Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Travel by sky bison was a lot more enjoyable when his companions weren't angry at him, suspicious of him, or outright trying to kill him.

Sokka had warmed up to Zuko pretty quickly, though at first Zuko hadn't known what to do with the sudden friendliness; in fact, he still didn't. It had taken the prince several days to realize that the Water Tribe boy's endless teasing and poking fun wasn't hostile, but his way of connecting to other people. And after that "hunting trip" a few days prior, where they broke into a Fire Nation prison, disguised themselves as a prisoner and a guard respectively, and broken back out with only a minimal amount of explosions, Zuko liked to think that maybe he had found a comrade.

Toph, the little earthbender whose size was made up for tenfold by her feisty nature, was perfectly happy to have Zuko on the team, if only for the reasoning that she could grind him into dust to lay him back for accidentally burning her feet once.

Aang hadn't wanted to let Zuko help at first, and Zuko couldn't blame him. He had tried countless times to capture the Avatar and hurt his friends; Aang's hostility was perfectly warranted. Though through becoming his firebending teacher, discovering hidden civilizations and finding dragons together, Aang, too, had eventually warmed up to Zuko.

Katara had been the most hostile. At least, she had been the most open about it. She had threatened him, warning him that if he betrayed them and hurt Aang, she would kill him.

He'd believed her. He had seen it in her blue eyes; she hated him.

And why wouldn't she? He'd been hunting her and her friends across the world; not to mention his family were the ones who started this entire mess of a war in the first place.

But Katara, too, had eventually come to accept him, albeit reluctantly.

It was a huge relief; she scared him sometimes. Bloodbending, stopping the rain from falling, freezing the raindrops into spears of ice and sending them hurtling toward a defenseless man's chest….even growing up with Azula, he had never seen anything like that. When she wanted to be, Katara was truly terrifying.

But now, leaning back against the saddle, wind rushing through his hair, surrounded by the others, Zuko realized he felt….calm. At peace. The last time he'd felt like this had been in Ba Sing Se, with Uncle Iroh. When he'd finally decided to throw off the chains of his family, when he'd taken on their job at the tea shop with cheer and hope; for a few days, he'd even dared to feel happy.

And then he'd ruined everything.

Zuko's stomach still twisted with guilt when he remembered what he had done. He'd betrayed his uncle. After everything Iroh had done for him, after everything the man had sacrificed for his nephew, Zuko had turned on him. Just like that. All it had taken were a few words from Azula, his cruel, manipulative, monstrous sister; and then Zuko betrayed the only person who had ever believed in him, the only person who had believed he could change for the better.

He wished he could talk to Iroh, tell him how terribly sorry he was, explain how he felt sick to his stomach every time he thought about what he had done. At the same time, he was glad his uncle had disappeared; surely Iroh despised Zuko now.

And Zuko deserved it.

Then a loud groan of complaint from Sokka broke Zuko from his thoughts.

"Gah! It's raining on me!" The Water Tribe boy was lying across from Zuko, flopped on his back and staring at the clouds rolling by. His boomerang and sword, ever present, were within arm's reach, tucked against the side of the saddle where they were safe from the snatching winds.

Suki was sitting near Sokka's head, looking incredibly bored; she was lazily stirring her hands through the clouds as they passed, occasionally flinging water droplets onto Sokka's face, which was apparently the reason for Sokka's outburst.

Toph was next to Sokka's feet, her legs resting against his; when they weren't on solid ground, Toph was really and truly blind, and so she was always in contact with someone she trusted. The blind earthbender was leaning against Appa's saddle, arms flung back over the sides and her dark head resting against it.

Katara was next to Zuko, a short distance away as she manipulated the clouds around them for camoflauge; they were over an uninhabited area of the Fire Nation, but they couldn't be too careful. Her face was tight with concentration, but she managed a laugh.

"Sokka, it isn't raining on any of us."

Zuko watched with amusement as Suki flicked more water at Sokka. The boy's eyes flew open, and he sat up.

"I swear it's raining on me! Is nobody else getting wet?"

"It's just water, Mr. Water Tribe," Toph grumbled, kicking him in the calf; coming from Toph, that was the equivalent of a hug.

Suki was trying not to laugh as she again brought her hand out of the swirling clouds, dripping with condensation.

The water droplets landed on the back of Sokka's neck, and he whirled instantly. His eyes widened.

"Suki! It was you!"

Everyone burst into laughter, and Zuko was surprised to find even he chuckled a little.

"Hey, quiet down," Aang called back from where he was flying Appa. "Someone could hear us!"

"Aang's right," Katara conceded, still bending the clouds as best she could. "We don't want another patrol finding us."

"Or Azula," Sokka piped up.

Zuko suppressed his shudder. He definitely didn't want his sister finding them.

The teens quieted down after that; the thought of being discovered by a Fire Nation patrol was a sobering one.

"Aang," Suki called after a while, "I think we're losing altitude."

Zuko looked up; she was right. Through the hazy mist of clouds surrounding the bison, he could see treetops slowly coming into focus as they descended.

"Appa's been flying all day," Aang said. "And with so many people, he's getting tired faster. We won't make it to Ember Island today; we'll need to stop for the night."

"We don't have any food or supplies, though," Katara pointed out. "We were going to get some on Ember Island." 

"There's a village nearby," Sokka said, pointing. Sure enough, clusters of lights broke through the thinning mist surrounding them. 

Sokka continued. "We can go in and buy what we need, then camp out in the woods."

Appa landed in a clearing with a heavy thud, clouds of dust poofing up all around the beast's bulk as he settled to the ground.

Aang jumped down from his perch on Appa's head, lightly touching down on the grassy surface.

Everyone else, being normal, non-airbenders, had to climb down the old-fashioned way.

The moment Toph's feet touched the ground she slumped down, letting out a satisfied grunt.

Sokka helped Katara climb down; she looked exhausted from keeping up their cloud for so long. It looked like she might fall over.

Suki's stomach grumbled, and everyone jumped.

"All right, then," Sokka said, "sounds like we need to get some food. Who's going?"

"We….probably shouldn't….take too many people," Katara gasped, still breathing heavily, cheeks flushed with exertion.

"She's right," Aang said. "We probably shouldn't draw more attention than we have to."

"That means Toph stays here," Sokka said cheerfully, slinging an arm around Suki's waist.

Zuko waited for Toph to protest, but the girl just cackled.

"He's not wrong!"

"Aang, you probably shouldn't go, either," Zuko said. "We're all wanted criminals, but they'll be looking for you the most."

"I can go," Suki said. "I need to send a message to Kyoshi Island anyway. The remaining warriors there will need to lead a rescue for my soldiers who were taken to a different prison."

"I can go, too," Katara said, pushing herself from Appa's side. Immediately, she stumbled and would have fallen if Momo hadn't flown from Aang's shoulder and gently pushed her back against Appa's fur.

"You should probably stay," Zuko said, trying to keep his tone level and amiable; but knowing his luck he probably sounded angry or pushy. "You need to rest."

Katara opened her mouth to argue, but Suki intervened.

"Sorry, Katara, but he's right. You're exhausted."

The girl sighed. "Fine."

"I'll go with Suki," Sokka said. "I can buy everything we need while she sends her message."

"Sounds good to me," Aang said.

Zuko ran a thumb over his curled fingers. "I can come, too," he said quietly. "They'll need help carrying everything out." And maybe he could find someone who could take a message to Uncle Iroh.

Katara frowned. "Isn't the idea not to attract attention? If anyone else is higher up on the Firelord's list, it'd be you."

Agni. She was right. Ozai would be looking for Zuko, so he could properly punish him. Again. His scar burned, and he suppressed a shudder.

Sokka cheerfully clapped a hand on Zuko's shoulder, making the boy jump.

"Ah, we'll be fine! We can wrap him up in a cloak! Besides, Suki's a master ninja stealth queen! Nobody will even know we're in there!"

Suki's cheeks colored at the praise, and she bumped Zuko's arm with her elbow. "And we could use the help carrying everything."

Aang hesitated; he clearly didn't like it, but finally he nodded. "Okay. Just be careful, please."

"Take care of each other," Katara said, sliding down Appa's back to sit beside Toph.

"Punch a soldier in the face for me!" Toph exclaimed to their departing backs.

Sokka, Suki and Zuko waved over their shoulders; before long their friends passed out of view.

They trekked farther, then Suki stopped.

"I can go on my own from here. I'll sneak to the falconry and send my warriors a coded message. Meet back here at, say, sundown?"

"Uh, sure," Zuko said.

"Be careful," Sokka called as Suki melted into the shadows. He turned to Zuko, blue eyes twinkling. "Wanna see who can walk faster?"

Zuko didn't, but he couldn't help but join in as Sokka stomped toward the town, his steps bowlegged and largely exaggerated. Sokka's cheer and enthusiasm was contagious.

As the two teens neared the village, Sokka stopped, producing a cloak from his bag and fastening it around Zuko's shoulders.

"Pull up the hood, try and stick to the shadows, and let me do all the talking, and we should be okay!" Sokka chattered, swinging his back back up on his shoulders and resuming the trek to the village, though it was now at a normal gait.

"That shouldn't be a problem," Zuko said, falling into step beside him. "You do all the talking already."

For a moment, he was afraid he had overstepped; he still wasn't used to jokes, or teasing, and he was constantly anxious that he would accidentally hurt someone's feelings.

To his relief, Sokka threw his head back and laughed. "Man, Zuko, you should roast me more often! That was a good one!"

His laughter was infectious; Zuko couldn't help but smile as they crossed into the small town.

It was small, barely larger than a village. There was a collection of shops directly ahead, with houses on either side. At the other end was the falconry, where Suki was headed.

He'd pulled the girl aside during their walk and pressed the scroll into her hands, with the request that she send that one, too.

Zuko had written it a long time ago, when he left the palace during the eclipse. He'd intended to give it to his uncle when he rescued him, but the old man had somehow escaped on his own and disappeared into the countryside.

Zuko just hoped he would understand. Maybe writing the words would be easier than speaking them. He hoped Iroh wouldn't hate him too much.

"Since you're my bag-carrying servant," Sokka said, pulling Zuko forward, "you get to wait while I buy what we need. Don't talk to anyone."

"Don't buy anything we don't need," Zuko countered. "That means no cool bags or armor or whatever else you find."

Sokka huffed. "Fiiiiiiiiiine…" 

He trudged off to shop, his sword thudding against his back, the hilt just poking above his bag.

Zuko's own blades were concealed inside his cloak; he wasn't foolish enough to go anywhere without a weapon, even with his bending.

He leaned against the wall of a building, trying to look conspicuous; he didn't know what to do with his arms, but he eventually decided on casually crossing them over his chest.

He wasn't sure how long he waited there, but the sun was beginning to sink, casting pink and orange across the sky. Zuko had earlier caught glimpses of Sokka cheerfully going about the marketplace, collecting everything they needed, though there was no sign of the boy now; he must have moved farther in, to the food shops.

Then a cold chill ran down Zuko's back; every instinct screamed at him to move. A split second later, a heavy staff was smashing into the wall where Zuko's head had been a moment earlier.

Zuko was already moving, blades moving into his hands and into position with a musical ring of metal.

A heavyset Fire Nation soldier stood there, wielding an enormous staff.

The man's gold eyes gleamed. "Traitorous scum," he snarled, lips curling into a sneer.

A bolt of lightning ran down Zuko's spine; this man knew who he was. How?

He didn't have time to ponder as the man rushed him, staff coming forward in a deadly arc. Zuko brought his blades up to meet it, the metal biting deep into the wood.

They darted through the square, Zuko's swords moving hypnotically to block the man's attacks. Then silver flashed in his peripheral vision, and Zuko only barely brought a blade up in time.

Another soldier had joined the fight, sword in hand. As Zuko ducked away from a swinging staff and deflected the sword, a burst of heat at his back had him diving out of the way, instinct guiding his body more than his mind did.

Three soldiers were now facing him, the staff-wielder, the swordsman, and a firebender. 

They moved in, and Zuko was pushed back, his blades whirling, only barely keeping himself alive against the onslaught. They would overpower him in moments.

With a defiant yell he swung his leg out in an arc, blasting the firebender with a bolt of flame. The woman fell back with a cry, but the swordsman leaped forward, his blade slicing cleanly into Zuko's side.

A breath later the heavy staff slammed into Zuko's body, and he flew into a cart full of cabbages, sending pieces of wood and round green vegetables flying.

Zuko's head spun, black spots dancing in his vision. He tried to stand, but hot knives of pain erupted into his side, and he cried out, falling back down among the demolished cabbages.

He felt something warm and wet dripping from his side, and he pressed a shaking hand to the wound to try and staunch the bleeding. 

Zuko managed to get to his knees and elbows, his body screaming, his limbs trembling in protest. His broken ribs were throbbing horribly, hot waves of pain pulsing through his chest, and he could feel blood dripping from between his fingers.

Dimly, he heard a gruff voice.

"Should we take him to the capital?"

The reply came from far away.

"No. The commander will enjoy having another prisoner. He will come with us."

Zuko gritted his teeth. He didn't want to go with anyone. He tried to push himself up, choked gasps escaping his lips, but he was flat on the ground.

When had he fallen back down? He couldn't remember. Why was he so wet? Why was he so cold? He didn't care; he was so tired. He knew he needed to stay awake, but his body wasn't responding.

Despite his efforts to fight it, the darkness rushed in and Zuko knew no more.

Sokka headed back to the square, a slight bounce in his step. He'd found bacon! They would have a good supper tonight!

Now he just had to find Zuko, hand him the bags, and head to their rendezvous point. There actually weren't as many things to carry as Sokka had thought there would be, but that wouldn't be a problem; it meant getting back to camp faster. He could already taste the bacon.

But as he approached the market square, it became apparent that something was wrong. People crowded around in clusters; there was a lot of urgent whispers, staring, and sympathetic shaking of heads.

Sokka caught sight of an old woman at the edge of a group who looked approachable enough.

"Excuse me," he said, keeping his eyes downcast and his tone respectful and soft; hopefully if he spoke quietly it would hide his accent. "What is happening here?" 

"An arrest, young one," the woman said, voice creaky with age. "Soldiers seized a suspicious-looking character, but he fought back and they were forced to wound him. I saw the whole thing."

Sokka's eyes widened, and his mouth went dry. He stammered out a thank-you to the woman, but his mind was spinning as he moved away, toward the scene. Please let it be a coincidence that this had happened in the same exact square where Sokka had left Zuko.

He broke through and stopped short.

Swaths of ashes marked where firebenders had contended, and there were also slashes from swords and shattered wood from something heavy.

Most prominent was the destroyed cabbage cart. The owner was wailing as he tried to collect his cabbages, his voice rising above the murmurs of the crowd, though they seemed to pay him no heed.

"My cabbages!"

Sokka's blood ran cold. Among the wreck of vegetables and destroyed wood, there was blood. It was pooling, smearing across the stones as whoever it belonged to had been dragged.

And right in the middle of the plaza was a pair of curved swords.

He strode forward on shaking legs, picking up the blades with trembling fingers. He knew they were Zuko's. Which meant that the blood was his, too….

Sokka squeezed his eyes shut, fighting off the wave of panic that was riding in his chest.

The crowd was dispersing, their interest lost, but Sokka knelt there, clutching the swords, his mind whirling in a frantic tornado of thought. It kept returning to one thing: He had to find his friend.

Sokka leaped to his feet, blue eyes scanning the blood on the road, ignoring the way his stomach churned at the sight.

He cursed. The trail stopped after only a few feet. There was no way to tell where the soldiers who had taken Zuko went.

Then his stomach bottomed out. Tui and La. Suki.

Where was she? Had she been discovered too? Was she hurt?

Sokka broke into a run, still carrying Zuko's swords, though the bags had been forgotten in his wild blaze of horror and shock and panic.

He sprinted to the rendezvous, skidding to a stop. Suki stood there, in a defensive stance. When she saw Sokka she relaxed, straightening, but when she saw his expression she gasped.

"Sokka! What happened? Are you all right?" Her eyes flicked from his face to the bushes around him, expecting Zuko to appear. He didn't. "Where's Zuko?"

Sokka shook his head numbly, his words failing him for the first time. "I….he…."

"Sokka," Suki asked, taking hold of his wrists, "what happened?"

"Fire Nation," Sokka gasped. "They….they took him. They took Zuko."

Suki's eyes widened in horror. "Where are they? Where did they go?" 

Sokka shook his head, tears pooling in blue eyes. "I don't know," he whispered, hands shaking. "I don't know."

Toph sensed them coming first. She always did. 

"They're back!" She cried, leaping to her feet.

Katara stood as well, her strength mostly recovered from that exhausting flight. She was almost as hungry as Sokka!

Toph's brows came together in a frown.

"What's wrong?" Katara asked.

"There's….there's only two of them. And they're coming fast."

Katara's eyes widened. Oh no. Something terrible had happened.

Just then, two figures broke through the trees at a mad run, skidding to a stop and gasping for breath. Suki and Sokka. Zuko was not among them.

"Guys, what happened?" Aang asked, edging closer.

They didn't reply; they were too busy trying to breath. Finally Sokka raised his head; tears were streaming down his face, and when he spoke his voice was gravelly.

"Zuko's gone." 

Chapter Text

They searched for hours. Katara, Suki and Toph went back into the village, to try and find a trail. Aang had flown overhead on his glider, skimming the tops of the trees to avoid being seen while he combed the forest for his friend. Sokka had gone with the girls, so that he could grab the bags he had dropped; though now nobody felt like eating.

Their searching yielded nothing. The trail went dead. They had no idea where the soldiers were taking Zuko, or what they were doing to him in the meantime.

It made Katara feel sick. She never should have let them go into the village. They never should have come here. What if the soldiers took Zuko back to his father? She knew Ozai wouldn't bother with banishment, not this time. If he was brought before his father, Zuko would die.

Or the soldiers may be taking him somewhere else; there were plenty of high-security prisons in the Fire Nation; no shortage of places to keep a traitor.

Tui and La, what if they took him to Azula? The princess had already shown that the bonds of siblinghood had no hold on her; she had tried to kill them, and hadn't cared when Zuko got in her way. What would she do if he was brought to her, completely at her mercy? Katara shuddered to think it, but she knew that whatever method the princess used to rid herself of her brother, it wouldn’t be quick.

They had to find him. There was no other option. Not only was he the only person willing to teach Aang firebending, he was also their friend. He was one of them, one of the team, though it had taken Katara a long time to see it.

She, Suki, Sokka and Toph had returned from their fruitless search in the village and were now slumped against Appa in despairing silence.

Even Toph was uncharacteristically quiet; her silence only added to the horrible wrongness of the situation. 

In her peripheral vision Katara caught sight of a dark speck against the sky, just above the trees; it grew closer and came into focus into Aang. The airbender touched down in the clearing, folding his glider wings in with a flick. He looked downcast, his shoulders slumped, his gray eyes dismal. When he spoke his voice was soft.

"No sign of him."

Katara had tried to prepare for the words, but they were still a punch to the gut. How were they going to find Zuko if they had no idea where he had gone?

Katara slowly leaned forward, elbows falling on her knees, fingers sliding into her hair. The sick churning in her stomach hadn't gone away; if anything, it had gotten worse. It was a roiling mix of anger and fear and helplessness and guilt that made her feel like she would throw up.

"Hey, guys." Sokka's voice was soft and hoarse, but he pressed on. "I….I know you're all scared, and worried, and angry….but we can't stop. We can't. We'll find him, okay? We're Team Avatar. We've done all kinds of impossible things before; and this isn't any different.

"We will find him." Sokka's voice was hard. "I won't stop until he's back."

"Sokka's right," Aang murmured. "We can't give up."

Toph sniffed, scrubbing a hand across her face. "We'll find him so I can kick those soldier's asses," she said, her voice barely giving away a slight tremor.

Suki rose to her feet. "I can go scour the village again," she said. "Question the villagers, do some reconnaissance." Her voice was husky, but she held herself tall.

"I can come along," Toph said, standing. "I'll be more useful searching on the ground."

"Stay together, please," Katara whispered. They couldn't lose anyone else. They couldn't.

"Aang," Sokka said, turning to the boy, "do you think you can try and find some spirits? Maybe they can help."

