Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

i.

He didn't want this to happen. 

He didn't want this to happen. 

He didn't want this to happen. 

Agni above, he didn't want this to happen. 

But no one can know that. No one can ever know that. 

There are secrets in this palace. Secrets that would tear this country apart. He cannot help but think of his parents and the night his childhood ended. His father, imposing and critical, made of iron and fire. His mother, highborn and kind, made of sunlight and wonder. That night, they must have been a pair: resentment and anger; thoughts and actions; hate and love. 

(Kinslaying, maybe that too is passed through the blood. 

And their blood is redder than most.) 

In the palace courtyard, the prince’s eyes never leave the flames—holding his breath as his father’s body turns to ashes. 

Ozai was once alive, a fierce and proud sun, towering above them all. And now he is dead, nothing but ash.

Prince Fire Lord Zuko is a lost soul standing in a dark night; he remains in the courtyard, long after the sages placed the golden flame in his hair. 

A part of him wishes to believe that it is over. Now, he will no longer have to suffer under the pressure, the pain, the isolation, or the manipulation. 

But it is not. 

It is only just beginning.

ii. 

His council kowtows before him, performing the traditional respects to the Fire Lord. Their voices are odd and strained as they pledge their loyalty to him but he brushes it aside. He is young, the youngest Fire Lord in history and he just ended a war their people were winning. Their opinions of him do not matter, they serve the crown, not the one who wears it. 

Azula remains after the council meeting and approaches him, her white robe flowing across the marble floor. A dark smirk appears on her face when she asks him if he is afraid. 

He is the Fire Lord. He is the instrument of Agni’s great will—the Defender of the Fire Islands and the Keeper of the Eternal Flame. And yet, his sister has no problem speaking against him. To her, he will always be Zuzu—a sensitive and weak failure—struggling to stay afloat. 

Sighing, Azula leaves the throne room. “Father, poor poor Father. If only he had listened to Grandfather.” 

All the air leaves him and he slumps behind his wall of flames.

He closes his eyes and remembers. Cold fire crackling through the air. A scream ringing out in the chamber, so anguished and pained and unearthly yet familiar, so familiar that he did not know if it was Ozai's scream or his own. The smell of charcoal at his nose. His father's crumpled, broken, and limp body.

He had no time to write a death poem or even say a prayer.

He had no time to think or even blink. 

He had no time for anything at all. 

Did Grandfather have time for such things? Or was the dagger so sharp or the poison so strong that his life was snuffed out quicker than a dying ember?

Azulon and Ozai. Ozai and Zuko. 

Fathers and sons. Crowns and fire.

And he wonders about families and bonds and rage and jealousy and blood, so much blood. What if all sons kill their fathers in some way? If not in body then in spirit. If not in spirit then in influence. 

Then he thinks of Azula with their mother’s eyes and their father’s mouth. 

If sons kill their fathers, then it must be daughters who avenge them. 

iii.

For several weeks, he has been traveling with a very small retinue to visit the military clinics in the eastern islands. Listening, actively listening, to the soldiers and staff as they share their stories and concerns.   

Fiddling with his brown travel tunic, he sits across from a young private, only a few years older than himself. “They hated us,” she wraps her arms around her legs, almost to shield herself from the weight of what she now knows. “Agni, they hated the very sight of us. Monsters and dark spirits, they called us.”

“I know,” Zuko whispers, keeping his voice even. Lee, Sela, Gansu, Gow, the plains, the dust, and the open sun. Their hatred was so intense that it settled in their bones, becoming as much a part of them as their skin and muscles and beating hearts. 

With one hand, she tucks her hair behind her ear. “Was it all a lie?”

(He is Fire Lord. He should tell her that it is true, that it was right, that it was just. That they truly were chosen by Agni to spread light to the deepest, darkest, broken corners of the world. But he is tired of mendacity. Of lies and the liars who tell them. No more.)

“The most beautiful lie ever told.”

iv. 

His uncle is a truly astonishing person. Not just his feats of mastery or his ability to befriend even the most indifferent people. But how he manages to slip from one life to another with the ease of changing an outer robe. 

He went from beloved crown prince to tactical genius to disgraced madman to whatever he seems to be now. A shadow, his uncle is a shadow. He speaks in code and sees the entire world as his home. 

Iroh ushers him into the room, introducing him to a group of men from various backgrounds and heritages. Some that he knows by name or reputation and others he has never heard of. 

The steely waterbender, Master Pakku, regards Zuko with great disdain. “Are you sure about this, General Iroh?”

Iroh squeezes Zuko’s shoulder. “Of course. My nephew knows what must be done. He will make things right.”

Narrowing his eyes, Zuko hesitantly asks, “What is this about, Uncle?”

Iroh looks at his friends then back at Zuko. “The Fire Nation, Zuko. We must make up for our dark past, our sins. We are here to help guide you.” 

The glint in Uncle's eye reminds Zuko so much of Azula that for a brief moment, he wonders if this is a trick. As a child, Azula would always play tricks on him, worming her way into his mind, bending him to her will. Even now, she still attempts to.

But Uncle is not Azula. 

So Zuko sits at the table and listens. It is the very least of what he owes his uncle.  

v.

It begins with adjustments to actions he had already been taking or planned to take.  

The withdrawal from Ba Sing Se was a slow-moving process. It was to be done in several stages, giving control from the joint-Fire Nation and Dai Li government to various civilian departments in the city. Uncle pushes for him to do it all at once, surrendering total control to the Dai Li. Zuko does what Uncle asks. 

He returns stolen artifacts, fires senior military staff, and raises taxes dramatically to begin paying restitution for the war. 

The country is on edge; there are food shortages in the southern islands, and the tax increase worsened the crisis. At the protests and riots, people plaster village squares with his old wanted poster, reminding citizens that he was once a traitor (that he never stopped being a traitor). Uncle assures him that all is well, that these are just growing pains for the nation. Growing pains...for an ancient nation, an ancient people. 

Azula finds him in the gardens, reading Love Amongst the Dragons under an oak tree. One of the few remaining pleasures in his life. It reminds him of a mother, a father, a son, and a daughter. Of wearing masks and sharing tales. Of chasing fireflies in the mountains and flying kites on the beach. 

