Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You should leave me,” The soldier muttered thickly, “Who knows what kinds of evil live in this forest…”

Zuko hefted the other man higher over his shoulder. He was attempting a fireman’s carry, which was very difficult with a busted shoulder. His good eye was itchy and weepy, and every blink twinged with pain.

“That’s treasonous,” Zuko gritted out. “You don’t think I can carry you and defend against bandits? What kind of—glorious leader would I be then?”

The soldier let out a grunt, “I wasn’t thinking… bandits…”

“What else is there?” Zuko asked.

There was no response. Zuko half-knelt and caught a glimpse of the wounded man’s face. His skin was pale and sickly, covered in a fine sheen of cold sweat. There was blue under his skin, around his lips and his eyes.

Zuko hefted him back onto his shoulder and continued on. The soldier had a slim chance of making it through, but only if Zuko was able to locate the rest of the squad. Which was also looking unlikely.

Thick grey smoke wafted up in streams along the forest path. Black undergrowth grew in complex twists under the grass, a sort of thin brush which would burn smoky and dim for hours after a strike. The rebels had used that to their advantage and Zuko—stupidly—had fallen for it. And now his whole squad was paying the price, splintered and scattered across the valley Agni knows where.

Zuko pushed on through a thick cluster of narrow trees. He was really starting to hate the Earth Kingdom.

There was a little movement in the trees ahead and Zuko limped behind the boughs of a heavy tree. His body felt raw and exhausted, but he managed to hide before the person came into view.

It was a young woman, with pale, eggshell-coloured skin and dark hair pulled into a knot on the top of her head. She wore Earth Kingdom-style clothing, a deep green robe and white sash. But when she glanced at the sky, Zuko saw her eyes were bright gold. It was very unlikely that Earth Kingdom nationalists would have recruited her. And blood was drying across Zuko’s shoulder. He had to take a chance.

“Hello,” Zuko stepped out from behind the trees, “Can you help us?”

The young woman’s eyes went wide, “What are you doing here?”

Zuko took a step forward, “Please, he’s dying. All I need is some shelter and something to treat his wounds.”

“You won’t find that here,” The young woman’s voice was firm, almost fearful. “Go, now, before—”

“Oh, daughter?”

Zuko’s eyes snapped to the trees behind her. An older woman with a lantern came into view. She looked similar to the young woman, with the same shade of dark hair, but with different, wider eyes and a misshapen nose.

“Really, Kiyi,” The older woman glanced at the younger one. “You are so inhospitable sometimes.”

Kiyi’s expression changed in a way that was frighteningly elastic, like a band snapping back. It reminded Zuko strikingly of Azula and he felt a little disorientated. Kiyi smiled, serenely, “Sorry, Mother. I wasn’t sure if the repairs were finished.”

“All finished,” Mother said. Her eyes roamed around and flashed darkly when she saw Zuko. “Come in, young man. Our cottage is around the corner.”

“Thank you,” Zuko said, levering himself upright again. The solider weighed heavily on his bruised body.

Kiyi’s earlier anger seemed to have dissolved, and she walked demurely behind Zuko and his soldier, her hands folded behind her back. Mother parted the hanging leaves to reveal a small, dark-wood cottage built with a Fire Nation spiked roof and layout. It looked like it had been plucked from Caldera and dropped from the sky.

“Kiyi, go fetch us some firewood,” Mother instructed, holding the door open for Zuko to limp through. Kiyi bowed and disappeared back into the forest.

“You’ll have to excuse my daughter,” Mother said. “She can be suspicious.”

“I understand,” Zuko said, “With rebels in the valley so close to your home, it makes sense.”

“They’re close?” Mother tilted her head, seeming mildly interested.

“Where can I put him down?” Zuko asked.

Mother gestured to the floor at the fireside. Despite it being the middle of the day, there was a fire rolling steadily behind the grate. Zuko was thankful for it—the soldier’s skin was clammy and cold. As gently as he could, he lowered the man onto the floor. The solider made a huff.

“I need some clean bandages,” Zuko said. “Any sort of linen will do, and a bucket of salt water and any blankets that you have.”

Mother made no move to get him anything. She leaned on her knees and peered down at him. “Who is he?”

Zuko glanced between them, “His name is Ryoma. He’s a second lieutenant. Please, some bandages?”

Mother took a long look at Ryoma before she ambled off into the depths of the house. In the time she took to return, Zuko had stripped him of the upper part of his uniform, and washed his wounds as best he could with cold tea from a pot and Zuko’s clean undershirt.

Ryoma breathed shallowly and slowly, his eyes tightly closed. The blue under his skin had spread like a bruise.

Mother knelt beside Zuko and set down a pile of freshly washed bedsheets.

Zuko pulled a bedsheet towards himself and retrieved the old Earth Kingdom knife from his belt, tearing it into clean white strips. Gently as he could, Zuko lifted Ryoma off the floor and pulled the bandage over his cool skin.

“You are wasting your time,” Mother said. “He will die.”

“Hush!” Zuko hissed. He mopped up the sweat on Ryoma’s shining forehead. The heat from the fire was beginning to warm up Ryoma’s chilled flesh, but his breathing was still shallow and thin.

“Hush?” Mother echoed.

Zuko tied the bandages off smartly. “They say hearing is the last thing to go before you pass. It’s terrible to think the last thing he’d hear was someone giving up on him. He may yet live.”

Mother stood. Her pale robes flowed over her long legs in cream waves. She set a bucket down, filled to the brim with icy salt water. “Will a pleasant lie help him pass?”

Zuko ignored her. He dipped a wadded-up ball of cloth into the icy water and funnelled heat through hands until the water began to steam. He pressed the wet ball of cloth to the bandages so that the salt water would soak through.

Mother padded away, her skirts dragging across the hardwood floor.

Ryoma made a small, soft noise, and a frown formed on his sweaty face. The salt water must have reached his wounds. Zuko cleaned the thick grime from Ryoma’s chin and uncovered pink scabs and small wounds.

The rest of the sheets were balled up into a makeshift pillow which he tucked under Ryoma’s head. Zuko was leaving dark smears and he realised the wound on his forearm had opened up. He replaced the bandages on his forearm.

Ryoma’s heartbeat was slowing and he breathed steadily. His eyes stopped flickering under his eyelids.

Zuko shifted back onto his haunches. A heavy fatigue rested over him.

There was a small clatter behind him, and Zuko turned to see Mother had returned, and set a tray of food on the table.

“Eat, Zuko,” Mother commanded.

Zuko stood. It had been a long time since anyone outside of his friends had said his name without any honorifics, and it startled him slightly. He bowed, “Thank you. I apologise, I have not asked your name.”

“You know my name,” Mother said.

Zuko frowned. He was tired, and his thoughts were slow. “Sorry, have we…?”

Mother folded her hands over her face, hiding herself like a clam closing. She sat for a moment, and Zuko looked at her pale, delicate hands, too delicate for a forest woman. More delicate than they had been a moment ago. Then she opened her hands.

Ursa looked back at him.

Zuko stumbled backwards, heart racing. He caught himself on the door and swayed. He felt like he was about to collapse.

“M-Mother?” Zuko gasped. “But—how? I’ve been looking for you for—for—… I thought you were dead.”

Ursa smiled and tilted her head.

In one fluid, graceful movement, she picked the tray from the table and knelt by Ryoma’s still form. “Sit,” She said. “Let’s talk where he can hear us, if it will comfort him.”

Zuko’s heart was thundering and blood rushed loudly past his ears. He walked clumsily forward and dropped into a kneel. His head span, and he wondered vaguely if he were hallucinating.

Ursa pressed a hot cup of tea into his hands.

“How are you alive?” Zuko asked, desperately. “Where have you been? Have you been here the whole time? Does the Earth Kingdom know you’re here?”

“Enough questions, my little Prince,” Ursa said.

Zuko startled, “I’m not actually the Prince. I was crowned, I’m the Fire Lord now. Have been for over ten years now.”

Ursa regarded him levelly. Her pale, sparkling eyes were just as he remembered them, her beautiful midnight hair cascading over her fine robes. Zuko was suddenly aware of just how dishevelled he was, hair three days unbrushed and grime and old sweat thick over his skin. He brushed the hair which had escaped his topknot away from his shoulders.

“Ozai…” Ursa prompted.

“Oh,” Zuko blinked. That was ancient history now. “We didn’t kill him. But he caught a fever two years ago. He passed in his sleep.”

“Painlessly?” Ursa asked, a note of disgust in her voice.

Zuko frowned, “Yes, I believe so.”

Ursa took a deep drink of her tea. She served Zuko a plate of rice and curry, which he ate quickly. The food was good and hot.

“Azula?” Ursa asked.

“She’s doing better,” Zuko said. “She struggled a lot, particularly after the coronation. I revalidated her short reign and added her to the dynasty of Fire Lords, which I think she appreciated. She’s living on Kyoshi Island now, she’s training the new recruits in how to fight powerful benders. It’s sort of ironic, after Ba Sing Se—but you wouldn’t know about that, I guess.”

Ursa didn’t, but also didn’t seem interested. She ate some of her rice and watched Ryoma’s chest gently rise and fall.

“Have you been here the whole time?” Zuko asked. It was a raw question, with teeth, and it almost hurt him to get out.

“I had to leave,” Ursa said. “There’s something you don’t know—that even Ozai didn’t know—or someone, to be specific.”

“Someone?” Zuko echoed.

“When I left the palace… I was with child,” Ursa said. “She was born when I arrived here.”

Zuko glanced behind him, as if the girl was waiting in the hallway. But the house was empty apart from them. “Does that mean—Kiyi? She’s—”

“Your sister, yes,” Ursa said. “I hope one day, you will forgive me for choosing her over you.”

