationship between Zuko and Katara. 

Turns out, maybe Aang wasn’t entirely off-base with those feelings. 

But Zuko shoved that particular road block to the back of his mind. They would speak to Aang if and when they were successful in swaying the Fire Council. One thing at a time. 

“Good morning,” Katara echoed through a yawn, turning over within the circle of Zuko’s arms so she was facing him fully. Zuko leaned into her for a slow, slow kiss. 

She didn’t let him linger for too long. 

“Ugh, Zuko, my breath has to be terrible,” she said with a self-depricating laugh. 

He captured her bottom lip, swollen from his kisses the night before, between his teeth. 

“That is quite literally the last thing on my mind,” he assured her. 

Convinced enough to not fret about it any longer, she leaned into him, and he hitched one of her legs up around his hip, erection pressing gently, tenderly at her bare entrance. 

“Already back for more?” Katara murmured into his throat, mouth hot and wet. “So needy, Zuko. I would think the Fire Lord would display a little more restraint than this.” 

He hummed into her skin, the smallest protest he could possibly offer against her words. 

“When it comes to you,” he said, hoisting her leg up higher and pressing only the head of his cock inside her tight, warm entrance, “I am absolutely desperate.” 

She hissed out a sigh of pleasure as he thrust in all at once, bottoming out within her. 

Zuko pressed his fingers hard into the soft meat of her thigh, keeping Katara held tight around him as he rocked into her. Slow. Lazy. Pretending as if they had all the time in the world. 

“I could spend forever like this,” she moaned, “you make me feel things I didn’t even know were possible.” 

He thrust into her again and again. Could feel pleasure slowly gathering low within him, when all of a sudden Katara took control of their positioning and flipped herself on top, her knees straddled on either side of Zuko’s hips. 

And she began to ride him. 

She rocked slow and steady at first, working his cock, before picking up a quicker rhythm that had Zuko’s head thrown back as he gripped at the sheets for purchase. 

He was never going to recover from this, if he lost her. 

A keeling, moaning sound tore from Katara’s lips. Spirits alive, but she was vocal. She talked to Zuko and made noises that drove him to the brink of madness with need. 

It was a far cry from his experiences with Mai, who, while certainly a generous enough lover, was just as quiet and reserved in bed as she was in her daily life. 

He hadn’t even known what he had been missing. 

Zuko reached up, then, grabbing a handful of Katara’s breasts in each of his palms, running a thumb over each nipple. 

She reacted to the touch immediately, letting out another needy moan before glancing down at Zuko, locking her eyes onto him. 

He was so close to the edge, and Katara could see it. Could sense the pleasure about to pulse through him. 

“You’re going to make me come,” he moaned, words guttural, primal. She ground against his cock in a way that was truly obscene, and his orgasm took hold of him all at once. He spilled and spilled and spilled into her, until there wasn’t a drop left. 

And he sent a silent prayer of thanks to the healers of the Southern Tribe for discovering fertility suppressant herbs, because the idea of pulling out of her was an unbearable thing. 

She continued to ride his cock as aftershocks of pleasure rang through Zuko. 

Her breasts were still in his hands, and he continued to work her nipples, urging her onwards. 

“That’s it,” he moaned, watching her dark hair spill in waves down her back, her cheeks pink with exertion. “You’re so pretty when you come all over me.” 

His words seemed to do it for her, then. She let out a cry as she shuddered, finding her release. 

Zuko caught her as she collapsed against his chest, breath coming in thirsty, heaving gasps. He stroked her spine slowly as she came down from the euphoria. When her breathing had slowed, he went to the bathing room and retrieved a towel, damp with warm water, to clean her up. 

“Why don’t you take a bath?” he asked, “Relax a bit, and I’ll see what I can scrape together for some breakfast. I’m starving.” 

Zuko couldn’t remember the last meal he’d put into his stomach. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he’d eaten since departing from the Sei’naka clan. 

Katara looked up at him like he had painted the stars in the sky himself when he said those words to her. 

“Okay,” she said–sated, loose, calm. There was none of the calculating, nervous energy of a woman who always had to be responsible for everyone and everything around her. It was a side of her he’d only dreamed of being able to witness. 

He planted a light, gentle kiss to her cheek and went to the nearby closet, pulling on a pair of linen pants he’d stashed here during his last stay before heading down to the kitchen. 

Overnight, the tropical storm had broken, along with Katara and Zuko. But the world was still shrouded in dampness, puddles pooled on the concrete steps outside the Ember Island house. 

Zuko’s heart ratcheted up a beat as he thought of what he’d done to her on the steps last night. He already wanted to do it again. Wanted to spend a lifetime between her thighs. 

But it was more than that, he realized, as he swung open the pantry door and started taking inventory of the dry goods on the shelves. 

The sex was good. It was mind-blowing, really. The best he’d ever had, the best he ever would have. He knew that, intrinsically–he could take lovers across all four continents and nobody would ever hold a candle to Katara.

But it was so good because he was connected to her on a near spiritual level. Katara was in his skin and bones, knew the contents of his soul. She did not shy away from the darkest parts of him.

Katara touched him in his most broken places. 

He was so in love with her, and the sex only made it better, deepened their connection further. 

Nearly lost entirely in daydreams and fantasies of what he was going to do to her next, Zuko’s growling stomach was the only thing that somehow anchored him to the present. He found some rice in a bag and pulled it out, along with some tea leaves and dried mango pieces. 

Zuko didn’t fancy himself much of a cook at all. But he’d learned enough to get by, and to even make a half-decent meal, when he’d been a fugitive alongside his uncle during the war. 

It had been the shock of a lifetime, going from pampered, spoiled prince who could have golden platters of food delivered to his door without lifting so much as a finger–to an angry, bitter runaway who had to scrimp, scrape, and steal to survive. 

That had certainly made him humble. Made him a man that, he hoped, was halfway worthy of Katara. 

He set about cooking the rice and brewing the tea. He pulled plates and teacups from the cabinets and set them on the table, popping bites of dried mango into his mouth as he went to soothe his aching, grumbling stomach. 

By the time he was done, the sun had started to break through the lingering, scattered stormclouds, and the water droplets clinging to the trees and bushes outside began to dissipate. 

Zuko brought the food to the table before turning around just in time to see Katara, half-dried hair twisted up away from her face, leaning in the doorway of the kitchen and watching him–wearing nothing but his discarded shirt from last night. It fell to her mid-thigh and clung to her in the most agonizing way. 

Zuko had half a mind to forget about breakfast entirely and feast on her instead. 

A smile lit her lips, and she leaped across the kitchen in three steps, pressing a kiss to his cheek before sitting down at the table and tucking into the meal without hesitation–apparently, she was just as famished as he was. 

“How was your bath?” he asked. 

“Amazing. That copper tub is so very royal. I’ve never experienced anything like it.” 

“If you liked that, you should see the one I have in my bathing chambers back at the palace.” 

Katara’s eyes lit mischievously, as if she was already picturing all the fun they could have together in that tub. 

But then he saw, with painful clarity, the exact moment she realized what returning to the palace meant. How they only had a handful of days that were promised to them. Borrowed time. It was all borrowed time. 

“How long are we going to stay on Ember Island?” Katara asked. Zuko could sense the trepidation in her voice. 

“Forever,” Zuko scoffed, shoving a bite of rice into his mouth. 

She gave him a sad smile, placing her hand over his. 

“Zuko. We are going to have to return to the Caldera eventually,” she admonished, before adding, “Although I would very much like to stay here for a bit. It’s nice to actually get to enjoy the beach house instead of using it as a command center in the days leading up to a battle.” 

Indeed, the house held multitudes. It had once been the site of fleeting, happy days with his family, many, many moons ago. And then a safe house for the Avatar as he made his final preparations to face Ozai. But now…now it would be forever marked as the place where Zuko had finally confessed his feelings to Katara, had set his life on a new trajectory–for better or for worse. 

“Let’s stay for at least another day or two before going back to the palace,” he said, before tacking on a rather desperate-sounding please. 

Katara, always bound by a sense of duty, didn’t seem convinced. 

So Zuko leaned into it, just a little. 

“We have this whole place all to ourselves,” he said. “All I want is the opportunity to put that to good use.” 

Katara relented then, eyes sparkling, watching him over the rim of her teacup as he spoke. “Fine. If you insist.” 

He fucked her on the table once their breakfast was done. 

They walked down to the beach, hand in hand, picking up shells that Katara stuffed into the pocket of her dress. 

Back at the house, they barely made it inside the threshold before she was on her knees before him, taking his full length into her mouth. 

They found cloaks in the closets of the house and pulled the hoods up over their heads before going into town to gather up a few groceries. The tropical storm hadn’t been too bad, and the extent of the damage was a few felled trees–the normal market was already open and bustling by the time they arrived. 

Fresh fruits, bread, and meat secured, they hurried back to the Ember Island house, where they made love–slow, sweet, sensual–up against the wall. 

It was paradise, Zuko thought. The closest thing to the Spirit realm he would ever get to experience. They couldn’t get enough of each other, him and Katara. 

The hours went by, slow as molasses, gentle and easy. They lay in each other’s arms in bed and talked about everything–Zuko especially loved Katara’s recitations of her childhood adventures alongside Sokka, of the traditions of their tribe. He loved the way she tipped her head back laughing when she described all the ridiculous predicaments Sokka got himself into as a boy, and how Katara was almost always the one pulling him back out of trouble. 

When the sun set and they poured themselves goblets of spiced wine and sat out on the balcony to watch the shooting stars blast by overhead, she even spoke of her mother–of what it had been to lose her. 

Zuko ached, through and through, down to his bones, at how the Fire Nation had hurt Katara and her people. Wished he could tear back through time and undo it all. 

But that was quite impossible, so he did the next best thing–he listened, intently, to every word she had to say. He absorbed the history, the near annihilation of her culture. How it had broken not only her people but also her family. He took the story of Kya, and the waterbenders of the South, into his heart–to honor and hold space for them. To make sure they lived on through the passage of time. 

After the second full day on Ember Island, Ty Lee–whom Suki had put in charge on this trip– came knocking, asking when they should expect to depart back to the Caldera. She stood just inside the entry way, an all-too knowing look in her eyes, as she glanced back and forth between Katara and Zuko. 

And Zuko knew, then, that they could not hide out on Ember Island any longer, pretending their problems and the rest of the world did not exist. 

So he and Katara packed up their things and boarded the air ship, bound for the Caldera, once more. 

+++ 

 

“Fire Lord?” 

Across the desk, Raijin was staring at Zuko, one eyebrow raised. Zuko licked his thumb and tabbed between the papers spread out in front of him, trying to remember what in the world they had been talking about. 