“He’s using you,” she says, her amber eyes gleaming with disgust and even some pity. “He’s leading you to your death so he can turn you into a martyr.”

Azula always lies. He doesn’t trust her but he doesn’t trust Uncle either. Iroh’s eyes are too dark, his words too sharp, his gaze too intense. 

Zuko remembers a dream. A dream with two dragons, one red and the other blue, and him at the center, with the crown in his hair. 

Maybe he’s made the wrong choice. 

vi. 

“No! I won’t do it,” Zuko exclaims, “It is wrong!”

“Wrong? Wrong! You know what is wrong?” Iroh shouts. “Causing a hundred years of pain and suffering. Painting the world in fire and blood because we could, because no one had the strength to stop us. That is wrong! That is evil!” The man speaking is not his uncle but General Iroh, the Great Dragon of the West; his eyes blazing with white fire.

But Zuko stands firm. The crown is on his head, not his uncle’s. He decides what will be done in this country. “You want me to disband our entire military because the Water Tribes and Earth Kingdom fear us. It’s a preposterous idea. How would we defend our citizens without it?” 

The old general’s face is weathered by guilt, shame, and pain. The woody and spiced scents of sandalwood and spikenard cling to his heavy green robes, likely from spending hours in prayer. “The very core of this nation is rotten. We must burn it and begin anew.” 

“You speak as if you want to see our people suffer,” Zuko hardens his gaze. “They are already suffering! The food shortages, the lack of jobs, the taxes. We can only push them so far! You think the world will love us if they see us humbled. No, they’ll just ask for more from us until we are nothing.”

“The pain of a season does not match the anguish of several lifetimes! The horrors that exist in our blood...it is unimaginable.”  

And Zuko is afraid because he doesn’t even recognize the anger and hatred that is in his uncle. “You hate us. Great Agni, you hate us.”

“Oh my dear boy, not you, never you,” Iroh says softly, wrapping Zuko in his arms. 

“But you hate them,” Zuko laments, pulling away from his uncle. “They are our people, this is our country. It’s beautiful, why can’t you see how beautiful it is?”

The haunted look in Iroh’s eyes as he leaves the solar will stay with Zuko long after this moment passes. 

His uncle never returns to Caldera nor does Zuko ever ask him to. 

vii. 

The next morning, he lowers taxes, halts the payments, and reinstates the old military officials to their posts. 

The riots continue and the fires still burn.

Azula disappears like a shadow in the night. 

The Fire Lord sits alone in his throne room, orange flames dancing around him, and he suddenly understands how his ancestors went mad. 

viii.

He dreams of their beach house, of terrible plays and fire flakes. 

His family is together and they are happy and safe and warm.

It is a cool night and the sand feels soft in his hands as he looks up at the specks of light in the night sky. 

He is seven, sharing his blanket with Azula while their parents reward them with cinnamon candies for remembering the constellations. 

A soft wind ruffles his loose hair and his father reaches over to brush the hair out of his face.

He is thirteen and he’s in the arena, surrounded by the nobility of Caldera. He’s on his knees, screaming and crying because it hurts, it hurts so badly. And all he can smell is his scorched skin. 

He closes his eyes, trying to will the pain away, trying to return to Ember Island, to Azula, to his mother, to the stars, to a father who loved him.

He is sixteen when his eyes open. In front of him is his father's charred body, long black hair obscuring his face. And he is already starting to forget the sound of his father playing music. 

When Zuko wakes, he is weeping. 

ix.

Crawling through patches of blue and orange fire, his scraped palms press into the stone as blood continues to seep out of his wounds, blending in with his crimson tunic.  

Zuko summons the strength to push himself into his back. As he takes shaky, shallow breaths, the possibility that he is dying enters into his mind.  

Azula, he wonders. Where is she? If she is making any sounds, he cannot hear them above the ringing in his ears. Their duel, it felt like mere seconds but it was likely hours. The fury with which they fought...where did it come from? Who birthed it? Was this always meant to happen? He is tired, so so tired. They’ve been fighting for nearly their entire lives.

But no more. 

It is finished. 

They are both finished. 

Before his eyes flutter shut, he stares at the blood red sky. 

x. 

When Mai visits him, she does not ask questions. 

(They are both afraid of the answers.)

Instead, they take walks in the gardens and feed the turtleducks. She is bored, they both know it, but she remains at his side. 

“You can leave whenever you wish to.”

Silence. 

“You don’t have to stay here for me.”

“Who said I was staying here for you? I am here for the fruit tarts. When those start to run out, I’ll take my leave.”

He laughs and Mai looks startled (he is too), because he can’t remember the last time he laughed at anything. 

Before he knows it, their bodies are tangled together in his bed. They make love slowly and gently, mindful of his bandages and his broken arm. 

Sated and warm, he strokes her face and decides to tell her a secret.

xi. 

“I still love them.”

xii. 

With the long wooden spoon, Zuko scoops up the water and pours it onto his right hand then his left. He brings his palm up to his mouth to cleanse it before pouring water over his left hand. His eyes track the water as it drips back down the handle. 

After prayers, he sits in the High Temple with Great Sage Shyu. In his time as Fire Lord, he has come to trust the gentle and pious old man. “Why?” Zuko asks, staring down into his tea. 

Shyu places his tea cup down, his brow pinching slightly. “Your majesty,” he begins. 

Zuko interrupts him, now able to phrase his question. “Great Sage Shyu, why do we suffer? Do the gods hate us?” 

He stiffens then answers him simply. “No, your majesty, the gods do not hate us. Suffering is human. It is as human as joy or love or belief.” 

“Then we must hate ourselves,” Zuko declares, tightening his grip on his tea cup. “I found something, inside my father’s-inside my desk...a haiku in his handwriting.”

“What did it say?”

“Over the wintry forest, 

winds howl in rage 

With no leaves to blow. I-I did not know he even wrote haikus.”

“There is much we do not know about each other and even more we do not know about ourselves.”

In uneasy silence, Zuko remains in the temple, drinking his now-cold tea, not even bothering to warm it.

xiii.