Zuko shrank back a little, and struggled to keep his expression level, “Well—Azula and I are still around.”

“Yes,” Ursa raised her eyes to his. “You are.”

Zuko was about to respond—when Ryoma seized. Ryoma’s whole body twitched and tensed, screw tight, with a terrible, terrible noise like crackling wet leaves. He let out a soft moan and relaxed completely, his head falling back on the pillow and eyes sliding shut. His chest went still.

Zuko straightened up. A sharp pinch of fear started at the base of his diaphragm.

“That was a death rattle,” Ursa said. “Ryoma’s spirit has left to be born somewhere else.”

Zuko could scarcely drag his eyes away. The muscles in Ryoma’s face relaxed. His eyes were very slightly open, and behind dark lashes, Zuko could see the glimmer of gold, like coins at the bottom of a full, dark well.

“Here,” Ursa uncorked a bottle of rice wine and poured Zuko out a generous cup full. “Since you are a man now. Some wine.”

“Thank you,” Zuko said, and drank the wine. It was sweet and sticky, clinging to the back of his throat. Ursa refilled his cup and he felt obliged to drink again. Ursa set the bottle down.

“Have you ever thought about getting a new face?” Ursa asked.

Zuko’s eyes snapped to her, “What?”

“A new face,” Ursa said, and set her cutlery down. She reached across the table, and her hands rested on the sides of Zuko’s face. Zuko restrained the panicked urge to smack her away—that was irrational. Ursa stared into his eyes. “A new life. One free of all the responsibilities that you never asked for.”

Zuko watched her for a moment. Then he shook his head as gently as he could without disturbing her hands. “I’m sorry. I would have liked to grow up with you to guide me, but I am not a child anymore. I might be able to hole myself up here, but there are people who need me, people who depend on me, people I can help. I like my life now. I can’t turn my back on it.”

Ursa’s sharp nails dug into the sides of his cheek, “Oh, my boy. I wasn’t asking permission.”

Zuko reared back but lost his balance. He crashed into the chairs. Head swimming, he watched Ursa, confused, “What’s going on?”

“I’m doing what’s best for you,” Ursa stood up. “I’m wiping away that ugly scar. I’m starting again.”

“What?” Zuko tried to stand, but his legs were like jelly. He crashed back to his knees. “What was in that wine?”

Ursa said nothing. She just smiled.

Zuko’s vision grew bleary, and his eyes slid shut.

*

Zuko was calm and happy.

It was the first time in a very long time he had felt worry free. He felt as if a great weight was lifted from his shoulders. It felt like he was skimming on the top of life, never truly dipping deeply, warm air spiralling around him.

*

He ate. He slept. He weeded the garden. He chopped wood. He cooked.

He ate. He slept.

*

Kiyi punched him in the face.

Zuko stumbled back and crashed into a knot of bamboo trees. His cheek throbbed. Kiyi drew back her fist again, and he threw his arms up, “Hey!”

Kiyi’s expression eased, “Oh, thank Agni. You’re no longer a vegetable.”

Zuko staggered to his feet. He was in the middle of a clearing of bamboo forest. The air smelled of fresh grass and mountain air. He didn’t recognise the deep valley that stretched out to the right of them. “Where am I?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Kiyi asked, folding her arms.

“Uh,” Zuko rubbed his bruising cheek, “It’s all fuzzy. The last thing I remember clearly is being in your cottage with Ursa. My second lieutenant was there.”

“You’ve lost a week,” Kiyi informed him.

“What?” Zuko rubbed his face and noticed that the wound on his forearm was much more healed than he remembered it being. Actually, he felt far more well-rested than he’d been in months, perhaps years. His body felt healthy and strong.

“To cut a long story short,” Kiyi said, tiredly. “Our mother is possessed by an evil spirit. The mother of masks has taken her over and now she spends most of her time tricking travellers into her home so she can steal their faces. The real lesson is, next time I tell you to go somewhere else, you go somewhere else.”

Zuko stared at her blankly.

“Look at this,” Kiyi produced a small hand mirror from her belt.

Zuko took it and turned it over. The mirror flashed in the sunlight, and he peered into his reflection. But it wasn’t his reflection. Ryoma’s face stared back at him. When he scrunched his nose, Ryoma’s nose scrunched. He smiled and his reflection smiled.

“My face…?” Zuko frowned.

“She swapped it,” Kiyi said.

Zuko clicked his fingers and closed one eye. Despite his new face, he was still deaf-blind on his left side. That was probably for the best, it would probably be disorientating to get them back. He couldn’t feel his scar with his fingers, but his eye still felt restricted, even if it matched his right eye now. His hands, too, were different. They were shorter and lacked the Dao sword calluses.

Zuko lowered the mirror, “So, can you help me get my face back from her?”

“Ursa doesn’t have your face,” Kiyi narrowed her eyes.

“What do you mean?” Zuko frowned, a terrible feeling rising in his gut.

“Ursa hasn’t got it,” Kiyi said. “She put it on Ryoma’s corpse. And it left for Caldera a week ago.”

All of the air left Zuko’s chest. He took a step back.

“Exactly,” Kiyi said. She pulled a heavy pack from where she had rested it on a tree-stump. “There’s an ostrichhorse at the bottom of the rise, a map in the pack and enough money for the ferry. It should take you under a month to get to Caldera from here, and then you’re on your own.”

“Oh Agni…” Zuko stumbled back.

Kiyi kicked at his heels, “You’ve got to get a move on, your highness. No point hanging around here.”

“Right,” Zuko gathered up his courage, throwing the pack on his back. “Wait, are you going to be alright? With Ursa?”

Kiyi’s face softened, and she smiled a little sadly, “I’ve got a lot of experience with her. I might not be a bender, but I can defend myself. You, on the other hand, are the leader of an entire nation—they’ve got to be the priority.”

Zuko nodded, “I’ll come back for you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kiyi waved a hand, “Get going.”

*

Zuko made it to the coastline in a few days of hard riding. He sold the ostrichhorse for a bag full of coins and a meal that he ate waiting in line for the ferry.

The ferry journey to the Fire Nation was eight days of agonising boredom. Mostly, he just paced and paced like a trapped animal, clenching fire in his fist so often his clothes smelled of smoke. He did his katas in the small two by two room and tried to mediate away the knot of terrible, itchy anxiety in his stomach.

He couldn’t help but think of Ryoma’s limp, still body, his chalky pale skin. What would Zuko’s face look like, on his corpse?

A few summers ago, Zuko had visited the Southern Water Tribe for a short holiday and had immediately contracted Ice Throat. For three weeks he had been sleeping feverishly, under six layers of fur blankets. Every other minute, Sokka had shaken him awake and he would blink blearily at the other man before falling back asleep. Sokka had told him, later, that every time Zuko had closed his eyes, he had worried about him dying. Zuko had told him that as long as he had Sokka to keep distracting him, he wouldn’t die.

The joke had been funny at the time, but now felt terrible. Zuko rubbed his knuckles into his eyes and tried, and failed, to sleep.

*

Caldera was in mourning.

For some reason, it hadn’t struck him properly until he arrived on the teeming portside. The city was even more overflowing with people than it usually was, mostly scarlet robes and dark sashes, but threaded through with thin blue parkas and green coats. He couldn’t see the entire city at once, like he could from his carriage.

White and grey silks had replaced the ruby red hangings around his city.

Zuko had to stop in the middle of the swell of people. He had to stop and bear the shoving and pushing of the people around him.

The sight of all that white and grey broke his heart. He had seen it two times before—once for his grandfather, and once for his father. But this seemed to strike him sideways, in an unguarded area, and he couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t look away either. A woman was crying, open and unashamed, under his mourning drapes.

Zuko noticed the crowd congregating towards the courtyard outside the palace itself. He had never had such a struggle getting towards the building and found that the distance between the port and the palace was larger than he remembered it being.

On the podium, Avatar Aang spoke to the crowd. His wife, Katara, stood behind him, a little to the side. A hand on his hand.

It was painful to watch, like a dazzling light. But Zuko fixed his eyes on him. He felt dizzy.

“Fire Lord Zuko was a great man,” Aang said, his voice resonant and magnified by his bending. “His name will always be synonymous with courage, honour, and justice. It was my honour to know him, not just as a diplomat, but as a—”

Aang’s voice failed. His mouth was open, but he didn’t speak. He just stared out at the crowd, blankly.

Zuko tore his eyes away and went where the crowd was dragging him. It was late in the day. The viewing had been going on for hours already. He approached the long, low building, draped in ivory silks.

“One ticket,” Zuko dropped a few bronze coins into the man’s hand. His new voice was deeper, and resonant, rolling out of his mouth like a beating drum.

The man pressed the ticket into Zuko’s hands, and Zuko passed it along to the guard at the viewing theatre. Next time, Zuko thought, he would make it free. But at least his citizens only had to pay a few coins.

The temperature dropped a few degrees when Zuko passed into the low stone building, and his eyes had to take a moment to get used to the low light. People were stuffed in on all sides. A child squeezed past him, leaving sticky marks on his robes.

The Fire Lord was entombed in pristine glass, his body arranged with pale hands crossed over his sternum. He was lit by several lanterns which hung over the sparkling glass, casting bright reflections. His face, Zuko’s face, was tilted slightly upwards.

The crowd wouldn’t let him stop, and Zuko was pushed along. Still, he got a good look at his funeral shroud, the royal insignia in his hair.

The Fire Lord had been pronounced dead for two weeks. And still, even to Zuko, it looked like he was just about to stir and open his eyes.

Chapter Text

Zuko snuck in.

The palace was supposed to be the most secure building in the world—it probably was. But Zuko had a real talent for getting into places he wasn’t supposed to. And it helped that he knew the guard’s schedule.