Zuko was awfully prone to getting sucked out of reality these days. It had been a full week since he and Katara returned to the palace after their time on Ember Island. They were dancing on a dangerous, illicit razor’s edge. 

Both of them agreed that it was of the utmost importance to be as careful as possible. Nobody could find out about the romance that was blossoming between them. It made the days pure, unending torture. They lived in the barest brush of elbows and pinkies as they ate meals, or worked side by side in the library. Shared looks, and heavy, loaded glances. 

But the nights were saccharine sweet. 

“Apologies, Raijin. What were you saying?” Zuko asked, finally throwing down the papers and lacing his fingers together atop the desk. 

Raijin looked less than pleased. 

“The budget, Fire Lord Zuko.” 

Zuko was about ready to approve whatever numbers Raijin wrote down if he could stop having to fuss over this stupid budget and just have unrestricted time to unleash himself upon Katara. 

“Yes. Everything looks great.” 

Raijin raised an eyebrow, surveying Zuko up and down. 

“Is something the matter? Ever since you returned from Sei’naka, you’ve been a bit…distracted. I know you must be anxiously awaiting the return of your betrothed.” 

Torran. Right. 

Zuko did his best to plaster on an expression that at least somewhat mimicked a sense of longing. 

“Yes, I am simply ready for her to be back in the palace. I just sent an air ship to Ba Sing Se to retrieve her and council woman Kyoko. They should arrive back in the Caldera just in time for the council meeting next week,” Zuko said. A dangerous tickle of nerves climbed up his spine at Raijin’s line of questioning. He and Katara had been so damned cautious with their little rendezvous. 

Except…for that one time after taking lunch by the turtleduck ponds together, when they’d been walking back into the palace to continue about their workdays. Katara was wearing Fire Nation red, which always got Zuko all worked up, no matter how much he tried to keep himself in check. And she’d tossed her hair over one shoulder, that too-familiar smell of mint and sage–of her–overpowering him in the worst way. 

He’d yanked Katara into the nearest storage closet and shoved her up against the door, pressing his lips to hers, yanking his cock out. With one hand clasped over her mouth to keep her from being too loud, he scooped Katara up and made love to her, whispering filthy moans into her ear. 

It was quick, and raw, and gritty. The closet was dark and damp and she’d wiggled free of his hold over her lips to clamp her teeth down on his neck, leaving bruised bite marks in her wake. 

She’d insisted on healing Zuko after they’d both finished together in the same frenzied, hurried breath. 

Zuko knew it had been a reckless thing to do. The palace staff always seemed to be lurking in some hidden, shadowed corner where he would least expect them to be. And they saw everything. 

But he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off of her. 

Did Raijin know about that secret, quick encounter in the storage closet? Did he know, too, about the relationship Zuko was hiding with Katara? 

Everything–all his credibility, his honor, his dependability–would fall apart if anyone thought him to be unfaithful to Torran. He and Katara wouldn’t have a prayer of appealing the marriage law. When they’d arrived back at the palace, Zuko had half a mind to just make the formal announcement about the broken engagement on his own, just so he didn’t have to hide Katara any longer. 

But he knew that was hardly fair to Torran, especially with a mother as judgemental and callous as hers. One who would already berate the poor girl for not doing everything in her power to claim the illustrious title of Fire Lady. 

No, Zuko had dragged Torran headlong into this. And she had every right to be present, to maintain some shred of autonomy, when their upcoming nuptials were called off. 

“Are you sure it was a wise idea to make Torran a curator?” Raijin asked, tapping the papers of his coveted budget on the edge of the desk, squaring them up. “It’s rare that a Fire Lady takes a role within the palace other than simply…being Fire Lady.” 

Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t really wanted to tell Raijin, or anyone, about Torran’s new position within the palace. But he figured the less lies he had to keep tabs on, the better. And he certainly did not want to fabricate a reason for why she was in Ba Sing Se when he could simply be honest about this small part of it all.  

Annoyance spiked in him, then. Zuko knew perfectly well that Raijin subscribed to some of the more traditional customs of the Fire Nation. But Zuko was beginning to tire of all the orthodoxy. Was his reign as Fire Lord not supposed to usher in a time of change within their country? 

“Well,” Zuko said sardonically, “Perhaps some traditions are meant to be broken.” 

There was a desperate edge to his voice when he spoke, a sort of sadness that he could not manage to shake. 

Zuko was losing precious time meant to be tangled up with Katara, here, talking to Raijin about duties and responsibilities and budgets. He found himself all at once ready to be out of this office and back in his bedchambers. 

Raijin, for all his flaws, could at the very least tell when he was being dismissed. He rose, taking his stack of papers with him. 

“I’ll present our most recent edits to the budget at the next council meeting. Any council members requesting last-minute changes after that will have to meet with me privately to discuss.” 

Zuko groaned internally at that. Raijin, as Grand Advisor, had always handled the budget–that was one of his expected duties within the role. But Zuko–always making an effort to keep his ear to the ground–had heard grumblings recently. Raijin was finicky and particular. He wanted things done a certain way, and liked to have control. 

His method of hoarding the budget documents like a dragon and forcing council members to make appointments to talk about the Fire Nation’s monetary allocations was becoming less and less popular amongst the other council members. And the last thing Zuko needed was in-fighting amongst his council. 

Zuko had meant to bring it up to Raijin many times already, but never quite had the heart to follow through.

He thought about doing it now. But the memory of Katara’s fingers gripping at the muscles of his back as she moaned his name was far too tempting of a draw. She was somewhere in this palace, and he had to get to her soon. 

Did that make him a bad Fire Lord? 

Maybe.

But there were far worse things he could do, than to love a woman as stunning and brilliant as Katara. 

“Sounds fine to me, Raijin,” Zuko said. The Grand Advisor exited the office, precious documents in hand. 

Zuko forced himself to stay seated and count to one hundred before stealing out into the hallway and nearly sprinting to his bedchambers. 

Only to find Suki standing outside his door, in full Kyoshi garb. While this was certainly not cause for any major alarm, Suki had certainly been working hard over the past few weeks to relinquish the chokehold she had on Zuko’s safety. Part of her mission to trust her warriors was letting them do their jobs so she could get a good night’s sleep and not stand vigil outside the royal bedchambers all night, every night. 

“Suki?” Zuko asked, trying to taper down the slight nervousness in his voice. “Is everything alright?” 

She turned to him then, the cat that caught the canary. 

Dread sluiced through Zuko. Not because he could tell in an instant that Suki had sussed out the truth about him and Katara, but because she was going to use it as a means to mess with him constantly. 

“Have a good day at work, lover boy?” she asked, winking. 

“I cannot fathom how Sokka puts up with you,” he said, slapping a hand against his forehead. 

“Better be nice to me, Zuko. Get in my good graces and I can make sure the coast is clear for all your secret storage closet hook-ups.” 

Zuko’s cheeks flamed red at that, embarrassment slicing through him. “How did you know about that?” 

“I have my ways,” she said with an evil, maniacal laugh that sounded almost villainous. 

Zuko’s heart stuttered in his chest. Suki wasn’t just anybody–she certainly had eyes and ears all over the palace. But if she had found out about him and Katara, was it only a matter of time before others did, as well? 

She must have seen the panic on his face, because she rolled her eyes, punching Zuko playfully in the shoulder. “Relax. I pried it out of Katara. Although she did not give up that information willingly. I haven’t seen Sokka in over a month now and I was just dying to hear what you two have been doing to each other–” 

“Okay, I’m going to my bedchambers now,” Zuko said, cutting her off before she could finish that particular sentence and moving to push past her. She sidestepped quickly, blocking his path. 

“Oh, come on. I’m doing you a favor tonight, so let me make my jokes.” 

Zuko arched a brow suspiciously at her. A smile cracked beneath the layer of delicate paint marking her face. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, now that I know about you and Katara, it certainly makes it easier for me to make sure nobody but my warriors gets wind of what’s going on. They’ll protect you two, keep your secrets. No more sneaking through windows and around gardens.”  

Zuko nearly collapsed beneath the relief of it all. Even if they only had days left to enjoy this new-found privacy–it would certainly be an improvement over clambering up the trellis to get access to Katara’s room, or feigning some minor emergency to distract the warrior on guard duty. 

Although, it was likely the Kyoshi warriors had already pieced together what was going on. Now, at least, nobody had to feign ignorance. 

“Thank you, Suki.” 

She nodded, earnest. 

“I’m happy for you two. I hope it all works out, in the end.” 

“Me too,” Zuko agreed solemnly. 

“Now, go enjoy yourself. She’s in there waiting for you.” 

Zuko’s spine straightened all at once. Suki opened the door wide and he surged in, slamming it closed behind him. 

His bedchambers were dark, lit only by the low light of flickering candles. 

And on his bed, completely bare and without a stitch of clothing on, was Katara, flat on her back. Her hair was braided in a halo around her face, leaving nothing covered, her nipples peaked and hard already. 

She leaned back into the mass of pillows on his bed, tilting her head to examine him, all the clothing he had on. 

“Take it all off for me,” she told him without pretense, voice low and lilting. Straight to the heart of the matter. Not that Zuko was complaining. 

He responded slowly, even though every base, animal instinct humming in his veins begged him to strip to nothing and fuck her senseless. 

But no, he’d been dreaming of this all damn day, barely able to contain his wanton desire as he stared at numbers and spreadsheets. And he was going to make this last, make it sweet. For both of them. 

He pulled off the semi-formal robes he wore during day-to-day meetings as Fire Lord before yanking off his tunic as well, leaving his chest bare, scar exposed. It would never be something he was proud of, but he felt less insecure about it now. 

Katara rewarded this by tracing one hand slowly–so slowly–across the peaked mounds of her chest, teasing over her skin, before dropping her finger down to touch her clit. It was a feather-light, tentative touch. Gentle. Soft. His mouth watered at the sight. 

Zuko kicked off his shoes and unfastened his belt before removing it, inch by inch, from the loops of his pants. 

Katara dipped two fingers down past her clit now, plunging them deep within herself, arching into the mattress. 

Her body was so perfect. 

He crawled slowly onto the blankets, his body directly opposite from hers. His feet curled up by her head, and he let his hands trace gently along the smooth, muscled curves of her legs. He loved that about her–she was a master waterbender, and had not come by that title lightly. The work Katara put into her craft was evident on every line of her body. 

Her fingers continued to work at her soft center, and Zuko traded his hands for his mouth, pressing light, sweet kisses along the inner corner of her knee. 

“I’ve been waiting all day to see you,” he said, propping himself up on one elbow, drinking her in–watching, raptly, as she touched herself. “Clearly, the feeling is not mutual, however.” 

“Shut up,” Katara laughed, rolling her eyes. 