In a castle by the sea, Zuko and Mai meet with Nanurjuk, the scion of a once-well-regarded noble house. They fell out of favor in Azulon’s court over their suspected objections to the Southern Water Tribe raids. Because of their great wealth and power, instead of executing or imprisoning them, the Fire Lord banished them to the southern islands.  

“What do you do exactly?” Zuko asks, taking in the décor of the estate, the blends of reds and blues, furs and silks. 

The man’s bluish-grey eyes gleam in the firelight. “Whispers, your majesty. I listen to whispers.”

xiv. 

Zuko hates Ba Sing Se. He hates the walls, he hates the Dai Li, and he hates how almost every plaza seems to have a statue of the Avatar. 

The people memorialize him as a god-child: holy, blameless, and awe-inspiring. They bring offerings before his statues and some adopt nomad style of dress and habits. 

As his carriage takes him through the upper-ring to the palace, the people voice their fury at his presence in the city. Avatar-killer, they shout. Monster! Ghost! Devil!

At the meeting, while the delegates insult and chastise him for wrongs both his own and others, he remembers a boy with grey eyes filled with wonder, with more power than he knew what to do with (more power than he deserved).

Finally, after nearly two weeks, they hand him the finished colonial agreement. In a fury, he turns it to ash before storming out of the grand hall. 

(If we knew each other back then, do you think we could have been friends, too?)

A prison of glowing crystals, an enemy turned something unknowable, a gentle touch, an interruption, and a long and broken path towards a home that no longer existed. 

(No.)

xv.

On the eve of battle, Zuko plays the ballad of the Keohso on the erhu.

“You play beautifully,” Iroh says and Zuko can barely hear his voice over the sorrowful sounds of the music. 

“Thank you.” 

Uncle is there to save him, but Zuko does not need saving. He sees the pull and the bloodlust and the desire for more and more and more. He saw it at thirteen in the throne room. That is not what this is. Like back then, he is defending people, people of earth and fire, but Fire Nation citizens all the same. Uncle does not need to worry. He ended the hundred year war and he’ll end this one. 

Uncle’s eyes flicker over to the battle plans. “You don’t have to do this,” Iroh pleads, with gentle eyes. 

“I do,” Zuko says because he is not his father, his grandfather, or his great-grandfather. He is something new and old and different. He was ashes and he rose again. 

The general leaves his tent and Zuko’s spymaster comes out of the shadows. “The battle plans were in the general’s line of sight,” he says, standing in the entryway. 

“I know.” 

Nanurjuk’s eyes widen in understanding. “You tricked him.”

“He tricked me first,” Zuko murmurs, beginning to play the ballad once again. 

The next day, King Keui falls for Zuko’s deception and his armies are crushed. 

The Fire Nation armies spend days and nights cremating the Earth Kingdom soldiers, the fires seeming endless across open fields.

xvi.  

The nun is his mother and he takes him a while to believe it. 

The nun spends time in the gardens and in the tea rooms. And everyone, from the servants to the cooks to the guards to the secretaries to the turtleducks recognize her. 

“Is it true?” she asks, her amber eyes sad and soft. 

There are a hundred thousand rumors and half-truths she could be asking about. The entire world seems to be holding its breath. Millions of people all waiting and fearing what the son of dragons, the Fire Lord, will do next. 

Ursa does not ask him about them. Perhaps she is too shocked and saddened to even speak their names. Because if she asks that question and hears his answer then it would be real, this all would be real. So she asks about someone else. Someone who was once a long-haired noble with a dragon and a prince’s crown, someone whose blood runs through her veins and his. “Did you kill the Avatar?” 

“No.”

His mother kisses his scarred cheek and takes him into her arms, whispering years of apologies. 

He cannot cry, he cannot even move, so they just hold each other in the gardens. 

xvii.

He stumbles as he practices his New Year’s address to court. Mai is there, and helps him until the words flow out of him like a gentle stream. 

With a wry smile, Mai asks, “What would you even do without me?” 

He flushes because she looks so beautiful and brilliant and she deserves much more than he can give her. So he kisses her and slips his great-grandmother’s ruby comb into her hair. “Marry me. Marry me so I never have to find out,” he murmurs breathlessly. 

xviii. 

In the soft half-light of evening, Zuko walks through the halls of the royal palace of Ba Sing Se towards the state room. 

“I’m sorry,” he says after he bumps into a tribesman. He thinks he recognizes the young man from those cruel and lonely days of his banishment but he isn’t exactly sure. He has met so many people and seen so many things. 

“Are you proud of yourself? You have this entire world living in fear,” he exclaims, nearly shaking with anger. 

And now he recognizes him. He is the brother, the waterbender’s brother. He would answer his question, speak to him but his words will not give the man any semblance of peace. Peace is something you must give yourself. “I’m sorry but I don’t know your name,” Zuko confesses awkwardly. 

The tribesman shakes his head and begins to walk in the opposite direction. “You have no idea how awful you are.” 

(It is true, he does not know nor does he care enough to find out.)

xix. 

It’s too early; it is still the pomegranate month and the baby is meant to be born in the lotus month. His mother tries to comfort him, telling him everything will be fine but a chill is running through him, creeping towards his very core. Something is deeply wrong because no one will let him see Mai. 

But he pushes those dark thoughts aside because has to stay calm for Mai and their baby. 

So he sits in the waiting area, pressing his nails into his palms, and says a prayer in the old tongue.

xx.

He falls to his knees under the noonday sun. He brings up handfuls of red dirt and watches the dirt pass between his fingers.

Mai is gone and he will never see her again in this life. He'll never hear her laugh or see her give one of her rare smiles or feel her skin or kiss her. How much pain can one person be made to bear? It is too much, it is all too much. 

Suddenly, his mother is behind him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Please, my love. Come inside. Come see your daughter. She needs you more than anything.”

xxi. 

His daughter must be the most beautiful thing to ever exist in this world. Zuko beams as he continues to stare into her eyes, they are an intense gold, flamed like the sun. 

“What is her name?” Ursa asks, gently touching her granddaughter’s cheek. 

He thinks of a little girl with red ribbons in her hair and the soft scent of apples in the garden and a beautiful fountain. 