Zuko dropped into one of the long stone corridors near his personal chambers and paced the long halls. He stole a spare uniform and pulled it on in a small alcove. He was oddly grateful that he had listened to the head guard and upgraded the uniforms, they were warm and a welcome change after a week of hard travel in the same clothes.

He didn’t want to confront everyone immediately. It would take a lot of talking to bring them around to the idea, and he didn’t want to overwhelm them. And he also didn’t want to get sent to an asylum because they mistook him for a lunatic. He really didn’t want that to happen.

So—the man who had known him longest.

Iroh’s chambers were near his own. All he had to do was plant an idea.

He knocked on the door.

“Enter,” Iroh said. Zuko’s heart tore a little at how tired he sounded.

Zuko pushed the door open.

Iroh raised his eyes to the door. He sat in front of a small side table; piles of papers stacked up either side of him. Two cups of tea steamed on the table in front of him. He looked very old and very tired.

“Yes?” Iroh prompted, after a moment of silence.

Zuko had been distracted and frowned, “Two cups of tea? Who else is here?”

Iroh looked confused, “What are you—?”

The washer-room door slammed open, and Toph stood with her loose hair in black tumbles around her shoulders. Her white mourning robes were tied with a dark red sash around her waist. Her eyes were shadowed with heavy lines.

“Who is that,” Toph demanded, pointing straight at Zuko.

“He…” Iroh glanced back at Zuko and squinted. “I don’t recognise him.”

Zuko noticed only because he had been watching Toph earthbend for years—as she dropped into a striking stance.

Zuko leaped backwards, narrowly avoiding the stone sinking under him.

He had to continue stumbling backwards, before he could turn and sprint back down the hallway. Earth rose up against him, smashing against the opposite wall, wrecking the fine stonework. A wall reared up ahead of him and he dived to the right, slipping through the open windows.

He escaped her detection by catching onto the washing lines that stretched over his property and swinging himself onto the street. From there he could slip into the crowd and his footfalls would be lost in the noise.

Toph skidded to a halt at the end of the hallway and let out a huff of frustration.

Iroh followed her, hands clasped behind his back, “What happened? Did he have a concealed weapon?”

“No,” Toph brought her arm up sharply and the hallway settled back down. “His heart, it was almost—” She turned slightly towards Iroh and her resolve faltered. “No. Never-mind.”

*

“You weren’t at the ceremony yesterday,” Katara said.

Sokka didn’t respond. He sat with his legs folded on the chair, his hands on his knees as if he were about to meditate. The vigil room was a cool white, the stone exuding a chill. It was the only room in the palace not adorned with any red or gold, only a clear ivory.

The Fire Lord’s body was still and perfect in his glass tomb. Sokka had rested thick furs over the bottom of the coffin, which gave it the impression of a giant ice cube he was trying not to melt.

“Have you slept at all?” Katara asked.

Sokka rubbed his brow bone and leaned back slightly, letting one foot fall. There were fire-lilies dipping their heads in the row of porcelain flasks behind him, each blossom so delicate that they shifted with every movement he made.

“I know this is difficult,” Katara said, “for everyone, but particularly for you. Is there anything—”

“He’s not dead,” Sokka said.

Katara stared at him.

“I’m serious,” Sokka straightened up, “I’m not going crazy, I’m serious.”

Katara edged forwards, “Sokka…”

“Look at him!” Sokka yelped.

Katara glanced down at the body in the tomb. It was strange to look at. Zuko’s face was entirely clear of worry. His forehead was high and regal, his long black hair combed back from his face and fixed into a high topknot. Every gold edging of his robes was flawless and beautiful.

“It’s him,” Katara said, sadly. “I’m sorry, Sokka.”

“I know it’s him,” Sokka snapped. “It’s way too close to be a secret brother or a random look-alike. I just mean—he’s supposed to have died weeks ago. But look at him.”

Katara looked back down at their old friend.

“He looks fine,” Sokka said. “I’ve seen bodies that are weeks old, Katara. They don’t look like—like they’re just about to… wake up.”

Katara laid her hands flat on the cool glass of the coffin. “What are you saying… that he’s in some sort of coma? Or he’s in the spirit world, or something?”

“Something like that,” Sokka said. “I-I… can you try to heal him?”

Katara felt a tear in her heart. She bit her lip.

“Please,” Sokka choked. “Please, it would—”

“Of course I will,” Katara murmured. She uncapped the waterskin she kept at her hip and summoned a glove of water. Sokka jumped off the chair and unhooked the sides of the glass casket. The heavy lid folded back, and Zuko’s hair shifted slightly in the breeze.

Sokka stepped away to give her room.

Katara stared down at Zuko’s empty face. He really did look like you could just shake him awake. She squeezed her eyes shut and focused on the task, pressing her water-enveloped hands onto Zuko’s chest.

There was no reaction, just as she had expected. She opened her eyes and circulated the water faster and slower, trying to get a response. But her water didn’t glow. There was nothing healing.

Katara lifted her hands to Zuko’s head and tried again. His hair was soft under her hands, and although his skin was cold and clammy, she could imagine it warm. Water passed over her skin, slipping through her fingers. Usually, when she healed, she felt the patient’s life force, a white energy like a starburst. But there was nothing there.

She waited for a long moment, while Sokka watched. But eventually, she had to draw her hands back.

“I’m sorry,” Katara said, water filtering back into her waterskin. “I’m so sorry.”

Sokka nodded stiffly. Then, with indescribable gentleness, he lifted the glass lid back over the Fire Lord. The heavy glass made almost no sound as it settled back into place.

“Please come and eat something,” Katara said. “And get some rest.”

Sokka opened his mouth but said nothing for a long time. He dragged a hand across his face. “I’ll have the guards bring me some food.”

Katara nodded quietly, and opened the door, “I’ll ask Aang if he’s heard of anything that could cause a sleep like this. And he can ask his past lives—We’ll hold off on the pyre, for now.”

“Thanks, Katara,” Sokka said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Katara stepped through the door, “Take care of yourself.”

“I will,” Sokka muttered. Katara closed the door behind her.

*

Zuko visited the library. He was glad that he had made it free for all his citizens and had employed so many scribes to make copies of the texts. The arguments his council had erupted into had almost made him give up on it. Senator Noritaka in particular had kicked up such a huge fuss about everything Zuko had put forward for the first three years of his leadership. Yesterday, he had seen the same senator cry at his casket for hours.

The large influx of people called to attend his funeral had migrated to the library, particularly those from the Earth Kingdom. That meant that Zuko had to wait in the long lines and barter for the best scrolls.

Information on the Mother of Masks proved somewhat useless. He read a tale about Mother of Masks providing a new face for a young woman who wanted to avoid persistent suitors—only to reveal that the new face was that of a wanted murder. She hanged.

The rest of the information usually concerned warnings about her fickle, capricious nature, and lengthy advice about how to avoid her when travelling. This was unfortunately a little too late, in Zuko’s case.

*

“What I don’t understand,” Senator Saburo drawled, “is why was his highness on that particular diplomatic mission in the first place?”

Avatar Aang massaged a thumb into his temple, “We’ve discussed this senator.”

“Perhaps,” Senator Izanami interjected, “But the treaty with the Earth Kingdom didn’t require the presence of such a high ranking noble.”

Aang rested his chin on his hand, “Zuko went to—”

“Fire Lord Zuko,” Senator Saburo corrected sharply.

Aang’s eyes slid over to him. The council table was large and smooth, a deep reddish mahogany, impressive even when only half the seats were filled. Aang sat next to the empty Fire Lord’s chair and had to crane his neck to get a good look at the gathered senators.

“Fire Lord Zuko,” Aang repeated, dully, “went on the diplomatic mission to fight the rebels as a show of support for the Earth Kingdom. He wanted to show that we respected the Earth Kingdom’s sovereignty and would stand with them during times of turmoil.”

“Still, it was unnecessary—”

“It doesn’t matter!” Aang snapped. He stood up, slapping the tabletop. “It happened! Maybe it was a bad idea, maybe it was the best idea, but it’s happened now! He’s dead!”

The Senators glance around at each other. Aang glared at them.

“Those Earth Kingdom rats,” Senator Kazue hissed, “We should marshal our forces and—”

The council door opened and Iroh strolled in, “Nobody is declaring war on the Earth Kingdom. I think we can safely take that off the table.”

Senator Kazue sat down in his seat heavily. He huffed.

“I don’t think we can take collusion off the table,” Senator Saburo hedged. “I mean, isn’t it awful convenient that he dies in an area Earth Kingdom doesn’t currently control and therefore is not liable for.”

Aang stared at him. For a moment, he had no idea what to say. “You think he was murdered?”

“I’m saying it’s a definite possibility,” Senator Saburo said. A few of the other Senators began to nod a little.

“It’s one we’ll consider,” Iroh said. “We’re working with King Kuei to build a full picture of the events. He’s arriving in a month’s time.”

The senators glanced at one another.

“Now, esteemed senators. Please could we reconvene at another time,” Iroh said. “Allow the young avatar a break.”

The senators reluctantly dispersed, gathering up their papers and satchels and filtering through the council doors. Aang watched them go with a sinking heart. He held his head in his hands.

“Tea?” Iroh offered.

“Thanks,” Aang said. He pulled a steaming cup towards himself.

“You can take a break, you know,” Iroh said. “The senators would understand.”

“I can’t let Zuko’s hard work be undone,” Aang insisted. “It’s not even been a month and they want to declare war.”

“Relax, my young friend.” Iroh stirred his tea. “Senators always want to declare war. That’s practically their role in government.”

Aang frowned into his tea. It tasted rich and fruity. There was a tremor in Iroh’s hand, which he decided to ignore. The afternoon sun slanted through the high windows and dissipated across them.