Aang seemed to brighten a bit. "I didn't even think of that! I'll go do that now!" He stepped to the edge of the clearing, where he settled into a pose and closed his eyes.

Katara breathed out a sigh. There wasn't much she could do to help; their best searchers were already out, and she couldn't interfere with Aang in any way; and they had decided not to search the forest. They couldn't let anyone get lost. Or taken.

She rested her head on her knees, fighting down a wave of panic and nausea. She thought she had known hardship, known fear. These past months of fighting the Fire Nation, traveling in the wilderness and trying to stop a war she didn’t sign up for had been the hardest of her life. She’d lost her mother. She hadn’t lost her father, not really, but she may as well have; he had left again, off to keep fighting. Katara was no stranger to losing people she cared about.

Then why was this so different? Why was she left with this sick, queasy feeling in her stomach?

Probably because this was one she could have prevented. She could have insisted they fly farther, or not let anyone go into the village. She could have stopped this from happening, but she didn’t. And now Zuko, wherever he was, would pay the price.

“Hey.” Sokka’s voice was strained; he sounded like he was trying not to cry.

Katara looked up, meeting his eyes; he was kneeling in front of her, arms held out. She pushed herself from Appa’s furry side and into the hug, nearly knocking him over. She buried her face in Sokka’s shoulder, her fists twisting in the fabric of his tunic. He held her just as tightly, rubbing her back and letting the tears fall again.

The siblings stayed like that for what seemed like forever; but Katara was reluctant to let go. Finally, when her legs were losing their feeling, she pulled away, wiping the tears from her face. She had left a damp spot on Sokka’s shoulder, and her tunic was wet from his tears, too. Sokka’s eyes were rimmed with red, but he dried them on his sleeve, exhaling shakily.

“Katara, we’re going to find him.” His voice was wobbly, but there was steel there now.

Katara met his gaze. “We won’t stop,” she whispered. Her hope for the Avatar’s return had kept her going throughout the difficult living conditions in the Southern Water Tribe; and now it would keep her going until she found her friend. She wasn’t going to stop until Zuko was back.

“If we search the forest together,” Sokka said, rising to his feet and slinging his sword over his shoulder, “we should be okay. We just need to stick together.” They would watch each other’s backs. Like they always have.

Katara accepted his hand and let him pull her to her feet. He kept a hold on her hand, twining their fingers together, and they trekked into the forest, heading for the village. The soldiers had to have left a trail somewhere. And they would find it.

Katara tilted her head back, whispering to her friend a world away: Hang on.

His dreams were a myriad of blurred images, snatches of images and voices that made his head hurt.

A voice, dark and full of anger and cruelty. You will learn respect. And suffering will be your teacher. A white burst of agony, his skin feeling like it was melting off his bones. A dark room, a great chained beast before him. It’s time for you to look inward and ask yourself the big question: who are you and what do you want? Images in the earth, a stick tracing in the dirt. Understanding others, the other elements, the other nations, will help you become whole. A girl, standing by the sea, her dark hair blowing in the wind. I don’t know if it’s because I’m too weak to do it, or because I’m strong enough not to. A blur of colorful fire, bright and energetic and powerful and alive. All this time I thought firebending was destruction….But now I know what it really is. It’s energy, and life.

He couldn’t move his arms. Why was it so cold?

Because of your legacy, you alone can cleanse the sins of our family and the Fire Nation. Born in you, along with all the strife, is the power to restore balance to the world. An echoing cell, gold eyes regarding him from between the bars.

A sharp twinge in his side, hot knives piercing his chest when he tried to breathe.

Now you have come at the crossroads of destiny. It’s time for you to choose.

There had been a fight. Fire and cabbages and blood. Something had happened, something bad. He had to wake up.

Zuko opened his eyes. He was on his knees, his arms cuffed up and out on either side. They were already beginning to ache. He shifted, trying to support more of his weight with his knees; at the movement pain flared in his side, from a deep cut there, now swathed in bandages. His breaths were quick and shallow; if he tried to inhale, his broken ribs protested. His ankles were also cuffed to the ground, keeping him from moving his legs too much.

They had taken his tunic, but he still wore his trousers.

He was in a dark room, empty save for the hanging from the ceiling and restraining his wrists. The metal door looked heavy and bulky, directly across the cell from Zuko.

He was definitely a Fire Nation prisoner. He felt panic building in his chest, rising in his throat. If they took him to Azula, or his father….oh Agni.

Think, Zuko. Don’t panic. Think. His thoughts automatically went to the question that had gotten him out of countless rough spots. What would Uncle do? That didn’t help; all it did was make him feel even worse. He had come to rely on Uncle Iroh during his time of banishment. He rushed into difficult situations, knowing Iroh had his back.

But now Iroh wasn’t here. He was somewhere far away, and there was no way he would want to help his nephew after what happened at Ba Sing Se.

What about the others? His friends? Surely Sokka had noticed something was amiss at the town square; surely he and the others were looking for him.

But would they be able to find him? Zuko didn’t even know where he was; how could they ever be able to track him down?

Zuko knew they wouldn’t be able to find him in time. He was alone. He would have to escape on his own, and he would.

He didn’t have his swords, but he didn’t need them. He was a firebender, trained by his uncle. He was the Blue Spirit. He would escape. He just had to wait for the right moment.

Zuko lowered his head, his eyes closing, fighting back the wave of fear. He would best this. He would.

The screeching of metal against metal made Zuko startle; he had been lightly dozing, but was now wide awake as the door opened fully.

A man entered. He had cold eyes and a colder smile. His uniform was crisp and immaculate, but that didn’t hide the cruel gleam in his eyes.

“Welcome to my ship, Your Highness,” the man said. His voice was deep and pleasant. “I hope the room is luxurious enough?”

Zuko didn’t reply; he leveled a glare at the man, who sighed. “I am Commander Chuzai. My men spotted you and a companion approach the village, then enter under disguises. As you are a wanted criminal by order of the Fire Lord, you were apprehended.”

Zuko suppressed a shiver. They hadn’t been careful enough coming in. Then his stomach dropped. Had they captured Sokka as well? Or Suki?

The man seemed to read his expression. “I wish I could inform you that I have taken your companion as well. I would love to see your despair. But, alas, my men had their hands full with you.”

Zuko didn’t let his relief show on his face, but inwardly he felt a knot in his gut untangle. His friends were safe.

Chuzai continued, his voice calm and level as he began to pace around Zuko. “Now, I will be frank: I despise traitors. But what I hate perhaps even more is traitorous royalty. Your treason is a blight on the history of your forefathers, a grave dishonor.

“For that reason, I do not think I will be delivering you to the Fire Lord. He will make justice swift. I, however, believe that we must find a much more, ah, reasonable form of justice. After all, you have been in contact with the Avatar and his team. Perhaps I could persuade you to explain the Avatar’s next move?”

Dread trickled down Zuko’s throat. Oh Agni. They weren’t going to take him to Ozai, but they were going to do something almost as bad, if not worse. They were going to torture him for information.

Chuzai snapped his fingers, and the door opened again. A soldier came forward, carrying a tray. Knives and something that looked like a thick rod were lying on the tray, gleaming wickedly in the dim light. Oh gods.

Zuko couldn’t hold back his shiver this time; the panic was rising again but he couldn’t stop it.

Chuzai was on his left, his breath hot on Zuko’s face as he spoke. “Now….tell me where the Avatar is.”

Zuko wasn’t going to betray them. He would never betray anyone again. He summoned every bit of his will, imagining it as a wall building around the vital information. He wouldn’t give this man anything. He kept his gaze firmly fixed straight ahead.

Chuzai’s sigh brushed across the side of Zuko’s face. “Very well.” He backhanded the boy viciously; Zuko’s head snapped to the side, his face stinging. He kept his mouth closed. He would endure.

Then Chuzai’s fist slammed into his side, right above his wound. Zuko cried out as pain shot through him; he couldn’t hold it back. Almost before the smarting pain faded, Chuzai was kicking Zuko in the chest. 

Agony exploded in him as his already broken ribs were aggravated even more, and he cried out again; the restraints on his wrists kept him firmly in place, but Chuzai’s boot was still planted firmly in his chest, pushing in even harder. Zuko’s cries turned into screams, the pain nearly unbearable.

Then the pressure was lifted, and Zuko sagged, gasping for breath. Chuzai circled around Zuko again, his voice clear and commanding.

“Tell me where the Avatar is.”

Even through the smarting pain in his torso, Zuko refused to speak. He wouldn’t give them so much as a word.

Chuzai selected a knife from the tray, turning it over in his fingers with a bored expression. “I had hoped you would be sensible, but now it appears I must be more persuasive. I assure you, Your Highness, I can do this all day.”

Zuko didn’t move. He refused to speak. His chest was throbbing, but he wouldn’t break. He refused to break.

Then the knife slashed down his back, tearing through flesh and muscle. Zuko shrieked, black spots dancing in his vision as Chuzai flicked the blood from the knife. He gasped and shuddered, the agony burning through him. He could feel blood running down his back.

Chuzai’s voice came from somewhere far away. “Tell me where the Avatar is.”

Zuko coughed, spasming as his ribs flared with pain at the movement. He gathered every bit of courage and strength he possessed, and minutely shook his head.

Then the knife was slicing into his back once again, somehow even more painful than before. Zuko’s screams tore his throat, turning hoarse; he tasted blood.

Again Chuzai pulled the knife away, flicking the blood from the blade. Again Zuko sagged in the restraints, his vision blurring.

Chuzai repeated the command yet again; there hadn’t yet been a single change in his tone. And yet again Zuko refused.

Chuzai knelt in front of Zuko, still holding the blood-slicked knife. Zuko didn’t have enough energy to raise his head and meet the man’s eyes; he kept his gaze on the floor, fighting the urge to flinch as Chuzai reached forward.

The flat of the blade ran down the side of Zuko’s face almost tenderly; Zuko shuddered, jerking his face away.

“Such a pity,” Chuzai murmured. “You possess great resolve, but I’m afraid it’s for the wrong side. You can make all of this stop, Zuko. All you have to do is tell me what the Avatar is planning.”

It took nearly all of his remaining strength to shake his head again, but he did. He couldn’t betray Aang.

The knife plunged into the meat of Zuko’s shoulder. He jerked away, his scream echoing in the tiny room as agony tore through his entire arm. His screams rose into shrieks as Chuzai twisted the knife; Zuko’s vision whited out, but somehow he remained conscious. A ragged scream was torn from him as Chuzai yanked the knife from his shoulder, releasing a gush of blood that ran down Zuko’s body in a stream of wet warmth.

A shudder passed through Zuko’s body, and he moaned as the searing agony faded somewhat. His eyes slipped closed; he was just so tired.  

He….he wanted his uncle. He wanted Iroh to wrap him up in a hug, pat his back and tell him everything was going to be okay.

Instead, he heard Chuzai’s voice float through the haze over his mind. “You have another chance. Tell me what the Avatar is planning.”

His entire body hurt more than he could describe, but Zuko didn’t say a word. They would have to kill him before he talked.

This time, rather than a knife or a kick, it was a burst of flame from Chuzai’s fist. Fire washed over Zuko’s chest, the heat so intense it was cold.

He jerked and twisted in the restraints, his shrieks rising into wails as pure agony seared through his body.

And this time, he did pass out.

Chuzai pulled back, seeing the boy sag limply. He had lost consciousness. No matter. Chuzai would be here when he awoke. The commander motioned to the soldier in the room. His voice was gruff when he spoke.

“Bandage his wounds.” He couldn’t have his prisoner slipping away so soon. The soldier saluted, and Chuzai stepped out into the corridor.

He strode through the hall, coming up on deck. They had been sailing since early that morning, after his men had come from the woods in the middle of the night with a fugitive prince in tow. At their current pace, they would reach their destination within four days.

Chuzai smiled, remembering the boy’s shrieks as he had been cut and burned. When the prisoner came to the commander would be waiting. And he would make the prince pay for his treason.

This was going to be very fun.

Chapter Text

Time had no meaning. He sat in the clearing, not noticing as the sun began to rise above the trees, brightening the sky as it climbed. He didn’t know how long it had been; he didn’t care. All that mattered was his breath, slowly going in through the nose and out the mouth, and the way his body seemed to lighten, as if gravity was loosening its hold.

Aang opened his eyes. He was sitting in front of his body, staring at himself. Aang raised his arms, the transparency and bluish tinge to his skin confirming that he had, indeed, crossed over into the spirit world.

Now he just had to find a spirit, which shouldn’t prove too difficult. Spirits were everywhere; they inhabited the physical world almost as surely as the living did. There were always spirits, and they were usually relatively friendly. Usually.

Aang rose to his feet; as a spirit, he could float wherever he wished, but he didn’t want to miss anything. He didn’t want to accidentally fly over someone who could help.

The sick, churning feeling in his gut hadn’t gone away, even though he technically didn’t have a gut anymore, since he didn't have a physical body.

He’d come to trust Zuko, even admire him. The prince had endured so much, but was still trying to do what was right. Even though the odds were stacked against him, Zuko had still refused to bend to the traditions of his family, his people. He was strong and kind and good. Every time Aang thought about everything Zuko endured, his respect for the boy only grew.

And now Zuko was enduring who-knows-what, who-knows-where by who-knows-who. Aang was terrified at the thought of Zuko going to Ozai, but he wasn’t sure if it was better than going to Azula. His guess would be that the soldiers would take him to the Fire Lord, but Azula seemed to have a fair amount of sway as well. The soldiers who had taken Zuko could be under Azula’s command, or not. Aang didn’t know where Zuko would be better off; he wanted to save his friend before they found out. Which he couldn’t do if he started freaking out.

Aang exhaled, visualizing all of his fear and worry and guilt flowing out of him with the breath. He had to be clear-minded and calm to navigate the spirit world.

Feeling much more focused, Aang reached out with his mind, sensing for any nearby presences. He’d had lots more practice and gotten much better in the spirit world, since he didn’t have anything else to focus on with his chakras out of whack. One positive thing about that, he supposed.

He felt the spirit just before it appeared, seeming to shimmer into appearance. It took on the form of a woman, tall and slender. Raven-black hair tumbled down her back in inky waves, held in place by a golden circlet in a topknot on her head. Eyes the color of the rising sun met his charcoal gray.

A blaze of panic burned through Aang; suddenly he was facing a pair of those exact golden eyes, falling from the sky as the agony tore through his body and-

“Peace, Avatar Aang,” the spirit said, her voice soft and melodious and breaking Aang from the memory.

This wasn’t Azula. He knew that; Azula wasn’t here. The spirit looked like her, though; she had Azula’s eyes, her inky hair. But she looked like someone else, too, and it wasn’t until her lips curved upwards when Aang realized who else she looked like. Her smile, the gentleness in her golden eyes….it was Zuko’s.

“You’re his mother,” Aang whispered. “You’re Ursa.”

“I am,” the spirit confirmed. “You are looking to rescue my son.”

“Yes!” Aang cried, stepping forward. “Can you help me? Can you tell me where he is?”

Ursa’s eyes were sorrowful. “I do not know,” she murmured. “He is somewhere beyond my sight….I cannot reach him.” The sheer heartbreak on her face sent a pang through Aang’s chest. “I can sense his emotions, Avatar. He is in pain, and so afraid.” Her eyes squeezed shut. “I cannot bear knowing my son is so afraid and not be there to comfort him.”

“I’ll find him,” Aang promised. He refused to accept anything else. “I’ll find him and I’ll bring him back.”

“I cannot lead you to Zuko,” Ursa said, opening her eyes, her voice firmer than before, “but I can lead you to someone who can help. Someone who would cross all the seas and traverse all the kingdoms to bring my son safely home. Someone who loves my son as dearly as I do.”

She raised a hand, motioning for Aang to follow. He didn’t hesitate.

And so they went, the Avatar and the spirit of Zuko’s mother, in search of someone who would help them.

Toph crossed her arms, leaning against a tree at the edge of the clearing. The others were busy making preparations; Katara and Sokka had run in about an hour ago, hollering something about seeing signs of a Fire Nation battleship that had been docked. According to locals, it had left very early that morning. It was their only lead, and now Katara, Sokka, and Suki were running around like koala-chickens with their heads cut off.

At least, Toph assumed they were. She had never actually seen a koala-chicken, of course, but her friends were scrambling around, climbing up Appa where Toph couldn’t sense them anymore, then climbing back down and scurrying around like the rats she could feel beneath the ground sometimes.

Aang was sitting in the middle of the clearing, looking like he was taking a nap. Stinking Avatar stuff.

As long as it would help them find Zuko.

The disappearance of their teammate had sent everyone spiraling. Sokka had been distraught, so much so that he had nearly lost his reason to the overwhelming panic. Now he was still shaky, even nearly half a day (or night) later; his legs were trembling as he gathered up the waterskins. Suki was more level-headed, but her voice was tremulous when she spoke and she was restless, always offering to scout out or try and find a trail. Katara became completely single-minded. Nothing else mattered to the Water Tribe girl except finding Zuko. Katara hadn’t even yelled at Toph for not helping yet, which in of itself set Toph’s nerves on edge. Katara always tried to get Toph to help.

Toph wasn’t a mess, though. She sat back, her face impassive, feeling the warmth of the sun and hearing the sounds of her frantic friends all around. She wasn’t distraught, or scared. She was an earthbender, the best in the world; she was unaffected by things so fickle as emotions.

She most definitely was not worried sick, or afraid. She was most definitely not imagining what could happen to her friend if they didn’t find him in time, or thinking of him being alone and afraid and in pain with nobody coming to rescue him, or remembering the fear she'd sensed in him when they had last faced Azula; his pulse had picked up, his voice tightening. The others probably hadn’t noticed the change in his tone, but Toph was more observant than any of them. She had to be; even with her abilities, she couldn’t see facial expressions, or sense anything that wasn’t touching the ground. Her hearing and smell was excellent, and she had trained herself to listen to voices, to discern emotion from sound. And Zuko’s fear had been strong. Not overpowering, but definitely there.

They had only barely escaped Azula in the past; at Ba Sing Se, during the eclipse, all of those moments when Azula had dogged and pursued them more surely and persistently than her brother had.

Toph was definitely not thinking about what might happen if Zuko was brought to his sister. Or his father. She was definitely not feeling sick to her stomach, or barely keeping her emotions in check. She was completely calm.

To distract herself from the turbulent emotions that she wasn’t feeling, Toph focused in on her friends’ voices as they hurriedly gathered their supplies and readied Appa; they wouldn’t have much time to lose if they were going to find the ship.

“Sokka, toss me those blankets!” Suki called, sounding as if she were on Appa’s back. Toph sensed Sokka’s form tensing, muscles bunching as he threw the bundle up. Suki must have caught it because it didn’t come back down.

Katara was kneeling near the remains of the fire, her hands sifting through the dirt and sending ripples through the earth to Toph’s body. She was dousing the flames, burying the coals with dirt.

“Hurry,” Katara cried as she finished her task, dusting off her hands on her tunic and standing. “We need to follow that ship!”

Toph tilted her head toward the slight indent in the earth, where tiny ripples stretching outward was the only sign of the Avatar sitting there. Even on his butt the airbender was annoyingly light; Toph always had to focus harder to sense where he was. Just as the others were preparing to clamber aboard Appa, Aang leaped to his feet.

“Wait!”

Katara halted halfway to Appa; Sokka paused midstep, only one foot touching the ground; the other was probably planted on Appa somewhere. 

Aang’s feet only ghosted across the ground toward Appa and the others. When Toph pushed herself to her feet and navigated toward her friends, she followed his voice instead; it was easier to follow than his light-as-air, dancer touch.

“We can’t go after the ship yet. There’s something we need to do first.”

“What do you mean?” Sokka cried, pushing off of Appa. “We can’t lose that ship! We have to go catch them before they get too far away!”

“I know,” Aang said, sounding regretful. “But we have to go find someone; they can help us. If we don’t find them, we’ll never find Zuko! We can’t give this up!”

Silence as everyone took that in. Toph could imagine Katara and Sokka exchanging glances.

“I think we should do what Aang says,” Suki spoke up, surprising Toph; she must still be on Appa, because Toph couldn’t sense her around. And because Suki had stayed quiet, Toph had almost forgotten she was there.

Katara exhaled, shifting her weight. She was on Toph’s right, next to Sokka. “I...I don’t like going somewhere else when we’re so close,” she murmured. “It...it feels like we’re abandoning him.”