“Izumi,” he breathes. “Her name is Izumi.”

While his mother retrieves the wet-nurse, Zuko begins to speak softly to Izumi. “You are my daughter, your mother’s daughter. I’ll always love you and protect you. No matter what, we’ll always have each other.”

xxii. 

After burning a letter from his spymaster, the Blue Spirit slips off into the night. 

Mai taught Zuko how to use her double-bladed knives and he uses them well. 

“Who are you working for?” The Blue Spirit asks the bound man. 

Gasping, the man stutters, “I don’t know their name. I didn’t ask! I never even saw the person’s face! They just sent me notes and the package of tea! Then afterwards they sent me the payment.”

“Well, you should have asked,” he whispers before plunging a knife into the man’s middle. 

The Blue Spirit walks out of the burning warehouse and dumps his mask into the sea. 

With a pale crescent moon above him, Zuko walks into a simple village to rest before he heads to Ba Sing Se. 

xxiii. 

The ghosts only appear during family meals. 

It is odd but it does not particularly bother him. Ozai and Azula do not speak or taunt, they just observe. Zuko sits, glancing at Azula and Ozai, as Ursa tells Izumi tales of her childhood on Ember Island and the plays she would participate in. 

Some time passes and his mother begins to speak to him about their family, about themselves. He does not tell her about the ghosts; he does not want to alarm her, wanting to pretend that seeing them is somehow normal. This is their home, why would they not linger here?

After a while, they begin to fade into the background almost entirely; they become like the walls and the greenery surrounding the palace. 

He doesn’t know if his mother ever saw them but when she returns to the abbey, she takes them with her. 

The next morning, he and Izumi enjoy tea and hotcakes in the garden. 

xxiv. 

“Daddy, here’s a shell. This one is pretty,” Izumi says, dusting off the sand before she hands it to him. 

Zuko runs his finger over the ridges and grooves in the shell. “Thank you, turtleduck. What a beautiful shell,” he says, placing the shell next to their beach chairs. For a while, they sit on the beach, Izumi continuing to bring him shells, dubbing each one prettier than the last. 

“How about some ice cream, princess?” Zuko asks, standing up before taking his four-year-old’s hand.  

Izumi nods excitedly as they walk towards the Ember Island boardwalk. Once they reach the ice cream shop, Izumi looks up at him with a bright smile. “Can I have two scoops of mango ice cream? Please?”

Zuko’s heart melts at the sight. He can see so much of Mai in her smile. “Why not? Your birthday only comes once a year.”

xxv. 

Master Piandao stands next to Zuko under a covered archway in his estate.

The estate brings back pleasant memories for Zuko. He took to dao swords quicker than he took to the flame. The swords are reckless and daring, not dissimilar to himself. When he wields them, he is balanced and his mind feels clear. 

His thoughts are interrupted when Master Piandao hands him a note. 

Intense golden eyes scan the note regarding his betrothed. The Fire Lord sighs, forming a flame in his palm to burn it. 

(He is tired of the games, he no longer wishes to play them.)

“Why did you show me this?” Zuko asks grimly, a frown forming on his face. 

Piandao looks down at the lotus symbol in his courtyard. “Before I am anything, I am a Fire Nation citizen.”

Chapter Text

i.

The air is cold against his skin as he kneels before his wife’s headstone. “My beloved, I miss you more than words can say,” Zuko begins, his voice hoarse. The sharp grief of losing Mai had subsidized over the years but there are times where it consumes him like a rushing wave. “Our Izumi is a marvel. Her instructors tell me how intelligent and hardworking she is, how caring she is towards her fellow students. Last week, she started training with your knives. Agni gave her the very best of both of us. She is so loved, by me and our people. She is the sun and we all orbit around her.” He then tells her about her brother and aunt, Ty Lee, and his mother.

Everything but that. He won't even call it a marriage because it isn't, it's a farce. It might as well be a noose placed around his neck by his uncle. A person he believed would always love and support him. 

(He was wrong. He was so very wrong.)

It is too shameful and infuriating to speak of. He refuses to bring his anger to Mai’s resting place. The love they had was pure and he will not allow anything to soil it. 

The Fire Lord walks towards the palace, and the fog seems to whisper all the things he would not say.

ii.

In a secret chamber of the royal palace, he asks Nanurjuk what the people think of the waterbender. He learns that the common people appreciate her kindness and dedication to charitable interests. Many nobles find her (or pretend to find her) charming and polite in conversation while others believe her to be too lax with their traditions. There are more conservative members of court who wonder if she means to make him more favorable towards international interests.

He has been intercepting her letters but so far has found nothing out of the ordinary. Either these letters are written in code or she is sending out information through other means. Zuko rubs his temple, requesting a maid to discreetly search Katara’s rooms and for surveillance on the few friends she has made in court. 

After Nanurjuk leaves, Zuko reads a letter written to her by a little girl from one of the local schools. She asked Katara about her home in the South Pole and what games the children there like to play. 

He puts the letter away and doesn’t read any others that afternoon.

iii. 

Izumi is late for their lunch. Izumi is never late for their lunches. She is usually the one who fetches him, dragging him away from reading some report or being cornered by some eager industrialist in a hallway. 

When he enters his daughter’s room with a tray of tea and extra spicy fire noodles, he nearly drops it. 

Katara and his daughter are playing a game of pai sho, with bright smiles and shining eyes. 

Izumi looks up at him, her voice soft and sweet. “Daddy, I’m sorry for forgetting about our lunch. The game is almost finished. Will you wait for me?”

“Of course, I will.”

The pair continue playing and his eyes linger on Katara’s face. Her expression is calm, but he can see a hint of discomfort in it, one that a cruel part of him hopes stems from his presence. 

Izumi wins the game. 

iv.

“The conference. It was quite impressive,” he begrudgingly admits after she organized and led a three-day conference with the rectors of the royal universities. 

She blinks, more than once, before she makes eye contact. “Excuse me?” 

“I won’t repeat it,” he says. 

A small, self-satisfied smile forms on her lips and he immediately regrets telling her. 

Back in his office, he adds baijiu to his tea and realizes that he hates her more now than he did before. 

v.