“It’s because they loved him,” Iroh said. “That’s why they’re acting difficult. In the Fire Nation, if something is taken from you, even if it’s destroyed, it’s expected that you’ll take something back. If you burn down my house, I’ll burn down yours.”

“I remember,” Aang sighed. “He said that’s why he had to force them into reparations. They thought that reconciliation meant that just as many Fire Nation civilians would be captured and killed as Earth Kingdom ones were during the war. What was the phrase he used?”

“Pound of flesh,” Iroh said. “It was Senator Keiji who said it first. The Earth Kingdom will want their pound of flesh. But really, he came up with so many ingenious ideas. Sending fire nation specialists to help with the iron mines near Gaoling?”

“Inviting Earth Kingdom scholars to use Caldera’s libraries,” Aang said. “And when he made the Kyoshi holiday. And the Yangchen remembrance.”

“The best ideas were ones he came up with alongside his husband,” Iroh said. “Sokka and Zuko made a fairly unstoppable team.”

Aang took a sip of his tea. The warmth which spread through his stomach was welcome. “Sokka’s in the vigil room. He’s not left since Zuko’s body arrived. He even stayed in while the body was removed for viewing.”

“Yes,” Iroh said, heavily.

“I’m worried about him,” Aang admitted.

Iroh nodded. “I can’t say it will be alright. A loss like this will never be alright. But I will say that Sokka is a strong young man. He knows that Zuko would have wanted him to live a normal, happy life, with or without him.”

Aang took another drink of his tea. He thought of the last time he had seen Zuko. He had hugged him, and Zuko had reminded him to take care of Druk. Druk wouldn’t like the bristly trees and shallow mountains of the Earth Kingdom, not to mention the cold weather. For weeks now, Druk had been living in his specially built chambers outside of the city. Aang hadn’t had a chance to visit him.

And oh, spirits, Azula. It was possible she didn’t even know anything was wrong.

“I-I… I know it was probably his destiny,” Aang said. “But… He was supposed to… live a long life. Be happy. I can’t help but feel this wasn’t supposed to happen. Is that normal?”

Iroh stirred his tea. Steam swirled over his hands and he sighed deeply.

“I’m afraid it always feels like that,” Iroh said.

*

Sokka startled awake by the sound of a knock at the door. His body was stiff and cold. He stood up, rubbing the side of his aching hips. Pins and needles attacked his feet. “Enter,” He called.

A guard opened the white granite door and stepped into the vigil room. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, and his dark hair was cut neatly just above his ears. This left eye was oddly squinting, but other than that he could look like any of the guards. Sokka didn’t recognise him.

“Yes?” Sokka prompted.

The guard opened his mouth, “S-Sokka?”

“That’s me,” Sokka said, sourly. “Are you delivering a message or something?”

The guard straightened up at his tone. “I need to inspect the body.”

Sokka’s eyes narrowed sharply, “Excuse me? Who are you?”

“Uh,” The guard took a step back. “I’m…”

Sokka unsheathed the Dao swords at his sides, “Yes?”

Iroh had told him about a shady guard who had been skulking around, but if this was that guard, Sokka doubted he was dangerous. He looked terrified.

Sokka stalked to the door and the stranger gave him a wide berth. He beckoned to the nearest guard, “Can you deal with this guy?”

“Of course, Master Sokka,” The guard peered past him. “Where is he?”

“He’s—” Sokka turned around, but the shifty stranger was gone. He stared around the pale white room, its barren floors and empty walls. The perfectly still visage of the Fire Lord, encased in pristine glass. All energy drained out of him. “Gone.”

*

Sokka stalked through the halls, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Warm sunlight fell down on him from tall windows, and the dust motes glowed in the shafts of light. There was an irritation deep in his chest, and a paranoia which might just be sleep deprivation.

He pushed open the dark double doors that lead to the war room. His friends were gathered around the broad table, which was strewn with scrolls and papers. A lot of them looked like they had been pulled from the archives, with Zuko’s neat handwriting on the labels attached to the wooden boards.

“Sokka,” Katara smiled weakly at him. She set down the scroll she’d been pouring over.

“There’s a weird guy dressed as a guard hanging around,” Sokka said. “He wanted to look at Zuko’s body.”

“I see,” Iroh said. “When I talked to the head guard about it, she said he was likely a former member of the royal guard. It would explain how he’s able to get in so easily. They’re keeping a special look out for him.”

“Why is he doing it?” Sokka demanded.

“Perhaps he missed the viewing,” Aang suggested, tiredly. “He could want to pay his respects.”

Sokka’s heart softened, “Oh.”

Katara folded up the scroll she had been looking through and set it with the others. Aang poured himself another cup of tea from the gently steaming pot. Iroh was looking through what looked like personal letters, a few dried petals still stuck to the papers.

“Where’s Toph?” Sokka asked.

“We’re looking through papers right now to cross-reference a letter we received,” Katara said. “So she’s gone to follow up with the senators about the festival arrangements.”

“Oh,” Sokka frowned. “A letter? From who?”

“Apparently…” Iroh lifted the letter, “Ursa.”

*

Zuko limped back to his rented accommodation in the cheaper area of Caldera (still not that cheap). He felt wrung out and exhausted. He closed the thin wooden door behind him and locked it. With a sigh, he shook out his futon and crawled under the covers. He lay face down.

He was stumped.

His two attempts to meet his old friends had ended in disaster. What was worse was the feeling that just showing up was causing them distress. Seeing them upset made his heart heavy and leaden.

Was there anything he could say to convince them of his identity? Even though there was his body, lying in that glass casket, a huge flaw in any argument he made? Oh, not only is my dead mother alive now—but she cursed me—and that body’s a dead body but not mine—…

He was going to end up clapped in chains at this rate.

Not only that, but no nation would accept him as alive, not after the funeral. Not while they were still mourning him.

Zuko pulled the covers over his head. The fabric smelled stale and old. It was still summer, and the air was warm. Outside, the orange sun stretched over the city, in the long, heated evenings he loved. He could hear his city breathing outside, the clatter and chime of street sellers, the low murmur of talk.

With a huff, he threw the covers off and sat up. Fresh air flowed through his open window. He had forgotten to close it before setting out for the day—it was lucky he had nothing worth stealing.

Something hard smacked him in the side of the head.

“Ow!” Zuko snapped and looked around for what had hit him. A small wooden scroll rolled by his hand and he picked it up, pulling it open. It was detailing how to paint spirit tags. He rubbed his temple. “What in the…?”

There was a movement outside his window.

A scarlet-faced spirit rested on the shingles outside his open window. White fangs curled upwards from distorted, smiling lips, and dark eyes glinted under white arching eyebrows. Two black horns arched above its head.

Zuko stood up. He really did not need another spirit interfering with his affairs.

As the spirit put a foot on his windowsill, he saw that it wasn’t a spirit at all. The cheap paint on the wooden mask gleamed in the low light.

“Who are you?” Zuko asked.

The figure stepped into his room and hooked a thumb under the Red Oni mask, pulling it off. It clattered to the floor. The interloper had—

No face.

Zuko frowned. He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. They had eyes, a mouth and a nose, but when he looked directly at them, all he saw was an uninterrupted stretch of pale skin. From some directions, he could catch a distorted glimpse of eye or a tooth, like refractions through a many-faceted diamond.

The faceless stranger tilted their head and took a step towards him.

Zuko took a step backwards as a terrible thought struck him.

“Oh, spirits,” Zuko gasped. “Kiyi?”

*

Sokka straightened his blue robes. Even adapted to warmer climates, his traditional robes were sweltering in this weather. They waited in the welcoming chambers, standing over a beautiful mural Zuko had commissioned for his ten-year anniversary of his reign. Beautiful orange flames bloomed from a geometric pattern of red and black. Toph stood next to him, hands folded behind her back. Aang, Iroh and Katara waited in a small congregation. Nobody spoke.

The doors opened, and a small congregation of guards flanked a short, young woman with her dark hair pulled into a high topknot. Her eyes reminded Sokka strikingly of Zuko, bright and slightly pale.

“Princess Kiyi,” Katara stepped forward. “Welcome to Caldera. I’m Katara, Chief of the Southern Water Tribe.”

Princess Kiyi smiled smugly to herself, as if she was sharing a private joke with herself. She bowed respectfully, “It’s an honour to be here, Chief Katara.”
 

Chapter Text

Kiyi tied the Red Oni mask back over her faceless visage and sat down on Zuko’s windowsill. She folded her legs. She was wearing dark brown peasant’s robes, which were too big for her.

“I’m so sorry Kiyi,” Zuko said. “I should have stayed. It’s… I’m sorry.”

Kiyi waved her hand. She spoke: and told him that it was fine. She had never gotten to see the Fire Nation before, it was very beautiful. She liked Caldera.

Kiyi’s voiceless voice was almost stranger than her face. Although Zuko definitely heard her talk, he understood everything she said, he had no memory of what her voice sounded like. It left no impression on him.

“Ugh,” Zuko scrubbed a hand down his face. “This is terrible. What are we going to do now?”

Kiyi scratched her chin under her mask. She suggested they went drinking.

Zuko blinked. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”

By the time they’d locked up the room and left the building, the last dregs of evening sunlight was falling across Caldera. The streets were lit by chains of white lanterns, and light reflected from the shining grey ribbons hanging over the front of every store. It was good luck to eat a lot at a funeral, and that went triple for death of a Fire Lord. Extra stalls had been squeezed in between old favourites.

Zuko led Kiyi by the wrist through the thick crowd. He headed for his favourite drinking bar, but found it completely overflowing with people, spilling out into the street. So he turned around and headed towards the less populated bars.

Eventually they found a bar which was only slightly overflowing, and they bought two bottles of Gaoling rice wine. There was no way they were finding seats at this time of night.

