Archive of Our Own

At the Southern Water Tribe, the young leaders of the world gather in the fading light of the sun, hanging low in the sky. The able-bodied people in the tribe, with Aang and Katara’s help, are unearthing the many bodies that had been buried in the snow, unable to be given their traditional last rites in the absence of waterbenders. The rest of the shattered tribe looks on, faces drawn in old sorrow.

At last, when the last person has been found and the full moon lights the snow silver, Sokka leads with his father to lay them on individually prepared rafts, lingering at the one cradling Kya. Katara, who shed more than a few tears as her mother’s face was uncovered, is stoically guiding Aang’s slightly clumsy hands through the form. Toph, Zuko and Suki hang back, watching the Avatar’s waterbending master teach him the sacred motions that had, until now, been kept within the tribe.

Sokka returns to stand with his friends, pain painted across his face as Zuko claps a hand on his shoulder. Everyone gathers behind them as Hakoda steps forward, a torch held up, flickering flames illuminating his pinched expression. He kneels down, pushes Kya’s hair off her face, then nods to his daughter and Aang, who stand at the edge of the ice shelf.

When Tui is highest in the sky, they say, and when La is at her most powerful, is when the ocean is most accepting of her children being returned to her.

In tandem, they began to bend. Beginning with Kya, the rafts are pushed onto the water in the glittering moonlight, a seemingly unending parade joining the rest of their brethren in eternal rest. The rest of the tribe chants in their ancient language as one, their hands over their hearts. One by one, the dead are submerged by the two teenagers in the unnatural stillness of the ocean, sinking to the bottom where the rocks littering the ocean floor are bent with the help of the water to cover them. The people on the land mourn.

When the dead are returned to the ocean, laid to rest after going too long without, the Southern Water Tribe knows closure.

On their way out of Gaoling, Suki absently points out a dead badgermole in the distance. Toph stops abruptly as Aang stumbles behind her and is steadied by Zuko. She leads the group toward the badgermole, explaining in broken sentences that she gave an earthbender’s funeral to every badgermole she could, a sign of respect to her masters.

Gathering shovels from an awed merchant, they make their way back to the badgermole, grinding to a halt under the twinkling moonlight. Toph cracks her knuckles and picks up a shovel, poking experimentally at the ground.

Aang, as the only other earthbender in their group, made his way to her side, picking up a shovel of his own. The Avatar and his earthbending master dig up a grave that should have been impossible to create within the span of a night, but they manage. The others look on, unable to help but standing in solidarity, nonetheless.

As the sky begins to lighten, Toph guides the badgermole in the perfect position to place it to rest. Katara shakes her brother awake as their vigil comes to an end, all four of them standing in respect. Toph whispers a prayer in the language of the Earth Kingdom, eyes staring unseeing into the distance.

When the dew is forming on the ground, they say, and when the earth is at her most forgiving, is when she welcomes her children back to her.

With the sky awash in a pale grey light, Suki begins to chant in her native tongue as Toph and Aang bend the ground beneath the great creature to lower it into the ground, two mirroring stances pushing the dug-up earth onto the prone body in the grave, creating a fresh mound just as the sun breaks over the horizon, bathing them in pale light. And if anyone saw Toph wipe a tear from the corner of her eye, they don’t say anything.

When a revered teacher is interred back into the earth, in the quiet light of the sunrise, the small group of child world leaders experience humility together, one last time.

The guards sacrificed to the most recent attempt on the Fire Lord’s life are honoured with heroes’ funerals, held at the edge of Caldera City, where the sun’s light is strongest. The procession begins at the palace, and the Fire Lord insists on walking with the families of the men and woman who gave their lives to save him. All his friends, who arrived to check on him and stayed to pay their respects, walk behind him, forming a wall between Zuko and his subjects, eyes peeled.

They come to a stop at a scorched arena which has seen countless funerals of ones that the Royal Family has honoured, few and far between though they may have been in the century the nation waged a war against the rest of the world.

The crowd begins to fan out as the families of the respected dead are allowed a moment to whisper a prayer before the rites begin. The Fire Sages circle to face everyone and gesture for the rites to begin.

The highest of honours are presented to them as the Avatar and his firebending master step forward to complete the rites. The three pyres are laid side by side as Zuko, cradling a delicate flame in his hand, lights the pyres on fire. The Fire Sages begin to chant, joined by the rest of the Fire Nation natives as Zuko falls in line with Aang.

When Agni’s rays are the strongest, they say, and when his might is most apparent, is when he allows his children back into his fold.

Together, they move toward the pyres and begin to engulf them in a constant stream of flames as the chanting grows louder, the flames spitting as the wind rises. They abruptly stop bending and step back, allowing the smoke to fade and reveal piles of ashes, blowing in the wind. The crowd bows as one and steps back, chant fading as they allow the mourners their privacy.

When Agni’s gifted are returned back to ash, for him to do with as he pleased, the war-torn people learn, once again, to respect.

Having held off on the task for as long as he could, after paying his respects at the other three temples of his people, Aang stares up at what was once his home, eyes already glittering with tears as Sokka draws him into a one-armed hug. The rest of his friends stand with him in solidarity, forming a shield as if to protect him in the dying light of the day.

The six of them walk inside as one, locating all the skeletons that belonged to the airbenders and taking them to the highest point of the temple.

The remains of Monk Gyatso are settled delicately at the top of the pile they create, and Aang steps forward to run a thumb across the pendant hung around his neck, eyes settled on the vacant eye sockets of the skull. The wind blows around them, caressing and threatening all at once, as Katara squeezes his shoulder. Shutting his eyes for a moment, Aang swallows and steps back, picking up the two rocks laying on the alcove behind him, weathered by the strong winds the buffet around them.

Two steady hands hold the stones under the traditional pyre of timber as Aang stills the air around them and forms a spark in the same breath. The yellow and faded white remains of his people catch flame quickly as he expertly manoeuvres the wind to stoke the fire until the remains are little more than ashes.

When the day is coming to an end, they used to say, and when the winds are the strongest, is when they guide you to where you need to be.

Aang takes a deep breath, and his eyes and tattoos glow for a moment before fading. Taking a decisive step forward, he begins to bend, scattering the ashes of his people to a chant sung in a language that was all but lost to the sands of time. The sun slips out of sight as he settles back on his feet lightly, tears silently streaking down his face as he finishes the lilting tune.

And when all but the last of the Air Nomads are laid to rest, a nation lost to violence finally knows peace.