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“It really would be best if you could just comply with protocol, my lady”, the advisor crows with insincere sweetness.
Katara keeps her composure, but her blue eyes flash with the incoming storm. The mouse-faced little man has been helping with the royal wedding planning for the past three weeks, and she is just about sick of him.
“And I, advisor Chen, would rather you let me make my own choices about this. I am not wearing my hair in the fire nation bridal style. Surely wearing red is enough of a concession to protocol.”
She gestures angrily at the gown laid out on the bed. It’s a gorgeous garment, made of shimmering, expensive silk, and Katara knows she looks stunning in it. That is not the point.
“But this hairdo–”
“--is a typical Water Tribe wedding hairstyle, and it is not up for debate!”
“I would beg my lady to reconsider-”
“What is happening here?” chimes in a familiar honeyed rasp. Zuko is standing at the door, evidently drawn to the room but their raised voices.
The advisor turns to him deferentially, clearly hoping to have found support in his petition, as if he could simply bypass Katara’s opinions, which makes her see red (and it has nothing to do with the dress).
“My Lord,” the advisor says bowing deeply, “I was simply trying to explain to the future Fire Lady that a Water Tribe hairdo will simply not suit a Fire Nation wedding attire.”
Zuko appears to think it over for a second. “Advisor Chen, I believe you’re right,” he says then, evenly. Katara sputters in outrage, but before she can raise hell, Zuko raises a placating hand in her direction, and continues: “Since the two styles are mismatched, I see no other option than for Lady Katara to wear a traditional Water Tribe wedding dress.”
Both Katara and the advisor gape for a second, but in the following moment, Katara’s expression turns to a beaming smile, while the advisor looks positively distraught.
“But my Lord,” he stammers, “Lady Katara is to become Fire Lady. It is crucial that she looks the part. Tradition demands--”
“Then perhaps tradition needs a change,” Zuko interrupts him, his tone not so even and agreeable anymore. “I’m the Fire Lord. I’ll decide what is crucial and not crucial at my own wedding.”
The advisor looks flabbergasted, his mouth opening and closing uselessly for a couple of seconds, before he sighs in resignation, bowing his head. “As my Lord wishes. With your permission,” and he scurries out of the room.
Katara watches him go with immense satisfaction, then turns her attention on Zuko.
“You know, you really don’t have to fight my battles for me,” she reminds him, but in truth, she’s glad for the support, and her tone lacks any real heat.
“Oh, I’m aware,” he replies, “but I figured some enemies are so fearsome you’re just meant to take them on together. You know, deranged firebenders, sea monsters... pedantic and disrespectful wedding planners...”
Katara lets out a helpless little laugh. It’s always a little surprising, in the most delightful way, when Zuko cracks a joke. She should be used to it by now – he’s miles away from the dour teenager she first befriended – but somehow, his dry humour rearing its head can still catch her unprepared.
“Well, then I appreciate your support against this most terrible foe,” she teases. She looks back at the dress on the bed, mulling over the implications of Zuko not only supporting her demand, but pushing to break with protocol even more. A bubble of worry rises up in her chest, and she turns back to him, fiddling with her hands a little.
“Are you sure this is okay? Me wearing a Water Tribe dress at the wedding? It is a Fire Nation ceremony after all,” she asks, walking over to him.
“It’s what you want, isn’t it?” he replies with a soft smile.
Katara chews on her lip, a little guiltily. It is, but she’s been prepared for a while to compromise and wear Fire Nation red. She knew going into this that marrying a head of state carries certain responsibilities. They have worked so hard for peace, for stability, for a world in balance; she doesn’t want to jeopardize their victory over a diplomatic misstep. If wearing the wrong colour at an official ceremony is going to rock the boat, make her look like she’s not truly prepared to marry into a Fire Nation family, she will suck it up and wear the damn dress. She still wanted something, though – she refuses to give all of herself up – hence the insistence on wearing her hair the way Water Tribe brides do, with the carved ornaments and intricate braids Gran-gran had shown her once.
Zuko, as he so often does, seems to have guessed what she’s thinking, because he takes her hands in both of his. “Katara, this is not the time for self-sacrifice. It’s your wedding too,” he says, fervently.
“I know,” she grumbles, hiding her face in his chest. “I was just taking one for the team.”
“What team? Team Avatar? Because I’m sure as fuck not marrying all of them,” he deadpans, making her laugh again.
“I know how selfless you are,” he adds, dropping a kiss to the top of her head, “but you’ve given up enough. This is something you should be selfish about. You’re Water Tribe through and through. It’s who you are, and that’s the woman I’m marrying.”
She can feel his heartbeat speed up a little as he says it, his voice soft and a little awed, as if he still can’t believe his luck, can’t believe she’d ever want to be with him. She knows that deep down, that is exactly how he feels, even after years together, and it makes her heart ache a little. She looks up at him, taking in the slight pinkness of his cheeks, and the fierce affection in his golden eyes. “I want you to be happy on your wedding day, Katara. I know I will be.” And oh, Tui and La, she just has to kiss him for that, going up on her tippy toes to capture his mouth for a few sweet, lingering moments. When they part, they’re both smiling.
“Alright, then,” she concedes, feeling lighter than she has in days. She feels a bit silly, but she really is happy that her wedding dress will look like the one she dreamt of as a little girl (though of course, she could never have predicted quite whom she would be marrying). “Water Tribe ceremonial wear it is. I’ll get started on the model immediately.”
“You will look amazing,” Zuko states without a shadow of a doubt, “and anyone who has a problem with tradition can take it up with me.” He squeezes her hands gently. “Besides,” he adds with a wink, “I’m plenty Fire Nation enough for the both of us.”
He means it as a joke, laying the swagger on thick to make her smile and roll her eyes and give him a playful shove, but at that moment, Katara is struck by how true it is. She takes a proper look at Zuko, at his raven hair and fair skin, at the unusual, honey-coloured eyes she has only ever seen in the Fire Nation; she thinks about all the things about him that are so foreign to her, both small and big: from the way he can’t seem to eat anything without piling spoonfuls of spices on, to the way he can breathe fire into existence – and it hits her all over again: Spirits, she loves this man – not in spite of their differences, but because of them.
She’s a proud daughter of the Water Tribe, and she can’t wait to be married to this proud Fire Nation man, and the most amazing thing of all is that she gets to do that, she can do that, because this is the new, brave, peaceful world they live in: the world they’ve built together. Katara’s heart is so full, so very full, she could cry of joy.
Instead, she raises their joined hands and tugs Zuko towards the bed; and if the forgotten red gown falls to the floor in a silken heap at some point, well – it’s not as if they’ll be needing it.