“We’re not,” Aang said. “We’re going to find someone who will help us. He isn’t far from here, but the spirit I talked to said he’ll be moving on soon. This is our only chance, and we won’t be able to find and rescue Zuko without him.”

Toph, pinpointing his location thanks to his voice, punched Aang hard on the shoulder. It was totally a love tap but of course Toph wasn’t gentle about it; “gentle” was the last thing people thought of to describe the compact little earthbender.

Aang stumbled, letting out a soft oof.

“Let’s go find your special person,” Toph said. “If he doesn’t cooperate I’ll make him!”

Aang kept his gaze fixed straight ahead as they flew inland. He couldn’t bear to watch the departing ocean at their backs; Katara was right. It felt like they were abandoning him.

Even with his talk with Ursa still fresh in his mind, even with the knowledge that they weren’t abandoning their friend, but just going to find help….Aang still felt sick.

He was still reeling from meeting Zuko’s mother; he had met many spirits in the spirit world, but never before one like her: an ubume, the spirit of a woman who had died in childbirth or left behind a young child. Even after death, the ubume is still a mother; she desires to protect her child, even from beyond this life. He knew Ursa hadn't left Zuko because of death, but all the same they had been forced to part when Zuko was just a child.

Aang thought back to his conversation with her in the forest as they drifted between the trees. She had been so sorrowful, so heartbroken; her son was in danger and so scared but she could do nothing to help him. Aang had promised her that he would bring Zuko home. He promised Ursa he would do what she could not.

And so they were going to find the brother of the Fire Lord.

Aang had met Iroh before, at Ba Sing Se and before that at the North Pole; and though both meetings had been brief he had immediately known that the man was kind and wise. He had seen how much Iroh cared for his nephew, and now that Zuko was one of them Aang had seen how much the prince admired his uncle.

Iroh had helped them in the past. Aang knew he wouldn't hesitate to help them now, to save Zuko.

He remembered Zuko mentioning that Iroh had once been a general, laying siege to Ba Sing Se, long ago when Zuko was still a child. Aang had a difficult time pairing that with the sweet old man he had met before. What had happened to make such a change?

He knew people could change; Zuko himself was proof of that. He didn't know specific details of Zuko's struggles, but he had an inkling.

What could have driven a cold-hearted general to become the man Zuko looked up to so much? Aang couldn't help but wonder; the first thing he had learned after leaving the iceberg was that everyone had a story.

There was a story of a little girl, missing her mother and trying to control powers she didn't fully understand. A little girl struggling to survive in a cold, cruel world, struggling to keep her village alive. A young woman fighting in a war she didn't sign up for, a war that had taken her parents away.

There was a little boy who dreamed of adventure and heroism; a little boy who had lost everything except a little sister, a little boy who fought to protect his village from an entire ship full of soldiers. A young man who led an assault, battled powerful benders with nothing but a blade and his wits.

A little girl, shunned by the world and shielded by her parents. A little girl who knew she could become something more. A young warrior who fought without pause, who took hits and dealt them out tenfold, and was stronger than anyone else.

Another little girl, training side-by-side with her sisters-in-arms, learning to fight from almost the moment she could walk because in a war fighting is the only thing anyone knew. A little girl valiantly defending her island from an impossible assault. A young woman with a painted face and golden fans, taking after a warrior of old.

A little boy with a big heart, desperate to see good in the world. A little boy betrayed by someone who was supposed to protect him, a little boy thrown out like a piece of garbage. A young man who struggled and bled and fought for every bit of ground he gained, who triumphed against impossible odds. A young man who finally, finally realized who he was.

Everyone had a story. Everyone had their pains, their darkness, their demons. Everyone knew fear and hopelessness and anguish and anger and guilt and despair. They were the constant companions of mankind, the unwelcome visitors, the price for being human.

Yes, everyone had their demons. But everyone also had their angels.

Friends and family. Peace and joy. Sunrises and laughter and dessert, ocean waves and clear night skies. Hugs and high-fives and late-night talks, running until you fly, laughing until you can't breathe, living until you've lived every day.

With all of those things, maybe….maybe being human wasn't so bad after all. Because the good always, always outweighed the bad. It would all be worth it. Every shed tear, every dark thought, every hopeless day, would all be worth it in the end.

Appa's huge bulk flew through the air as graceful as a koi fish in water. They were descending, Aang flicking the reins to take them where they needed to go. The bison set down on the cliff of the mountain; Ursa had led Aang to the place where Iroh was resting, showing him the way. And they had arrived.

There was a cave, set deep into the cliff face. Aang could see warm orange light coming from within, and he could smell something delicious.

He motioned for the others to let him go first; he wasn't sure if Iroh would recognize any of them on sight, but his tattoos made him easy to remember.

Aang warily poked his head inside the cave; the man sat by a cozy fire, tending a pot of water. He raised his head, and gray eyes met gold.

The man's lips curved upwards. "It has been a while, Avatar. Would you like some jasmine tea? I do believe it is nearly ready."

Aang stepped inside the cave, his insides twisting with dread. How could he tell the man about his nephew?

There was a scuffing sound from outside; it sounded suspiciously like someone being shoved. Sokka had probably gotten within reach of Toph.

Iroh didn't miss the sound. "Could you invite your friends in as well? I'd love nothing more than to share a pot of tea with you all."

Unable to speak past the lump in his throat, Aang nodded.

"C-Come in, everyone," he managed.

One by one, they crept inside, Katara with her arms wrapped around her tunic front, hugging herself; Suki with an arm around the other girl's shoulders, rubbing a circle on Katara's arm; Toph behind them with a suspiciously innocent grin and Sokka trailing behind, holding his arm.

At Iroh's urging, they settled around the fire, shivering against the chill and shifting closer to the crackling warmth.

"So what brings you all to my humble doorstep?" Iroh's voice was pleasant and gentle.

Everyone looked to Aang; as the Avatar he was used to it by now, but he desperately wished someone could say it for him.

When Aang spoke, his voice was hoarse with unshed tears. "Iroh, I...we need your help."

The man was stirring the tea, but his earnest gold eyes were on Aang.

The Avatar continued, feeling the words burn his throat. "We….it's Zuko. He's been captured, and we don't know where he is, or how to…" He was interrupted by a crash.

Hot water seeped on the stone floor around pieces of broken crockery. Iroh had dropped the pot of tea. He didn't seem to notice; his eyes were wide with horror.

"Z-Zuko?" Iroh whispered hesitantly, his cheerful and pleasant demeanor replaced by cold, prickling fear. "How? When?"

"Last night," Aang said, the words coming in a rush now. "Fire Nation soldiers. By the time we found out they were already gone, and they went on a ship but that's all we know, and we need your help to find him because we don't even know where to start!"

Silence filled the room, louder than thunder.

Iroh's eyes flicked from Aang to Suki to Katara to Toph to Sokka and back to Aang. And when he spoke, his voice was firm and steely calm.

"How can I help?" 

Chapter Text

Everything hurt. His lungs were filled with lava, his throat lined with hot coals. His entire torso was a throbbing mass of flaming pain, and his arms were completely numb from holding his weight.

Gold eyes slowly cracked open, an involuntary moan escaping his lips as his consciousness fully returned.

The last thing Zuko remembered was Chuzai's voice, even and conversational, as if discussing the weather: Yo u have another chance. And then horrible agony, searing into his body, into his very soul. Agony he had only felt once in his life. You will learn respect. And suffering will be your teacher.

Zuko closed his eyes against the onslaught of memories; he forced them away, packed them down where he couldn't see them.

Stop panicking. He tried to control his erratic breathing; he could only breathe shallowly, but he evened the breaths out as much as he could.

How was he going to get out of this? The chains holding him were almost certainly fireproof; there's no way they would restrain a firebender with meltable chains. Nobody could possibly be that foolish. Zuko, wincing at the sharp stabs of pain from the movement, shifted to place more weight on his knees to relieve his wrists and tried anyway, twisting his hands upward toward the chains.

A blaze of flame burst from his hands, but the moment the heat passed close to his face Zuko flinched, closing his fists and quenching the flames.

His stomach twisted in shame. A firebender, afraid of his own bending? 

All he could think about, though, was the terrible heat on his face, so hot it was cold and so horribly painful he thought he would die.

The chains hadn't changed in the least, and though they hadn't been exposed to heat for very long at all the thought of fire being so close to his face made his gut clench and his heart pound.

Zuko shivered, squeezing his eyes shut; how long had he been here? With the time he spent unconscious, it was impossible to be sure.

But it couldn't have been more than a day, right? Surely his friends would come for him before too much longer; he would just have to hold out until then.

What if they don't come? Whispered a voice inside his mind. What if they realize they're better off without you?

No, Zuko thought. They were his friends. They wouldn't leave him….

He just had to stay strong until they came. They would come. He didn't dare think about what could happen to him if they didn't.

Metal screeched against metal as the door opened, jolting Zuko from his thoughts.

A shiver of fear ran down Zuko's spine as Chuzai appeared, his face impassive. 

"I see you're awake, little prince," Chuzai said. He was holding an unlit candle, a mound of wax sitting in a metal holder.

With a flick of the wrist, he lit the candle and set it upon a table, casting a warm glow across his cold features. 

"I have a choice for you. It's very simple, if you ask me. You can either tell me what you know about the Avatar, or…. you will bleed. It is your decision."

Zuko almost couldn't breathe from the suffocating fear; but his friends were coming. He could hold on until they came.

He didn't respond.

Chuzai sighed. "Very well, little prince, have it your way."

The knife sank into Zuko's thigh and was ripped out just as quickly. Zuko flinched, biting his tongue to hold back the scream. Then his shoulder, the one that was already wounded, was impaled again, the old wound reopening. Zuko's ragged scream tore up his raw throat, making him taste blood. Chuzai pushed the knife deeper, sending a white-hot burst of searing pain through Zuko's shoulder. Then, with a flourish and a twist, Chuzai yanked the knife out, carelessly tearing the skin around the wound.

Zuko's screams cut off as the blade was removed, and he sagged again, struggling to breathe. Blood was running down his side and his leg, dripping onto the floor in a steady cadence.

Chuzai stepped in close, and Zuko's body tensed, his heart galloping in his chest.

"Do you know why you are being punished?"

Zuko didn't waste strength or energy on a response. He didn't want to talk to the man with the calm voice and the casual cruelty.

Chuzai apparently didn't expect a response, because he continued. "I do not like royalty," he said, pacing around Zuko in circles. "They sit in their palaces and dictate our lives, send us into their wars and for what?" The last words came out as a vicious snarl, his lips curling in disgust. "Power? Wealth? Or perhaps they enjoy watching the young of this country perish and burn in their pointless battles! They enjoy watching as children are stolen from their parents and murdered by savage brutes!"

At that, Zuko's eyes widened as understanding crossed him. This man had lost someone to the war. A son or daughter, a soldier sent off to war and never returning. And he blamed Zuko.

In a sick, twisted way it made sense. Zuko's ancestors had begun this war. His family continued to send soldiers to die on the field of battle, even a century later; the royal family was responsible for the lives lost.

Zuko had hated seeing that part of the war during his travels with his uncle. The destroyed towns, the mourning families, the grave markers as numerous as blades of grass, each one a son or daughter or mother or father or sibling or aunt or uncle, pointing accusingly toward the sky with their smooth stone spires.

He remembered his cousin. Lu Ten. He remembered how changed Iroh had been after losing him. The same had happened to hundreds, even thousands of other families during the course of this horrible war. And despite the throbbing pain in his body, the sharp stabs of hot knives in his chest, Zuko felt an inkling of pity for this man, who had lost someone close to him, someone he had loved. And for the first time, Zuko spoke. His voice was husky and raw, but the words were still audible.

"I….I'm sorry."

Chuzai kicked him hard in the side. His voice was harsh and angry. "My daughter is dead because of the arrogance of your family."

Zuko forced himself to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry," he rasped again, his voice crackling and hoarse.

Chuzai's eyes gleamed with hatred, and something else, something bright and unhinged. "You will be."

The man’s hand reached for the thick metal rod, orange tongues of flame curling around his fingers. At his touch, the metal began to glow. Chuzai, a thick glove over his other hand, picked up the red-hot rod and shoved it into Zuko’s side.

The sizzling was drowned out by Zuko’s scream; he jerked to get away, but the chains held him fast. Even after Chuzai pulled the rod away it still burned and throbbed horribly, the acrid scent of burning flesh turning Zuko’s stomach.

Chuzai set aside the rod and reached toward Zuko’s face, his fingers wreathed in flame. Zuko’s struggling grew more frantic as the heat drew near, his mind completely lost to the pure panic. Trails of fire ran down his face as Chuzai’s fingers brushed down his cheek. Zuko couldn’t move anymore: the restraints were already stretched to their limit. He could only whine as the heat grew unbearable, surely leaving behind another terrible burn scar.

Chuzai pulled away, a pleased smirk playing upon his lips. Zuko was trembling, his eyes squeezed shut, tears trickling down his cheeks around the new burn on his face.

“Now the world will see you as what you are,” Chuzai murmured, his voice cutting through the cacophony of terror in Zuko’s mind. “A traitor. A murderer. A blight on the pages of history.”

Zuko heard the words, felt the twisting in his gut at their meaning, but he kept his eyes closed. He could still feel the heat on his face, the ghost of a burning hand pressed to his cheek. Another shudder ran through his body, the fear nearly overtaking him.

Then a clanking of chains made Zuko’s eyes snap open. Chuzai had somehow disconnected his chain from the ceiling; Zuko’s wrists were still attached, and Chuzai was now holding the other end, like….like a leash.

Zuko hadn't realized how sore his arms were until they were no longer in that position. His wrists were aching relentlessly, his arms nearly numb. He only had a moment to adjust before Chuzai was yanking on the chain, jerking Zuko forward by his wrists and tugging him to his feet.

A wave of dizziness sent Zuko back to his knees; agony pulsed through him from his injuries, making him gasp.

Chuzai again pulled on the chain, and Zuko was forced to follow.

He was pulled from the cell, where four soldiers waited to escort them. Even if Zuko's hands hadn't been bound he wouldn't have liked his chances of escape. His body was still throbbing, and every time he took a step sharp stabs of pain shot up from the wound on his thigh, and a wave of fresh blood ran down his calf, leaving behind bloody footprints on the metal floor. The older stab wound on his side was throbbing, his chest pierced by hot knives with every shaky gasp, the burn on his other side and his face still too hot, the deep cuts on his back sending pulses of agony down his body with each lurching step, and his ravaged shoulder screaming every time Chuzai pulled on the chain.

Chuzai yanked on the chain again, forcing Zuko to stumble to keep his footing. He was led out onto the lower deck on the aft end of a Fire Navy interceptor, the rising sun blinding compared to the dark cell.

The deck was only a few meters from the water, the waves churning and foaming in the ship's wake. Spray flew up in everyone's faces, sprinkling their cheeks with shining droplets.

"The prisoner is thirsty," Chuzai announced over the sound of the engines, a cruel gleam in his eye. "Let us give him a drink."

And without warning, Zuko was shoved into the sea.

He didn't even have time to process the cold, like a slap to the face, before his chained wrists jerked painfully, stopping him from sinking. He was being dragged through the water behind the ship by his wrists.

He couldn't tell which way was up and his lungs were about to burst. Panic was climbing his throat, sending his heart into a frantic gallop. Zuko took hold of the chain binding him and desperately pulled his body upward. His head broke the surface and he gasped, ignoring the stabs of pain in his chest as he breathed and the twinge in his shoulder as he clutched the chain, struggling to stay above the water.

Chuzai was standing on the lower deck, holding the other end of Zuko's chain. He looked incredibly pleased as he relayed an order that Zuko couldn't hear over the sound of the ship's engines and the water rushing in his ears.

Then the engines grew louder as they suddenly began to cut through the water at twice the speed from before. The churning water grew more turbulent, shoving into Zuko and forcing him under again. 

He was gripping the chain so tightly his knuckles were white, desperation lending him the strength to struggle to the surface again. He only had a fraction of a second to breathe before the ship moved to top speed.

The increased turbulence from the ship’s wake sent him under once more. His body jerked as he was dragged by his wrists, the chain slipping from his grip. Now there was no chance of him taking hold of the chain again; he was tumbling through the water, endlessly and relentlessly buffeted by the current. The water filled his mouth, his nose, burning like fire. He was going to drown.

With one last, desperate effort, Zuko kicked with everything he had, adrenaline coursing through his body.

He broke the surface, spluttering and choking. Barely a second passed before he went back under, his cry cut off when water gushed into his mouth.

Blackness was creeping in at the edges of his vision. Zuko struggled to fight it off, to stay conscious; if he passed out he would die.

With his lungs screaming for air and black spots dancing in his vision, he kicked for the surface again. He was forced back down by the current. The sun shone above him, white and glittering from above the surface of the water, just peeking above the horizon.

And then everything went dark.

Zuko awoke lying on the deck at Chuzai's feet. His chest ached with an awful pulsing throb; they had revived him.

He shuddered as he gratefully gulped down air; his nose and mouth were still burning, but he could breathe.

And then, without a single change in expression, Chuzai kicked him back into the water.

Again Zuko was dragged behind the ship by his throbbing wrists, panicking as the water sluiced around his body. The panic fueled him, giving the strength for him to resurface. He only had a moment to cough before going back under. The current was just too strong.

The blood was pounding in his ears as he fought to resurface, using the last reserves of energy he didn't even know he had. It wasn't enough. His weakened, battered body just couldn't fight the powerful current.

He still fought, with every last bit of strength, but in the end his lips parted and the water came rushing in.

Again he awoke on the deck, his chest hurting even more than before. And again Chuzai shoved him into the water. Zuko didn't even have the strength to cry out as the water closed over his head.

His limp, beaten body was dragged behind the rushing ship, mercilessly tossed around in its wake. Every time he fought to the surface, he was immediately pulled back down.

Zuko lost track of how many times he blacked out and was awakened on the deck just to be pushed back overboard. It seemed to go on forever.

He was completely exhausted. Every last bit of strength was gone, spent by frantic kicking and struggling, panicked gasping when he could breathe and terrified bubbles rising from his lips when he couldn't. Zuko had absolutely nothing left to give. The sun was a white orb blazing directly overhead as Chuzai’s boot planted against his side, shoving his limp, weakened body toward the churning waves once again. Zuko didn’t fight it, didn’t even cry out; he was just so tired. His body was too heavy, in too much pain to respond.

And so when he was forced back under one last time, into the cold depths of blue, his exhausted gold eyes slipped closed and he gave in to the darkness.

Heat blazed across his face, across his torso, accompanied by horrible, searing pain. Cold water filled his mouth and nose, burning his throat and filling his lungs. He tried to scream but he couldn’t make a sound. Fire and water clashed over his body, fighting over his shaking frame. They were going to tear him apart.

Zuko awoke back in his cell, his wrists once again chained to the ceiling. He was conscious, but his eyelids felt too heavy to lift, so he kept them closed.

His entire body was a mass of pain, throbbing and pulsing and making him tremble.

Agni, he wanted to go home . He was more scared than he had ever been in his entire life. He just wanted to go home.

“U-Un...cle…” His voice was hardly more than a croak, a whimper. “Un...cle…” He was cut off by a rasping, hacking cough that sent spears of pain lancing through his chest.

A soft sound of amusement came from beside him. Panic coursed through his body; he had thought he was alone.

When he opened his eyes, Chuzai stood before him, an amused smile playing upon his lips.
“How adorable. Even after everything, you still believe your uncle loves you.”

The words were a slap to the face, a stab to the heart; they sunk into his gut and settled there, making him sick.

“The entire Fire Navy knows your sin,” Chuzai said smugly. “Word travels fast over the sea. You betrayed someone close to you, someone who cared about you. It’s no wonder the disgraced general ran for the hills and didn’t return! Why would he want to have anything to do with you?”

The words almost hurt worse than the throbbing pain in his body. Even as Zuko tried to deny it, he realized Chuzai was right. He had betrayed Iroh and everything the man had taught him, resulting in his imprisonment. Iroh would never love him the way he had before. He hated Zuko now, and Zuko deserved it.