“We killed your people, ruined your home. Yet you live here amongst us! How can you stand the sight of us?” Zuko shouts in frustration.

(She couldn't have forgotten who she is and who he is? Had she forgotten about what happened in the caves?

He hasn’t

He hasn’t.)

Her dark hair is loose around her and everything is moving too fast and he cannot even see her face. “Look at me,” he hisses.

And she looks at him, her eyes tired and devoid of luster, muted instead of sharp. And he doesn’t feel sorry for her. She is one of them—a pai sho piece on his uncle’s ever-expanding board.  

“You hate me. Were you truly going to blend your blood with mine?” His eyes are heavy, and his mind is blurred. He has not slept in four nights, staring at the shadows lingering on his walls, wondering what secrets of his they will share with whom. He is not so foolish to think that Katara is the only agent of his uncle’s in the palace. But he wants her gone most of all. When Izumi is not with him or involved in some aspect of her royal education, she is more often than not with the waterbender. 

So much has been taken from him—by the war, by his own actions, by his uncle. He would burn the world down before he loses anything or anyone else. 

“I can be reasonable, what must I do for you to leave?” 

“Nothing. There is nothing you can do,” Katara says roughly. 

He looks at her, really truly looks at her, and he wonders what's inside her and if she even knows.

When he speaks again, he doesn't recognize the sound of his own voice. “Why punish yourself with this life? What about your family, your friends? Don’t you miss them?” he asks. 

She doesn’t answer and she doesn’t speak to him, not for days afterwards. 

He counts it as a victory, although it doesn’t feel much like one.

vi.

He feels small under her gaze, like a misbehaving child being chastised by their elders. Not a man grown, not a Fire Lord. Not much of anything at all. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” Zuko says firmly. 

She begins icily, “How am I supposed to look at you after you-”

“I didn’t do it for you,” he maintains, pushing back his freshly washed hair. “By insulting you, Minister Qiang offended the honor of the royal house. I could not allow that to stand.”

“You don’t make any sense to me,” Katara says sharply after a tense silence, her eyes dark and stormy like the wild sea. 

(Whether the you in question refers to him or the entire country, he does not know. Probably both. When is it not both when they speak to each other?)

Narrowing his eyes at her, he growls, “You don’t make any sense to me either.”

Her dress is red. As bright a red as the blood that covered the ground of the Agni Kai chamber.

He wonders if the servants have finished cleaning it.

vii. 

“Spirits, Nanurjuk! Just tell me, I don’t have all day.”

“The palace servants...they say she is kinder than Lady Mai ever was. That the Fire Lady is interested in their families and lives in the same way your mother was.”

Hearing that splits and breaks something inside him. 

His uncle killed Mai and now he has made her a ghost, leaving her reputation to suffer in comparisons she has no chance of ever winning. 

And there is not an Agni-damned thing he can do to change that. 

viii.

The purification rituals of the reed month had fallen by the wayside in Azulon’s early reign but Zuko felt it important to bring back these ancient customs and traditions, to show a new way of living, a new path hidden in an old path. 

He follows behind the procession of the sages as they recite the ancient prayers. He bathes in the morning and evening, drinks hot water, and eats small amounts of the same kinds of food offered to the spirits. Throughout the fast, he is fatigued with sharp pains around his eyes and temple, but he prays, and the feeling often passes. He thinks nothing of the pain but even if he did, he cannot leave before completing the purification rituals. What would his people think of him?

When he is not in prayer or meditation or performing a ritual dance, he is reading the poetry of his ancient ancestors and writing some of his own. Many of them were burdened people, not dissimilar to himself, but some found deep fulfillment in their time as Fire Lord. Those poems are the ones he returns to.  

On the final day of the fast, Zuko stands in the innermost chambers of the high temple. It is sweltering; his lips are dry, and his throat is sore, but he remains there, long after the sages have left.  

There is something terrible and beautiful inside the eternal flame, he would swear to it. 

But today it calls out to him in a way it never has before. 

He even hears things; a deep and ancient voice whispers about him and their people, the future and the past. 

As he stumbles and falls the words reverberate in his head. 

ix.

He gasps when he wakes, startled to find himself in his bedroom. His eyes search the room and land on Katara sitting by the window, her crown glittering in the afternoon sun.  

His golden eyes turn hard. “What are you doing in here?”

The waterbender stands and smooths down her blue silk dress. “The palace healer called for me, informing me that you had passed out in the temple.”

“Well, I am awake now so you can leave,” he says, sitting up in his bed. 

“Do you not see it?” she asks, after a sharp exhale. 

“See what?” he replies, his voice crackling. 

“How terrible you look.” Katara steps closer, handing him a mirror. 

He holds the mirror in his hands, looking into it. He looks...he can’t...he starts laughing. How else could he react to what he sees?

It is as death itself is hanging over him. 

His face is gaunt, his eyes tired and dull, and his hair has lost its shine. His pale skin looks bloodless, making his scar look even more prominent. 

She steps away from him and continues speaking. “The servants tell me that you spend nights in your office and work through meals.” There is a pause before she adds, “You are digging yourself into an early grave.”

“Wouldn’t you like that,” he snarls, crossing his arms.  

“I don’t wish for your death,” she assures him, and her voice sounds so earnest that he nearly believes her.  

Stubbornly and perhaps childishly, he eats very small amounts of the food the servants bring for him, continuing to eye her from his bed. 

“You must eat if you wish to be well again,” Katara says, her words soft and her eyes gentle. 

A dark tempest twists and roars inside him because she is acting. The waterbender is so very good at that. So good that he would recommend her to the Royal Caldera Theater. “We are alone here. Stop the playacting,” he says with a bite. 

She stares at him blankly. “I don’t even know how to respond to that.” 

“Then don’t,” Zuko retorts. “Just send for my daughter.” 

“You are in no state for her to see,” Katara chides, her chin jutting out. “You will frighten her.”

He is shocked and angry and confused because she is right. She is right and he doesn’t want her to be. Izumi would cry if she saw him looking this way. He has never not looked strong or brave or happy in front of her. But Zuko refuses to let Katara win this. “Then I guess I’ll frighten her.”