Zuko loved that these deep, intimate moments could be interspaced with jokes and laughter. That they could be joking and silly with one another and it felt so natural. 

“Please, Spirits, let me finish work every day and come back to Katara naked in my bed,” he said in a mock prayer, bending down once more to kiss along the line of her calf. 

“You almost took too long. I nearly made myself come all alone,” she said. 

“Now that,” Zuko groaned. “Would have been a tragedy.” He grabbed one of Katara’s thighs in his palm. In a quick, smooth motion, he flipped her over so that her soft, glistening center hovered just above his mouth. Her knees braced on either side of his head, and she was angled down with her face looking at where his cock was trapped beneath his undershorts, the last scrap of clothing he had on. 

“Feeling adventurous today, Fire Lord?” Katara asked in that sultry, mocking way. Her fingers ran beneath the band of his undershorts, slowly sliding them down his hips, yanking them off. 

In response, Zuko took his index fingers and pressed, one knuckle at a time, into the warmth of Katara’s cunt. He followed shortly after with his tongue, licking just barely along her clit–the smallest, feather-light brush. 

Spirits alive, she tasted so good. So unbelievably good. 

Zuko pulled away, pressing tiny kisses along the backs of both her thighs. What a view, all of her wetness on full display for him, free to be savored. 

“That’s an awful lot of teasing from someone in a position that is currently reliant on me to make her finish,” he said, licking at her slowly again. 

Katara took him in her mouth all at once, then, to the hilt. She hummed as she did it, and he felt the vibration all the way in his spine. 

Zuko loved this predicament he’d put them in–both fully in control of the other’s pleasure. 

He felt his cock spring free of her mouth with a moist popping sound before she started to run her tongue up and down the full length of him, over the head–slow, tortuous. 

They licked and sucked at each other in tandem. 

So this was how it would be, then. A game to see who could keep from plummeting off the edge of pleasure first. 

Zuko worked another finger inside of Katara, then. 

“Zuko,” she groaned, writhing against him. “No fair.” 

He gripped a handful of her ass in his fingers, pressing his tongue flat against her clit and working her. The sweet slick of her coated his chin. 

She responded by taking his cock all the way to the back of her mouth, bobbing up and down in a tantalizing motion. 

Everything in him started to tighten, and he felt an all-too-familiar wave of pleasure spike through his nervous system. 

Spirits. He had meant to torture her, but he was barelling headfirst towards an orgasm if she kept on worshiping him in this way. 

“You take me so well, Katara. I love how my cock feels in your mouth,” he pulled away from his focus on her clit to talk to her, in an attempt to bring her nearer to the edge. 

Zuko was delighted to see that it worked. She began to wriggle and squirm, but he held her legs firmly in place.

He doubled down, alternating between pumping his fingers into her, licking at her, and talking low and dirty. 

“Let go, baby. You can come apart for me,” he encouraged. 

She had Zuko in her mouth when she came, and the moan that vibrated from the base of her throat and up around his cock sent him spiraling into a world of pleasure only a half-second later. He pulsed into her mouth, and she drank him down in greedy swallows. 

They fell onto the bed together and Zuko climbed up the blankets, gathering her in his arms, their breathing ragged. 

“I love you,” Katara murmured as they began to come down from the height of their desire. 

“I love you, too,” he said, pressing a delicate kiss to her forehead. 

After eating dinner and bathing in the large copper tub in Zuko’s bedchambers–as promised–they curled into bed together. 

Katara fell into the embrace of sleep immediately, but as he inched closer towards the rising dawn, Zuko couldn’t seem to do the same. The time he was guaranteed with Katara was quickly running out. Torran and Kyoko would be back in the Caldera soon. The council meeting was in only a matter of days. 

Zuko had sworn, up and down, that he would do right by his people. He would not be a dictator, would not cast aside laws and rules just for the fact that he didn’t like them, did not agree with them. 

That had been a practice of Ozai. Now, there was a system in place. A council that had a real say, a people who were truly represented. 

But as he clutched Katara tight in his arms that night, he couldn’t help but feel a little tempted by the full, undeniable power he could wield as Fire Lord. 

And it terrified him.

Notes:

Fun fact!! Now that the plot with the Sei'naka clan is fully resolved--the clan is actually a part of canon! I took some creative liberties with the details, but it actually exists in the ATLA universe (only in the comic books, though, I think!) I stumbled upon the noble clans and Sei'naka in particular on the Avatar Wiki page while in the outlining stage of this fic. The fact that Sei'naka had no exports other than the skills of its people fit into my plot so well, so I thought it would be fun to include a little piece of canon! Hope you enjoyed some soft and fun smut, we have A COUNCIL MEETING COMING UP YA'LL!

Chapter 21: The Council

Katara

 

Katara woke in Zuko’s bed the morning of the council meeting. 

There was a heavy weight that came with the day, before the sun had even fully risen, and she burrowed deep into his chest. The blankets and sheets were warm, as always–Zuko had heated them for her the last time he woke in the night. 

But he was asleep now, lost deep in his dreams. 

They had stayed up late–until the stars had winked out of existence and the gray light of dawn had crawled into the sky. Talking and planning and holding tight to one another, knowing that this might be the very last time they could do so freely. And then, before falling into slumber, they made love–gentle, sweet, reverent. Katara had cried as Zuko clasped her body close to his, wondering if this beautiful thing they had built together was about to be pried away from her. 

He’d wiped at her tears, kissing them away. 

And now–in the safety of his arms, she allowed herself a few moments to memorize the way he looked as he slept. Unguarded. Relaxed. Safe. 

Kyoko and Torran had arrived in the Caldera only yesterday afternoon, just in the nick of time. Katara had every intention of meeting their air ship on the landing pad as it docked, but had gotten a bit caught up transcribing Southern Tribe texts in the library. 

She’d been hunched over, quill in hand, when Kyoko’s hand came down on her wrist out of nowhere, dragging her out of her seat and back into a forgotten corner of the library, Torran only steps behind. 

The two women had cornered Katara, far out of ear shot of anyone else, sequestered behind a dusty, dark shelf of tomes that hadn’t been opened in the better part of a decade. 

“Tell us everything,” Torran said, beaming. 

Katara realized, after Zuko’s engagement had been broken off, that she had no ill will against Torran. At the end of the day, Katara was simply angry that Torran had been given the freedom to love the Fire Lord out loud. 

But, as Zuko had confessed to Katara on those slow, lazy days on Ember Island–he had never really loved Torran at all. They had never been anything close to intimate–had, at most–only exchanged a chaste kiss or two. 

Logically, Katara knew that made sense. She never caught them nuzzled close together, or holding each other tight. But she had allowed herself to misread everything because she was just so unbearably jealous. Every time Zuko pulled a chair out for Torran, or set his hand on the small of her back to guide her forward–it set alarm bells screaming in Katara’s head. But that was all simply Zuko being kind and respectful towards the woman he was intended to marry. 

Besides–while Torran may have been free to love Zuko publicly…there were many other ways the poor woman was bound and restrained. Katara hadn’t realized, until Zuko had explained it, how much pressure Torran’s own mother was putting on her to be a perfect bride, revered for nothing but her marital eligibility. 

So, against all odds, Katara found herself whispering to Torran and Kyoko behind cupped hands all about how Zuko had confessed his feelings for her on Ember Island. She kept private the more intimate moments they’d shared together. Even if Torran and Zuko hadn’t worked out, they had once been engaged. 

Besides, Katara had Suki to confide in when she wanted to talk about all the ways Zuko positively ravished her. 

But Katara still shared many details with Kyoko and Torran. They ate it up, surely drawing attention to their little hidden section of the library. 

It had felt, for just a moment, like a version of herself that Katara could have been, had she not been dragged head-first into the brutalities of war at such a young age. Sitting and giggling about boys, as if there were no bigger problems in the world. 

Katara knew, deep in her bones, that she was rather fortunate Torran had turned out not only to be a friend, but also an ally–that she was content with her books, and did not want to become entrenched in a rather political love triangle. 

Because things certainly looked better for her and Zuko, challenging the marriage law, if Torran was on board, too. 

Indeed, the four of them had taken dinner in Zuko’s study last night, talking late and carefully planning out exactly what they were going to say to the council. 

And now…now there was no more hiding from it. 

Katara sat up in bed, placing a delicate kiss on the exposed, scarred side of Zuko’s face. He stirred just a bit, but remained asleep. The sun was not yet up. He would rise on his own when it began to pour over the horizon. 

Katara went to the bathing room, where she had hung up the clothes she planned to wear for the meeting today. Kyoko, about Katara’s size, had brought over miles and miles worth of dresses and skirts, paired with heaps of golden jewelry, in an effort to make Katara look as Fire Nation as possible. 

And Katara had never minded wearing the red of the Fire Nation. In fact, she saw how much it riled Zuko up when she was wrapped in the colors of his country. 

But for this council meeting–she would not dilute herself. She needed the council to know that if she and Zuko were to eventually wed, if she was to one day be–and she could hardly believe herself saying it–Fire Lady, she would be one who straddled two cultures. She would not depart from the ways of the South, but would find a way to blend the worlds she lived in. 

So, after much consideration, she took one of Kyoko’s red skirts and paired it with a formal white and blue top she often wore to official meetings in the south. She threaded gold beads into her hair and settled her mother’s engagement necklace against her throat. One foot in the Fire Nation, one foot in the Southern Tribe. 

And as she lined her eyes with light swipes of kohl, she thought about everything that could go wrong today. But it was too much–if she allowed herself to linger in the doubt, in the ambiguity. 

All Katara could do was hope for the best. 

“You look beautiful,” Zuko’s weary voice came from the threshold of the bathing room. Katara loved seeing him like this–dressed in only linen pants, slung low about his waist. No shirt, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His hair, grown out past his shoulders now, mussed and messy. 

He crossed to where Katara was seated before the mirror, before bending and pressing a kiss to her temple. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

Katara could feel emotion choking her throat again–too-familiar tears welling up once more.

Zuko saw this all at once, and took her face in his hands, wiping gently at the corner of her eyes. 

“No matter what happens, Katara,” he said, kissing her nose. “Remember, always. I love you. You are mine, and I am yours. Through all time.” 

Katara did not have the words to speak, so she just leaned into the warm comfort of his embrace. 

Zuko dressed quickly in the formal robes he wore for council meetings. Katara drank him in ravenously, knowing, at the forefront of her mind, that she absolutely had to savor every last moment she had with him. She couldn’t believe how quickly their two weeks together had flown by, ripped from her hands like grains of sand in the wind. 

Once Zuko was dressed, Katara commanded him to sit down. 

Taking a brush, she pulled his hair away from his face, gathering half of it up into a topknot before securing it with the golden headpiece signifying him as Fire Lord.