“How terribly sad. Your uncle is not coming for you. And neither are your ‘friends.’ Did you honestly think they actually cared about you? Did you honestly think they would allow you to join them, after everything you’ve done?” Chuzai’s voice was gentle and sympathetic, velvety smooth. “Nobody is coming for you, little prince. Nobody will ever take you away. You’ll stay with me for the rest of your life, and I will make it miserable. I will make you feel the pain countless others have felt, all those soldiers brought into your war. I will take away everything you hold dear and then you will die.”

The fear that filled Zuko was indescribable. He was going to die here, at the hands of this madman. He was never going to see his uncle or his friends again; they had abandoned him. And now he would pay for all of his wrongs.

He didn’t even try to tell himself that he didn’t deserve it. He knew that was a lie.

“So let us begin, shall we?” Chuzai’s eyes glimmered as his fingers hovered over the array of gleaming metal.

He plunged the knife into Zuko’s uninjured shoulder, shoving the blade so deep Zuko was sure it had impaled him all the way through.

The fiery agony bursting through his body had him shrieking, thrashing in the restraints. Chuzai released the hilt of the knife, igniting his hands and pressing them to the delicate skin of Zuko’s neck.

White bursts of agony exploded behind Zuko’s eyes as he writhed beneath the blistering touch, his ragged wails reverberating in the small space. It burned and it didn’t stop; it felt like his skin was melting away, his bones turning into ash.

He was grateful when the darkness descended.

The sounds of battle surrounded the man as he blasted flames in all directions, deflecting the boulders that came thundering down from the enormous walls. The general was fighting on the front lines, side-by-side with his soldiers as he always did. They were close now, closer to breaking into the city than they had been for nearly six hundred days.

The young man fighting at the general’s side was a natural firebender, his body weaving and swaying with the movements of the bending. They were a perfect team, moving in sync and attacking and defending as one. They had been together since the day the young soldier was born, on the happiest day of the general’s life.

Iroh sent a boulder back at the wall with a burst of white-hot flame, and Lu Ten was at his side, protecting Iroh’s flank against a burst of attacks from the waves of defending earthbenders.

“Watch yourself, Father,” Lu Ten cried, his face glowing in a grin despite being smeared with dirt and ash. “If you were hit I would have to command your troops!”

“You would be an excellent commander, my son,” Iroh called back, weaving around another earthbender attack.

Lu Ten laughed. “After we break through the wall you’ll buy me some tea, right? My favorites, jasmine or ginseng?”

“Of course!” Iroh felt a burst of warmth, pride and love for his son.

They continued working through the battle, a flawless machine as father and son seemed to be able to read each other’s minds and predict their next movement.

Then everything changed.

There was a high-pitched whistling as a massive boulder, so enormous it had to be bended by four earthbenders at once, hurtled toward their lines, impossible to stop with its size and velocity.

Time seemed to slow. Iroh met the eyes of his son briefly before Lu Ten was sprinting toward the battalion of Fire Nation soldiers beneath the impending doom. He was going to try and help those soldiers stop it.

“Lu Ten!” Iroh shouted, his voice swallowed by the field of battle. He could no longer see his son; the young man was swallowed by the masses of soldiers scattering to escape from or battle the falling sky. Bursts of flame, Iroh's soldiers and his son rallying to fight back, shot up and buffeted the boulder, but they were as effective as wind caressing a mountain.

And with a sound like the world splitting in half the boulder slammed into the ground.

Chapter Text

"You're sure we're headed the right way?" Aang asked, not taking his eyes off the sky spanning before him. He was seated in his usual place on Appa's head, holding the reins of the massive beast.

Iroh was sitting just behind Aang in the large saddle, his beard blowing in the wind.

"I am sure we are going the correct way. This is the fastest course to the nearest high-security prison, which I am sure is where they are taking him."

"What if they're taking him to the Fire Lord?" Suki asked, pulling her knees to her chest. "How do we know where to go?"

"If protocol hasn't changed, they will bring him to a prison to be processed," Iroh replied. "Then they will take him to the Fire Lord, where he will be tried….and executed." His voice was heavy, his eyes fixed straight ahead. Iroh didn’t want to think about what may be happening to Zuko, but he knew he must consider the possibilities. That didn’t mean he should say them out loud. The Avatar and his friends may be stopping a war and saving the world, but they were still children.

Zuko was still a child.

Lu Ten had just been a child.

The all-too familiar ache, the one that slightly faded over time but never went away, was pulsing above Iroh’s heart, returning with full force.

He hadn’t been able to save Lu Ten. And he hadn’t been able to save Zuko.

He remembered the last time he had seen his nephew, during his time as a Fire Nation prisoner. Zuko’s conflicted, stricken face seemed burned into Iroh’s mind; the boy’s gold eyes, glistening with unshed tears, piercing Iroh’s even weeks after their interaction.

He would give anything to see his nephew again. He would throw himself back into prison, battle the Fire Lord himself, or face down an army; he would do anything to have Zuko back, safe and unharmed.

The soldiers who had taken Zuko were almost certainly heading for Hellgate, the highest-security prison in the area; an ideal place to process a prisoner to then send on to the Fire Nation capital, keep within the prison, or send to Boiling Rock; the two prisons often worked hand-in-hand, although according to Sokka, the Water Tribe boy, they didn’t have to worry about Boiling Rock anymore.

He had pulled Iroh aside, speaking in whispers; apparently he, Zuko and the brown-haired girl had put Boiling Rock out of commission, a feat Iroh didn’t doubt. He knew Zuko's abilities, and he also knew that there was more to this Water Tribe boy than met the eye, if his muscular arms, sharp eyes, and the sword sheathed across his back was any indication. The girl who had also been involved was lithe and strong, agile and quick; the look of a warrior. No, Iroh didn’t doubt that they had taken out the prison. He knew that to be on the Avatar’s strike team each of the people in front of him must be strong, capable warriors.

That didn’t mean they weren’t children. That didn’t mean they weren’t afraid. Iroh could see in their eyes; they were just as afraid as he was, and for good reason. They all knew the Fire Nation wasn’t kind to their prisoners, especially wanted criminals.

Iroh had seen many, many things in his time within the Fire Nation ranks. He knew there were soldiers who didn’t want to be in a war, who fought because they had to. He also knew there were soldiers who were there because they loved war. They loved fighting, killing. They rejoiced in the battles they fought, reveled in the suffering they caused. Soldiers like that would often take turns “guarding” prisoners, though any commanding officer with a brain knew what actually happened; taunting, mistreating, abusing. The prisoners would “mysteriously” acquire bruises, cuts, sprained or twisted limbs, for no reason other than the soldiers who had inflicted those injuries had been bored. Those cruel soldiers would gleefully harm any prisoner of war they could get their hands on.

What would they do to an exiled prince who had betrayed his nation?

The fear and worry was a swirling mix in Iroh’s ample gut, making him feel sick to the stomach. The feeling wouldn’t go away until his nephew was safe. In the meantime, Iroh’s hands were clenched on the sides of the beast’s saddle, his knuckles turning white. He wasn’t a stranger to air travel, but flying on an air bison was a new experience. He was glad he could distract himself from his churning thoughts with the sensation of the wind in his face and his beard, the swirling clouds around them.

Zuko’s friends were scattered in the saddle, all in different stages of tense anticipation. The Water Tribe girl, who had introduced herself as Katara, was manipulating the water in the clouds around them, providing cover. Iroh doubted it was necessary this far out in the open ocean, but he knew that the girl was trying to distract herself from the horrible worry. Besides, concealing themselves couldn’t possibly hurt; they couldn't afford to throw caution to the wind, even now. They would be no help to Zuko if they were captured.

Suki and Sokka, Zuko’s companions in the Boiling Rock escapade, were caring for their respective weapons; Sokka was polishing his sword, the strange black metal gleaming beneath his care. Suki was bent over a pair of gleaming gold fans; they looked innocent enough at first glance but a closer look revealed the glint of razor-sharp edges. Again, this was perhaps an unnecessary deed, but on the back of a giant airbeast flying over the ocean, there was not much to distract one’s mind from the horror and fear they were all feeling.

Toph, the girl Iroh had had the pleasure to meet and speak to previously, was curled next to Suki, an arm pressed to the other girl’s leg. She appeared to be resting, but judging by the tenseness of her form Iroh doubted she was actually asleep.

The man sighed, casting his gaze back to their path. The ocean stretched before them, wide and blue and endless. A glance at the small compass revealed that they were slightly off-course.

“Aang,” Iroh called, seeing the boy’s ears perk up at the sound of his name. “Shift our course two degrees to the left.”

With a graceful flick of the reins Aang heeded Iroh’s words; Appa’s form, massive and bulky but somehow graceful as a bird on the wing, shifted precisely to the heading. They were speeding as fast as the bison could go across the ocean, heading directly to Hellgate. With luck they could intercept the ship before it arrived there; Iroh didn’t want Zuko to be in the Fire Nation’s hands for any longer than he had to be.

They were making good time; they would reach the prison within a few days. If they didn’t intercept the ship on the way, they would infiltrate and read the records, which would inform them where Zuko had been taken next. They would track him all over the world if they had to, but they would find him. Iroh wouldn’t rest until his nephew was safe; and he wouldn’t rest until he knew that the soldiers who had taken Zuko would never be able to do so again.

There was no rest. No end. Even in unconsciousness there was no relief. There was only pain. As Zuko slowly regained consciousness the pain only intensified; the delicate skin of his neck felt like it was on fire, burning and melting away. His entire upper body was a mass of throbbing, pulsing pain; he couldn’t even differentiate between the individual wounds anymore. It all hurt.

Gold eyes cracked open, hazy with pain and exhaustion. Zuko couldn’t stop the moan that escaped his lips as he fully awoke.

The cell was stiflingly hot; Zuko’s skin was slick with sweat. But the cold floor on which his knees and lower legs rested was still chilled, the metal almost a block of ice compared to the rest of the cell. In the back of his mind Zuko registered the fact that he must have a raging fever, but as soon as it came the thought was lost to the mix of pain and fear that made it nearly impossible to think.

His ravaged throat was horribly raw, feeling as though it had been scraped away by a rough stone. His head was pounding with a headache, the icing on top of an already agonizing cake.

Chuzai and his soldiers were nowhere to be seen, though that didn’t stop Zuko’s pulse from picking up; he was awake and that meant only more torture to come.

As if the thought had summoned him, the door screeched open, the sound like knives piercing Zuko’s ears and making him flinch. Chuzai stepped through, again holding a candle.

The man said nothing as he placed the candle on the table. His silence was unnerving; usually he taunted Zuko or threatened him.

He flicked his fingers, summoning a flicker of flame to light the candle, and Zuko flinched, turning away from the gentle orange glow and squeezing his eyes shut; he braced himself for the burning agony that would surely follow.

Chuzai’s amused chuckle filtered through the churning panic. “A firebender, afraid of a tiny flame? Pathetic .”

Zuko kept his eyes closed, shame curling in his gut. He heard Chuzai kneel beside him, the man’s foul breath washing over his face.

“Your resistance is futile. You try to protect the Avatar, but you will not succeed. You think you know suffering? You think you know pain?” Chuzai’s voice was quiet, but no less harsh and cruel. “That was just the beginning. You have no idea of the pain and suffering the world can give, the pain and suffering I will inflict. You will give me the information I need. You will break. It is only a matter of time, little prince, and I happen to have plenty of it.”

Zuko’s gut twisted, the few shreds of resistance he had left rising up despite the man’s terrifying promise. He already betrayed Uncle Iroh. He wouldn’t make that mistake ever again, no matter how much it hurt. Chuzai would have to kill him first.

He hoped he was strong enough to withstand it. He hoped the spirits were merciful and let him die quickly. He hoped they would forgive him.

Chuzai rose to his feet. “Very well. I shall enjoy this.”

Zuko kept his eyes firmly closed. He didn’t want to see.

The knife tore down his back, angling from his left shoulder blade to his lower right side, ripping through skin and muscle and reopening the older wounds.

Zuko thrashed in the restraints, somehow still able to scream despite his ravaged throat. The pain ebbed as Chuzai finished the cut, and Zuko shuddered as he struggled to breathe. Whimpers escaped as the pain shot through him, wiping away all thought.

And then Chuzai cut him again. The knife tore through in the other direction, making a gruesome x across Zuko’s back.

Zuko’s screams were growing softer, hoarser; he was losing his voice. He hung limply in the restraints, gasping and whimpering as Chuzai stepped around to face him again.

Zuko flinched as the man’s fingers gripped his chin tilting his face upward. Chuzai’s steady orange gaze met Zuko’s terrified gold.

The knife traced down Zuko’s cheek, leaving a thin trail of blood; the cut was shallow, hardly more than a scrape, but the touch of the cool metal made Zuko jerk in Chuzai’s hold, trying to pull away; his mind rose in a panicked blur of oh Agni please stop touching me please don’t touch me don’t touch me don’t touch me! Keeping his firm hold on Zuko’s face, Chuzai gently pressed the flat of the blade to Zuko’s lips. The cool metal passed over his lips, his cheeks, in a sick imitation of a caress. A high-pitched whine of terror rose from Zuko’s chest as he fought to pull away, but Chuzai’s grip was like steel.

“My patience wears thin, little prince,” Chuzai murmured, brushing the knife over Zuko’s cheekbones. “I will not wait for much longer.”

Zuko’s galloping heart felt as if it would break from his chest. He couldn’t breathe from the pure terror that engulfed him as Chuzai pressed the tip of the knife into Zuko’s cheek; a tiny starburst of blood bloomed on Zuko’s face, spreading into a line as Chuzai slid the tip of the knife down to his jaw.

Zuko shuddered so violently that his eyes screwed shut against the sharp pangs from his chest. Chuzai released his chin, letting the boy’s body fall limply and jerk against the chains.

“Rethink your commitment to the Avatar, little prince,” Chuzai murmured as he stepped from the room. “I will not be so merciful next time.”

Night had fallen hours ago, but they were still flying at nearly top speed. Poor Appa was tiring, but the animal seemed to understand the urgency of their mission. He wasn’t slowing. But Suki knew he would need to rest soon; even though they were in the middle of the ocean, with no land or otherwise in sight.

Suki exhaled, gazing out at the sea; the moon shone silver on the dark surface, like diamonds spilled across black velvet. They had to be getting close to the ship that had taken Zuko; Appa could fly fast enough to catch up to one, given enough time. Suki just hoped they had enough time.

She didn’t know Zuko well, it was true; they had only had about a week to get to know each other between the Boiling Rock breakout and Zuko’s capture, but she was still worried. She still hadn’t entirely forgiven the prince for once attacking and burning down her village in his hunt for the Avatar, but she now understood that, for all of his brash actions and persistent hunting, Zuko was a victim. And during the short time in which she had gotten to know him, he had revealed himself to be kind and gentle and adorably awkward.

She may not be best friends with the guy, but she knew he belonged with them. He was part of Team Avatar, and nobody could change that.

She surveyed her companions. Sokka was beside her, leaning back against the saddle, his shoulder brushing hers. His eyes were closed, but she doubted he was asleep. She didn’t think anyone could sleep now.

Toph was still on Suki’s other side, but she had shifted and was now leaning back against Suki’s legs, absently playing with a mound of rock and manipulating it into different shapes.

Katara had long ago ceased moving the clouds, and was now next to Aang, the two deep in conversation.

Iroh had moved to the side, his alert gold eyes scanning the dark horizon. Suddenly, he straightened.

“Aang, there’s a ship!” His cry jolted everyone into alertness. Suki leaned around Sokka, peering out into the dark.

There was indeed a ship. A small Fire Nation ship, too small to be an interceptor, was chugging along, spewing black smoke into the blacker sky.

“I’m dropping everyone in,” Aang called over the rushing wind. “We won’t have much time!”

Everyone leaped to their feet, hands grabbing weapons or readying for bending. The ship was directly ahead, growing closer by the second.

Suki gripped her fans, standing between Toph and Katara; the former was holding tight to Sokka, readying to jump into the unknown.

Appa swooped past the ship, pausing to hover as everyone leaped down. The moment Suki’s boots touched the ground she was rolling to avoid a burst of fire. The Fire Nation sailors were advancing on them, letting loose with a barrage of flame.

Suki lost herself to the battle, weaving in and out with the grace of a dancer, her fans gleaming in the moonlight as she took down the firebenders, one by one.

Katara was bathed in silver moonlight as her opponents fell, lost to the swirling water that encased the girl.

Sokka, Toph and Iroh, as previously determined, were making their way belowdecks, to the prison cells. Iroh was practically unstoppable, carving a path through the soldiers with bursts of flame and surprising grace for such an old guy. Sokka and Toph were in his wake, easily dispatching anyone the older man left behind.

They disappeared belowdecks, and Suki twisted to avoid another burst of fire. She threw one of her fans with a flick of the wrist the way Sokka had shown her; it whipped around, clipping the soldier on the side of the head and striking several others on its curving path back to Suki, who caught it deftly.

She and Katara stood back-to-back, fans and water gleaming in the moonlight as the soldiers struggled to contain them.

A cold burst of air announced Aang’s arrival; half a dozen soldiers were blown overboard as Aang swept his legs, sending a wave of freezing ocean wind. He joined Katara, their bending seamlessly manipulating the water around them into a wild mess of watery tentacles. The soldiers didn’t stand a chance. Against the two powerful benders and Suki, the soldiers fell back, either leaping into the ocean to escape or being pushed in.

A pounding of footsteps announced the arrival of the rest of their team at the top of the steps. Suki turned toward them, eyes bright. When she saw them her heart stuttered to a stop.

Sokka, Toph and Iroh stood there, singed and bruised from battle, the devastation in their eyes rivaling the destruction around them on the deck. Zuko wasn’t with them.

“He wasn’t there,” Sokka said, blue eyes grim.

Suki felt the words like a blow to the gut. They had found the wrong ship. Zuko was still out there. And he was farther away than they thought.

Chapter Text

Time had no meaning. There was only horrible, pulsing agony that twisted and tore through him with the fury of a dragon.

Zuko hung there, slumped in the restraints, his weakened body shuddering from the horrible hot knives that tore through every part of his being. Whimpers and moans and choked gasps escaped from him; he was too tired to try and keep quiet, and it just hurt so much. It hurt to move. It hurt to hold still. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. It was never going to end.

Sweat and blood dripped from his face; his breath came in quick, sharp pants. The sharp coppery tang of blood was in the air, on his tongue, mingling with the foul acrid scent of burnt flesh that made his stomach churn dangerously and bile rise in his throat.

It had been days. He didn’t know how many, but he knew that days had passed since that battle in the town square. Days, maybe even weeks, had passed, and they hadn’t come.

They’d abandoned him.

A tiny part of his mind weakly insisted that they were on their way, that he just had to hold on a little longer. He knew it was wrong. He had been a prisoner for too long; there was no way they couldn’t have found him by now. And even if they were on their way….there wouldn’t be much of him left for them to rescue.

Zuko was fading, his resolve crumbling, his hope shattering beneath the horrible fear and pain that was plaguing him, body and mind. He was breaking.

An empty, yawning pit was opening in his chest, threatening to swallow him whole. He was going to die here, at the hands of a madman because he’d been left behind by the only people he’d dared to call friends. His last words to his uncle had been in anger; Zuko had never gotten the chance to say how terribly, achingly sorry he was, or to tell Iroh how much he loved him. And now he would never get that chance. Zuko couldn’t even cry; he was far too weak and dehydrated for that.

All he could do was suffer in the darkness of the cell and wait for the next arrival of his tormentor.

The ship powered through the water, plowing through churning waves beneath the setting sun. They had been sailing all through the day, and were now going into the night.

Appa was on the deck taking a much-needed nap; the poor animal had been flying nonstop for days, and had been about to collapse.

Aang leaned back into Appa’s side, enjoying the soft fur that encased him; the rise and fall of Appa’s breathing gently shifted the boy, with a sensation akin to rocking a child to sleep.

They had commandeered the ship they had attacked, and were now heading to Hellgate as fast as the lightly damaged ship could go. Iroh had determined that they must be farther behind Zuko’s captors than he had initially thought, and so they were pursuing with even more determination. The man had privately murmured to Aang that Zuko must be reaching Hellgate by now. Their time frame had shrunk; if they didn’t make it to the prison in time they would lose their only lead. They couldn’t afford to be late. Zuko couldn’t afford for them to be late.