Zuko breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the cold river at the edge of the city. A brightly lit barge was making its way across the black water, gleaming like a lit ember. The grassy banks were dotted with people, but there was a small amount of privacy.

Kiyi flopped down on the dark grass and pushed back her mask a little. She uncorked the bottle with a snap. Zuko couldn’t quite work out where her mouth was, but she seemed to find it, and drank deeply.

Kiyi ordered him to talk.

Zuko sighed and sat down next to her. “I’ve been trying to talk to my friends, but I’ve been going about it in the wrong way. I’ve been kicked out of my own house twice now. I don’t know what I can say to convince them that I’ll still alive.”

Kiyi nudged Zuko’s elbow with her toe. She gestured at his unopened bottle.

“This is probably as productive as anything else I’ve been doing,” Zuko said. He uncorked the bottle with his teeth and took a swig. It tasted sweet and sharp.

Kiyi reminded him about the scroll she’d thrown at him. It had information about how to exorcise a spirit.

“We’d have to go back to your cottage,” Zuko said. “We need to undo the curse.”

Kiyi shook her head, and told him that Ursa was in Caldera.

“Here?” Zuko said up. “How? What for?”

Kiyi waved a hand over her face.

“Posing as you?” Zuko yelped. He groaned, eyes falling shut, and all energy drained from him. He flopped down. “Any more terrible news?”

Kiyi scratched her chin and considered that. She took another swig of wine and shrugged.

Zuko threw an arm over his face. Kiyi pulled the wine bottle out of his hand so he wouldn’t pour it all over himself by accident.

“This is the worst birthday ever,” Zuko groaned. He took his bottle back to take deep drink.

Kiyi patted his forehead and wished him Happy Birthday.

“Thanks,” Zuko muttered.

Kiyi settled down next to him, pushing the mask further up her face. She drank and watched the small candle-lit boats wind down the black river. The sun was fading, filtering at ankle-height through the gaps in the buildings behind them. The grass was cold.

“Sokka gave me this look—” Zuko frowned, and struggled to find words. He took a swig of wine. “It was terrible. I can’t explain it. It hurt to see him not recognise me.”

Kiyi tilted her head and asked who Sokka was.

“Oh!” Zuko straightened up. “Well, Er… he’s my husband. I know that was illegal during Ursa’s time, but I legalised it.”

Kiyi nodded and held out her wine bottle for a toast.

Zuko smiled clinked his bottle against hers, “Cheers!”

Kiyi laughed.

“You’d like Sokka,” Zuko said. “I think anyone’d like him. He’s… really cool.”

Kiyi tipped her mask back further. Zuko couldn’t know for sure, but he was pretty sure she rolled her eyes.

“I’m serious!” Zuko exclaimed, slopping wine over himself. “He’s—He’s a non-bender, so people don’t take him seriously, but he’s a great tactician. The best. I’m fairly sure the New Ozai society would have flattened me within a year if it wasn’t for him.”

Kiyi rested her chin on her knees. She took a sip of wine. She remarked that it must have been hard to pull the nation back from war.

“Hard is putting it lightly,” Zuko said, tiredly. He drank again. “It was hell. Every noble felt like they were just about to bite the head off the world when I pulled them back from the brink. I had assassination attempts for months and months.” He put a hand on his side. “You can’t see it now I’m in this body, but I have a huge scar from a Yuyan archer attack. It still troubles me sometimes.”

Kiyi turned towards him. The white silk straps of her mask reflected the low light in winks when she moved her head.

“Sokka helped me with the economic policies, the social policies, you name it, it had his stamp on it. Even if the council didn’t know at the time.” Zuko said. “I couldn’t have done without him, and that’s not an exaggeration. Ozai left the country in a terrible state. He was only interested in the war side of leadership; his economic policies were full of hot air. He wasn’t interested in fair taxation, or which of his nobles had their hands in the pot. The agricultural side of it…” Zuko squinted. “Actually, I’m too drunk to explain the agricultural system change. Is this boring? The agricultural system change is very boring.”

Kiyi beckoned for him to continue. She leaned on the cool grass. Zuko had gotten used to her bizarre, faceless face, and could tell from her body language that she was at least mildly interested. She took a sip of her wine.

“Well, we needed to punish traitors and rebels,” Zuko said. “But we couldn’t kill them, obviously. And I didn’t want to throw them all in jail, not just because that wouldn’t solve anything, but also because you can’t run a nation without nobles. They might be terrible people, but they had expertise we couldn’t just throw away. Anyway, Sokka—”

Zuko hiccupped and rolled onto his side so he could face Kiyi properly. “Sokka! He came up with this idea—we solve two problems with one stone. Or. You know what I mean, anyway, we don’t kill or imprison anyone, we tax them. Every noble who funded the attack on the Earth Kingdom had half their lands confiscated, which meant I had positions to reward nobles who allied themselves with me. What’s more, we had every noble sign a contract saying that if they rebelled against me, they forfeited a huge sum of money. Look,” Zuko pointed wildly across the cold river at the dark, unlit buildings. “Look at that building—the big one.”

Kiyi tried to follow his vague gesture. She guessed it was the library.

“Yes, the library,” Zuko said. “Ukano’s bond payed for that whole building. Ha! You should have seen the look on the old goat’s face when he learned that not only had he the dishonour of being defeated, but the building his money funded is just crawling with commoners! It was almost worth the assassination attempt.” Zuko sighed deeply. “All Sokka’s idea. He’s really a genius.”

Kiyi sloshed wine around in her half-empty bottle and said that it sounded like Zuko really loved him.

“Yeah, I do.” Zuko admitted. He was quiet for a moment. “People say marrying him was my biggest political misstep. Even he took some convincing—not because he didn’t want to, just because politically, it’s a bad idea. Azula is still my heir. I’ll never have children. But I wanted to be married to him. I still do.”

Kiyi watched him for a moment. Then she punched him.

“Ow!” Zuko yelped. “What was that for?”

Kiyi pointed a finger in his face and told him that he would see Sokka again.

“I know,” Zuko rubbed his arm. “I’m just thinking, for my country—”

Kiyi shook her head sharply.

“Come on,” Zuko laughed. “At least admit that the heir issue—”

Kiyi shook her head again and told him that when Zuko was Fire Lord again and he reinstated Kiyi to the line of succession, that she would have kids. Lots of kids.

“What,” Zuko squinted. “All on your own?”

Kiyi shot him what he assumed was a sour look.

“Well, it’s not a bad idea,” Zuko rubbed his chin. “As long as you’re alright with it. Our family’s pretty small, and I can’t see anyone else having children.”

Kiyi breathed out a huff of victory and finished her wine. She turned over the empty bottle and a few measly drops of wine. She beckoned for Zuko to give her the rest of his.

Zuko frowned, “Hold on. If you were born right after Ursa escaped, that would make you…”

Kiyi froze.

“Are you even old enough to drink?” Zuko narrowed his eyes.

Kiyi snatched the half-full bottle from his hands.

“Hey!” Zuko leaped to his feet and ran unsteadily after her. “Come back!”

*

“What do you think?” Katara asked.

Mai lowered the scroll and sighed. “It’s her handwriting. See, she even uses the correct sign off and greeting for that era of Ozai’s reign. That’s hard to fake if you’re not a member of the inner circle.”

Katara nodded.

The pair of them walked a perimeter around the shaded hallways which encircled the courtyard. Early morning sun streamed down on them, glowing white across the stone.

“Is that really where she was? This whole time?” Katara said. “Not dead, but… hiding? Until she got some sort of fever.”

“The dates line up,” Mai said. Her glossy black hair was folded into a long braid which rested over her shoulder. Mai looked terrible in ceremonial white robes, washed out and exhausted. Her skin looked sallow.

Katara tugged on her braid, “Zuko always wanted to meet her. It’s so sad to think she was so close at hand, this whole time. And now they’re both gone.”

Mai nodded. She rested a hand on the railing and looked over at Princess Kiyi, who was sitting with a tray of breakfast in the courtyard. She sat like she had been trained for court her whole life, her legs folded demurely under her, one hand holding her cup of tea while her other arm as tucked under her robes.

“Does she look like Ursa?” Katara asked.

“I suppose,” Mai said. “You know, there’s someone who’d know better than I.”

Katara nodded and bit her lip.

“You’ll have to tell her eventually,” Mai said. “And you know the longer you put it off, the worse it will be.”

Katara folded her arms, “I know. I just…”

Mai glanced up at the sky, and noticed a dark shape approaching. “Speaking of sad revelations…”

Druk landed on the corner of the courtyard roofing, scattering shingles dislodged by his heavy claws. He was long and snakelike; with wings he hadn’t grown into and a mane which was tangled and dirty. He nearly slipped but regained his footing, claws tearing up the roofing.

“Druk!” Katara called.

Druk leaped off the roof and ambled towards her, his heavy tail swinging. His happy demeanour lost its vibrancy when he noticed her expression. He swung his great head around, looking between the two of them.

“Druk, I’m sorry,” Katara said. “Zuko, he…”

Druk pushed his heavy head towards her, and one of his whiskers snaked out and connected with her forehead. It glowed as she showed him what had happened.

With a grunt, Druk reared back, wings flapping. He let out a sound like a cough. Then his nostrils flared, and his entire expression shifted, head lowering and lips drawing back in a growl. He was sleek and slinking, every inch the hunting animal.

Princess Kiyi stood up, edging backwards.

Druk let out a roar and leaped for her.

“Druk stop!” Katara yelled.

Princess Kiyi screamed as a bolt of fire arched over her head.

Druk was about to bite the princess—when a gauntlet of ice froze over his muzzle. Katara swung an arm up, dragging his head towards her even as the ice began to quickly melt. Druk shot her a dark look.