When she narrows her vivid eyes at him, he nearly smiles. There she is, the real Katara. He prefers her over the person she was attempting to be earlier. That woman unnerved him, the concern she showed, it made its way under his skin, urging him to forget the past and the truth.

(That other woman exists for others but not for him. And he prefers it that way. With him, she does not have to hide the dark cloud that follows her or the glint in her eye when something reminds her of her past.)

Her voice drips with spite. “I don’t understand how such a wonderful child came from someone like you.”

x. 

Zuko is crouched behind a raised blanket, telling his daughter a bedtime story with shadow puppets. 

Izumi sits on the other side, giggling as he changes the pitch and volume of his voice to go along with the different puppets and events in the story. 

It is work, more work than he should be taking on in his physical condition, but his daughter's happiness matters more than his comfort. 

It is long past her bedtime when he finishes, and her nanny is able to lead his yawning child out of the room before she attempts to kiss him goodnight. 

He prays that Izumi is too tired to notice anything amiss, he doesn’t think he could bear it if she did. 

xi.

“What I said earlier, I didn’t mean-”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

“Why?”

“Because I was wrong.”

“Not for the first time.”

A pause. 

“No, I guess not.”

xii. 

With a bright grin on her face, his daughter holds up a drawing of the two of them in matching black and crimson robes. 

Admiring the work, he says, “It’s lovely, turtleduck. I’ll hang it on the wall in my office.” Teasingly he asks, “Black and crimson? Why not orange in honor of the Mikan Festival?”

Izumi’s face pinches in disgust, looking very much like her mother. “Orange is an ugly color.” 

“Your mother thought so too,” Zuko laughs and picks up another drawing in the playroom. One of Izumi and Katara having tea in the gardens. “Did you make this for Master Katara?”

“I miss her when she’s away,” Izumi says plainly. 

Zuko reaches over, placing his hand on his daughter’s shoulder, trying to figure out what to say. Not long ago, such an admission from Izumi would have made him feel jealous or angry but now, it doesn’t elicit an emotional response from him. There’s no sinking feeling in his stomach or a sense of disorientation—just acceptance and he has no idea why. “Well, she’ll be back from Shuhon soon and I know this drawing will make her happy.” 

Izumi looks up at him. “Really?” 

“Yes,” Zuko replies with a small smile.  

xiii. 

Under a willow tree, Zuko finishes his meditation before rising to begin his katas. 

His concentration is interrupted when he hears the voice of his personal secretary, Kwanjai. “Your majesty, here are the naval records you requested.”

He takes the document and sits under the tree to read. 

His katas can wait.

xiv. 

One night, he finds Katara in the library. Izumi had asked him to read her a specific tale, the story of the turtle crab king and he entered the library to retrieve it. Katara does not notice him; she is lounging on a couch with her eyes fixed on the book she is reading. He recognizes it as the tale of the prince and the crococat, a tale his mother would often read to him and Azula. 

He grabs the book containing the story of the turtle crab king off a shelf and leans over to look down at Katara. “The prince lives in the end,” he says. 

Immediately, she lifts her head. “Thanks, Zuko. It’s not like I was enjoying the story,” she huffs, closing the book. If he did not see the playful glint in her eyes, he would have thought she was truly annoyed with him. Since she returned from getting closure for her mother’s death, they have become friends but there are still moments of uncertainty. Having authentic and positive interactions with each other is still new for them. 

He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. “I’m going to read a story to Izumi. Would you like to join us?”

At the mention of his daughter, her entire face brightens. “Of course, I would be honored to join the two of you.”

xv. 

Before unification, the Fire Islands were filled with strife, suffering, and bloodshed. Brutal and vicious warlords killed untold numbers of people in their quest for power. The accession of the Fire Lord ended such a period, uniting the islands to create an era of peace and prosperity for their people. Vowing to never again allow such violence and terror be experienced. 

(Until they decided to take what they had inflicted upon themselves and impose it onto the rest of the world.)

He and Izumi stand on a raised platform overlooking the main plaza of Caldera as he readies himself to address his people. The roar of the crowd is deafening, a mass of people, all chanting and singing in the old tongue. Unification Day celebrations have been this way for as long as he could remember. Intense, wild, and open with elaborate floats of key moments in Fire Nation history and countless performances and events throughout the country.   

“You don’t have to be here,” he whispers to Katara, surprised that she has come out to join him, to join them. He cannot imagine what this must look like to her, how this must make her feel. Being a southern waterbender and looking out to see the children of fire celebrating their history and their glory, ancient glory but glory, nonetheless. 

“I do,” she says, her expression unreadable to him. 

Katara stands at his side, a wisp of light pink, a pink so soft that it is nearly white, looking out into a sea of blood red. 

He realizes that he doesn’t know anything about her.

xvi. 

In his golden tea room, Zuko and Ty Lee enjoy almond biscuits and white tea. His friend’s visits are often unscheduled but never unwelcomed. He will forever be grateful to her for her help and support during Izumi’s first months of life. She was in the palace so frequently that some awkward rumors started to spread in court about an engagement announcement being imminent. A short time later, Ty Lee left Caldera to return to the circus and the court moved on to other gossip. 

“Your wife was all Izumi wanted to talk to me about. It was so precious,” Ty Lee says with glee. 

“My wife?” Zuko repeats, the word still feels odd on his tongue when used in relation to Katara. 

(Mai is his wife and Mai is dead.) 

“Yes, silly. Your wife.” Ty Lee rolls her eyes, then suddenly pauses. Her curious brown eyes search him as if she is attempting to figure out some great mystery. “Your aura...it’s different,” she exclaims, a smile blooming across her face. “The three of you must be happy together.”

He releases a breath. “I didn’t expect or even desire her to become a friend to me, but she has.” 

Ty Lee is not one to let things go so Zuko shifts the conversation, asking her about events in the circus and launching into a long story about the Cherry Blossom Festival and the activities Izumi participated in. 

Once they finish the biscuits and the tea, there’s a lull in conversation, and her expression shifts into something soft and sad and kind. They have lived so little time, but they have lost so much already. A whole generation of people holding the broken pieces of themselves. “Mai would want you to be happy.” 