Aang’s charcoal eyes studied his gathered friends. Iroh had urged them to rest; they would need their strength when it came to rescuing Zuko. Katara was curled near Aang, close to Appa’s head. Chocolate waves of hair tumbled over her shoulders and arms, spilling over Appa’s shimmering white fur like ink spilled on a page.

On Aang’s other side, closer to Appa’s tail, Toph was leaning back, arms folded behind her head. The best indication that she was asleep was the fact that her feet were propped up on a crate from belowdecks; the Toph equivalent of closing her eyes. Even in sleep her expression was pulled into a fierce scowl, as if daring some beast to try and step on her while she slept.

Sokka was sprawled out on Appa’s broad tail, snuggling into the soft, plush fur. Suki was a few feet away, curled on her side; her arm curved toward Sokka’s, their hands inches apart.

Aang sighed and looked toward the setting sun, the sky painted with pink and orange. He usually didn’t mind waiting; it meant more time to goof around or sleep in. When it came to defeating the Fire Lord, Aang was perfectly fine with waiting a little longer. Now, though, waiting was torture. Every minute that Aang was forced to wait was another in which his friend was alone and afraid and hurt; but he couldn’t do anything except twiddle his thumbs as the ship carried on toward where they hoped Zuko would be.

It went against everything Aang knew, everything he was . As the Avatar it was his job, his duty to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves, but now he couldn’t do that duty. He could probably reach Hellgate faster on his glider, but it would be an exhausting journey, and Aang hadn’t slept very much in what had to be at least three days. Even the Avatar couldn’t fly by himself through storms and strong winds and whatever else came upon him, functioning on next to no sleep, and then proceed to break someone out of a high-security prison. He needed his friends for this. As much as Aang hated waiting, he also knew it was his only choice here. They were en route to Hellgate; there was nothing to be done except rest, to prepare his body for the battle that lay ahead.

As the sky gradually darkened to twilight, charcoal eyes slipped closed and Aang nestled closer into Appa’s thick fur.

When he opened his eyes he was next to his physical body, in a form of shimmering silver. He was in the spirit world again. This happened occasionally, part of being the Avatar, Aang supposed. He would sometimes fall asleep in the physical world and wake in the spiritual plane. His body was still asleep, and Aang always felt rested in the morning, as if he had actually been asleep, but his spirit could move around and interact with the spirits.

He didn’t have to look to know who was sitting beside him; he remembered the feel of her, the warm comfort of her presence, like sunny skies, gentle laughter, cozy hugs. Aang had never known his parents, had never known what it would be like to have a mother, but he imagined that it would be like this: warmth and comfort and safety and belonging and overpowering love.

He turned to face the spirit of Ursa. She was seated beside Aang’s body, between him and Katara. Her kind gold eyes were sad as she regarded him.

“He is fading,” she stated without preamble. “Even now he is reaching his limit. I cannot reach him,” she murmured, “nor can I feel him as closely as before. He is weakening by the hour.”

The words were several consecutive blows to Aang’s gut. He knew it was bad, but hearing that Zuko was fading fast made him sick. Zuko was one of the most resilient people Aang knew; he had relentlessly pursued him for months, facing down blizzards and soldiers and storms to find the Avatar; the guy just didn’t know how to give up.

His captors had only had him for a little more than four days, and he was already breaking. Spirits, what are they doing to him?

“We’re on our way,” Aang whispered, his voice breaking. “We’re coming.”

“I know,” Ursa murmured. “I know you will bring my son home. But please….hurry. He will not last much longer.”

“We’ll save him,” Aang promised, his voice filled with steel. “We’ll bring him home. He’s going to be okay.”

Ursa closed her eyes, her dark lashes fanning out over her cheeks. A lone tear glistened in a trail of silver down her face. When she spoke it was a whisper, gentle and quiet as a breeze: “I hope so.”

They came for him after what seemed like years, unchaining him from the ceiling, ignoring his weak cry as his knees buckled and he collapsed to the cold, unyielding metal floor.

A voice cut through the ringing in his ears.

“On your feet.”

Zuko shakily rose to his hands and knees, the pain stabbing through his body. As he struggled to rise to his feet a wave of dizziness overtook Zuko, sending him crashing back down with a thin cry.

“Very well, little prince. Have it your way.”

And Chuzai began to walk, dragging Zuko behind him. His arms felt as if they would be torn off, and his wounded shoulders were flaring with hot spikes of pain. The hallways passed in a hazy blur; all Zuko could focus on was staying conscious.

They came out into the bright glare of the sun, Zuko wincing at the brightness. Chuzai sharply yanked on the chain, making Zuko yelp as pain shot down his arms. His other wounds were flaring up as he was unceremoniously dragged across the ground, the agony so intense he could barely breathe.

They passed into a cool, dark corridor; they were indoors. Zuko moaned as his body was jostled against the stone floor; the rough surface was scraping against his skin, bringing a sharp stinging pain.

He didn’t know how long it was; it could have been hours. Finally he was dragged into a small cell, his arms forced up on either side of his head and chained into place.

Zuko’s vision blurred as he sagged in the restraints, struggling to breathe. The agony pounded through him like a drum, tearing through his body and sending violent spasms through him.

He dimly registered Chuzai standing before him, conversing with another man wearing formal robes. Their words were just more noise, only adding to the din in Zuko’s head; he couldn’t comprehend what they were saying. He was too tired and in too much pain to even think.

Finally, the other man stepped from the cell and Chuzai moved toward Zuko.

The boy tensed, every single instinct in him screaming to get away, but he couldn’t move. The panic reached a climax as Chuzai reached for him. Zuko couldn’t stop the whine that escaped as Chuzai’s fingers again gripped his chin, turning the boy’s face upward toward him.

“Have you reconsidered, little prince?” Chuzai’s eyes were bright and fractured. “Or shall my fun continue?”

Zuko closed his eyes with a shudder; if he had to look into those cold orange eyes he knew he would give in.

“Still stubbornly refusing to betray those who have abandoned you, I see,” Chuzai murmured, releasing Zuko’s face. “Very well.”

The knife slid across his chest, bringing hot stinging pain. Zuko somehow found the strength to jerk in the restraints, struggling to pull away. Blood ran down his chest, coating him in gleaming red.

The knife then sunk deep into his calf. A hoarse shriek was torn from Zuko’s ruined throat, white starbursts of agony exploding behind his eyes as Chuzai twisted the knife, a cruel gleam in his eye. The knife was torn out carelessly, ripping the skin around the wound amidst the pouring blood.

Chuzai was standing behind him, his breath brushing Zuko’s ear as he hissed: “I will make you bleed. ”

Then the knife slashed down Zuko’s back, viciously shredding open the older wounds. Zuko’s hoarse scream was barely loud enough to be heard over the roaring of blood in his ears. The blade came again, tearing open the skin of his back with cold fury. It came again and again.

Blood was bubbling from the deep cuts, pouring down his back and his legs. No amount of bandages would stop him from bleeding out.

The thought had only just come when Chuzai pressed his burning hands to Zuko’s shredded back.

Everything whited out as agony like he had never known seared through him. His wail was hoarse and inhuman. The sharp, acrid scent of burning flesh filled the room as his wounds were cauterized by Chuzai’s cruel, flaming touch.

Zuko must have passed out, because he awoke with his entire body screaming in agony. Chuzai was standing next to him, looking pleased; only a few moments had passed.

“Such a pity that you will never see the Fire Lord,” Chuzai murmured, brushing the flat of the blade over Zuko’s blood-crusted face. “He would enjoy making you bleed as well, I think. But I’m afraid I must keep you here. I only have the next few hours for interrogation, so I will be sure to use my time efficiently.”

The knife dug into Zuko’s face, over his cheekbone; drops of blood trickled down his cheek like tears. Chuzai’s breath was hot on his face.

“I will cherish every moment of this, little prince.”

The knife plunged into his shoulder, twisting into the muscle. Zuko’s hoarse shriek was barely more than a whisper; his voice was nearly spent.

Another burst of terrible heat, so hot it was cold, across his torso; Zuko thrashed desperately, the older burns tearing at the frantic struggling.

Cut. Stab. Burn. Kick to the side, to the gut. Blood pooling on the stone floor.

Zuko’s screams weren’t even screams anymore; just harsh whispering cries that hurt his throat.

It went on for an eternity; the agony was like nothing he had ever experienced. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t see. It was all just white agony.

When Chuzai finally stopped an eternity later, Zuko was sagging limply in the chains, completely exhausted. Black spots were dancing in his vision, and he only barely heard Chuzai leave the cell, the metal door grinding harshly against stone.

The shredded remnants of Zuko’s hope and resolve lay in tatters; he had utterly and completely broken. There was nothing left for him; nothing but horrible, endless agony, and the merciful release of death.

Aang shot through the air, cutting just above the surface of the waves toward their stolen ship. His gut was churning with fear and anticipation; he had been so restless for the past day that Sokka had sent him to scout ahead. Now Aang was returning, his knuckles white on the glider as he swooped down, alighting on the deck.

“What did you see?” Sokka asked, leaping down from Appa’s saddle where he had been stocking their supplies.

Aang exhaled, feeling the jumble of nerves bounce around inside his gut.

“We’re almost there. We’re almost to Hellgate.”

Everyone straightened at that, eyes snapping to Aang’s; all at once the tension was so thick Sokka could have sliced it with his sword.

“Prepare yourselves,” Iroh said, looking ahead to where Hellgate lay. The setting sun painted the sky orange and pink as the man continued, his voice firm. “We will go in under cover of night.” He cast his gaze around at the gathered warriors, meeting each of their eyes; they all matched his resolve with their own. Gold and blue and gray and brown, filled with fire and steel. “Let’s go bring Zuko home.”

Chapter Text

There was no moon. The sky was a scattering of diamonds floating in ink, the moon hardly more than a sliver of silver.

The structure rose from the heaving sea, slick stone the same color as the ink-dark ocean. The walls stretched upward, spires and turrets accusing fingers jutting toward the sky. It was already a sinister appearance, with its black stone and looming archways and grotesque gargoyles, but at night it was altogether much more ominous, a haunting dark giant outlined against the darker sky. Spots of torchlight sat at intervals, like dozens of glowing eyes. The guards patrolling the walls were keeping a watchful eye on the night, squinting into the oppressive darkness.

She moved like shadows, like darkness seeping in against a lantern’s glow. The night was her cloak, the darkness her servant; the world was mist, and she was merely passing through, a phantom unseen.

Some said Suki moved like a cat. Her fellow warriors, however, suspected that cats would sit at her feet to learn her methods. If she was a cat, then she was one born of shadow and moonlight, with eyes of silver and claws of gold.

The first guard didn’t even see her coming. He went down silently, not even having a chance to cry out before slipping into unconsciousness. Suki moved on to the next man, standing at the corner. He was facing away, gazing out into the night, but he could turn at any moment. Katara and Aang were behind her, hopefully dragging the unconscious guard out of sight, but they could still be spotted.

Suki noiselessly crept along the wall, one shadow among many. The guard shifted his gaze, glancing toward the corridor, and Suki froze; the guard turned fully, brow furrowing. He had seen something amiss.

He opened his mouth to cry out, but Suki’s fist slammed into his solar plexus; the wind went out of him, and he stumbled back, eyes blown wide as he tried to breathe. Suki’s fingers found his pressure point and he slumped to the ground.

She continued on, creeping along the wall, sharp eyes seeking out torchlight or movement in the shadows.

As the leader of the warriors of Kyoshi Island, Suki had many skills, from martial arts to strategy, but her true talent had always been moving undetected; when she wished, Suki could become practically invisible.

The guards on the wall didn’t even see her coming. A wraith from the darkness, a shadow given substance; a warrior queen right from their darkest nightmares.

Before long the entire side of the wall had been cleared of patrols; with Aang and Katara’s help, she dragged the guards to the center of the walkway, dumping them in a pile and binding their hands. The way had been cleared for phase two.

The three exchanged a nod, and separated; Suki perched on the top of the wall, blending in with the shadows, blue eyes scanning the movement. Her job wasn’t done yet; if another guard came around the corner and spotted the pile of unconscious guards, she would have to silence him before he could sound an alarm.

Aang and Katara moved off to join the others, who were just clambering over the wall; the group split into twos and threes, disappearing into the prison. They had only about an hour at most before the guard shift changed. A lot could happen in an hour to mess up their plan, and they couldn’t afford to mess up. With a resolve to do everything in her power to make the plan succeed, Suki settled down to wait.

They crept along the stone corridor, wary and alert. The hallway was long and wide, cast mostly in shadow save for torches set at intervals to combat the gloomy darkness. Doors of cells were set inside the wall in alcoves, dark metal gleaming in the dim torchlight.

They were an odd group, Iroh had to admit as they snuck along the wall. The compact little earthbender was taking point, sliding her bare feet across the stone floor, ears perked for any sound. The young swordsman was next, his icy blue eyes uneasily flitting about, his black sword slung over his shoulder alongside his boomerang. Iroh was bringing up the rear, clad in black Fire Nation robes, the only clothing available aboard their stolen ship. All of his senses were alert, his pulse racing; normally Iroh didn’t mind a little adventure, but now, when so much was at stake….

Toph raised a small hand, halting their progress; she ushered her companions into an alcove; they waited, shrouded in shadow and hardly daring to breathe as a pair of guards strode past, laughing boisterously at a joke.

The moment the men were gone Toph was on her feet again, moving through the corridor, Sokka and Iroh on her heels.

Zuko was here, somewhere. The first thing Suki had done, before taking out the guards, had been to find the logs down by the docks, which documented prisoners coming and going. Zuko had arrived early that morning, brought in by a man named Commander Chuzai. The name was vaguely familiar to Iroh, though he couldn’t pin a face to it; he had met many, many military figures in his life, and if he was honest they all blurred together. More likely than not he knew the name from reports, rather than actually meeting the man in person. The Fire Nation had a big military, after all.

So they knew Zuko was here. From Iroh’s limited knowledge of Hellgate’s layout, the newly arrived prisoners (who were often there to be interrogated, though Iroh’s mind balked at the thought) were kept in the East Wing, closest to the docks; there were four levels, and so to save what little time they had, they had split up. Aang and Katara were searching the top two levels, and Toph, Sokka and Iroh were searching the lower two.

It was slow going, sneaking along the wall, ready to hide at a moment’s notice, but they were probably going considerably faster than Aang and Katara were; with Toph, they didn’t need to look into the cells. All she had to do was pause outside each cell, sensing with her feet to determine if Zuko was there or not.

It seemed to take forever before they finally reached the end of the hall. A stone staircase led to the lowermost level. Toph paused at the top, sliding her bare feet to the edge of the top step. A few heartbeats later, she was creeping down the stairs, waving over her shoulder for Sokka and Iroh to follow; they fell in behind her, silently moving down the stairs.

The lower level was identical to the one they had just left, though somehow this one seemed darker and gloomier. They moved along, feet scuffing softly against the stone floor. Pause in front of a cell. Keep moving to the next. Pause in front of a cell. Keep moving to the next. They repeated their pattern, quickly falling into a rhythm. The minutes passed as they continued down the hall; the end wasn’t seeming to come any closer. Toph paused at the next cell. Iroh expected her to move on, but she stayed rooted to the spot, brows furrowing. A strange expression crossed her face, something that seemed almost….fearful.

“Toph,” Sokka hissed, “we need to keep moving!”

Toph did move, pivoting on her heel and stepping up to the cell door beside her. Tiny hands planted firmly in the metal, and to Iroh’s astonishment the door was pulled apart, metal crumpling as easily as paper beneath the earthbender’s grip. She crushed the door apart, ripping it from its hinges.

The smell hit Iroh first. Blood, burning flesh, mingling together and making his stomach churn. The aroma of suffering.

Then his gaze caught on the figure in the cell, and Iroh’s heart stopped beating. His vision tunneled, and he found himself stumbling forward and dropping to his knees before the prisoner. His nephew.

He was dangling from his wrists, kneeling on the blood-smeared floor and slumping in the chains. Nearly every bit of exposed flesh was marred by a cut or a burn, a bruise or a puncture.

Iroh’s shaking fingers brushed Zuko’s cheeks, gently raising his head; shallow cuts decorated his cheeks, but all Iroh saw were the horrible burns, handprints covering his neck and on his face. On his face.

Something cold wound itself around Iroh’s heart, an unknown emotion that filled his veins with ice. It wasn’t anger, no. Anger was hot and fiery, burning coals and smoldering embers. It was flame and the burning sun, lava in every breath, dragonfire in every word.

This was ice. Blizzards and freezing waters, colder than the coldest heart. Glaciers and icicles, frozen rivers and ice-cold storms. This wasn’t anger.

No, this was fury.

Zuko’s eyes were closed; he was horribly pale, his cheeks flushed with fever and dark circles beneath his eyes.

“I...I’m cutting him loose,” Sokka said, his voice hoarse, blue eyes blown wide with horror. He hefted his sword; with a snap and a burst of sparks the chain broke. At the same time, Toph gripped the other chain with two hands and ripped it apart.

Zuko bonelessly slumped forward into Iroh’s arms; the latter held his nephew gingerly, noting the horrible slashes down his back. He felt so frail, so fragile, like he would break if Iroh held him too tightly.

“Zuko?” Iroh whispered, his voice breaking. “C-Can you hear me?”

Iroh could hear the boy breathing, raspy and shallow, each breath a struggle. Then a sound, so hoarse and soft that he nearly mistook it for breathing. It came again, a whisper of a moan against Iroh’s broad chest.

A hand came to rest on Iroh’s shoulder; Sokka’s eyes were still dull with horror, but he fixed them to Iroh’s gold. “Let’s get him out of here.”

Iroh dipped his head; he carefully, gently slid an arm beneath Zuko’s knees, circling the other around the small of his back, careful to avoid his awful wounds. He easily lifted the prince, cradling him like a parent would a small child.

A soft whimper of protest rose from Zuko, tearing Iroh’s heart in two. Even in unconsciousness the boy was in so much pain.

Toph led the way down the hall again, moving along considerably faster than before; this time Iroh took the middle, with Sokka watching his back, sword drawn.

Zuko was light as a feather in Iroh’s arms; his head rested against Iroh’s shoulder, whimpering whenever Iroh accidentally jostled him.

The cold fury in Iroh’s chest just grew with every pained sound. Zuko was a child. He was a child, and he had been tortured. Not just once; the wounds on his shoulders and his back looked as if they had closed, and then were repeatedly torn open. Someone had tortured a child, burning and cutting without remorse. This Commander Chuzai had allowed it to happen, had possibly even done it himself.

He was going to pay.

They were nearly out of the prison, just a few cells away from the door that led to the docks, when a voice called out to Iroh and his companions, freezing them in their tracks.

“Stop!”

Iroh turned, automatically holding Zuko closer to his chest; he had his nephew now, and wouldn’t let him go for anything.

A man stood in the hallway, wearing the uniform of a commanding officer. He was balding, dark hair receding from his shiny scalp. Even from a distance, Iroh could see the fractured light in the man’s eyes; something bright and dangerous and perhaps not entirely sane.

“Where do you think you’re going with my prisoner?” The man’s voice was eerily calm and conversational, his gaze fixed on Zuko’s still form in Iroh’s arms.

The cold fury washed over Iroh, stiffening his spine and filling his heart with icy water. Mechanically, he nudged Sokka. The Water Tribe boy, who had been staring at the man, jumped, his blue gaze snapping to Iroh.

“Take Zuko and go,” Iroh found himself saying. Sokka’s eyes widened, but he didn’t argue.

Iroh laid Zuko down, heart breaking at the whimpers that escaped from him. He turned to face the man, feeling his fury bloom.

“I will not let you take him,” Chuzai said, his voice still chillingly calm.

“It isn’t up to you,” Iroh replied, falling into a battle stance as Sokka and Toph’s footsteps receded. Orange eyes met gold, and Iroh felt the power begin to flow within him, fiery warmth bolstering the icy fury rather than contradict it. The two worked in tandem, hot coals and icy water, a storm of fury and fire.

He was a pacifist. A sweet old man, preaching peace and love. But he was also a warrior, a soldier. He was a storm, a raging beast. He was the Dragon of the West, and he was going to make this man pay for his crimes.