“Druk, please,” Katara said, struggling against the burning fury of the animal.

Princess Kiyi scrambled away and darted back into the palace.

“Please,” Katara said again, and the dragon finally relented lowering his huge head to her. Katara pulled the water back into her waterskin.

Druk thumped his tail and dragged his long claws across the floor, splitting the stone. He let out a hopeless whine.

“I understand,” Katara put a hand on the side of his whiskered cheek, “I know it’s—it’s hard. I know it feels like Kiyi is… trying to replace him. It feels like we’re trying to move on. But we can’t—we can’t let him down, alright? He’d want us to—to…”

Druk let out a small, pining growl.

“I know, I know,” Katara wrapped her arms around Druk’s broad, hot chest and buried her face into the hard scales of his front. Warmth soaked through her parker. She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a small sob.
 

Chapter Text

“There,” Zuko finished the last spirit tag. “We’ll need to lure False Kiyi out of the palace, there’s no way I’ll be able to fight off all my friends if they come to her defence. It’s more likely she’ll follow me, I think it’s me she’s after.”

Kiyi nodded and gestured to the spirit tags all spread out and drying on the floor of Zuko’s apartment. She said that when the Mother of Masks was close enough, with Zuko distracting her, Kiyi would slap a tag over her face which would break the possession and revert everything to normal. They would probably only get one chance.

They decided that the Lu Ten memorial park was probably the ideal location to fight her, with a nice open field with relatively few people in it, and it was close enough to the palace that Zuko wouldn’t have to lure her far.

Zuko would be carrying a few spirit tags of his own in case he got a lucky shot.

“Good Luck,” Zuko said, opening the door.

Kiyi saluted.

*

The courtyard was beautiful in summer, the huge trees a bright, irresistible green and the forgiving sunlight made the building look freshly painted and gorgeous. A easy breeze rolled through the palace’s open doors and windows, and Zuko slipped from the corner of the courtyard room and dropped onto the stone. He moved completely soundlessly, like a hunting animal.

Princess Kiyi set down her calligraphy brush and set the cap back on her ink bottle. Other than that, she made no move to greet him. She didn’t even look up as he approached.

“Ursa,” Zuko said.

Princess Kiyi didn’t respond. She lifted her sheet of wet calligraphy and waved it gently in the air. Zuko saw the characters for Honour and Justice painted in large, elegant script.

“Mother,” Zuko said.

Princess Kiyi’s eyes met his, and she smiled, faintly.

“I apologise for my behaviour,” Zuko said, softly. “I was beyond rude. My actions were unacceptable. You gave me a gift, a safe life, everything I could possibly want, and I threw that back in your face.”

Princess Kiyi watched him. Her face was fresh and young, but she moved in a very ancient way, her gestures were highborn and aristocratic. She gestured for him to sit.

Zuko knelt and bowed his head in the deepest position of supplication, his nose pressed to the cold stone and his elbows tucked in. “I’m sorry.”

“Hmm,” Princess Kiyi hummed. “I accept your apology.”

Zuko’s heart leaped, but he didn’t get up. Getting ahead of himself would be fatal.

“You may rise,” Princess Kiyi said.

Zuko sat up.

Princess Kiyi continued to waft the sheet of calligraphy. She smiled a polite half-smile which hid her teeth. There was not a hair out of place.

“So,” Zuko said. “Can we return to your cottage?”

“I’m afraid your dreadful sister burned my cottage to the ground,” Princess Kiyi said.

Zuko blinked, “Well… Caldera, then. We can all live in an apartment and—”

“Has anyone ever told you,” Princess Kiyi kept smiling, “that you are a terrible liar?”

Zuko froze. An icy feeling slipped down his spine.

Princess Kiyi set the calligraphy paper down and picked up her brush, washing it in the small cup of water set to one side of her table. Every movement flowed together, as if it was all a carefully orchestrated dance.

“Why?” Zuko asked, wide-eyed.

Princess Kiyi glanced up at him and lifted a delicately sculped eyebrow.

“Why are you doing this?” Zuko asked, breathless. “Why are you here, if not to get me back?”

“I’m not sure,” Princess Kiyi said, her voice completely emotionless. “Others have escaped me before, and I’ve not felt the need to chase them down. I feel the need to be close to you, that’s all. I mean, isn’t that what every mother wants?”

Zuko stood up.

He felt slightly dizzy. “You don’t care.”

Princess Kiyi glanced at him, “What was that, dear?”

“You’ve ruined my life, and you don’t even care,” Zuko said. “It doesn’t matter to you at all.”

Princess Kiyi inclined her head, “Should it?”

“You’ve—ruined me!” Zuko yelled, the dam inside him cracking. Smoke curled up from his clenched fists. “You’ve taken everything from me!”

Princess Kiyi raised her hands, shouting, “Guards! Gua—!”

Zuko shot a fireball at her so hard the table cracked in half. Paper scattered in flaming arcs. Princess Kiyi’s dress came alive, fire flashing over her skirts.

Princess Kiyi scrambled away and Zuko bounded after her, punching fireball after fireball. She skipped backwards, dodging each blow narrowly while fire licked up her robes.

Zuko was almost blind with anger. He punched forward again and again, chasing her back into the corner of the courtyard, hounding her. It felt like his chest was filled with pressurised steam. He could hardly think. The fire in him was like a raging storm, lighting up his hands in two bright stars.

An arc of flame came cracking down to Princess Kiyi’s head and she slapped it away, bending it away before it could hit her. She doused the flames on her dress with a flick of her hand. Zuko shot a punch of fire which almost caught her shoulder.

On the backswing of his hand—an ice glove froze over his fist.

Zuko halted so suddenly he stumbled. Ice tore at his flesh, painfully cold, wrenched behind him. He glanced backwards, breathing heavily.

“Stand down,” Katara commanded. Her eyes were icy and cold. They were filled with nothing but contempt.

Zuko hardly dared to breathe.

All anger flooded out of him, and he was left cold and empty. His throat was dry. It was like his lungs were filled with water. He staggered. Ice froze over his other hand and he made no move to resist as both hands were fused together behind his back. He sagged, dropping to his knees.

Princess Kiyi took a step towards him. Her blackened dress smoked gently. Shrewd golden eyes found his.

Guards descended on Zuko and he was shoved, roughly to the floor. Grit pressed into his cheek as a guard knelt on his back, clapping manacles over his wrists, just above the ice. He was patted down for weapons, and a pair of fetters was clasped over his ankles. Only when he was dragged back to his feet and properly secured with a gauntlet of guards was the ice melted from his hands and pulled away.

The guards marched Zuko out of the courtyard and he walked, obedient with his head down.

Avatar Aang landed lightly in the courtyard, watching the prisoner be dragged away. His glider snapped away. His eyes lingered on the man’s bright gold eyes, fixed on the floor in front of him.

“What was that?” Princess Kiyi squealed, her voice high and shrill. “No wonder your last Fire Lord died if this is the sort of security you offered him!”

Aang narrowed his eyes at her, “You bended away his attacks.”

“And?” Princess Kiyi scowled at him. “Would you rather have let them hit me?”

“You said you were a non-bender,” Aang said. “You lied.”

Sokka crossed the courtyard, stalking towards her, “That man. I recognise him. He’s the one who’s been breaking in. How do you know him?”

“I don’t know him,” Princess Kiyi said. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

“Really?” Aang scowled. “Or is that another lie?”

Princess Kiyi pulled her skirts up, “Well—”

“Is she lying?” Katara asked, pulling water from her waterskin again. “Toph?”

Aang glanced around the courtyard. “Where is she?”

*

By the time Zuko reached the dungeons, he felt like he had aged years. His heart was painful and his body felt cold. The dark dankness of the dungeons offered nothing to distract him. One of these cells had held his father for a few months before they had moved him out of the capital. He didn’t remember which one.

Ahead of him, one of the cell doors swung open and Zuko was shoved inside. He lost his footing and fell, hard, cracking his jaw against the uneven stone. The door was closed and locked behind him.

Zuko watched, face pressed against the cold stone, as the guards left. They brought their lantern with them, leaving the entire cell block lit by a single low, flickering torch on the bracket.

Zuko let the tension leave his body. His shoulders relaxed, flush with the floor.

Every point of his body which was in contact with the stone was cold. He felt like a slab of frozen meat. His mouth tasted of grit and copper. There was an ache in him, deep and persistent, like a rot which had spread to his bones.

Zuko had been defeated before. Many times, more times than he could count. He had betrayed friends. His nation had turned against him. He had been beaten, broken, cursed and rejected. He was tired, so tired, and what was worst—he had no idea how to pick himself up after this one. He had no plan. He had only one ally who wouldn’t be able to rescue him. He had lost everyone he had held close.

Zuko let his head rest on the hard floor. He was exhausted. They wouldn’t execute him—he had outlawed the death penalty early in his reign. That meant his future stretched before him, ten years in a hard labour camp, conditional release on good behaviour. What then? Was he supposed to build a new life, all over again? Could he really just give up on a life he’d struggled and scraped to build for himself the first time around?

Slowly, like ice thawing, his vision went blurry. Tears collected on his eyelashes. He hunched his shoulders up, the pain in his chest near unbearable.

The door at the end of the hall slammed open.

Zuko lifted his head from the floor and rolled onto his side. He blinked quickly, trying to clear his vision. Tears dripped down his nose and he wished he could wipe his eyes. Someone stalked down the hall, someone short who cast a long shadow.

Toph stopped in front of his cell. Her shoulders were squared, and her hands were curled into fists.

“You recognise me, don’t you?” Toph said, sharply. Her voice was cold and sharp, like a chip of ice. “You know me.”

Zuko shifted slightly. He rolled onto his side and pulled up his legs, so he could roll onto a kneeling position. His cheek was grazed raw and hot, and a small dribble of blood ran down his jawline.

