Work Text:
And it's you and me and all of the people
And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you
You and Me - Lifehouse
It’s not every day that one is invited as a guest of honour to the Fire Lord’s 17th birthday – but then, Zuko isn’t just any Fire Lord, and they’re not just anyone, Katara thinks, looking at her friends with pride. They’re Team Avatar; the Aang Gang; they’re the heroes of the 100-year war. And that reputation would carry a certain weight even if they weren’t close friends of the newly crowned sovereign – which they are, because it’s pretty impossible to change the world together and not bond over it.
So now, they stand in the brightly lit, richly decorated ballroom; it’s packed with people in lavish fire nation clothes and dignitaries from other countries, the colours of their clothes all mingling with each other - red and blue, green and brown, orange and yellow, a kaleidoscope in the colours of four nations. Katara looks around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings with excited curiosity. It has been more or less a month since Zuko’s coronation, but they are all still in the Fire Nation capital, reluctant to disband their little family. Someday soon they’ll have to go their separate ways, Katara knows, but for now they’re all still guests at the palace, and the novelty of it hasn’t worn off yet.
“What’s taking Sparky so long? It’s time to get this party started!” Toph complains loudly.
“Yeah,” Sokka joins in, a slight tinge of petulance to his voice as he gestures at the tables laden with international delicacies. “I mean look at all that food just waiting for us!”
Suki, standing at his side, purses her mouth at him. “You and Toph have been sneaking handfuls for fire flakes for the past twenty minutes, Sokka.”
Sokka looks properly chastised. Toph looks as unrepentant as ever, grumbling about Suki being a tattletale.
“Come on, guys!” Aang entreats, with a pacifying smile. “We’ve got to be on our best behaviour. We’re special guests of the Fire Lord after all. As Team Avatar, it’s important that we make a good impression.”
Katara smiles. Aang has been taking his role more and more seriously since standing side by side with Zuko during the inauguration, and although his enthusiasm still has something childish to it, she’s happy regardless. It’s also nice not to be the one calling everyone to order for a change, as it means she can just keep enjoying the live music and people-watching.
And it is because she’s still busy scanning the room that she sees the large polished wood door open before everyone else, as the guest of honour finally makes his entrance.
And then the weirdest thing happens. Katara’s breath catches in her throat a little, and she can’t seem to look away.
Zuko looks like himself, but also not. He’s wearing his full Fire Lord regalia, the ones that he had confessed to her, a little embarrassed, are a hassle to put on and weigh about half a ton, and they’re so impractical, what’s the point really? But looking at him now, Katara kind of gets what the point is. Her friend looks… impressive.
It’s not just the armour, though. It’s the jut of his chin, the way he carries himself, his back proudly straight, a far sight from the grumpy boy who had been slouching around a fire with them for weeks. It’s the aura of calm power about him, and the serious look on his face.
This isn’t the aggressive, arrogant teenager who had chased them around the world. He’s not the boy who had broken her heart in Ba Sing Se, a little gaunt and ragged in his tea-server uniform. He’s not Aang’s disgruntled firebending teacher, all lithe limbs and shaggy hair. Nor is he the earnest boy who had helped Katara get closure for her mother’s death, with his awkward overtures and unshakeable support.
No. As he walks into the room, Zuko is unmistakably a Fire Nation prince. Stupid, Katara scolds herself, trying to shake herself out of her bemusement. You’ve always known he was a prince, haven’t you? It’s not exactly news.
But the thing is that tonight, maybe for the first time Katara can remember, he looks like one. She can see it in the aristocratic lines of his face, those molten gold Fire Nation eyes, the lustrous black hair held up in a topknot by a golden flame headpiece. His broad shoulders are accentuated by the wide slope of the ceremonial armour, everything else about him long and lean and firm. It’s only because Katara knows him so well that she can read the slight tension in his frame, but it’s masterfully kept under control, his expression serene and confident as he turns sideways to greet a minister.
Katara can’t help it. She blushes.
Blushes, like a starstruck little girl.
It’s just that Zuko looks so… adult. In truth, all of them have grown up faster than they should have. She looks at her brother, every bit the goof he’s always been, now a fearless leader standing hand in hand with brave, kind Suki; she thinks about Toph, not even 13 and more self-assured than Katara thinks she’ll ever be; and of course she thinks about Aang, the child who was promised and now the world’s saviour. She thinks about herself, and how she’s been looking after people since she was a child.
All of them so young, all of them so much older than their years, she thinks wistfully. And yet, time seems to have carried Zuko a little more swiftly than the rest of them in the past few weeks. Getting the weight of a nation dropped on your shoulders will do that, she muses.
She remembers Zuko jumping in front of Azula’s bolt of lightning, the one meant for Katara. Reckless, impulsive, generous Zuko. Hard to believe that boy is the young man standing a few feet away from her, regal and detached, striking and handsome.
Oh, snap out of it!, she tells herself, with a pinch of irritation. Tui and La, it’s just Zuko!
But that’s what makes it worse. Because it is Zuko, and he is handsome. With his scar hidden from view, all Katara can see are his elegant features, the sharp jaw and high cheekbones, the fine slope of his nose. A fairytale prince. But when he turns back towards them and his flame-burst scar comes into view, somehow, instead of marring the effect, it makes Katara’s heart stutter in her chest. She knows the story now. She’s heard about the boy who was brave enough to speak up, the boy who was forever marked in fire for his compassion. Zuko may look handsome due to his ancestry, but the scar is visible proof of the beauty inside him, the one that truly matters; the same one that caused him to take lightning to the chest for her.
Suddenly, Zuko notices their little group standing to the side, and smiles at them, relief and happiness evident in the small tilt of his lips as he starts heading in their direction.
“About time!”, Toph exclaims boisterously. Katara feels braced by her straightforwardness. As she comes back to herself, she hears her brother happily greets Zuko, and sees Suki giving him a friendly wave with the hand that’s not entwined with Sokka’s.
At her other side, Aang beams, then dips into a small bow. “Fire Lord Zuko,” he greets, with all the solemnity of a kid trying his best to fill the role he was born to.
“Avatar Aang,” Zuko replies, bowing gracefully in turn. His head is still inclined when he looks back up at her, his mouth quirked in amusement at Aang’s newly acquired gusto for pomp and circumstance. It’s a private little smile, almost an inside joke between them as Zuko’s golden eyes bear into hers – and damn it all, Katara feels her cheeks flushing again.
Spirits help her, this is going to be a problem.