Sokka stumbled down the hall, struggling with Zuko’s weight across his shoulders. It was hard to breathe; his chest was heaving, and tears were running down his cheeks. He’d thought he’d seen horrible things. His mother had been taken away when he was just a boy. He had seen villages burn, cities fall, armies raze the ground. Yet somehow this was worse. Much worse. Zuko was his friend. They’d joked and laughed together, and though it had definitely been awkward at first, they had grown close. They’d broken into the Boiling Rock together, saved Suki and Hakoda and another random prisoner, and broken back out. They were friends.

And now he was unconscious, in so much pain that even moving was agonizing, wounded beyond anything Sokka had ever seen. Would Katara be able to heal him? Could anyone heal so much pain?

Toph yanked on his hand, pulling him to the end of the hallway. They came out into open air, the salt of the sea in his nostrils, the spray of the ocean mixing with tears on his cheeks. Their stolen ship was in the harbor; he caught sight of Suki leaping aboard, Aang and Katara on her heels. They caught sight of him and Toph, and began to wave frantically; the alarms had begun to ring, though Sokka hadn’t heard it over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. They had to get out of there.

He stumbled up the ramp, falling to his knees when he reached the top, Zuko sliding off his shoulders and to the ground with a weak cry.

“Zuko?” Sokka whispered, tears dripping from his chin. He dimly registered the others gathering around them, but his eyes were on his friend’s broken, bloodied body.

If he hadn’t been listening so closely he would have missed it, the sound rising like spray from the sea, a whisper in the wind.

“S...okka…” Zuko’s voice was so cracked, so hoarse, that it hurt Sokka’s throat just hearing him speak.

Sokka was crying in earnest now. “I’m right here, Zuko, you’re going to be ok.”

Gold eyes, which had cracked open, slipped closed with a soft moan.

Sokka sat there for only a moment before leaping to his feet and running down the ramp.

“Sokka!” Katara yelled after him.

He turned, shouting back to her over the sound of the churning sea. “Take care of Zuko! I’m going to get Iroh!”

Katara’s eyes were wide as the moon, her dark skin unusually pale. “But-”

Sokka was already inside, boots slipping on the wet ground. The alarms were reverberating through the halls, through his mind. They didn’t have much time before the ship was overrun and they were captured.

They either escaped now, together….or they all died.

Chapter Text

The two men stood, feet apart and knees slightly bent, facing each other in the dimly lit corridor, two snakes coiled and ready to strike. A dragon and a monster ready to rip out the other’s throat.

Chuzai moved first, fire erupting from his fists in a sweeping motion; tongues of flame swept toward Iroh, bearing down on the older man.

With an agility that belied his age and size, Iroh dove and rolled, the heat like a slap to the face. He came up on his feet, flames bursting from his form to combat Chuzai’s. The once dim corridor was lit like midday as the firebenders battled.

Back and forth they went, weaving into the familiar patterns, letting their bending flow. It was a deadly dance, punctuated by fire and flame.

Chuzai’s attacks were fierce, so intense their head was a slap to the face. He moved in wide, sweeping motions that sent waves of crackling flame surging outward.

Iroh’s attacks were smooth, controlled, and unpredictable. One moment white-hot flames curled from his fists in rapid bursts, and the next it was a whip of flame that curled and hissed through the air. He was a raging blaze, a roaring tsunami, a thundering earthquake, a wailing tempest. He was a dragon.

Chuzai’s next attack burst outward, but Iroh weaved seamlessly out of the way with all the ease and grace of a bird in the sky or a fish in the water.

“You can’t take him!” Chuzai shouted, diving beneath one of Iroh’s bursts of flame. “You won’t take him!”

Iroh’s only answer was to kick upward, flames surging from the movement. Chuzai ducked away, retreating farther back down the hallway.

Chuzai raised his arms to attack, but before he could he was knocked backward by a long, curved wooden object. The boomerang curved back from whence it came, and was snatched from the air as Sokka charged forward, sword unsheathed and gleaming dangerously in the fire-lit corridor.

Chuzai only barely managed to twist away, the sword whistling mere inches past his arm. He swept a leg around, releasing a burst of flame that Sokka rolled backward to avoid. Iroh was there a moment later, sending Chuzai back with a surge of heat. The swordsman and the dragon worked in tandem, metal and flame as one. Where one would leap back, another was charging forward; it was a deadly dance, and they were partners. And together, they were pushing Chuzai farther down the hallway into a retreat.

“I must make him pay!” Chuzai howled, eyes like embers as he jumped back to avoid Sokka’s sword. “He must pay!”

Iroh remembered his nephew’s broken body, bloodied and burned and fragile. He remembered the way Zuko had cringed away from his gentle touch, even in unconsciousness; and he remembered the soft, pained whimpers. Iroh’s blood began to boil.

“Do you not think he has paid enough?” Iroh’s voice was a low growl. “He is a child! There is nothing he has done to warrant such treatment!” The fury was stronger than ever, its chill spreading throughout Iroh’s body, but there was something else, too: hatred. He hated this man, with his fractured orange eyes and his eerily calm voice, and what he had done to Zuko.

“All traitors must pay,” Chuzai spat, ducking below another blaze of flame from Iroh. “All royals must pay for killing my Asume!”

His eyes were wild, bright with fragmented bits like shattered glass. And even through his mask of hatred and fury, Iroh understood. Chuzai had lost someone close to him, and he blamed the royals. He blamed Zuko. Grief had driven him completely mad.

Chuzai surged upward, flames erupting from his body; Iroh was forced back, ducking to avoid the fire; Sokka screamed as the flames twisted around his body. The boy fell to the ground, gasping, smoke curling from his clothes. Chuzai shot forward, face split into a wide grin, eyes gleaming.

“I’ll make you watch,” he hissed, forcing Iroh back with another explosive bout of flame. “When I get my prisoner back you will watch while I tear. Him. Apart.” Each word was punctuated by another frenzied eruption of flame.

Iroh snapped.

The entire hallway erupted with light from a dozen suns as white flames billowed from him in massive waves; Chuzai screamed as his skin blistered beneath the unimaginable heat; he scrambled back to avoid the relentless barrage.

Iroh followed him, body wreathed in blue-white flame; his gold eyes were glowing like miniature twin suns. His beard and hair were waterfalls of molten lava, his skin literally glowing from the heat.

The blue and white flames were pulsing in waves, leaving a wide berth around Sokka, the boy’s blue eyes blown wide, tears streaking his cheeks.

Chuzai’s eyes were wide with horror as Iroh advanced on him; the younger man was on his back, desperately scrambling backward as Iroh approached.

Chuzai’s back hit the wall, and his eyes widened even more; he had nowhere else to go.

Iroh felt a dark, evil glee; now he could inflict on that man what he had done to Zuko. Iroh could make Chuzai feel every bit of the fear and pain he had felt in those days trying to find his nephew. He could make Chuzai pay.

He raised his hands, feeling the churning white flame answer to his call in a tower of living hellfire. Chuzai was cowering, sobbing in fear.

The flames came roaring down, inches from Chuzai’s face. The man shrieked as a horrible burn spread across the side of his face and neck, the skin blistering and cracking beneath the unimaginable heat. His screams were quickly silenced.

Iroh exhaled as the flames dissipated, the superheated air hot against his skin as he stepped away. Chuzai was slumped against the wall, eyes closed, the entire side of his body covered in a new burn. He could have been alive or dead, Iroh didn’t care.

He was already turning, running to Sokka’s side; the boy was struggling to stand, despite his injuries. Chuzai had severely burned him; though the burns were nothing like what Zuko and now Chuzai had, they still looked horrendously painful. His cloak was singed and burned open, revealing long red burns streaking down his back. The boy’s face was damp with reflexive tears from his efforts to stand as what surely was excruciating pain shot through him with each movement.

Iroh wrapped an arm around Sokka’s shoulders, lifting him to his feet and guiding the boy’s arm around his waist; he didn’t want to stretch the burns by lifting Sokka’s arm to his shoulder.

Alarms were clanging wildly; Iroh hadn’t even noticed, but now that the fury and wild hatred had faded somewhat his head was ringing from the noise. They didn’t have very long before they would be overrun.

They stumbled toward the doorway leading to the ship, Sokka wincing and gasping at the pain. Iroh slowed, looking over the teen in concern; his face was pale and slick with sweat, his blue eyes hazy but still fierce.

“Keep….moving,” Sokka gasped through gritted teeth.

Iroh did, practically dragging Sokka along behind him as the sounds of approaching soldiers came from behind.

They burst out into open air, spray from the sea lashing their faces; Toph was standing at the bottom of the ramp, feet planted firmly in the stone. They stumbled past her and up the ramp; Iroh heard her shout, and the ground rumbled; the cries of guards were drowned out by the sound of a master earthbender at work.

Iroh and Sokka made it to the deck, panting and out of breath. Sokka was leaning heavily on Iroh now, eyes squeezed shut in a tight grimace.

A patter of bare feet announced Toph’s arrival, the last of their makeshift crew. Aang, standing at the bow, created a huge wave of water swelling beneath the ship, sending them safely out to sea.

Iroh kept his grip on Sokka firm, but he cast his eyes around, gaze roving over the teens on deck; the need to get to Zuko was a chain pulling at his heart.

As if sensing this, Sokka withdrew his arm from Iroh’s waist. “Go,” he gasped, looking as if he would keel over. He did, his knees buckling; Aang and Toph were there, catching his arms and carefully lowering him to the deck.

“We’ll be okay,” Aang said, laying a hand on Iroh’s arm. His gray eyes were grim and serious. “Katara needs your help with Zuko.”

That was all it took. Iroh was sprinting down the hallway, his heart racing. His nephew needed him. And Iroh would be there.

It took longer than Katara liked to bring Zuko into the captain’s quarters, the predetermined place for him as it was likely the most comfortable. While Sokka was out helping Iroh, and Aang and Toph and Appa were holding off the guards to keep an escape route open, she and Suki had awkwardly carried their wounded friend down the corridor, struggling with the awkward deadweight.

Zuko had briefly regained consciousness long enough to recognize Sokka’s voice, but he had slipped away again, a fact Katara was thankful for; the girls were accidentally jostling him on their journey to the captain’s quarters, but it couldn’t be helped; his weight hung awkwardly between them, not to mention he was larger than both girls. But even in unconsciousness he was still obviously in immense pain; tiny whimpers slipped from him, each pained sound another crack in Katara’s heart.

They reached the room, Suki kicking the door open and staggering inside, Katara stumbling along behind, with Zuko draped between them. The girls carefully lowered him to the floor, both wincing at the weak moan from the prince.

And for the first time Katara got a full view of his injuries.

His back was a mess, deep cuts criss crossing each other and leaking blood. Horrible burns across his torso, on his face and neck; his entire body was covered in cuts and punctures, bruises and tears. His skin was pale and sickly, the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the red flush to his cheeks making him look like a corpse. His chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow gasps; his breaths were raspy and hoarse, rattling in his chest in a way that made Katara’s lungs hurt.

She was frozen in horror, blue eyes on her friend’s broken form. For the first time, Katara’s confidence and quick thinking failed her. Her mind was a stuttering whirlwind of panic; Zuko needed a doctor, a whole army of doctors. How would he survive this?

A hand on her shoulder broke Katara from her thoughts. Suki’s blue eyes met hers.

“Let’s get him cleaned up,” the other girl murmured. Her eyes were filled with horror and fear, but she hadn’t lost her wits. Suki’s determination was an anchor for Katara; she exhaled, trying to expel her panic. She was a healer. She could help. They just had to start with one thing at a time.

The girls carefully moved Zuko to the small bathroom, where a huge bathtub waited; it was deep enough that Katara could sit and only barely see over the edge, and large enough that she could lay down and stretch her arms above her head and still not touch the sides.

Suki stepped into the water, carefully lowering herself with Zuko in her arms. The moment the water began to close around his body, Zuko began to thrash, a desperate cry rising from his lips.

“N-no, please, no no!” His voice was so raw and hoarse it sounded like someone had scraped the inside of his throat with a rough stone. Each croaked word broke Katara’s heart more; he was struggling harder, more desperately, whining and pleading.

“Suki, lift him up!”

At Katara’s cry, Suki lifted Zuko from the water, swaying a bit from his weight. Zuko’s struggling slowed, but he was whimpering and trembling, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Suki’s head was bent over Zuko; Katara could hear her murmuring to Zuko, her thumbs moving in gentle circles on his arms. Zuko uncurled slightly, turning his face up. Gold eyes were cracked open, hazy and unfocused.

“M...Mother?” His voice cracked, and with a shudder he hid his face in Suki’s shoulder, whimpering again.

Suki’s eyes darted to Katara’s; she looked as heartbroken as Katara felt. Suki dropped her gaze back down to Zuko, and this time Katara could hear what she was saying.

“You’re safe now, Zuko. You’re going to be okay. I’m going to put you back in the water, all right? We need to get you cleaned up. Can we do that? Please?”

Zuko was trembling like a leaf in the wind, his face still hidden in Suki’s shoulder, but he tipped his head in a nod.

Slowly, cautiously, Suki sank into the water again, murmuring reassurances to Zuko as the water rose to his chest. He was shaking, gripping Suki’s shirt so hard his knuckles were white.

“We’re going to get you washed up, okay?” Suki’s voice was soft and gentle, wavering slightly as she tried to hold back her tears. “Just...just hold on to me, okay? I’m right here.”

Katara wet a cloth and raised it to his skin, but he flinched at the touch.

“Shh, it’s just me,” she murmured soothingly, “it’s just Katara.” She kept talking, uttering reassurances as she gently began to wipe away the blood and grime.

Zuko didn’t stop shaking completely, but as Katara repeated the soothing movements and Suki’s gentle hands rubbed comforting circles on his upper arms, the tremors gradually slowed.

They had been at it for several minutes before the door opened and Iroh came in, eyes blown wide and chest heaving. At the sight of his nephew, curled into Suki and shaking like a leaf, he came forward almost automatically, stepping into the water without caring about his clothes.

Suki gingerly relinquished her hold on Zuko and silently left the room, Iroh’s arms sliding around him the moment hers left.

At the change, Zuko stiffened, the beginnings of another panic in his form, but Iroh began to speak to him, his voice soft and gentle as if speaking to a frightened animal.

“There, Zuko, it’s all right, I am here now. You’re safe, and you’ll be alright. I’ve got you.”

Zuko moaned again, shuddering in pain. “It hurts, Mother,” he whimpered.

“Shh, I know,” Katara whispered, still gently cleaning his injuries; he seemed to take comfort in her and Suki’s voices, probably because they were female and thus closest to what a mother would sound like; it hurt her heart, though. He was so afraid and so delirious with pain that he had reverted to every child’s natural comforter: his mother.

Katara kept speaking, her insides twisting. “I know it hurts, but we’ve almost got you cleaned up. Just a bit longer, okay?”

Another awful shudder ran through Zuko’s body, accompanied by another whimpering moan.

“You will be alright, Zuko,” Iroh murmured, rubbing Zuko’s arms. “Sleep. You are safe.” The man began to hum, gently rocking Zuko back and forth, the vibrations from the humming reverberating through the small room.

Zuko turned his face into Iroh’s chest, hazy gold eyes slipping closed. He was lulled to sleep by the sensation of strong, warm arms holding him and a soft, gentle hum filling his ears.

As Zuko slipped into an uneasy sleep, Iroh and Katara’s eyes met. She was nearly finished cleaning his wounds, the warm water swirling with blood.

“What did they do?” Iroh’s voice was low and rough with horror.

Katara sighed, rinsing blood from a wound in Zuko’s side. “I don’t know,” she murmured. She remembered the way he had panicked when he touched the water, the way he had trembled as he was submerged. “I...I think they drowned him,” she added in a whisper, her gut twisting with the words.

Iroh’s eyes were wide, and he looked down at his nephew, curled in his arms and trembling, even while asleep.

“I was too merciful toward that man,” Iroh murmured darkly, his eyes flashing.

Katara didn’t argue with that; her horror at her friend’s condition was completely overridden by her anger at whoever had done this.

She finished wiping away the blood; by then the water was murky with it. Iroh gently took hold of Zuko and lifted him from the water, cradling him to his chest. He carried his nephew’s limp, broken body from the bathroom, laying him on the narrow cot with the care of a loving parent. Katara was there, with water swirling around her hands; she had to take care of his most serious wounds while they sailed to the mainland.

Gods, where did she even start? The terrible cuts and slashes on his back? The awful wounds in his shoulders, in his legs? The horrific burns on his face and neck?

“One thing at a time,” Iroh murmured, sensing her indecision. He was crouching beside the cot, holding a stack of bandages at the ready.

With a slow exhale Katara took his advice. She started at his chest and back and began to move down; she didn’t dare touch his face with water, not when he was so delirious and disoriented.

As she went, Iroh gently wrapped the wounds in bandages. They were in no way healed; Katara didn’t have nearly enough training to heal him completely. But she could stop the bleeding, soothe the burns, and hopefully, hopefully ease the pain and keep him alive.

She would need to go over his injuries again, probably several times, but as she finished Katara was hit with a wave of exhaustion. Bending for long periods of time, particularly healing, was incredibly taxing; and today Katara had done a lot of healing.

Iroh wrapped up the last of the bandages, gently arranging Zuko on his side. He, too, looked exhausted, but he rose to his feet.

“Are you feeling up to healing some more?”

Katara’s head snapped up. “Is everyone else okay?”

“Your brother was burned. It looked painful, but he insisted we take care of Zuko first.”

Katara rose to her feet, brushing off her tunic; it was stained with blood. She would change after making sure Sokka was okay. “I’ll go look at him.”

As she stepped from the room, Katara glanced back once more. Iroh was sitting on the floor, watchful gaze on his nephew.

She turned back, walking toward the top of the deck, and praying that her friend would survive.

Chapter Text

The mood on the ship was subdued; a dark cloud hung over them, unseen but no less oppressive.

Aang stood at the bow, steadily waterbending them toward shore. According to Iroh, there was a camp of refugees and allies who were friendly to the Avatar’s cause; they had medics there, doctors and healers. Aang knew his friends were in desperate need of them. He hadn’t seen Zuko much, but he did see Sokka.

The Water Tribe boy was laying on his stomach, head resting on his arms. His torn and burned tunic had been removed, leaving him in his trousers.

Katara was kneeling beside him, exhaustion apparent on her features as she brought her water-covered hands to Sokka’s back. It was a mess of burnt flesh, red and raw and bloody. It made Aang sick just looking at it.

If Sokka, who had been hurt in a battle that lasted only a few minutes, was in such a condition, what was Zuko like? Zuko, who had been a captive for days?

Aang felt even sicker at the thought. Zuko was back; they had saved their friend. Then why hadn’t the sick, twisting worry in his gut gone away?

It probably wouldn’t until he knew Zuko was alright.

A soft groan from Sokka and a quick apology from Katara broke Aang from his thoughts. His gaze snapped to the pair; Sokka’s fists were clenched, his muscles tense, as cold water trickled over the burns. It appeared he was biting his tongue to keep from crying out. Katara moved her hands over his back in sweeping, hypnotic movements as the water glowed pale, silvery blue. Another hissed groan escaped as the frigid water passed over a particularly painful area. Katara didn’t waste energy on another apology; her face was damp with sweat, inky strands of hair sticking to her face.

Finally, she withdrew her hands, and Suki stepped in to wrap Sokka’s back in bandages. They’d run out of actual bandages from the small medical wing, and so had had to resort to tearing uniforms into strips of cloth. Toph had taken to the task with gusto, cheerfully destroying the Fire Navy uniforms.

They were all completely focused on their tasks, throwing all they had into them. Maybe it was silly, focusing so hard on waterbending their ship, or tearing clothes into bandages, but it was a distraction from the knowledge that their friend was badly hurt, and that they may have been too late to save him. With the guilt and worry and fear still churning in Aang’s gut, any distraction, no matter how insignificant, was a welcome one.

He fixed his charcoal gaze ahead, at the endless waves of inky black beneath the twilight sky. The only thing he could focus on now was getting his family to safety.

All he knew was pain. It had been with him for so long that he expected it. After all, he had done awful, awful things. He deserved it.

What would happen to him now? Would Zuko suffer through more punishment, or would he finally die? He doubted he had satisfied Chuzai’s thirst for revenge, for violence. What would Zuko be subjected to now?