“Well?” Toph smacked a hand on the bars.

“Uh,” Zuko’s heart thumped. His stomach squirmed. Perhaps it was best if he got started on his new life early, he thought solemnly. His gaze dropping to the floor, the space behind eyes getting hot again. “No, I don’t.”

“You’re lying,” Toph said. She was getting even closer to the bars, practically pressing her face between them. “Tell me your name. If you lie, I’ll crush you.”

Zuko squeezed his eyes shut. He took a shaking breath. Really, what more did he have to lose?

“My name is Zuko,” Zuko croaked, voice shaking. “I’m the Fire Lord. I-I know you. We—well, we practically grew up together.”

Toph took a step back. Her eyes were wide, fixed just above Zuko’s head. Then, in a burst of movement, she swung her eyes wide and the metal bars parted like curtains thrown open.

His manacles burst open in the half second before they collided.

Toph engulfed him in a crushing hug, burying her face into his neck. Zuko was winded and took a second to return the hug, pulling her close. She smelled of freshly turned earth, and her eyes were wet.

“I knew it,” Toph said into his neck, tears rolling down her cheeks, “I knew it, Sparky! You’re too damn stubborn to die.”

Zuko laughed thickly. He was crying too, but for a better reason now. His heart sored and he tightened his grip on his old friend.

“Thank you for believing me,” Zuko muttered, dragging a hand across his wet eyes. “Thank you.”

“You just confirmed it,” Toph mumbled. “I was pretty sure already. I knew your heartbeat.”

“My heartbeat?” Zuko frowned. That seemed a little fanciful. “Is everyone’s unique?”

“No, but yours is,” Toph said. Reluctantly, she pulled away enough to press a hand over his chest, just over his heart. “You have an arrhythmia.”

“I do?” Zuko raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Katara knows about it too,” Toph said. “You got it after you redirected Azula’s lightning. She wasn’t able to heal it. We decided not to tell you because we didn’t want you to worry about it.”

“Oh?” Zuko glanced down at his chest, as if he could see through his chest at his heart. “Is there anything I can do about it?”

“Yes,” Toph climbed off him. “You can live a life free from high stress.”

Zuko paused for a moment, then shook his head, “I don’t think that’s likely.”

“Exactly,” Toph said, helping him up. “Come on, sparky. Let’s go make Princess Kiyi into paste.”

“That’s not the actual princess Kiyi,” Zuko said.

“There’s a real princess Kiyi?” Toph asked, throwing open the door at the end of the hallway.

“Yeah, she’s pretty cool,” Zuko said. “I think you’ll like her.”

*

The real Kiyi, in a Red Oni mask, was still waiting for him in the Lu Ten memorial park, under the shade of a huge, ancient oak tree. She bowed when she saw Toph approaching and observed that the mission must have not gone according to plan.

“Not quite,” Zuko agreed. “But with Toph on our side, we’ll succeed for sure.”

Kiyi looked at Toph.

“Zuko gave me the gist on the way over,” Toph said, raising both fists. “I can keep the others out of the fight for as long as it takes to slap a marker on that old hag.”

Kiyi shrugged, and split her pile of tags in two, offering half to Toph.

“Sorry Kiyi,” Zuko said. “Toph’s blind. The tags need to be the right way up.”

Kiyi nodded, and pulled out a bottle of ink from her pocket. She smeared ink on the back of the top of the tag and picked up a fistful of dirt. She sprinkled dirt on the top, and it stuck to the wet ink like glue. She passed a few of these dirty tags to Toph.

“Smart,” Toph said, tucking them in her waist band. “Come on. We should finish this quickly.”

*

Zuko strolled back into the courtyard like a rolling thunder. By then, the sun was sinking in the sky, and the brilliant orange dusk glowed in his dark hair. He felt the fire in him, not angry but determined, like a thrumming cord through his core. His skin buzzed with energy.

“You never learn,” Princess Kiyi sighed.

Aang stepped forward, “I don’t know who you are, but you should leave. Now.”

An earth wall sprung up between Aang and Princess Kiyi, blocking him in. He took a step back, startled, “Toph?”

“Stand down!” Toph ordered. “If you’ve ever trusted my judgement—stand down.”

“Toph I don’t know what you’re thinking,” Katara took a step forward, water flowing out of her waterskin. "But we can’t stand aside and let him hurt an innocent girl.”

“Alright,” Toph said, dropping into a bending stance. “Let’s rumble.”

Princess Kiyi tilted her head, staring at Zuko, “Why are you here?”

“To challenge you,” Zuko said, lighting a fire in his open hand, “to an Agni Kai.”

A hush fell over the courtyard. The air was thin and electric, like a storm passing over head. Everyone waited, glancing around. Toph hardly dared to breathe.

“I accept,” Princess Kiyi stood, brushing down her robes.

Sokka frowned at her, “Princess Kiyi—”

Princess Kiyi ignored him, stepping over her calligraphy table.

Zuko lunged for her, fire bursting from his hands.

Katara made to strike at Zuko to throw him backwards, but her foot sunk into the earth and Toph tossed a rock at her head. She had to crouch awkwardly to avoid it and Aang made a flicking motion to release her foot.

Princess Kiyi skittered to one side to avoid him, a bright red flame jumping to her hands. She struck viper-like to his ribs, which he swerved away from. She was lightning fast and formidable with a flame.

Immediately, Zuko was on the defensive. She was brutal and relentless, striking for his feet and trying to catch him while he was still in the air. She singed his ear and a belt of fire glanced against his elbow, scalding his skin.

Zuko was tired. His hands were burned from Katara’s ice. He hadn’t slept well. He hadn’t eaten enough. His head span.

Zuko landed heavily on his feet and couldn’t stop to catch his balance, diving backwards to avoid a lance of flame. She struck towards his belly, and he twisted awkwardly to dodge it. Sweat gleamed shining across his brow.

Every strike she made was meant to kill him. There was no yield to her offensive, no caution. She wanted him dead.

Princess Kiyi chased him back up the courtyard and he managed to direct their fight towards the hallways, where he thought he could use the architecture to his advantage. She blasted an arc of fire so hot and thick over his head that it set every wooden frame alight, trapping him inside.

Red Oni kicked the back of Princess Kiyi’s legs, distracting her long enough for Zuko to dive through the flames just before the structure collapsed. Princess Kiyi shot Red Oni a blow that nearly took the girl’s head off. Red Oni bounded out of range.

By then, they were dangerously close to the other battle. The ground shifted violently every time Toph or Aang pulled up more ammo. Princess Kiyi summoned a fire whip and cracked it inches from Zuko’s face when he ducked.

Zuko caught Toph’s eye across the battle field.

His foot slipped.

The moment of weakness was irresistible, like a predator catching sight of an exposed throat. Princess Kiyi leaped for him, two fire-knives in her fists. Her feet connected to the earth—

—and she sunk to her neck in the stone.

Distracted from her own fight, a water-whip cracked across Toph’s temple, drawing blood. She fell backwards, clutching her face.

Red Oni slapped a tag over Princess Kiyi’s forehead.

Zuko sunk to his knees. His body felt strung out and raw, sweat itching on the back of his neck. He panted, raggedly. Princess Kiyi’s upper body sagged against the stone. She passed out, her face flickering and flickering before Ursa’s face settled over it.

Red Oni pulled her mask off and tossed it to one side. She looked back at Zuko, her bright gold eyes twinkling. Kiyi smiled, tiredly.

What he noticed first was his hair. Instead of the short cut he’d had for a few days, now a heavy tide of black hair hung over his front, sticking to his sweaty skin. And, Agni—had it always been this hot? It felt like having a fur scarf around his neck.

“Zuko…?” Sokka croaked.

Zuko struggled to his feet. His knees shook, and he bowed his head, oddly embarrassed. “Hey, Sokka. Everyone. Long time no see.”

Aang looked stunned stupid. Katara kept glancing back at Toph.

Toph cradled her bloody face, “See, you guys should really have taken me for my word for once…” She grinned, wincing.

Sokka burst into a run, vaulting over the earth wall. He collided with Zuko and knocked them both to the dirty floor. Zuko let out a gust of air, wrapping his tired arms around his husband.

“I can’t believe it,” Sokka gritted out, hugging him tightly enough to make his ribs creak. They were lying on the cold stone, the dust clinging to his blue robes. “You’re such a jerk.”

“Sorry,” Zuko croaked.

“Don’t be,” Sokka kissed the side of his neck. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Zuko said. His arms were shaking with exertion, but he tried to keep hugging him. “M-missed you.”

Aang walked into view above them. “Give me a turn, Sokka.” He wiped his eyes. Katara knelt beside them, putting a hand on Zuko’s shoulder.

“No fucking chance,” Sokka muttered into Zuko’s neck. “Get your own Fire Lord.”

Toph limped closer, and Katara’s eyes went wide. “Sorry, Toph.” She stood up and summoned a glove of water and Toph stood still and let her heal her cheek. It was gone in under a second.

“No harm done,” Toph rubbed her healed cheek.

Sokka finally released him, and Zuko sat up, shakily. His hands and ribs and face stung dully.

“It’s incredible,” Katara muttered, almost to herself. “I can’t believe it.”

“What do you want to do, Zuko?” Aang asked.

Zuko rested his head on Sokka’s shoulder. “Sleep, mostly.”

The real Kiyi poked her head around Aang’s shoulder and grinned, “I’m sure we can arrange that.”

Chapter Text

It was the sort of summer night that was invited into the palace by open windows and doors, the breeze flowing uninterrupted from large, dark room to large, dark room. Deep violet night stretched above the city, studded with bright stars and a hanging, watching moon.