She realized, then, the intimacy there was to be found in these small, domestic moments. And though she was still not ready to be called wife or mother, she felt herself inching closer and closer to that reality. 

It had been terrifying, facing down this reality with Aang. He was her friend, but he would not have supported her in the way a partner should have. 

But with Zuko–Katara could see glimpses of what the future could be. She could see him rearranging his schedule, cramming things into place, to be in the South whenever she had important meetings to attend to. She could see him ensuring their wedding had elements of both their cultures. She could see him, Spirits forbid, pacing about his office with a sleeping baby in his arms. 

It started an ache in her that she knew she would never be able to heal from, should this meeting go badly. 

Domesticity, she was starting to realize, was not necessarily a burden to be shackled with, but a goal to achieve. A life to work towards. And Zuko would work with her. 

“Are you ready?” she asked. Katara’s voice was tight, high. Too full of emotion. She needed to taper it down, get herself in control. She couldn’t allow herself to appear weak in front of the council, not when so much hinged on this meeting. 

Zuko nodded, rising and taking her hand. 

 

+++

 

Katara stood between Zuko and Torran, in the quiet of the large palace hallway. 

They had planned and rehearsed this a million times, the optics of it. Once the council was seated, Zuko always entered last, as Fire Lord. But this time, he would not enter alone. 

The large wooden door to the council room swung open then, revealing Suki, whom Zuko had personally requested be running security today. Partially because he did not want anything getting out of hand, and partially because…well, they needed all the moral support they could get. 

Suki surveyed the trio standing, nervously, in the hall. 

“The council is ready for you, Fire Lord Zuko,” she said. Her voice was that of the perfect, poised Captain of the Guard. But Katara could see her sister-in-law’s eyes brimming with emotion, with a dangerous hope. The eyes never lie. 

Katara allowed herself one last look back at Torran, standing just behind them. 

“Thank you,” she whispered to Zuko’s former fiancee. She had said it a million times to the girl, but it never felt like enough. Torran certainly did not have to put herself under the insatiable scrutiny of the council. But she was doing it nonetheless. 

“Let’s go,” Zuko said. Katara’s spine straightened, her eyes narrowed. Zuko offered his arm, and she took it, trying not to think too hard about how this might be the first and last time she might be publicly able to do so. 

And together, they walked into the council room, Torran following in their wake. 

The council room, full of chatter and laughter, fell silent all at once–Kyoko was the only council member who had any idea of what was about to transpire. 

Katara could feel fourteen pairs of eyes following her, watching her intently–boring holes directly into the fabric of her soul. She did her best to meet and hold each stare, did her best to keep her back erect and her arm rested comfortably atop Zuko’s, despite the emotion raging, like a churning storm, in her stomach. 

She hadn’t eaten a bite of food for breakfast–hadn’t even been able to swallow down a sip of tea, her nerves were running so amuck. 

As they walked forward, under the watchful gaze of the Fire Council, Katara made certain to meet Raijin’s scornful gaze with one of equal reproach. She was hardly a fan of Zuko’s Grand Advisor. She knew, deep down, that her ire for him was petty. He had been the only council member who had denied her invitation to the Glacier Spirit Festival in the South, claiming he needed to remain at the helm of the Fire Nation while everyone else was gone.

Which, she supposed, made sense. But still…it had felt like a snub on her culture. 

So Katara held his stare with dutiful contempt, until she, Zuko, and Torran, came to a stop before the council. 

Every step, every move had been planned and practiced. No detail was spared. There were two chairs, now, at the head of the U-shaped table. Zuko stopped and pulled one out for Katara, motioning for her to sit, before he, too, took his place beside her. 

Equals. Katara and Zuko would only ever be equals. 

Torran, too, knew exactly what to do. She stood just over Katara’s shoulder–not Zuko’s. And it was Torran who stepped forward to speak, the minute Zuko finished calling the meeting to order. 

“I am here today to formally renounce my engagement to Fire Lord Zuko. We will not be wed; however, I will stay on at the palace in my new role as Curator of the Royal Library. I look forward to working with you all in this capacity, and thank you for your consideration of me as a potential Fire Lady.” 

Katara had to give it to Torran–she knew how to deliver a firm message behind a docile, well-placed smile. But Katara supposed that was a skill her mother had drilled into her from a very, very young age. 

Torran stepped back, and Katara turned to face the silent council room. 

It was Raijin who put the pieces together the quickest–who realized what it meant for Torran to be calling off her engagement while Katara sat at Zuko’s side. He spoke first, eyes drilling into Katara, as if she was not a powerful political figure–the ambassador to the Southern Tribe–but rather nothing more than a common whore, sitting half-naked in front of the council. 

“You certainly have developed a taste for powerful men,” he said. 

“Better than a taste for weak ones,” Katara bit back. 

Her retort was too quick, too curt. Raijin’s eyes narrowed in anger, but at the back of the room, Katara caught Suki–half-cloaked in shadow, out of sight–hiding a smile behind one hand.

“Raijin,” Zuko said, his voice admonishing, “You will mind how you speak to Master Katara.” 

The rest of the council seemed to catch on all at once to what was going on, and a litany of whispers struck up, flashing across the room like wildfire eating up dry grass. 

“You are the Fire Lord. You can’t marry a waterbender!” One of the council members finally called out across the great expanse of the room. 

“And why not?” Zuko asked, genuine confusion across his face. It wasn’t any sort of act, any sort of posturing. He honestly, truly, did not understand it–why the people of the world, the people of his own country, could marry outside of their nationality. But he could not. 

“Because of the heirs, of course,” another councilor spoke up. “What if you sire a waterbender? How would that look?” 

Zuko shook his head then, disappointment lining the edges of his face. 

“I hardly think that is the worst thing the Fire Nation has done in the last century,” he said. Katara thought, in that moment, that Zuko might have picked up a thing or two from all the time he’d spent with her, because his words held no heat whatsoever. They were pure, biting ice. 

“We did tell Fire Lord Zuko he must wed,” one of the younger councilors stuck up, a bemused look on her face. “There were no particulars in the law about whom he had to marry. He chose the ambassador to the South, and Hakoda’s own daughter, no less. Would it not be a promise of our goodwill, to unite two nations that had for so long stood in such great opposition?” 

Katara smiled, gratefully, at the council member who had spoken on their behalf. Zuko had run her through all their names, who all he believed would side in opposition to the marriage law. The young, grinning woman was Xia. She represented the Fire Islands. 

“Thank you,” Zuko said, nodding in Xia’s direction. “I could not agree more.” 

“I believe it was heavily implied that the Fire Lord would marry a woman of Fire Nation descent,” another, older male council member spoke up. Jo Lin. “Besides, Master Katara just broke off an engagement with the Avatar, of all people. Surely we should be more concerned about the optics of that? We certainly do not want to bring the wrath of Avatar Aang down on the Fire Nation.” 

“Jo Lin, I do not govern my people on implications. If you do not like the wording of an antiquated marriage law, I suggest amending it. Or better yet, throwing it out entirely. We are moving into a new era of peace and prosperity, and it’s time that our old laws changed with us,” Zuko said. He turned to Katara then, one eyebrow raised. He would not speak of her previous engagement to Aang–he knew it was not his place. 

“As for my relationship with the Avatar,” Katara took over without skipping a beat, addressing the council for the first time, “I would hope you would all have a bit more faith in him. He is not a petty child seeking to wage wars on the basis of a break-up.” 

Of course, Aang certainly hadn’t taken things lightly when Katara called off their wedding—but then again, who would have? Katara certainly could have handled the whole situation a bit better. After all, she had waited until the very last moment, putting Aang on the spot in front of the public, simply because she was too afraid to confront her true feelings. 

If she had just been honest with herself years ago, maybe this whole mess could have been avoided. 

But no—she knew better than to look back and regret the nature of such things. The energy of the world pushed and pulled in the way it was supposed to. 

“What is your goal here, Fire Lord Zuko? Your plan? What are you trying to achieve?” One of the councilors spoke up, a white-haired woman with eyes the color of honey, eyes that looked skeptically upon the waterbender before her. 

“I plan, first and foremost, to overturn the marriage law. And then, I will properly court Master Katara. No more talk of love like it is the hurried assignment of a petulant school boy, rushed by deadlines. We will move at our own pace, on our own time. If, one day, she would deign to marry me, then I would be most thrilled with that outcome.” 

Zuko glanced over at Katara as he finished explaining himself to the council. There was a quiet, hopeful promise in those words. 

And Katara couldn’t help but hate herself for what she had done—how she’d made Zuko swear up and down to prioritize his throne over their love. 

In that moment, Katara found herself wishing that she was a different person. 

She found herself wishing that she was stupid and reckless and chaotic, and could find it in her heart to forget about the good of others. For once, just once, she wanted to put herself first. 

“No,” Raijin spoke up then, his words lethal and calm. “Fire Lord Zuko, you are not just some common man who can flit about recklessly, dating whomever you fancy at the moment. You are in charge of an entire country, who looks to you for stability. Our people rely on you to provide a secure future. I’m truly sorry, really, I am. But you are not a person who gets to have a love match. You must wed, and you must wed a Fire Nation woman of good stock and breeding.” 

In the end, it was Raijin who unleashed Zuko’s anger. Raijin, who Zuko had trusted so implicitly in those tentative, nervous days when he’d first assumed the throne. Raijin, who had mentored and taught the young Fire Lord in the ways of being a ruler, after Iroh had moved on to Ba Sing Se. Raijin, who had defended Zuko’s birthright whenever anyone stood in opposition. 

Zuko stood suddenly, fists curled, and from where she sat beside him, Katara could feel the intense heat roiling off his hands–a barely contained fire brimming just below the surface. 

“You sound an awful lot like my father when you speak that way, Raijin,” Zuko said, shaking his head with disappointment. “And we all know what happened to him.” 

“Is that a threat, Fire Lord?” Raijin challenged.

“It’s a promise,” Zuko snarled. His voice ticked up in volume. “I will take no bride, and I will sire no heirs, unless it is with Master Katara of the Southern Water Tribe.” 

The council room fell silent at Zuko’s declaration, and Katara’s heart skittered to a complete stop in her chest at his words–at how he was putting himself so fully on the line.

“Then I will remove you from the throne and I will rule in your stead,” Raijin said, rising as well. 

Zuko opened his mouth to speak, but Katara placed her hand atop his arm. She could see the anger that had been so prevalent in his youth swelling to the surface, and she knew Zuko was bound for a collision course he would not recover from if he didn’t get himself in check soon. 

“I believe this is a council, is it not?” Katara asked, injecting her voice with a clear, level calm that she certainly did not feel. “And these matters should be put to a vote.” 