Ty Lee knows everything. The things he has resolved to forget, she remembers. She chooses to remember.

He’s quiet but he’s angry. What does she see in him, with her curious and dark eyes, that he does not already know about himself? Because he’s happy but he’s often confused, angry, and frustrated. He doesn’t like to think about where he would be—what he would be—without Izumi or the crown or the throne or the flames. 

“I know,” he says softly.  

xvii.

Her face is tear-stained and she is shivering on a warm, summer night. Hesitantly, he sits beside her on the patio and they look out at the glow of the stars, stretching out across the sky.

On Ember Island, things are felt more deeply and intensely. The island can make one feel stripped-down and bare, real and true. The sea and the sky see all things. 

“What are you thinking about?” he whispers, reaching over to touch her cheek. 

Suddenly, she presses her body against his, and he wraps his arms around her, awkwardly stroking her hair. “I see myself helpless, holding his dead body. It keeps me up at night. Why couldn’t I have healed him? Why wasn’t I strong enough?” she laments. 

He is not good with situations like these or with words for that matter, but for her, he will try. She deserves that much; she has done so much for Izumi, more than he could ever thank her for. “It wasn’t your fault,” he comforts. “Not even remotely. He does not blame you for what happened.” 

Blue eyes look up at him, anger and sadness all blended together. “You didn’t know him! All you ever did was try to capture him!” 

It doesn’t hurt him, not even slightly because it is true. He didn’t know the Avatar. He didn’t want to know the Avatar. He wanted to go home. The child was more spirit than human, living between this world and the other. Knowing and feeling and bearing things beyond Zuko’s understanding, beyond anyone’s understanding. He was all of the world yet none of it. 

The Avatar lived in a cycle and in a way, they all do. Everything flowing and converging. Shifting but never truly changing. Never beginning or ending. Just being, always being. 

He was born in a world without an Avatar.

He lived in a world with an Avatar. 

He will die in a world without an Avatar. 

What he is unable to convey through his words, he attempts to convey with his eyes, letting her know that he cares even if he doesn’t understand or can’t understand what she is feeling. Zuko speaks to her in hushed tones. “I know. But you told me that he loved and cared for you. Let the guilt go.” 

“I can’t,” Katara says brokenly.

“Try,” Zuko says gently. “Let a little bit go each day. Like sand in the wind.”

She shuts her eyes, fighting against the tears that threaten to overwhelm her. “I can't-I-just...Make me forget, please.”

“I can’t; I don’t know how. The pain, you have to let yourself feel it,” Zuko soothes. 

Katara kisses him, her lips soft and warm against his. “You know how. You do. You do,” she breathes in between kisses. 

And he sighs into her kiss; this won’t help her, not even remotely, but he kisses her and touches her and takes her to his bed because he knows what it is like to carry so much pain in your heart that you begin to drown in it.

(To hurt so much that you can hardly think or see through it. He knows pain like that, he knows it several times over.)

Long ago, he did away with the business of goodness. He is not good and he cannot be good, not in this life. 

(And he doesn’t believe in other lives. Such things belong to the gods and the spirits and the Avatar. And he is none of those things, he is a man—a man with the blood of a god and an Avatar in him but a man like all others.)

So he will live the way he has been living, because the sun will rise and the world will go on, no matter what he does.

And he has gotten used to the feel of her smooth, cool skin against his.

xviii. 

Just before he enters her, she interlocks their fingers tightly together. Katara's lips are parted, letting out soft moans and pants as he thrusts into her, falling into a steady rhythm. When she comes, she cries out so loudly that he crushes his mouth to hers to quiet her. He finishes not long afterwards, groaning into her neck. Sweat cools on their skin as they kiss and nuzzle each other. 

After Katara falls asleep, he looks up at the golden dragons dancing on the ceiling of his room and in his heart, he apologizes to Mai. 

xix. 

Her slender fingers glide over his scar when he wakes. “If I had healed you,” she begins, her voice soft and measured. “Would this all have turned out differently?” 

He takes her hand and presses a kiss to her palm. “I don’t know.”

xx. 

“I thought that if he saw- No, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I’m sorry, Zuko. About what I did in Ba Sing Se, about everything. If I could go back and change it all, I would.”

“You let him near my daughter. After everything he's done!” he seethes, fury flooding through him. He should have expected this. Being hurt by people who claim to care for him is not new to him. Father. Mother. Azula. Uncle. And now, Katara.

(A heart can shatter in many different ways. He’s just learned another.)

Her eyes are wet, her dark hair tangled. “I hurt you and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say to make this right.”

“There’s isn’t anything you can say.”

Katara leaves his (their) bedroom and doesn’t return that night, or the next, or the next, or the next, or the next, or the next after that. 

xxi. 

Without speaking, she hands him a worn blue-lined journal.  

Zuko raises his brow. “What is this?” he asks.

Taking a breath, she says, “Everything I know about them.”

An offering; though this is not a temple and he is not a sage, he will accept it. He flips through the journal; glancing at the codes, symbols, rituals, meeting houses, and plans. It’s not everything, not even close to it, there is so much more to his uncle, to the ancient order. They are secret-keepers and shadow-chasers, hollow people in the business of passing dirt off as stardust. This will not end them. They are older than nations, creeds, codes, and tongues. 

(In the beginning, there was water, earth, fire, air, and a game, always a game.) 

“You know what I am,” he says, narrowing his intense eyes at her. “You know what I will do with this.” 

“I know,” she whispers, reaching over to touch him but stopping, thinking better of it. 

“Then why?” he asks. 

“The world they claim to be saving, it is not real. I’m not sure if it ever truly was.” She blinks, then murmurs, “I don’t want anything between us, not anymore.”   

When he speaks to her, his voice is firm but his eyes have softened. “This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you. I’m still angry.” 

His wife holds his gaze, something soft and hopeful in her eyes. “I know but it’s a start, isn’t it?”

That night he holds her in his arms, dreaming of a metal boat, briny air, and an uncle playing the tsungi horn long into the night. 

xxii. 

Zuko tells Master Piandao of his plans as they walk along the cliffs of Shu Jing. 