Iroh continued to adjust and readjust the off-white sash that wrapped around Zuko’s middle. The silk was pristine and gorgeous, embroidered with intricate, curving patterns visible only when the light hit it in a certain direction.

“I think it’s fine, uncle,” Zuko said, finally. He met his own eye in the mirror. Physically, he disliked being trussed up in ceremonial robes, but he couldn’t deny how regal it made him look.

“Are you sure?” Iroh said, stepping away. “I think the other sash was better.”

Zuko frowned at his reflection, “I thought they were identical.”

“You should pay more attention to your image,” Iroh said. “It’s more important than you know. Who will listen to your decrees if you don’t look the part?”

“Hmm,” Zuko tugged at the corners of the sash, “Well, I decree it’s fine. And it’s getting late, I don’t want to miss too much of the ceremony.”

Iroh deflated slightly, “Oh. I understand.”

Zuko paused for a moment, then he pulled Iroh into a big hug. The old man wrapped his arms around his nephew. Zuko was a head taller than him now, and his shoulders were broad and strong.

“I’ll come back after the ceremony,” Zuko promised. “We can drink some tea and play Pai Sho.”

“I’d like that,” Iroh said. “Enjoy the ceremony, Zuko.”

“I’m not sure I will,” Zuko said, pulling back. “It is a wake, after all.”

Iroh smiled and released him. Zuko walked to the door, his hair ornaments flashing in the firelights. He opened the heavy chamber door, and nearly walked into a girl who was waiting just outside. They sprang back, the tail of their white sash flicking upwards.

“Kiyi?” Zuko frowned at her, closing the door behind himself.

Kiyi grinned at him, “Hi, Fire Lord Zuko.”

“Just Zuko is fine,” Zuko said, setting off down the hall, “What’re you doing, hanging around outside my chambers? You could have knocked.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Kiyi fell into step next to him. “Look, I wanted to ask… about Ursa…”

Zuko frowned slightly, “Well… It’s not that I’m against her living in the palace, but we have to make sure she’s recovered from her possession before she can move in. And, to be honest, I’m not even sure she’d want to live here.”

Kiyi faltered, but maintained her smile, “Alright. That makes sense.”

“I’m sorry, Kiyi,” Zuko said.

“No, it’s fine,” Kiyi sighed, and folded her arms, “It’s left me pretty bewildered, is all. I mean, when I was burning the house down, I thought I hated her. I was trying to get rid of her. But now that she’s actually gone, I sort of miss her. Badly. Isn’t that messed up?”

Zuko glanced across the white wall hangings, the glass crystals sparkling from under the bough of the torches. They were passing the portraits of their ancestors, their huge faces bearing down on them.

“I don’t know,” Zuko said, finally. “I think it might be normal, after everything that’s happened. I feel the same way.”

“Oh,” Kiyi relaxed a little, “Good. Or—not good, but I’m glad I’m not alone in it.”

Zuko smiled at her.

“Fire Lord Zuko,” A voice called, ringing out as sharply as a struck bell. Kiyi glanced around—and froze.

Azula stalked towards them, her dark robes flowing out behind her. Zuko noticed the stark absence of any white in her outfit, which he had expected. It was probably beneath her to mourn.

“Crown Princess Azula,” Zuko said, fitting his hands into the formal gesture and bowing deeply, a bow which was matched by Azula when she reached them. Kiyi mimicked it, glancing between the two of them the entire time. When Azula and Zuko released their bows, Kiyi waited in the bow a beat longer, as was respectful.

Azula glanced over Kiyi, “You must be Princess Kiyi.”

“I am,” Kiyi said, hedging a smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m sure,” Azula said. “Tell me about your abilities, second heir.”

“My abilities?” Kiyi said and frowned. “Oh, I’m a non-bender. I guess I’m actually third in line to the throne, because General Iroh can bend.”

“I see,” Azula said, and her expression changed almost imperceptibly. “I’ll have to see if you’re an adequate addition to the line of succession.”

Kiyi smiled a little awkwardly, “I hope I don’t disappoint.”

“Hmm,” Azula turned her face away, visibly dismissing her. She seemed to remember Zuko was there and glanced over him. Her tone was flat and unreadable. “I’m pleased to see you survived after all, Fire Lord.”

“Glad to hear it, Azula,” Zuko said.

Azula gave another short bow and dismissed them both, continuing on down the hallway. She didn’t turn around.

Kiyi watched her go and waited until the other princess was out of earshot. She scowled darkly, “Was that it? She basically just said she preferred you alive to dead.”

“I know,” Zuko said, a warm smile breaking over his face. He was practically glowing with happiness.

Kiyi shook her head, “You’re a mess. I’m going to eat the free food.”

“It’s not actually free,” Zuko frowned. “You’re part of the household now, so you have to think about the expenses too.”

Kiyi darted forward, “No, actually, I’m a useless dependent. Thinking about expenses is your job—I’m not the Fire Lord.”

Zuko huffed, “Kiyi—!”

Kiyi stuck out her tongue and disappeared into the crowded courtyard.

Zuko sighed and resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair. Iroh had spent ten minutes perfecting the top knot. The courtyard ahead of him was filled with people and decorations, music ebbing and flowing through the crowd. The smell of cooking food wafted in the air.

Funerals were supposed to be a celebration of life, but after tonight Zuko would have every white hanging removed from the walls. It had been almost a month of mourning for the city, he wanted to refocus on the living.

“Hello stranger,” A familiar voice called, and a beautiful woman latched onto his arm.

“Suki,” Zuko beamed at her. “It’s been too long.”

“No kidding,” Suki released him from her hold, “What was all that, a big prank?”

“I wish,” Zuko sighed. “It was spirit business, really.”

“You really have the worst luck,” Suki sighed, shaking her head. She was wearing a modified, toned-down version of her uniform—a grey-green habok with no gloves or makeup, and white wrappings on her forearms and shins. Golden fans glinted from where they hung at each hip. She even wore red pointed shoes, a gesture that Zuko found oddly touching.

“You’re telling me,” Zuko said. “Still, it’s good to be able to send off Ryoma’s spirit under the correct name.”

Suki flinched slightly and frowned. “It’s not bad luck to say a dead person’s real name in the Fire Nation?”

Zuko followed her through the crowd, “Is that an Earth Kingdom thing?”

“Yeah,” Suki snagged a few glasses of rice wine as they went past the drinks table and passed one to Zuko. “It confuses the spirit and might even drag it back home rather than letting them be reborn. Usually we refer to them by a false name that the family chooses.”

“Interesting,” Zuko said. “I’ll try to refer to him less, in that case, to be safe. His funeral has already been disturbed enough.”

“Maybe,” Suki said. “But it’s probably the best funeral any second lieutenant has ever gotten. And pretty well attended.”

Zuko was briefly distracted by a loud roar that caused a short hush over the crowd. Ty Lee had been tossing scraps of peppered meat into Druk’s mouth to get him to jump around and narrowly miss flattening the guests. The roar had burst out involuntarily, and the pair of them glanced around sheepishly until the murmur of talk resumed.

“I’m glad you’re still around Zuko,” Suki said, softly. “The world would be a little dimmer without you in it.”

Zuko glanced at her, “Thanks, Suki. I’m happy to be here.”

Suki tugged his collar until he bent down a little and she kissed him on the cheek. “Keep your chin up! I’m going to go reconvene with the guards.”

“See you,” Zuko grinned and watched her walk away.

The crowd continued to talk, and Zuko moved between the groups. Ever so often, someone would rope him into a conversation, which he usually had little to contribute to. Everyone seemed to want to touch him, on the elbow or his hand of his side, as if to check he was really there and solid.

Zuko picked up a plate of peppered meat and moved past the courtyard into the gardens beyond. It was still sparsely populated by funeral guests, but people seemed to realise he wanted a little space and gave him a wide berth.

Palace light stretched over the earth and gleamed on the berries of the bushes. Beyond that, in the gloomier stretches of the garden, the moon gave her light in a blueish sheen on the grass. Dew collected on the backs of his feet.

He walked into the dark gardens until the sounds of the party drifted away behind him. The water displays trickled and flowed loudly to his left, the bamboo water spout knocking gently in the night.

The air was cool and welcoming.

“Hey, Zuko,” Sokka tilted his head in greeting. “Are those for me?”

“Obviously,” Zuko passed him the plate of peppered meats. “Are you alright?”

Sokka huffed and ate a few slices of meat before setting the plate aside. He rubbed his face. “I’m fine.”

“Sure?” Zuko frowned.

Sokka wrapped his arms around Zuko and pulled him close. He rested his chin on Zuko’s shoulder and hummed slightly. “Pretty sure.”

“Alright,” Zuko said. “When are you going back north?”

“I…” Sokka closed his eyes. “I’m not sure I’ll go back for a while. I know the Northern water tribe might want my advice on new builds... but I think I’ll stay in Caldera.”

Zuko beamed, “I’d like that.”

“Me too,” Sokka said. “This has all made me realise I’d like to spend more time with you. These past few years we’ve spent more time apart than together. We can’t really know how much time we have left; I don’t want to take any more of it for granted.”

“And I thought I was supposed to be the pessimist,” Zuko frowned.

“Shut up,” Sokka kissed him.

Zuko smiled into the kiss and buried his fingers in Sokka’s hair. He was pushed up against a stone statue, his legs parted slightly to let Zuko closer, his hands wandering down Zuko’s back. Sokka tugged at the corners of his white sash, loosening it.

“Here?” Zuko asked into the corner of Sokka’s jaw, his stubble scratching his cheek. He felt the nervous, almost giddy excitement that he really shouldn’t feel after this many years of marriage. “There’s nobody around now, but we’re still pretty close to the palace.”

“Now who’s pessimistic?” Sokka grinned and pulled him down for another kiss.

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

The End. :)