Zuko inhaled a deep breath before sitting once more, unclenching his fists as he did so. Katara wasn’t entirely sure the last time she’d seen him this angry. 

Across the table, Raijin sat as well. 

Katara exhaled a deep sigh of relief as the two men kept their tempers in check. 

At the far end of the council table; however, she caught Xia, one of the councilors, tampering down a smile. 

Katara wanted to contemplate what she could possibly find amusing in this moment, but had to keep herself focused on the task at hand. 

“I move to revoke the marriage law requiring the Fire Lord to wed at age twenty-one. All those in favor?” Zuko asked.

Hands shot up across the council room, and Katara’s breath caught in her lungs. She quickly counted, tabulating the number in her mind. She saw Kyoko’s hand, and Xia’s, along with several other councilors. It was close. It was going to be so close. 

But it was not going to be enough. 

Seven. 

Including Zuko, only seven of fifteen councilors were voting to strike down the marriage law. 

Katara’s chest was heavy with the sting of loss. Tears sprung in her eyes and forced them away, looking down at where her hands were clasped in her lap. 

Underneath the table, where nobody could see, Zuko twined his fingers tightly through hers. One last tentative, gentle touch. 

Because Katara had made him promise that he would not give up his birthright. And if he was anything, he was a man of his word. 

You will not relinquish the throne, no matter what happens. Even if it means you are to be wed to someone else.

Stupid. How stupid of her. 

Everything that held her together slowly started ripping apart. She could not bring herself to look over at Zuko, or the sob that was barely contained at the back of her throat might just come choking forward. 

And she would not allow herself to look weak before these people. 

“Well,” Raijin said, his voice annoyingly smug. “It looks like the majority rules. The marriage law stands. Since Torran has wisely untangled herself from this mess you have made, we will get another bride lined up for you, Zuko. Perhaps Lady Mai and her family are still interested.” 

Katara did not miss the fact that Raijin took the opportunity to leave out Zuko’s title, addressing him only by name. 

And she did not miss the fact that Zuko did not say anything about it. 

It was as if a giant hand was reaching down from the sky and squeezing Katara’s insides. She couldn’t breathe quite right, couldn’t look at anything but the place where Zuko’s thumb ran gently over the top of her hand, quiet and reassuring. 

Warm. So warm. 

She tried to be optimistic about the fact that in the end, Zuko could at least have Mai–someone he knew and trusted, someone he had once loved. Better than a stranger, for him. 

But Katara knew that she would remain loveless and lonely for the rest of her days. She would not wed. She would never again feel those nervous, fluttering butterflies taking over her stomach after a kiss. She would never fall asleep, wrapped in warmth and a sense of safe, secure calm. 

Would Zuko learn to feel these things, for his future wife, in time? Would he move on and forget what he and Katara had once shared? 

“Now,” Raijin said, “With this matter handled, I see no reason for anyone without a seat on this council to remain here any longer.” 

It was a clear dismissal of Katara and Torran, but neither of them made an attempt to move. They did not answer to Raijin, or this council. They would leave only if Zuko told them to. 

And this, Katara could tell, bothered Raijin. 

“Well?” The Grand Advisor asked impatiently. “We have matters to attend to.” 

Finally, Katara allowed herself to look up at Zuko, and found him already watching her. Waiting. And she knew, in that moment, all she had to do was give the smallest nod, and he would throw his weight around as Fire Lord to simply strike down this law. 

But that was not the way Zuko wanted to rule. This was not the world they had fought so hard for. And if Zuko overruled the council on this matter, where was the line? What would stop him from overruling anything he disagreed with in the future? Refusing to cede to the council here and now would launch them into a dangerously gray area. 

It would not put them on the same level as Ozai or Sozin–who had orchestrated genocides and wiped out entire nations–but it was putting them one step closer to the dictators they were trying so desperately to distance themselves from. 

Katara shook her head, then. Zuko simply had to follow the ruling of the council on this matter. Even if it meant he would marry Mai, or some other Fire Nation royal. 

A crack splintered in Katara’s chest. 

Zuko would be a fever she could never sweat out, a lost love that would haunt her until the end of her days. 

“I’m sorry,” Zuko whispered, so low that only Katara could hear. 

Zuko and Katara rose in unison. She turned to him, in front of his council members, and Spirits and customs and propriety be damned, she wanted these people to see what they were doing to her. 

She threw her arms around Zuko, embracing him for what she knew would be the last time. 

“I love you,” she whispered into his hair.

“I love you, too.” His voice was choked with sadness, with painful restraint. She knew Zuko would raze the council room to the ground, if he was not so bound and determined to be a good Fire Lord. 

He pulled apart from her, and before she could turn to go, Zuko took her face in his hands and placed a slow, solemn kiss to her lips. 

Katara could not stop the tears, then. 

When they finally broke apart, she did not allow herself to look out at the council. She did not allow herself to make eye contact with Suki or Kyoko. Instead, she turned to where Torran was waiting. The two girls hooked elbows and walked, with as much dignity and composure as they could muster, out of the council room. 

As soon as the doors were closed, Katara collapsed, sobbing, into Torran’s outstretched arms. 

 

+++

 

It was late that evening when Katara finally collected the last of her things together and stepped into the hallway outside her room, facing down the door to Zuko’s bedchambers for the final time. She was dressed in her travel clothes and her face was red and splotchy from crying all afternoon, and well into the evening. 

Katara had always believed in fighting the good fight, going on until the very end. 

But she also knew to admit when she had been defeated–and this, certainly, was one of those times. 

She and Zuko, for all their differences, were also strikingly similar. Neither of them had been able to stomach seeing one another after the council meeting was dismissed. They both knew they were too weak to remain steady in their convictions if they got their hands on one another. 

Kyoko, Suki, and Torran had flitted around Katara all afternoon like fussy queen bees after the council meeting ended–as Katara had laid down in bed and allowed herself to cry for a good long while, and then as she’d finally forced herself to stand and bathe. The three women continued to hover in her room while she got up the courage to throw open her wardrobe doors and start neatly folding her things.  

Katara had hardly spoken to them, other than to ask that an air ship be arranged to depart tonight, bound for the Southern Tribe. But she had not dismissed them, until about an hour ago. There was something comforting about their presence. Katara found comfort in the fact that–for once–somebody was mothering her, instead of the other way around. 

Now, it was time for Katara to go home. 

But, unlike after she had broken her engagement to Aang, she would not go running off into the night, barely escaping with a scrap of dignity. 

No, this time, she would allow herself the opportunity to properly say goodbye to Zuko now that she had composed herself. She would walk out of the Caldera with as much pride as she could summon up, her head held high. 

Katara sucked in a deep breath and crossed the hallway, her feet quiet on the plush, crimson carpet, before knocking twice on Zuko’s bedchamber door. 

She should have expected, of course, that it would be a flurry of activity. Torran was seated on the couch, surrounded by piles of books, flipping quickly through pages as she skimmed through information. 

Suki was on the floor across from Torran, squinting hard at what looked like an extremely dated scroll, trying to make heads or tails of it. 

It was Kyoko who opened the door, a stain of ink swiped across her jaw line. 

“Katara!” the council woman called out. 

All heads snapped up to look at her at once, but it was only Zuko that Katara ever paid attention to. 

He looked like hell, seated at the large oak desk up against one corner. 

His eyes were swollen, dark bags evident beneath the gold of his irises. He’d pulled out the golden crown he wore to the council meeting, but his hair was still half-up in the topknot Katara had tied for him this morning. Except, now, it was messy and askew, dark strands falling into his face. 

“What–what are you all doing?” Katara asked, confused. 

“Looking for a loophole to the law,” Torran answered plainly, her focus already back at the books stacked about her. 

Katara’s heart sank, truly, at that. At how far Zuko and their friends were willing to go to make this right. 

“There’s no need. I’ve just finished packing my things, an air ship is ready to depart for the South at the top of the hour. I just came to say goodbye.” 

Everyone spoke all at once, voices intertwining and overlapping, a tapestry of dissent. 

“I’ll travel with you–” 

“If I can have twenty more minutes–” 

“We can give you two some privacy–” 

“Please don’t–” 

Zuko’s sad, desperate plea was nearly drowned out by all the other protests around him. But Katara saw him. Katara always saw him. 

But she held her hand up, silencing her friends. 

“It’s for the best this way. It’s time for me to go,” Katara said. She had no more tears left; she was all cried out by now. “Thank you all for everything you have done for me, for…us.” 

Zuko swiped a hand over his face, searching hopelessly for some last way out of this mess. But they both knew there was none. When they had confessed their feelings for one another on Ember Island, Katara and Zuko had always known this was a possible–even probable–outcome. They had the two weeks together they’d dreamed of. And now it was time to go their separate ways. 

Kyoko sighed, shaking her head. 

“Come on, I’ll walk with you. I have a meeting with Raijin at the top of the hour anyway. Since apparently the only way to get access to the annual budget is to meet with him in person,” she lamented, clearly annoyed with the Grand Councilor. 

Katara nodded, watching Zuko as he slowly, sadly, broke eye contact with her and turned back to the papers before him, making it painfully clear that he was not going to stop searching for a loophole to the marriage law until the last possible moment. 

She wished he would give it up. 

Katara let herself watch him as he licked at his thumb before tabbing through the stack of parchment on the desk. 

Realization hit her, so clearly, all at once, that it may as well have been a lightning strike. 

She turned to Kyoko. 

“Wait. What did you say?” 

“Just that I have a meeting with Raijin. You would think that budget was made of gold itself the way he hoards the damn thing,” Kyoko said with an annoyed wave of her hand. 

Every thought in Katara’s mind eddied out, replaced by white noise and crackling static. Only one fact repeated, on loop, across her brain. 

Black Jade is a potent and slow acting poison that must be consumed.

Black Jade is a potent and slow acting poison that must be consumed. 

How many times had she watched Zuko lick his thumb as he flicked through the papers? How many times had she been turned on by that very motion? 

“Zuko,” Katara took one step forward, then another. His head shot up at the despairing tone in her voice. “Who has unsupervised access to the budget besides you and Raijin?” 

The Fire Lord’s brow arched in confusion before he replied. “Nobody.” 

A choked, half-desperate laugh peeled from Katara’s lips. “And what were you working on in your office before you were poisoned?” 

Zuko’s eyes went wide as realization dawned on him, painfully, instantly. 

“The budget,” he whispered. 

“It wasn’t the apples by the turtleduck pond that were laced with Black Jade. It was the budget papers. It was Raijin who tried to kill you.”

Notes:

I might be a bit slower with these final chapters! I am unfortunately the eldest daughter facing down the first Christmas season after my parents divorce LMAO. But I promise I am still here and writing!