The swordsman’s voice is firm and steady, but is nearly overpowered by the roar of the cascading water. “There is nothing I can say to change your mind?”

“No,” Zuko replies resolutely. This is the path he has chosen and he must continue on it. He can do nothing else (he can be nothing else). 

The master's expression grows distant, he looks past the water and the mountains and the village. “It is said that three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.”

xxiii.

Nanurjuk anonymously leaks the information from Katara's journal to the major newspapers of the world and outrage spreads across the three nations. 

There are protests from Fire Fountain City to Gaoling; in the autonomous regions of the Earth Kingdom, people vow to not vote for magistrates with ties to the White Lotus, heightening the tension that has been building since their defeat in the war over the colonies. 

In Yu Dao, the protests go long into the evening; his family can hear the faint sounds from their stronghold far above the city. 

The sky turns soft pink and amber and he smiles, watching his wife and daughter skip rope in the courtyard. 

He sips tea and does not think of his uncle, not even once.

xxiv. 

Zuko stands in the doorway between their bathroom and their bedroom, watching her hand shake slightly as she brushes through her soft and dark waves.

It has been a week since she saved Izumi. A week of tears, anger, and soft words spoken to Izumi and to each other.

“Did you mean what you said?” he asks, stepping closer to her, his voice less like steel but softer, more fragile, like antique cut glass. 

His wife looks over her shoulder at him, her eyes slightly dazed. She turns to face him, and when she answers him her voice is strained but certain. “I’ll never leave Izumi.”

“Then you’ll never leave me,” he says, caressing her face. 

xxv.  

Threads of golden light stream through his window as Izumi jumps on his bed. “Happy Birthday, Daddy!”

Zuko pulls his daughter into his arms to tickle her. 

“Daddy, stop!” Izumi exclaims, squirming and giggling. 

Katara enters their bedroom with a tray of hotcakes and sweet cream. “Okay, I declare a ceasefire to the tickling war for as long as it takes for us to finish breakfast.”

They sit on the balcony, enjoying the sunlight, the light blue sky, and fluffy hotcakes. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Zuko asks, flushing under Katara's gentle gaze. She looks at him like he is something rare and delightful and whole instead of a broken, angry, mess of a man with more blood on his hands than he can stand.

“I have news for you. Very important news,” she grins, with sparkling eyes. 

“Tell me. I order you to tell me,” he declares in a mock-serious tone, his eyes warm and soft. 

Katara leans towards him and whispers in his ear, telling him news more precious than the sun, the moon, and all the stars. 

xxvi.

Zuko holds his son and daughter in his arms as they wiggle and coo. The twins both have light tan skin and their hair falls in soft black waves.

He can see so much of his maternal family in them: his mother’s deep amber eyes (with the spark of firebenders), his grandmother’s nose, and his grandfather’s brow. But their chins, their chins came from him. 

In awe, he thinks of how these children have both him and Katara in them, the blood of two peoples. It is their duty to love and care for them, to protect and guide them. He vows to never let them come to harm. 

Six-year-old Izumi begs to name them. Zuko and Katara concede, unable to resist her pout and the look of wonder in her eyes. 

So the Fire Nation celebrates the birth of Prince Akashi and Princess Xia, born on the ninth day of the orchid month. The first royal twins in several generations. 

xxvii.

Three years later, the Fire Nation celebrates the birth of another royal child. A daughter, born on the coldest night of the ice month. 

Their daughter has Katara's eyes and hair and full mouth with tanner skin than Xia and Akashi. And she has his nose and brows, along with the royal family's chin. 

“She’s a waterbender, I can tell,” Katara breathes, tired but glowing. 

Zuko runs his finger along their daughter's soft cheek. “What do you wish to name her?”  

Katara immediately answers him. “Kya, after my mother.” 

“Princess Kya, my little water lily,” Zuko coos as Kya looks up at him with curious and bright eyes.

xxviii.

Izumi relishes the role of big sister. Her face lights up as she helps her siblings with their katas and their schoolwork or teaches them games and activities.

Ursa and Zuko share some warm tea and walnut cookies, watching the children play hide-and-seek in the gardens. 

His mother places a delicate hand on his wrist, somehow knowing exactly what he was thinking about. “It’ll be different.”

“How do you know that?” Zuko whispers, taking a long sip of his tea. 

“Because you and Katara have made it different,” she asserts. 

Zuko takes another sip of his tea.

xxix. 

She finds him in his work studio, attempting to fix the tiny fan pendant that Akashi broke. 

“Are you okay?” Katara asks, with an odd tone in her voice. 

Zuko swallows and replies, “Yes, I am fine. I just want to fix this.” He turns away from her, trying to place the two split pieces together with adhesive. 

“It’s from Mai, right?”

He falls silent and turns back towards her. “Yes,” he tells her slowly and softly. “It was a gift from Mai for our engagement.” 

“I see,” Katara says, turning to leave the room. 

Zuko reaches over and grabs her arm to stop her. “Katara, please listen to me.” 

The waterbender lets out a soft sigh before she looks up at him with misted eyes.  

Mai will always be in his heart but he loves Katara just as much. She is the one who broke through his walls; who loved Izumi and his people before she ever loved him. Who gave up her old world (her home, the order, her brother) to live with him in his. She has filled their home and their children's lives with love and joy and wonder. “You have never been a replacement. You make me so happy. I'm sorry that I don't say this enough, I love you. I love you so much. It's just some moments are still hard for me and perhaps will always be hard for me.”

Katara falls into his arms, pressing her face into his neck. “I understand, Zuko. I love you. I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

“I love you. Each day I love you more,” he breathes against her hair, taking in the scent of lavender and the sea. 

xxx.

The Fire Lord looks out the window of his house on Ember Island, captivated by the waves crashing against the shore. Water changes and shifts, cycling through the world. He wonders if perhaps the water he sailed through in those old days could be in front of his eyes, touching the shores of Ember Island for the first time. 

“Dad!”

“Dad, come on!”

“Zuko, we are going to be late for the play!” 

He smiles, hearing a chorus of voices blending in with the sea wind. His children, his wife, his world—all calling for him. 

Zuko looks away from the sea and walks out of the house, joining his family in the sun.