As he slowly began to surface from unconsciousness, the memories started to return. They were hazy, unfocused and unsure…..water. He remembered water. Surrounding him, pressing down on him, filling his nose and throat and forcing the air from his lungs, drowning him, drowning drowning drowning drowning drowning--

With a weak cry of fear and pain Zuko turned his face away, burrowing into a soft surface. The stuttering panic was overtaking him, filling his mind with a white buzz of pure terror. His breaths quickened, shuddering gasps of fear as his throat burned with the memory of cold water filling his lungs.

A voice came, from far away, gradually growing closer as the last dredges of sleep fell away; it cut through the blinding panic in Zuko’s mind.

“-ight, Zuko, you’re safe now. I am here, I am with you. Be still. You’re safe.”

Zuko realized then that he wasn’t chained upright in his cell, but was lying on his side, on something soft and warm. He could feel bandages swathed across his neck, his chest and back. And the voice that was still speaking, still soothing, was not Chuzai. It was a voice that Zuko had not heard in weeks, yet his body was automatically relaxing at the sound of it. He subconsciously, instinctively knew that he could trust this voice, that he was safe here. The very thought of safety made him want to sob; instead he opened his eyes.

The room was dimly lit, but not with orange firelight. Bright sunlight streamed through a porthole, softly illuminating the room.

A man knelt beside him, tears in his golden eyes. A long gray beard flowed from his face, wrinkles marking his skin with signs of both laughter and stress.

“U...ncle?” Zuko’s voice was stone scraping against stone, a rock salt rasp. Iroh’s face lit up, joy and relief warring for dominance across his features.

The man reached to the side, where Zuko couldn’t see. A brief flare of panic jolted through him; a memory of a pair of hands reaching to the side and procuring a knife or a flaming torch. The panic subsided when Iroh retrieved a waterskin and held it up before Zuko.

“Are you up to drinking some water, Zuko?” His voice was soft and gentle, exactly as Zuko remembered.

The thought of water made his stomach churn and his throat burn, but he didn’t want to disappoint Iroh. Mustering all of his energy, Zuko tilted his head in a minute nod.

Moving slowly and cautiously, not wanting to frighten Zuko, Iroh delicately slid a large hand behind Zuko’s head, gently raising it. He brought the waterskin to Zuko’s lips, and cool water trickled into his dry mouth.

Almost before he knew what was happening Zuko was jerking back, spluttering and coughing, the panic rising as the water rushed into his nose, down his throat, burning and suffocating and cold…

Zuko was dimly aware of a hand resting on his upper arm, thumb moving in circles as he shuddered and convulsed; a voice was reaching his ears, Iroh’s voice:

“-orry, so so sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you…”

Finally Zuko’s body stopped spasming, the flaring agony subsiding to a more manageable level as the awful shudders slowed.

He forced his eyes open again, finding Iroh. The man looked heartbroken, his distress clear as he watched his nephew.

A tentacle of shame wormed its way into Zuko’s gut, combating the pain in his body. He had done something to make Iroh feel that way.

“I am sorry, Zuko,” Iroh murmured. “Is there anything you would like me to do?”

The words were out of his mouth almost before he thought. “S-Stay….stay w-with me....please?”

Iroh felt a twisting of guilt. He had left Zuko on the day of the eclipse. It didn’t matter his reasons, his motives; he had left his child, alone and in enemy territory. It didn’t matter that he had evidently found the Avatar and chosen good; Iroh had left him.

“Of course I will stay,” he murmured, shifting closer to the cot. He lightly rubbed a hand along Zuko’s arm, watching as the boy visibly relaxed beneath his gentle touch.

Then Zuko was tensing again as a horrible shudder ran through his body; his eyes screwed shut and a weak moan rose from his lips as the agony flared.

All Iroh could do was rub his arms and murmur soothing words to the boy; as his beloved nephew was shaking, shuddering in agony, pained whimpers escaping his throat and his weak body struggling to breathe, Iroh could only sit and offer what little comfort his presence offered.

It broke his heart.

Finally, after what seemed like hours to Iroh but probably much, much longer to Zuko, the horrible shudders began to slow, his breathing evening out somewhat.

“It hurts,” Zuko gasped, the sound a broken sob. “I-It hurts.”

Iroh’s broken heart fractured even more. “I know,” he murmured, gently brushing Zuko’s sweaty hair away from his face. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

He began to stroke Zuko’s hair, gently carding his fingers through the inky locks. Zuko visibly relaxed, eyes slipping closed as he leaned into the touch. His breaths, remaining shallow and raspy, evened out into sleep.

Iroh exhaled, fingers still running through his nephew’s hair as he slept fitfully. Zuko’s injuries were beyond anything Iroh had seen in a long time, not since his days of war. It would take a miracle for the boy to recover from them, from the trauma he had experienced.

As the ship powered through the water, Iroh found himself praying for such a miracle.

Chapter Text

Katara took a fortifying breath, squared her shoulders, then pushed the door open. Zuko was where she had last left him, curled on his side on the narrow cot. Iroh was kneeling beside him, stroking his hair and murmuring words too quiet for Katara to hear; it looked as if he hadn’t moved from his nephew’s side for a moment.

He glanced up as Katara approached, taking in the bundle of torn-up uniforms in her arms. She knelt beside him, taking her time in arranging her supplies. When she had been appointed as the team’s official medic, she hadn’t minded; after all, she was the one with the “magic healing hands,” as Sokka called them. And though it was annoying having to fix up Toph or Sokka after some mischievous antics, she truly liked healing people. She loved the way her hands tingled with energy, the feel of the cool water flowing over her skin, somehow warm and cold at the same time.

What she didn’t like was healing the bad injuries. When Azula hit Aang with lightning at Ba Sing Se….Katara still had nightmares about that horrible night, desperately pressing her water-covered hands to the literal hole burned into Aang’s back. If she hadn’t had the water from the North Pole, with the special properties it possessed….she didn’t want to think about what could have happened.

And now here she was, facing another horrific injury; several of them, in fact. And this time there was no special, magical water for her to use.

Katara finished organizing her supplies, makeshift bandages and water and medical cream all laid out. She didn’t want to see her friend’s awful condition, the white bandages streaked with red, or the dark shadows beneath his eyes that spoke of days of exhaustion and pain. Katara did so anyway, casting her blue gaze to Zuko’s face.

To her surprise, he was awake! His eyes were only half-open, foggy with exhaustion and pain, but there was awareness there; as she settled beside his uncle his hazy gold gaze tracked to her.

“Hey, Zuko,” she said softly, her lips lifting in a smile.

“H...hey,” he rasped, his voice little more than a croak.

“I need to change your bandages,” Katara said, keeping her voice calm and level. “Can I do that?” She wasn’t sure what to do if he didn’t want to cooperate; she didn’t want to force him to do anything, especially after what he went through, but the bandages really did need changed; streaks of red were seeping through the white in several places along his torso.

Zuko hesitated, then tipped his head in a tiny nod.

Iroh exhaled from beside Katara. “All right, let’s get you sitting up.” He lightly settled his hands on Zuko’s forearms, pausing to monitor Zuko’s reaction.

When none came he gently slid his hands beneath the boy’s body, mindful of his various injuries. With incredible care Iroh brought Zuko to a sitting position, murmuring apologies as an involuntary whimper rose from Zuko’s ravaged throat. With the gentleness of a parent caring for a sick and wounded child he settled Zuko against his chest, letting the boy lean against him for support.

Zuko nestled in his uncle’s warmth, eyes slipping closed as his head came to rest against Iroh’s shoulder.

“I’m cutting off the bandages, okay?” Katara’s voice came from nearby, gentle and soft, the way it was whenever she healed someone.

There was a gentle tug, and then the bandages fell away; Zuko shivered as cold air rushed over his wounds, and he nuzzled closer to Iroh. It was so different from his cell in here, with the gentle sunlight and Katara’s voice and Iroh’s warmth. He half-expected all of it to disappear any moment, for the warmth and safety to melt away to cold cruelty and gleaming metal. But as Iroh murmured in his ear and Katara gently cut away his bandages, he felt the tension slowly bleeding from his shoulders.

“Zuko?” Katara’s breath ghosted over his cheek, warm and soft. “I...I need to put water on your injuries. It won’t be much, but…”

Zuko’s gut twisted, and he turned his face into Iroh’s shoulder with a shudder. His uncle’s fingers slid into his hair, gently untangling and smoothing down the sweaty strands.

“I’ve got you, Zuko,” he murmured, chest vibrating with the words against Zuko’s ear. “It’ll be okay.”

“Just a little water,” Katara promised. “Enough to heal what I can, nothing more.”

Zuko exhaled shakily and nodded. “‘Kay.”

“All right,” Katara murmured, almost to herself. “Nice and easy…” She tentatively extended her water-slick hands, resting them on Zuko’s side, where an older wound resided. He tensed beneath her touch, stiffening at the cold water now trickling down his side, but he didn’t pull away.

Katara moved her hands across his broken body, working her way across his injuries. She murmured the whole time, telling Zuko where she would go next; it seemed to keep him calmer when he knew where the water would touch next. Even so, he was trembling in Iroh’s hold by the time Katara finished; not even the old man’s reassurances and gentle touch could stop the shaking.

“All done,” Katara said, pulling the water away. It wasn’t enough; she just didn’t know enough about healing to completely heal him. All she could do was hopefully take the edge off the injuries, so he wouldn’t lose too much blood; she could only fix him up as best she could in the hopes he would survive to get to the actual healers. She had hated the healing class at the North Pole, but now she would give anything for just one more day of instruction.

As the water moved away from his skin, Zuko’s shaking slowed, and he settled into Iroh’s embrace again with a quiet sigh.

Katara screwed the cap off of the container of cream that she had found in the ship’s small infirmary. It was a disinfectant, as well as a treatment for burns. As she set the cap aside, Zuko’s eyes cracked open and nervously regarded the container cupped in her hands.

“This will help with your burns,” Katara explained, dipping her fingers in the pale blue goo. “It might sting just a bit.”

Keeping his wary gaze on her hands, Zuko nodded.

Katara took a deep breath and lightly ran her fingers over one of the burns on his chest, spreading the cream across the ravaged skin. Zuko tensed at the touch, a soft hiss escaping. Katara pulled back immediately, an apology already rising to her lips.

“‘S okay,” Zuko rasped, meeting her eyes. “Just….just cold.”

Katara nodded, exhaling shakily. “Okay….okay. Can I keep going?”

Zuko tipped his head in another nod. “It makes the burning stop,” he whispered.

Katara forced a smile, ignoring the pang in her heart. “Okay,” she murmured, dipping her fingers in the cream again. “We’ll keep going, then.”

He still tensed from the cold gel, but relaxed beneath her touch as she gently spread the cream across his burns. The gentle, repetitive movements and warm hands lulled him into a trance, his eyes drooping shut as exhaustion weighed him down yet again.

Then a hand brushed his face, leaving behind a trail of cool gel.

He was jerking away, a hoarse cry rising from his lips, ignoring the stabs of pain that protested the movement. The ghost of a burning hand caressing his face, leaving behind trails of fire, was taking over all rational thought in a blaze of panic.

His chest heaved, hot knives stabbing his lungs with each desperate inhale; his ears were filled with a dull ringing, the sound of pure terror.

A voice cut through the ringing, frantic but still soft.

“-top, you’re hurting yourself, please calm down, you’re safe now, but you need to calm down!”

Zuko clung to the voice, letting the familiar cadence drag him from the churning sea of panic. He opened his eyes, and Iroh was kneeling over him, concern written across his face. Katara was behind him, eyes wide and shaking hands held to her chest.

“Are you all right?” Iroh asked, hands hovering over Zuko’s arms, reluctant to touch him for fear of triggering another panic attack. “Did we hurt you?”

Zuko managed to shake his head, struggling to banish memories of fire and too-hot hands from his mind.

“I’m so sorry, Zuko,” Katara said, wiping an arm across her eyes. “I...I didn’t mean to scare you, I’m so so sorry…”

“‘S okay,” Zuko rasped, letting Iroh carefully pull him back into a warm embrace. “Not your fault.”

Iroh exhaled heavily as he settled Zuko back into his arms, the boy resting his head against his shoulder once again. “I am sorry we frightened you,” he murmured, heart twisting. It was no mystery why the boy was so reluctant to let someone touch his face; not with the handprint-shaped burns on his neck and cheek. Why hadn’t Iroh thought of it? Inwardly, he cursed his stupidity. Outwardly, he kept his voice even and calm. “I am sorry,” he repeated, “but we must treat the wounds on your neck and face. If we do not, they may become infected.”

“He’s right,” Katara sighed, looking sorrowful. “If we don’t get them treated….well, it won’t be good.”

“Will you let us?” Iroh asked gently. “Will you let us touch you?”

Zuko’s eyes were fearful, darting from Katara to Iroh and back to Katara again. “I...I don’t…”

“I have an idea!” Katara announced, blue eyes brightening. She gestured to Iroh. “Would it be better if he did it instead of me?”

Iroh’s brows shot up in surprise. Katara continued, stumbling over her words.

“Well, I mean, you’re able to touch him the best, so I figured…”

“That is an excellent idea,” Iroh praised with a warm smile. He looked down at his nephew. “Would that be all right?”

Zuko hesitated, then slowly nodded. “Okay,” he murmured. His gold eyes met Iroh’s. “I trust you,” Zuko added in a hoarse whisper.

A warm feeling spread in Iroh’s gut, overtaking his ability to speak; he could only manage a watery smile.

“I’ll hold him,” Katara said to Iroh. With a little bit of maneuvering, they shifted Zuko from Iroh’s arms to Katara’s.

Zuko settled into his friend’s hold, resting his head against her shoulder and curling an arm around her to ground himself. Her arms were lightly wrapped around his lower back, where the injuries weren’t as severe, holding him to her in a gentle hug.

Iroh was now in Katara’s place, kneeling beside the cot with the container of cream in his hands. He swiped some, gathering it onto his fingers, then met Zuko’s eyes.

“Are you ready?” His voice was an anchor for Zuko to grip onto, keeping him firmly rooted in the warmth of Katara’s embrace and the gentle sunlight. It kept him from the memories.

No, he wasn’t ready. He probably never would be. But Zuko nodded anyway.

Slowly, carefully, and maintaining eye contact, Iroh brought his gel-covered fingers to Zuko’s face. Zuko fought hard not to flinch as the hand came closer, but he was shaking in Katara’s arms.

“Don’t look at my hand,” Iroh said, pausing the movement. “Look at me. Look at me, Zuko.”

Zuko’s eyes shifted to Iroh’s face. He was smiling gently, tears clustering in his eyes. “I will never hurt you, Zuko,” he promised. “Never.”

Zuko swallowed, keeping his eyes fixed on his uncle’s face. He refused to look at Iroh’s hand as it came closer, though he was trembling harder, his heart galloping in his chest.

Cold brushed his cheek, and he flinched. He stayed where he was though; he could feel Katara’s heartbeat against his side, and Iroh’s gaze was steady. I trust him. I trust them.

As his uncle gently spread the cream across his face and neck, fingertips ghosting across the marred skin, Zuko fought to remain still. It took every bit of willpower to not flinch away from Iroh’s touch.

Finally, Iroh was pulling away, and Katara’s dark hands were wrapping strips of cloth over the burns on his neck, letting the gel sink into the damaged flesh.

“There,” Iroh said, sitting back. “How does it feel?”

“....Better,” Zuko rasped.

Katara’s arms tightened around him, pulling him a little closer. “Zuko, have….have you had anything to drink?”

An involuntary shudder passed through Zuko’s frame, and Iroh winced.

“I’m afraid not,” Iroh said. He and Katara exchanged a glance; both remembered the revelation that Zuko had likely been drowned. There was no way they could force him to drink water, not after such a horrible event.

Katara’s brow furrowed. “Zuko, you’re dehydrated, and you have a fever. You really need to drink something.”

Just the thought of cold water in his mouth made Zuko shudder again. He had handled Iroh touching his face, but he couldn’t do this.

“I….I can’t,” he whispered, his fear evident on his face. “I…”

Katara’s gut clenched. She couldn’t force him, not when he was so obviously terrified, but….he was really sick, and he had lost a lot of blood. He needed water. It might soon become life-or-death.

Iroh seemed to be sharing her thoughts, his brow furrowed in worry. Then his gold eyes brightened, and his head snapped up.

“Zuko, what if I made you some tea?”

Zuko and Katara both blinked at him in surprise. Iroh continued.

“I have some medicinal tea with me, which should help with the fever and the pain. I can cool it down so it isn’t too hot, but it won’t be cold like….like the water was.” Because the only water available for that monster Chuzai to use was ocean water, which was always cold. No wonder Zuko had reacted the way he had when Iroh had tried to get him to drink the cool water from earlier.

“Would that be okay?” Katara asked, addressing Zuko.

Zuko curled in closer to her. “I….I’ll try,” he murmured.

Iroh’s smile lit up the room. “I will go prepare it,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’ll be back soon!”

The door closed behind him.

Zuko felt Katara sigh, her breath ghosting over his hair. “Do you want to lie down, or are you okay here?”

He shook his head against her shoulder. “‘M’kay here,” he mumbled. A deep chill had settled into his bones, freezing him to the core, but Katara was blessedly warm; and he was afraid of letting go. If he let go, he might find himself back in that cold, dark cell.

He shivered, equal parts from the cold and from the horrible thought. Katara lightly touched the back of her hand to his forehead and swore softly.

“You’re burning up! You’re right, you’re probably better off here. We can’t wrap you in a blanket with how high your fever is.”

Zuko’s eyelids were growing heavy, the exhaustion finally catching up to him again. He turned his face into Katara’s shoulder, soaking up her warmth, and she began to trace her fingers over his arms. His eyes slipped closed with a sigh, and Zuko drifted off.

He awoke some time later to Iroh holding a cup of warm tea. Katara gently maneuvered him to the head of the cot, where Zuko leaned against the wall, propped up by pillows.

“Would you like to try it?” Iroh asked, gesturing to the cup. “It has been cooling for some time, so it shouldn't be too hot.”

Zuko hesitated. He was awfully thirsty; his throat felt like a desert. But would he be able to drink warm tea?

“I’ll try it,” he murmured. Though his voice was gradually strengthening from speaking, it was still terribly hoarse. Perhaps the tea would soothe that as well, Iroh thought.

He held the cup out toward his nephew, carefully bringing it up to his lips. Zuko’s nervous eyes found Iroh’s over the rim of the cup.

“Go on,” Iroh urged. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Zuko steeled himself, focusing on the steady gazes of his uncle and his friend. He took a tiny sip. Liquid seeped into his dry mouth, and Zuko stiffened. It wasn’t cold. It was warm, and had a pleasant flavor that brought tears to Zuko’s eyes. He had forgotten what anything other than blood and bile tasted like.

The warm tea trickled down his throat, soothing the damaged tissue and feeling so refreshing that he wanted to cry. It took him a long time, as he was unable to handle more than a tiny sip at a time without being overcome with panic, but to his surprise and Iroh and Katara’s cheer he drained the cup.

“How was that?” Katara asked, beaming at the fact that he was making progress. It wasn’t quick by any means, but it was progress.

“Good,” Zuko murmured. His voice was already less raspy, though it would take more than a cup of tea to return it to its previous state.

Warmth was spreading through his middle, soothing the pain in his body and making him drowsy.

Iroh seemed to notice this, and gently laid Zuko down, covering him with a thin blanket.

“Rest.”

Feeling truly warm for the first time in what seemed like forever, Zuko’s eyes slipped closed and he fell into a deep sleep.

Chapter Text

“What are you doing?” Suki’s voice echoed down the hallway, accompanied by her rushing footsteps.

Sokka grunted and pushed off the wall, stumbling a few more feet before he was forced to lean against the wall again for support. His injuries were flaring up, filling his veins with fire, but he gritted his teeth and continued down the hallway, awkwardly shuffling against the wall. He tried to push off again, but his knees buckled and Sokka went down. He would have dashed his head against the metal floor if Suki hadn’t rushed forward and caught him.

Hot spikes of pain shot through Sokka, but he flashed what he thought was a dashing grin at Suki.

“Looks like you’ve f’n’lly fallen for me,” he slurred, slumping against her.

Suki frowned at him. “I’m not the one who just fell,” she deadpanned. “What in the name of the gods were you doing?”