Chapter 22: The Burn

Zuko

 

A fragile, tender flame fluttered in Zuko’s hand as he knelt beside Torran, providing the smallest bit of light for her to see by in the dim, dark of the library. 

They were back in one of the work rooms, sorting through the books she had just brought back from Ba Sing Se. 

Katara, Suki, and Kyoko had all insisted on coming to the library as well to hunt down the information they badly needed about the Black Jade poison. But right now, stealth was the name of the game. They could not confront Raijin without proof of such a bold accusation, and if the Grand Advisor caught wind that there were suspicions of his wrong doing…they would lose their advantage, their upper hand. 

He would either bolt, or he would find a way to weasel his way out of this. 

Zuko couldn’t stomach either scenario–he wanted Raijin to pay for what he had done. 

How had he not seen it? Other than Kyoko, Raijin was his closest confidant on the council. From the beginning of his tenure as Fire Lord, Zuko had trusted his Grand Advisor implicitly. Had he really been so desperate for some sort of mentor to lean on, that he’d looked past all the warning signs? 

Had there even been any warning signs? 

Raijin was a fussy old man with some rather antiquated ways of thinking–like how he had forced the marriage law down upon Zuko, or insisted that Torran had no place taking on the role of curator–that she should be known only as Fire Lady. He had rudely refused Katara’s invitation to the Glacier Spirit Festival. He insisted on speaking on behalf of the council whenever possible. 

These things were annoying, sure, but…was the Grand Advisor really capable of murder? 

Zuko knew Katara would never make a completely baseless claim, and Raijin’s involvement certainly answered the question of how he had been poisoned. But a small part of Zuko did not want to believe it to be true–that his own judgement had been so far off the mark on who to keep within his inner circle. 

“Here,” Torran whispered, plucking a book out of one of the large crates from King Kuei’s personal library. 

The monarch had been more than generous in the titles he’d sent to the Fire Nation alongside Torran and Kyoko–Zuko could hardly believe how much knowledge was boxed up neatly before him. 

But then again, the Earth King had always been one to indulge in the finer things. If Kuei’s personal library was anything like the rest of his palace, the man likely wouldn’t even notice that these books were gone. 

The spine of the tome was onyx black and fraying at the seams–so ancient Zuko thought it might just be older than the spirit realm itself. 

“I mentioned to the archivist how we’ve been on the hunt for information regarding the Black Jade poison, and how I was finally able to find a title on the topic at Sei’naka. He was practically buzzing with excitement when he showed me this book,” Torran said, flipping gingerly to the index page. 

She ran her finger down the list of chapters until she found what she was looking for. 

“I don’t really think that I was supposed to be given this title,” she admitted, flipping slowly through the book. The pages were warped with time, the spine creaking quietly, as if it would combust into a pile of ash at any given moment. “But I may have casually let it slip how you were poisoned, and we were doing everything we could to track down the culprit. I found this book packaged up on top of the others whenever I was doing final checks before leaving Ba Sing Se.” 

Zuko let out a quiet, humorless laugh at that. 

“Torran,” he admitted, “I cannot fathom how your parents thought it appropriate to waste your talents on being nothing more than someone’s wife.” 

A smile crept up her face at that, a real one, one that Zuko wasn’t sure he’d ever seen from her during the days they’d been engaged. 

“Don’t thank me until we have concrete proof of Raijin’s treason,” she said, turning her focus back to the cracked, stained pages of the book. “I meant to properly read through this, but haven’t had a chance yet. The days since Sei’naka have been a…bit of a whirlwind.” 

Zuko nodded and pushed a modicum of energy into the flame dancing in his palm, giving Torran a little bit more light to see by. The library was dead silent as her eyes skimmed over the lines of text, no sound to be heard except for their quiet breathing and the settling of the old palace architecture. 

Zuko tried to read over her shoulder, but it was a bit hard to see properly when she was hunched over so completely, skimming an index finger along the lines of text. She was reading much faster than Zuko could ever manage, although he was loath to admit it. 

After a few minutes, he gave up entirely on trying to keep up with her, and his thoughts drifted–dangerously–to Katara. He hated the idea that Raijin could be the mastermind behind all this, could somehow be tangled up with the New Ozai Society, even. But this had given Zuko a terrible whiff of hope. If Raijin was off the council, Zuko would not be out of bounds to call for a re-vote over the marriage law. 

Torran’s spine straightened all at once, tearing Zuko from his thoughts. 

“I’ve got something,” she whispered. 

“What is it?” 

“Black Jade is a poison crafted by a tiny tribe. They are sequestered in a remote village in the far mountain ranges of the Earth Kingdom. Almost nobody travels there, and very little is known about the people. The only thing known for certain is that they are the only ones capable of crafting Black Jade. But it’s difficult to get your hands on,” she explained. 

Zuko nodded, remembering Katara saying something similar about the poison. 

“I don’t…I don’t think the tribe ever wanted the public to have access to the poison. But I would imagine that very powerful people forced the tribe into giving it up. Instead of refusing, the tribe leaders took the money for the poison and came up with a failsafe. It says here the vial that the poison comes in is coated with a light dusting of powder. Once the vial is emptied, the powder leaves a large star-shaped burn in its wake,” she explained. “It cannot be healed or removed. If someone tries to wear gloves or bandages while handling the vial, it burns through the material. And much like the Black Jade poison, it’s slow acting. It wouldn’t fully appear until a week later.”

“How is that even possible?” Zuko asked. “I’ve never heard of a substance that can do anything like that.” 

“I’m not sure. This tribe seems extremely well versed in herbs and poisons, though,” Torran said, flipping through the book some more. 

Zuko shook his head, “Whoever handled the Black Jade would have the burn on their hands. I’ve worked with Raijin every week since I was poisoned. He has no such burn. Do you think he knew about it, and had someone else do his bidding?” 

Torran shook her head, pointing to the end of the tome in front of her. “Look, here. There are only three copies of this book in existence…wow, that archivist really should not have given me such a rare edition,” she said, losing her focus. 

“Torran,” Zuko said, directing her back to the present. 

“Right, sorry. I don’t think the burn is common knowledge. They likely would have wanted to keep that information as private as possible.” 

Zuko shook his head. “Raijin is smart, though. Even if he didn’t know about the failsafe, he would have done everything possible to keep himself removed, to leave no trace. I doubt we could ever find any evidence of money exchanged for the poison, or transported here to Raijin. He would have stayed just out of reach, so it could never come back down on him.” 

“But that means there is someone out there, likely several someones, who know the truth,” Torran said. 

“If Raijin is really capable of trying to poison me, then he’s not above killing off those who’ve been doing his dirty work,” Zuko replied. 

Torran’s eyebrows knitted in concentration. “I think it would be smart to try and track down whomever he used to place the poison on the budget papers. I truly don’t think Raijin would have known about the burn, since it wouldn’t have appeared right away.” 

Zuko couldn’t allow himself to be infected with the bright desire that was taking over Torran right now. It was a dangerous game to play. 

“Sure, we can. But that will be like looking for a needle in a haystack. And we might be searching for someone who is either long gone, or even worse–dead. We need to keep looking for other ways to prove it was Raijin.” 

The enthusiasm burning through Torran, however, could not be dimmed. “Right. But it’s a place to start. Come on, let’s go tell the others.” 

Zuko stoked at the fire that burned, constantly, within his chest. But he could not get it to light in the same way it always had. He could not find it within him to match Torran’s enthusiasm as they hurried, sneakily, through the back hallways of the palace. 

When the council had cast their vote to uphold the marriage law, something irreparable within Zuko had shattered. 

What was the point of trying to do right, trying to do good when he couldn’t even have one thing for himself? He couldn’t have this small piece of happiness because of how it looked? 

Was it truly the opinion of his people, who loved love, who flocked to see romance plays every summer, whose stories and literature were filled with the tales of star-crossed lovers, who would have a problem with Katara ruling as Fire Lady? 

Or was it the stuffy old council members, clinging to the only way of life they had ever known? 

He wasn’t sure he wanted to press hard enough to find out. 

Zuko thought, for how short Torran was, that it would be easy to keep pace with her. But she was practically sprinting through the palace, the book on Black Jade still clutched tight in her hands. By the time Zuko caught up to her, she was already in the study attached to his bedchambers, relaying the information they had just uncovered. 

Kyoko and Suki were up on their feet in an instant, making plans, scheming on the next course of action. 

But Katara sat on the couch looking shell-shocked, like a bomb had just gone off by her ear. And Zuko knew, then, that she was feeling the same disappointing range of emotions that he was. They could do nothing without proof. And Raijin covered his tracks well. 

Zuko knelt on the carpet in front of Katara, taking her hands in his. 

“There’s no use,” she murmured. “How long do we spend searching for information that Raijin has long since buried?”

“I know,” Zuko said.
“And if I stay here, he’s going to get suspicious. Why would I remain in the Caldera after we were forbidden from being together?” 

She started crying, then, and Zuko rose. He turned to Suki, his astute Captain of the Guard, who realized what was going on in the breadth of a moment. Zuko nodded in her direction, and Suki grabbed the others by the wrists, tugging them out of the room to much protest. 

Zuko’s heart swelled, just a little, at that. His mother had disappeared and his sister had tried to kill him, but here were all these women–surrounding him, protecting him, willing to wage war at his side. It felt like the Spirits were trying to make up for how they had wronged Zuko, just a bit. 

“Katara, my love,” Zuko murmured, leaning forward from where he knelt before her. He pressed his lips against her neck, inhaling deep. Trying to memorize the smell of her, of mint and sage. Trying to imprint the feel of her cool brown skin and her silky soft hair in his memory forever. 

She was really crying, now–little hiccuping sobs. Last night, when they’d made love and slept wrapped up in each other’s arms, there had still been a tentative edge of hope surrounding them. Twenty-four hours ago, the council meeting could have gone one of two ways. 

Now, there was nothing but painful, unbearable surety. 

Katara and Zuko could never be together. Even if they were somehow able to prove Raijin’s involvement in Zuko’s poisoning, it would be another matter entirely to challenge the marriage law a second time. It felt like they were running through mud, now. Trying and trying and hoping and praying. But never getting very far. 

Zuko felt his strength slipping, felt tears gathering in his own eyes, too. 

It wasn’t fair. 

None of this was fair. 

“Your birthday is in four days,” Katara said into the curve of his shoulder, her voice wrecked. “You will have to marry someone else.” 

The thought of it lit Zuko alive from the inside out. Heat gathered in his chest, his fingertips itching with the urge to light the entire palace ablaze. The council would present him with another bride. And he would have no choice but to stand there before the Fire Sages, promising his life over to someone he could never fully love. 

“There has to be a way out,” Zuko’s anger rose through him. He pulled away from Katara’s embrace, meeting her blue eyes now. “I can’t…I can’t spend the rest of my life beside someone who isn’t you.” 

Katara shook her head, swiping at stray tears. “Don’t you get it?” The anger had taken hold of her too, now–but hers was a cold, bitter fury–as intense and biting as the icy plains of the Southern Tribe. “We’ve tried everything. We fought this in every way we could, and there’s simply nothing else to be done. The right thing for you to do is to marry whatever wife the council insists upon. Have lots of firebending babies. And forget you and I were ever in love.” 

Zuko had been through some particularly terrible things underneath his father’s thumb. He’d been burned and scarred for speaking out of turn. He’d been banished to the far reaches of the world on an impossible mission. He’d lived life on the run as a refugee, hiding away from his own family. 

And yet, he thought to himself, none of the things he had been through in his youth held a candle to the broken ache that was cracking through his heart right now. 

“I will never forget this–forget you–for as long as I live, Katara.” Zuko’s voice was raw, as if he had swallowed shards of glass. 

“I need to go home to the South, Zuko,” Katara said. “You will have to forgive me if I…if I stay away for quite some time.” 

Both of them knew they were too high-ranking in the politics of their respective countries to avoid each other forever. The cruel hands of time would force them into the same space eventually. But–for now, Zuko understood Katara’s need to go. To leave. The energy between them was too potent, too all-consuming. It was unbearable to be this close, knowing how fate had conspired against them. 

Zuko had half a mind to ask, then, if Katara would take another lover, in time. She was beautiful beyond measure, witty, powerful, kind, hopeful. He knew the men of the Southern Tribe would be pounding at her door the moment she returned to her homeland. 

And the thought of it ripped him to shreds. 

Katara moved to stand, but Zuko placed his hand, gently, atop her thigh. Firm enough to protest, loose enough that she knew she could push away from him if she desired. 

“Stay with me. One last night,” he begged. 

He saw the war that was waged in Katara’s mind–she knew it was for the best, if she grabbed her things and got on that air ship now. She knew it would only hurt more to have these final hours together. 

But there was something in her–in both of them, really–that was desperate for every moment they could steal. 

Borrowed time–they had always lived in borrowed time. 

Her assenting nod was almost imperceptible, but Zuko caught it. He surged forward and scooped her up into his arms before carrying her, slowly, away from the study. 

Katara was dressed simply in her travel clothes, and Zuko was quick to strip them off of her. She wasn’t going anywhere quite yet. Not under his watch. 

The kisses Zuko placed along the sharp bones of her shoulders, the sweet swell of her thighs, seemed to pull Katara out of her sadness, just a bit. Her tears began to ebb, and she allowed herself to run her fingernails, gingerly, along the length of his spine. Gooseflesh dotted up Zuko’s skin at the touch. 

He continued to worship her, one kiss at a time. His lips traced every inch of her body–the insides of her palms, the line of her calves. Her neck. Her breasts. Her mouth. Drinking her all in one last time. 

For the rest of his life, commitment would be something Zuko would be shackled to. It would be a burden to bear, a promise to his people–not to his future wife, whomever she may end up being. 

But with Katara–commitment would have been an honor. A dream. Something he would have worked every day to be worthy of. 

And he would never get to prove it to Katara, just how deeply their love could have grown. 

So he allowed himself to unleash upon her, one last time. 

“You are perfect,” he moaned into the hollow of her throat, “You are everything I ever wanted. You are more than I ever dreamed.” 

Katara responded in kind, kissing along the scarred side of his face, peppering him with gentle touches. She shoved her fingers up underneath the hem of Zuko’s shirt, a silent request for him to bare himself to her. He rose from the bed, stripping down until he was in only his undershorts. 

Katara raised up on her knees, so they were at eye level–Zuko standing, Katara kneeling on the mattress. 

Her eyes were exhausted, the ever-present hope that seemed to light her from inside finally extinguished. 

“I am in love with you,” Katara said quietly, stretching out a cool hand and placing it against Zuko’s sternum, where the scar from Azula’s lightning blossomed like some sick sort of flower. 

“And I know it is your duty to take a bride. But I don’t think I will ever be able to love again after this.” 

“Katara, yes you will–” Zuko began to protest, but she put a finger to his lips, cutting him off. 

“I won’t. And that’s okay. If I am ever going to be a wife, ever going to be a…” she paused, swallowing down the emotion that surged to the surface. “Going to be a mother, it will only be by your side. I know that now. It will only be with you.” 

“Katara,” he started to fight her again, but she shook her head. Zuko knew she wasn’t saying this to prove a point, or start an argument, but just…so he knew. Knew how much this love had impacted her. 

“Only you,” she whispered once again, a tear slipping loose from the corner of her eye. 

Katara leaned forward, tugging free his undershorts so that they were both completely exposed, and Zuko climbed up onto the bed, pressing his weight over her, pushing her down into the soft velvet of the mattress. 

He thought back, now, to all those months ago. How she’d brought him back from death’s door, her hands on his chest, ejecting that poison from his body. It felt like another lifetime entirely. Zuko supposed he’d been a different person, then. Katara had re-shaped and remolded him so completely, re-calibrated his moral compass. 

He braced one hand on the pillow beside her head and used his other to notch himself in line with her entrance before pushing in, one slow, slow inch at a time. 

Katara moaned as he pressed all the way inside of her, skin on skin. Nothing between them. She tipped her head back with pleasure, and Zuko took the opportunity to plant rough, biting kisses from her neck down to her breasts. So that, for a few days after this, at least, his claim would still be laid to her skin. 

“I love you,” he whispered, beginning to move within her. 

“I love you,” she whispered back. 

They kept saying it, over and over and over again. Enough to last a lifetime of empty, hollow nights and cold beds. Katara touched his scars–the one on his face, the one on his chest–in a way he knew no future wife would ever touch him. Like he was worth something beyond his title, beyond the darkness of his past. 

Katara had seen him as a furious, banished prince. Had fought against him. Had not given him an inch. And yet, despite all the ways he’d hurt her, hurt her people–she had still been willing to see the goodness he was capable of, the vision of the world he hoped to achieve. 

And she was holding him to that vision now, even if it meant that they could not be together. 

As Katara rocked her hips against him, Zuko realized that this was what making love was supposed to feel like. 

Not the awkward fumblings of his youth, or the quiet trysts alongside Mai. Those had just barely scratched an itch within him. 

But this–this soul-shattering, world-altering way that Katara made him feel as he thrust deeper and deeper within her, stretching her, filling her–this was what it was supposed to be. 

The thought of sharing a marriage bed, of sharing his body, with any other woman besides Katara…Zuko didn’t know if he could do it. 

But he would have to. If nothing else–he had promised Katara. He had promised her that his job as ruler, his place at the helm of the Fire Nation was bigger than the two of them. 

That didn’t stop him from feeling willing, now, to denounce his title, to tell the council to get fucked, that he was going to marry whomever he pleased. 

“Zuko,” Katara panted, writhing beneath him. She was yanking at the bedsheets, scrambling for purchase, for something to hold onto. He could tell she was getting close to tipping over the edge of pleasure. 

“One last time,” he whispered into her hair, “Together.” 

He continued thrusting within her, their faces inches apart. 

And then, all at once, they refracted and splintered apart. Zuko cried her name out into the dim light of his room, pumping his orgasm into her, claiming her this final time. 

Katara’s answering moans nearly ruined him entirely as he felt her clench around him, milking him dry. 

They stayed locked in each other’s arms for a long while as their breathing began to steady and slow before finally, reluctantly, Zuko withdrew from her. He went to the bathing room and brought her back a warm towel to clean up with before falling back into bed beside her. 

He scooped her into his arms, trying desperately to make time stop. He was afraid to fall asleep, afraid of what the morning light would bring. 

But Katara always had a way of soothing the rough edges of him, of calming him down. And it was not long before he was tugged, gently, into the lull of sleep, her body clasped tight against his. 

When he woke in the morning, the bed was empty. Katara was gone. 

 

+++

 

A wedding would take place today. 

And yet, the palace was silent. 

No paper lanterns strung up in reds and golds, no tables adorned with bowls of food and ewers of wine. No crowds of people pressed up against the palace gates for a glimpse at the bride. No carriages carting in royalty or dignitaries from across the four nations. 

And even though he was to be wed in a matter of hours, Zuko still didn’t know who his bride was–wouldn’t know until they came together at the Fire Sage Temple. 

It was something he had insisted on, to the council. He would do their bidding, bend to their will. But he needed just a few days to get his head clear without having to think about who he would be tied to for the rest of his life. 

If he was a betting man, he could guess his new bride to be Mai. But he was no longer putting his faith in things that weren’t absolutely certain. 

Not after losing Katara. 

It seemed, too, that the council had learned their lesson after Zuko’s first failed engagement. They hadn’t breathed a word of his shattered relationship with Torran to the public; opting rather to announce this new marriage, this new Fire Lady after her place had been solidified by the Fire Sages. Everyone, even Zuko’s friends, still expected Torran to be his wife. 

Zuko knew for certain, too, that the council was grateful he had insisted on a private ceremony with Torran, so they did not have to do even more damage control. The optics of this were already bad enough. 

In the small handful of days since uncovering the information about the Black Jade Poison, Kyoko, Suki, and Torran had worked themselves down to the bone trying to find some sort of proof that Raijin was the one who had tried to kill the Fire Lord. 

They had been able to narrow down their search, now that they knew what to look for. Suki dispatched her Kyoshi warriors to all corners of the Caldera, trying to find anyone with a star-shaped burn on their hand. Kyoko poured over Raijin’s public finances and activities, looking for anything that could potentially tie him to the New Ozai Society. And Torran began digging through the records of every healer and hospital in the Caldera, interrogating anyone who had turned up with burns a week after Zuko was poisoned. 

But none of them had much luck finding anything substantial. 

It felt wrong, and terrible, to let them go on with their search while Zuko sat in his office, doing nothing. He knew it was no use, though. Raijin was not prone to making mistakes; he would have done everything possible to cover his tracks. 

In the meantime, Suki had gone fully off the rails in an effort to prevent Zuko from being alone with Raijin. It was a life Zuko decided he simply could not keep living–hiding all these secret suspicions, always waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for Raijin to try and kill him off again. Eventually, Zuko’s anger would get the better of him, and he would snap. 

This was not how he had envisioned his career as Fire Lord. 

From where he was sitting on the balcony outside his bedchambers, Zuko could hear the bell clock striking the top of the hour. He had less than sixty minutes before he was expected, dressed in formal robes, at the steps of the Fire Sage Temple. 

Now, more than ever, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He was spiraling, wildly, for something familiar to latch onto. 

Was this how Katara had felt before she called off her wedding to Aang? 

He rose and started pacing the length of the balcony, feeling a bit like a caged animal. He couldn’t believe what his life had come to–being married off against his will to a woman he did not know or love, all alone, with nobody in his corner to support him. 

As if his body, his blood, his lineage was a thing that did not belong to him, but to the people of the Fire Nation. To the councilors. To anyone but himself. 

Red-hot flame raged through him, begging to set itself loose. 

Before Zuko knew what he was doing, he stepped back into his bedchambers, grabbed a cloak, and hurried out into the hallway. 

It was a small mercy that Suki was not standing guard today–she was likely doing her nine millionth check of the Fire Sage Temple. It was one of the other Kyoshi Warriors, instead, who nodded as he passed. 

Suki would no doubt be aware of his whereabouts within moments. 

Zuko strode outside, past the gardens and turtleduck ponds, and out to the far corner of the palace grounds, where Azula’s house was kept, tucked away behind a copse of trees. 

It was his wedding day, and Zuko was all alone. And even though this isolation had been at his own request, he suddenly could not stomach the thought of facing the marriage altar without any support. And although Azula was wild, and unpredictable, and sometimes even a little off-kilter–there was a familiarity in her. She was his sister, at the end of the day. 

Zuko nodded brusquely to the guards when he arrived. Both were vaguely familiar to him–Zuko made a point these days to be more aware of the staff who serviced the palace, to make an effort to learn the names of those he interacted with frequently. He wanted to show a respect and decency that had been abysmally absent during his father’s reign. 

“Tilly, Mio,” Zuko greeted them in turn after grasping for their names for a moment. 

Tilly made the sign of the flame before sliding open the door to Azula’s house, while Mio kept his hands tucked neatly behind his back. 

Inside, Zuko found his sister lounging lazily on a couch in the sitting room, poking at an embroidery hoop with a needle and crimson thread. 

Who authorized her to have access to a needle? It’s a wonder she hasn’t stabbed anyone’s eyes out yet. 

Zuko did his best to not let his facial expressions reflect the thoughts running through his head. It was just a simple sewing needle after all, and Azula had certainly shown marked improvement in her behavior as of late. 

But still, there was a voice at the back of his mind that could drum up about a dozen ways the Azula of his childhood could kill a man with just that little silver tool in her hand. 

Zuko stood at the threshold of the sitting room, watching his sister. 

“Happy birthday, brother,” she said without looking up. Her voice was bored, nonchalant. 

For the life of him, Zuko still was wholly unable to piece together this new version of Azula, who seemed almost…capable of kindness, in some rare moments. 

But her voice–it was the same. Her voice was just like the one that had taunted him, who had tried to capture him. 

Who had nearly killed him. 

“Thank you,” he replied simply. 

“And your wedding day, as well,” she noted, continuing to stab at the embroidery hoop. Zuko got a glimpse of her work for the first time and it was…not good. It looked like the work of a child, all tangled up and awkward. Zuko couldn’t help the slip in his composure, then, the small smile that worked itself free onto his lips. 

“You never were much for needlepoint,” he said, testing the waters. 

Azula breathed out a laugh through her nose, tossing the needle and thread aside. 

“No, I wasn’t. But I grow bored these days.” 

Without any pretense or preamble, the words bubbled up from his chest and slipped out of his mouth. 

“Do you want to come to my wedding? I am to be married in less than an hour. I know it's not much notice, but…” 

Azula was up already, pushing past Zuko to her room. 

“Please,” she said with a scoff, “Anything to break up the monotony.” Zuko may not have always had the best relationship with his sister, but he could tell that her bravado was a mask. She was lonely. 

Zuko sat himself down on the couch as he heard Azula moving about her bed chambers, dressing in her finer clothing. 

As he waited, he found himself pleasantly surprised that she didn’t seem to hold any bitterness towards him for the monotony of her days, even though Zuko was the one keeping her trapped in this house. Almost as if Azula knew she was not somebody to be blindly trusted, after what she had done to her brother, to her country. 

I’ll show you lightning!

The deranged way she had sounded during that Agni Kai still haunted him whenever he thought about it, still sent chills pricking up the back of his spine from time to time. 

Zuko shook that thought free, now, as Azula appeared in her doorway once more, clothed in a rather regal looking red and gold dress. She’d pulled her hair away from her face and painted her eyes with thick lines of kohl. 

For a moment, Zuko could see it–the ruler she could have been if Ozai hadn’t gotten his hooks in her so deep. Maybe he should be doing more to get her out of this house, get her back out in the world. 

But that was a problem for another day. 

Zuko rose, offering Azula his arm. She took it gratefully and together, they made their way outside of her house. 

At the door, the guards seemed startled by Azula’s presence. 

“Today is not a scheduled day of leave for Princess Azula,” Mio said, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. Zuko was appreciative of that, at least–that the guards were aware of and adhering to the schedule Zuko had crafted for his sister. 

“It’s quite alright, Mio,” Zuko replied. “Today is my wedding day, and Azula is going to be in attendance.” 

The other guard, Tilly, seemed more than willing to bow to the will of the Fire Lord, but Mio did not back down. 

“I’m sorry, she’s not allowed to leave.” 

Zuko turned fully to face the guard, now. He was young, likely Zuko’s age, give or take a few years. His dark hair was cropped short, and golden eyes shimmered in the mid-morning sun. 

“On whose authority?” Zuko challenged, his voice lined with a threatening calm. 

“Grand Advisor Raijin,” Mio replied. 

Zuko’s feet rooted to the floor, anger and heat flaring up his throat. He understood at that moment, his Uncle’s technique. How appealing it would be to spit fire at this guard right now. 

Since when did Raijin have any power to command such a thing? Why did he even care what Azula was doing? 

“I wasn’t aware Raijin was so concerned about Azula’s whereabouts,” Zuko said through gritted teeth, clinging desperately to the amicable ruler he swore he was trying to be. 

“She’s a traitor to the nation, my Lord. She cannot be allowed to roam freely throughout the palace,” Mio said. Zuko studied the guard’s eyes, the lines of his face–trying to parse out just how willing he was to stand against the Fire Lord. 

Or really, how much sway Raijin really had. 

Beside Zuko, Azula stiffened. Her eyes narrowed to slits. 

“I walk freely about the palace all the time,” she said, her voice dripping with venom. 

“Yes,” Mio said, one eyebrow cocked. “On scheduled days. Accompanied by the Fire Lord.” 

Tilly, the other guard, took a step forward in an attempt to diffuse the situation. But Zuko interrupted her before she could speak. 

“Am I not accompanying her now?” 

“Well yes, sir. But to your own wedding. Can you really keep your eyes on her while you are actively engaged in a ceremony?” 

Zuko couldn’t quite believe the nerve of this guard. Quite frankly, it rattled him a little to see how far Mio was willing to go on behalf of Raijin. If Mio took the Grand Advisor’s word over Zuko’s, would other people? Would his council? Would the citizens of the Fire Nation?

Pride wounded and still reeling from Raijin’s influence over the past several days, Zuko turned on his heel. “This is ridiculous. We are leaving.” 

His sister made to follow him, but Mio reached out, grabbing Azula by the elbow. She ripped herself free in one mighty push, staggering back several steps. 

Oh, no. 

Oh, no, no no. 

Zuko whirled on the guard as static crackled in his ears. 

Lightning. For the first time since the Agni Kai years ago, blue lightning was fizzling at Azula’s fingertips. 

Zuko wasn’t sure if he was horrified or relieved that she was still capable of wielding such immense power, as the electric light sizzled up her wrists, encapsulating her arms. Azula held the lightning close, preparing to strike. But she looked almost…afraid. 

It was an emotion Zuko wasn’t sure he’d ever seen in Azula’s eyes before. 

He turned to Mio, whose hands were held in front of him, in defense. Preparing to redirect the lightning if it came his way. 

But...there. 

Wrapped around his right hand was a gauzy, white bandage.  

“Wait!” Zuko called out desperately as Azula’s lightning fizzled in the air, standing her hair on end. 

His sister’s eyes flicked over to him, curious, questioning. She stared him down, just like she had during the Agni Kai. Zuko took a step forward. How many times was he going to have to throw himself in front of Azula and her lightning? But now, Katara was nowhere nearby to heal him. 

But Zuko had to know. He had to know. 

Azula’s lightning slammed out from her fingers, zinging through the air, and up, up, high into the sky. Away from Mio. 

Zuko stared at his sister for a long, drawn out moment. That crazed, half-aware look was back as she stood, arms wrapped around herself. As if she was not entirely herself. 

But she had listened to him. She had heard what he wanted her to do, and she had listened. 

Trusting Azula enough for the moment, Zuko spun on Mio, grabbing his right hand to much protest, and ripping off the bandage in one smooth movement before the guard could protest. 

And there, burned across the center of his palm, was a bright pink star. 

Zuko gripped Mio by the elbow, keeping him from going anywhere. 

“How did you get this burn?” Zuko asked. His voice did not sound like his own. 

All of the bravado the guard had in him earlier faded away to whispered, begging pleas for mercy. 

“Please,” he said, tears filling his eyes. “Raijin caught me stealing in the palace. When my wife went into labor, she got…very sick. She and the baby only just survived. I couldn’t afford a healer, and I…I did what I had to do.” 

Zuko listened, wishing for all the world that Toph was here, that she could tell him if this man was telling the truth. Zuko was good at reading people, but…not that good. 

“Raijin threatened me, threatened my family. He said he would kill my wife and my new baby if I didn’t do as he asked.” 

Mio’s hands trembled beneath Zuko’s firm grip. 

“How did you get the burn?” Zuko repeated. 

“The poison,” Mio said after a long beat. “Raijin made me put poison on some of the paper in his office. After I left, my hand started itching and burning. It took a few days, but this star…slowly started to appear.” 

“Does Raijin know?” 

Mio shook his head furiously. “No. Please, my Lord, please don’t tell him. I can’t risk the safety of my family.” 

Zuko shook his head. “They will be fine. I’ll make sure of it” 

Mio nearly slumped with relief at that–Zuko was all but holding him upright by the crook of the elbow. 

Zuko turned to Tilly, the other guard keeping watch outside Azula’s house. 

“Go find Kyoko. Tell her to summon the council.” 

Notes:

This chapter kind of got away from me in like...the best way. It kinda felt like writing a Scooby-Doo episode of everyone chaotically trying to put the clues together, LMAOOOO. But like, make it angsty and yearning!!!!

Also, surpassed the 100k word count with this chapter!! This work has made me fall in love with writing allllll over again and I am so grateful for it and for all of you that have kept me going!

Hope everyone enjoys <3