Sokka raised his head, blinking blearily at her. She was frowning at him, brows furrowed, but beneath that she looked exhausted.

“I wanted to help,” he murmured. Suki, Aang, Toph, Katara, and Iroh had all been running themselves ragged trying to get the ship to shore, taking care of Sokka’s wounds, and keeping Zuko alive. It didn’t seem fair to Sokka that they had to do all the work when he was awake and perfectly capable.

Suki shifted him so he leaned against her completely, and Sokka hissed as his wounds were jostled. Ok, mostly capable.

“You can help by laying down and not moving, ” Suki grumbled, helping him stumble back to the deck.

“I want to help,” Sokka insisted weakly as he was brought into the silver moonlight. “You guys haven’t slept in days, and I can do something!”

Suki sighed, gently lowering Sokka down to the floor and wincing at his sharp hisses of pain at the movement. “If you really want to help you need to rest. Don’t move and aggravate your injuries more.” Her blue eyes shifted to the side. “The last thing we need is someone else badly hurt.”

Sokka’s brows came together. “How is he?” Suki had been popping in and out of the captain’s quarters to help Iroh and Katara with Zuko, and so she was the only one who had much of an indication of their friend’s condition.

Suki hesitated. “He’s still in a lot of pain,” she said finally. “He’s really sick, too; fever and chills, and he’s lost a lot of blood. I don’t know if…” She trailed off.

If he’ll survive. The unsaid words echoed between them. Sokka wrapped his arms around himself, wincing as the movement pulled on his tender back. Katara had done her best to close the wounds to prevent infection, but they still hurt; even the tiniest movement sent waves of agony pulsing through his body. Sokka wouldn’t have minded another healing session, and his sister had tried to heal him more, but Sokka insisted that she help Zuko. Katara was already exhausted, and the firebender needed her abilities far more than Sokka did. He could manage the pain for a few more days.

Suki got to her feet, swaying a bit as she moved over to Aang. The airbender was leaning heavily against the mast, breathing labored, but his waterbending didn’t cease for a moment.

Everyone was running themselves ragged; even Toph, whose strength and stamina exceeded Sokka's by tenfold, was curled on her side, snoring loudly with her feet wrapped up in a blanket.

He wasn’t sure how much longer they could go on like this, but he also knew that if they took a break, Zuko could die. They couldn’t afford to stop.

Sokka slowly, carefully settled onto the blanket that had been laid out on the deck. Probably so I don’t bleed everywhere, he thought ruefully. He rested his chin on his folded arms and breathed out a sigh. The moonlight bathed the entire deck in silver; it was a sharp contrast to the darkness of the night two days ago, when they had broken into Hellgate and rescued Zuko.

A voice in the back of Sokka’s mind wondered if Yue was watching over them, giving them darkness when they needed cover and light when they needed illumination. It was a silly, hopeful thought, but Sokka figured he could do with some hope.

There was no thought. No feeling. If he let his mind wander to the exhaustion set deep in his bones, or the ache in his arms, Aang knew his last vestiges of strength would vanish. So he didn’t think about it. He focused on each flowing movement of his arms, though they were growing jerky and uneven; the way the water swelled beneath the ship, propelling them toward land. Appa had taken hold of a heavy chain, clamping the metal in his massive jaws, and was soaring ahead, towing the ship and lending them more speed.

He wouldn’t be able to keep this up for much longer, even with Appa’s help. Aang had been bending for nearly two days straight, with no food or rest, and he knew he had to be near collapse. Even the Avatar had limits.

Aang didn’t stop, though. According to Iroh, the camp of allies was across the sea from where they had first lost Zuko; a straight shot across the churning waves from Hellgate. A normal voyage would take about eleven or twelve days, but with Aang’s relentless waterbending and Appa’s pulling from the air, the journey had been shortened to a little more than four… if he could keep up this pace. Which was unlikely.

Black spots danced in Aang’s vision, but he blinked them away. He stumbled, his bending faltering, but he regained his stance and fell back into the rhythm. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Suki approach, setting down a roll and a slice of cheese beside Aang’s feet. She didn’t speak, didn’t break his concentration, but nodded to him and stepped away, moving back toward Sokka.

Aang appreciated the gesture, but he didn’t dare stop to eat. Even with his growling stomach and blurring vision, he couldn’t take a break, because if he stopped Zuko might die. He knew his friend was in very bad shape; a few hours after the rescue Katara had come up on deck, with a tearstained face and a bloodstained tunic. She didn’t divulge details; she didn’t have time, as she rushed to heal Sokka, then immediately went back below to Zuko. Nevertheless Aang knew it was bad. Every minute that was spent out on the ocean was another in which Zuko was in horrible pain. Aang wouldn’t forgive himself if he put his friend through even a few more minutes of agony than what was necessary. Zuko had suffered enough.

Aang’s determination could only go so far, though; he was kneeling now, every bit of energy put toward just lifting his arms and bending the waves. His head pounded, his vision swam, and Aang was collapsing on the deck before he even realized he had lost his balance.

All at once the world went silver.

It took every bit of strength he possessed to lift his head, but when he did he saw a lovely girl with white hair standing in a pillar of silver light.

Yue inclined her head with a gentle smile. “Hello again, Avatar. You appear to be in need of assistance.”

Aang didn’t think he had the strength to speak; he merely nodded. Yue’s form began to fade, though her smile seemed to stay as bright as the moon.

“You have given everything you have. Now let me help.”

Aang’s eyes opened (when had he closed them?) just as waves bloomed and swelled beneath the ship, much larger than what Aang had been able to do in his exhausted state.

Suki was stepping toward him, concern written across her face; Aang pushed himself to a sitting position and shook his head.

“‘M okay,” he mumbled. “Found some help…” Suki’s brow creased in confusion, but behind her Sokka’s head snapped up, meeting Aang’s eyes.

“What do you mean ‘found some help?’” Suki asked. “There’s no one else here!”

“The moon spirit,” Aang murmured, curling up on the deck. His eyes were already closing, but Suki shook his shoulder.

“Not until you’ve had something to eat and drink, okay?” She pushed a waterskin into his hands, along with the food from earlier.

Aang fumbled with the waterskin before managing to bring it to his lips. The cool water running down his throat tasted better than anything else he had ever had. He guzzled the water, reluctantly letting it go when Suki took it away. She forced the food into his hands.

“Eat.”

Aang felt like a starving wolf-bat. The roll was hard, and the cheese was oddly crunchy, but it was the tastiest meal Aang had eaten for days. When he had finished, he nodded tiredly to Suki.

“Thanks.”

She smiled and playfully nudged his shoulder. “Get some sleep.”

Aang curled up on the deck and was out like a light. His dreams were light and fleeting: a glimpse of a ship cabin, a boy resting on a cot with an old man kneeling at his side and a girl dozing in the corner. A glowing spirit of a woman, unseen by everyone in the room, was sitting beside the boy, a hand resting tenderly on his cheek.

Then he was above the ship, seeing it from a bird’s eye view. His rusty red wings spread to either side, and his sharp gaze was pinned to the ship, to the enormous sky bison towing it, and the lemur curled around the sleeping boy on the deck, and the wounded boy and two girls who were resting against each other, drifting off into sleep. He was on a mission. His twin wasn’t far behind, at their master’s side.

Then he was seeing through his twin’s eyes. The ship cut through the water, at top speed. In the ocean there was normally no way to know where their prey had gone, but he and his twin had a special connection. They could always find each other, even across oceans and seas and great canyons  and mountains of earth. Their master stood at the bow, listing to one side and clad in a dark cloak.

He was relentless and chaotic as the seas, and he wasn’t going to let his prey escape so easily.

Chapter Text

The ship cabin was silent save for the creaking of wood and the gentle pounding of waves. The older man knelt beside the small cot, keeping a watchful eye over his nephew. It would have been a peaceful sight save for the horrible shudders that passed through the boy’s body, and the whimpers and shallow, rasping gasps that escaped his cracked lips.

Zuko’s skin was pale and slick with sweat; his cheeks were flushed red, and the shadows beneath his eyes were darker than ever. His chest rose and fell in shallow pants; each breath painfully rattled in his chest. Many of the makeshift bandages were soaking through in streaks of red, despite Katara’s best efforts to seal his wounds.

The girl in question was curled on the floor on the opposite side of the cot. After running herself ragged with keeping both Zuko and her brother alive, the young waterbender had finally collapsed from sheer exhaustion. She had tried to get up to continue changing Zuko’s bandages, but Iroh had insisted she rest.

Katara’s face was lined with exhaustion, even as she slept. The sight made guilt twist in Iroh’s gut.

The Avatar and his friends had been working tirelessly and endlessly to get his nephew safely to shore. And Iroh had done very little to help. He knew his place was at his nephew’s side; he knew Zuko needed constant care, and he was the best candidate when the boy was so delirious from pain and exhaustion and raging fever. But that didn’t stop the guilt.

They were children. They should be gathering at tea shops to enjoy each other’s company. They should be going on dates and having sleepovers and all of those simple joys that children so loved. Instead they were all so far from home, fighting in a war they never signed up for; one that had taken away many of their families and friends. Despite all of their skills and strengths, their courage and their valor, they were children.

Iroh sighed, casting his golden gaze over his nephew. Zuko was curled on his side, occasional shudders tearing through his frail frame with fury, more often than not accompanied by a weak moan.

It broke Iroh’s heart to see Zuko like this, in so much pain he could barely rest, hovering over the threshold between life and death. It broke his heart even more to know that there was nothing he could do until they reached the White Lotus camp.

It was one of many, situated in a place where people who allied themselves with the Avatar could hide away from the Fire Nation. It was also a waypoint for refugees, where they could choose to remain in the camp or move on. White Lotus members escorted groups of refugees to safe cities in the Earth Kingdom, and some even across the sea to the Fire Colonies. It was a dangerous job; many of the refugees they escorted, and in some cases many of the escorts themselves, were fugitives of the Fire Nation with hefty bounties on their heads. But the men and women of the White Lotus were not ones to trifle with. Each of them was a capable warrior in their own right, bender or not.

The White Lotus was an army; spread out across the continent, yes, but an army nonetheless. And they were loyal to the Avatar.

The camp they were heading to was the closest to their current location; it also happened to be one of the largest. It was occupied by freedom fighters, vigilantes, and, most importantly, some of the most skilled healers Iroh knew.

If anyone could help his nephew, it was them.

A thin moan broke him from his thoughts. Zuko’s eyes were cracked open, glassy and fogged. Even as Iroh watched, Zuko shivered. This wasn’t an awful tremor of pain, but a shiver of cold. Except… the cabin was warm, comfortably so. Iroh pressed a gentle hand to Zuko’s forehead; no sooner had his palm met Zuko’s sweaty skin then he was recoiling, eyebrows shooting up in alarm. It was true that many firebenders were warmer than most, but Zuko’s fever was dangerously high; Iroh could feel the heat radiating from the boy even from a distance.

Zuko shivered again, whimpering softly.

Iroh’s hands hovered over Zuko’s form, unsure what to do. He knew he had to bring down his body temperature, but he wasn’t sure how to do so without jostling Zuko’s severe wounds.

Zuko whimpered again, and Iroh immediately leaned forward, gathering the boy’s listless body in his arms and pulling him to his chest.

“Katara,” he called softly. “Katara, wake up!” He hated to wake the girl, but he knew he had to; Zuko would die within the hour if they didn’t bring down his fever.

Despite her exhaustion, Katara’s eyes snapped open, and she sat up abruptly, whipping her head around to meet Iroh’s eyes.

“His fever is worse,” Iroh said without preamble. “We must cool him down.”

Katara stumbled to her feet, moving to the door. “The buckets are empty,” she said briskly. “I’ll get Suki and Toph to help me refill them.” She was still tired, but the girl moved with a purpose and grace that Iroh had only seen among the Water Tribe’s people.

The door clicked shut behind her, and Iroh turned his full attention to Zuko.

His nephew slumped bonelessly against him, head resting against his chest. His body was shaking with chills, despite the raging heat that radiated from his body. Zuko’s eyes were open, but they were glassy and half-lidded.

Iroh shifted Zuko in his arms so the boy’s head was pillowed on his shoulder. The heat from Zuko’s body was nearly unbearable, but Iroh bore it. He gently brushed sweaty strands of hair from Zuko’s face, tucking the locks behind the boy’s ear, the way he used to do before Zuko’s banishment. Before Lu Ten’s death and before Iroh’s entire world shattered.

There was nothing Iroh could do to help Zuko until Katara returned with the cool ocean water, but Iroh kept himself busy anyway, doing his best to bring what little comfort he could. He stroked Zuko’s hair. He held him as he shivered and gasped desperately for breath. He murmured to him, humming softly and rocking back and forth.

And all the while he squeezed his eyes shut, holding back the tears that threatened to come forth.

It seemed like an eternity had passed before the door was swinging open and Katara was coming through, followed by… everyone. Katara and Toph were at the front, followed by Suki and Aang, who were supporting Sokka between them.

Everyone with a free hand was carrying buckets nearly overflowing with water, which they placed beside the cot within reach. Sokka gingerly was lowered to the ground beside the cot as well.

And everyone stared at Zuko. For many of them, it was their first time seeing him since the rescue. Iroh could see the horror in their eyes, the dawning realization that, despite their efforts… Zuko may yet still die.

Katara broke the spell.

“Sokka, I need you to help Iroh cool him down. Suki and Toph, we’re going to need refills on water.” At once, everyone jumped to obey. Katara turned to Aang. “We’re going to need some ice.”

Together the Avatar and the waterbender froze the water into chunks of ice. Iroh and Sokka each immediately took hold of a piece, then turned to Zuko.

Iroh hesitated with the ice hovering above Zuko’s feverish skin; he hated the thought of sending Zuko back into a memory with cold water trickling over his skin, but… there was nothing else they could do.

With a sharp sigh he lowered the ice to Zuko’s skin. It began to melt almost immediately, freezing water trickling over Zuko’s skin. The boy stiffened with a sharp, shaky inhale, but Iroh’s arms tightened around him, holding him close so he couldn’t thrash or struggle. He continued to rub the ice over Zuko’s skin, across his bare chest, his forehead, his arms and legs. Iroh couldn’t bring himself to touch Zuko’s face, though, and Sokka followed suit with an uneasy glance at the horrific burns marring Zuko’s cheeks and neck.

Iroh tried to ignore the terrified whimpers and the way that Zuko shifted in his arms, too weak to struggle but too utterly terrified to hold still.

Sokka was uncharacteristically silent as they worked, bending his head over the buckets of ice and hurriedly smoothing it over Zuko’s skin. He winced at every terrified or pained sound Zuko made, looking to be near tears.

Aang wasn’t faring much better. Even as Iroh glanced at him he saw thick tears carve trails down the boy’s cheeks, his charcoal gray eyes filled with all the pain and fear that roiled in Iroh’s own.

Even Katara, who had been with Zuko almost the entire time, was trying not to cry. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, and they scrunched shut every time Zuko let out a particularly pained moan.

Toph was the most subdued Iroh had ever seen her in the short time they’d known each other. She quickly and quietly went back and forth between the cabin and the deck, dutifully hauling buckets of water for Aang and Katara to freeze. She kept her face turned away from everyone in the room, but it didn’t hide the glimmer of tears.

Suki was a mask, face lined with exhaustion and eyes filled with pain. In every movement she was precise and efficient, putting all of her energy to helping keep Zuko alive.

Iroh turned his attention back to his nephew, swiping the shrinking chunk of ice across Zuko’s forehead. Despite their ministrations, his skin had barely cooled. It was a slow process, cooling down a fevered firebender’s body.

It was going to be a long night.

Freeze. Rub. Refill. Haul. Repeat. It was an endless process, a mindless one. They all lost themselves to the tasks they had been assigned, throwing themselves in with single-minded purpose.

Aang’s tears had long since dried, but his shoulders still shook with silent sobs as he tirelessly froze bucket after bucket of water. Katara’s face was a mask of steel, eyes gleaming with determination and no small amount of fear. Sokka’s movements were slow, thanks to the pain from his wounds, but he, too, worked tirelessly. His blue eyes were filled with steel. Suki had tied her hair back long ago, pausing to do the same to Katara. The girls had exchanged a tired smile before each hustling to continue their work. Toph looked like she could haul buckets full of water all day; she was somehow bending metal to help Suki and herself with the heavy buckets, moving them along the metal floor.

Iroh had never seen anyone bend metal before, but he was too exhausted to care. He wasn’t sure how long they had been working, but he knew it had been for quite some time. Zuko was now slumped against Iroh completely, curled in his lap with his face pressed into Iroh’s shoulder. For the first two hours or so he had moaned and whimpered in delirious fear as the water trickled over his bare skin, but now he was silent save for the choked gasps of breath; his energy was completely spent, but with the horrible fever raging through his body he would find no rest.

The bright side in all of this was that they were getting very close to shore, and that Zuko’s temperature was now slowly lowering.

Iroh lost himself to the work, methodically rubbing the ice over Zuko’s skin, pausing occasionally to brush the hair from his face and murmur soft words of comfort and encouragement. He stroked Zuko’s hair with cold fingers and sang softly, songs that he had once sung to his son.

Zuko was still shivering, worse now that they were rubbing ice all over his body. Iroh knew they couldn’t wrap him in a blanket; the last thing they needed was for Zuko’s body to get warmer. But he couldn’t stand seeing Zuko in so much pain, body shaking from the chills that tormented him. And so Iroh let Zuko curl into his chest, into his warmth.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Toph was pounding down the hallway, bursting through the door.

“Suki says we’re approaching land,” she blurted without preamble. “She also says there’s a camp at the top of the cliffs.”

Iroh put down the partially melted chunk of ice and rested a palm against Zuko’s forehead. He still had a raging fever, but it had gone down considerably.

“He is stable enough to be moved,” Iroh decided, removing his hand. “I will carry him to the camp. There are professional healers there who can help us.”

Katara and Aang moved above deck to help prepare to bring the ship in, while Suki and Toph came down to help Sokka stand. He wobbled and grimaced, and Iroh could see streaks of red on the makeshift bandages on his back, but the Water Tribe boy gritted his teeth and stumbled out of the room.

Iroh gently slid his arms beneath Zuko’s body, pausing to glance at the bandages. They were damp from the water and soaking through in multiple places. With all the bustle about Zuko’s fever, Iroh hadn’t had a chance to change his bandages. There was no time to worry about that now, though; they had to get Zuko to shore as fast as possible. Besides, the healers would have actual bandages to use, rather than the strips of cloth that had been all they had.

Iroh pulled Zuko to his chest, gathering the boy up in his arms before fluidly rising to his feet.

Zuko’s eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused. His face was twisted in pain, his frail body shuddering as Iroh carefully stepped away from the cot and toward the door.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” he murmured, holding Zuko close. “I’ve got you. You’ll be all right.”

Zuko looked completely and utterly exhausted, every ounce of energy drained and gone. He weakly rested his head against Iroh’s chest, eyes squeezing shut with a thin moan. A soft, choked sob escaped, so weak it was barely audible.

Iroh’s heart twisted, and he nearly sobbed himself.

He climbed out on deck and was greeted by the rising sun. Zuko’s eyes squeezed tighter against the sudden light, but he was too weak to do much more than that.

Iroh shifted so he blocked the light, then cast his gaze to the White Lotus camp.

It sat atop a cliff, slate-gray stone clashing with white, foaming waves. At the very top Iroh could see tents, and people bustling about.

A banner bearing the symbol of a white flower curled in the wind.

They had arrived.

Chapter Text

Sokka had never really thought about how it might feel to be burned. When Aang burned Katara all those months ago, Sokka had been angry with him, of course he had. His sister had gotten hurt because of Aang’s carelessness; and though he was furious, he hadn’t known, not really, how it must have felt.

Now, though, Sokka realized just how much pain Katara must have been in. His back was a mass of agony, burning and stabbing into him. The makeshift bandages wrapped around his torso rubbed against the raw burns, making them hurt even more.

Sokka didn’t regret rushing into the fray back there on Hellgate. He didn’t consider himself someone who was easily angered, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he hated that foul, evil commander who had tortured his best friend without a hint of remorse. Sokka would face that man’s flames over and over again if it meant that Zuko was okay.

But it might not matter how badly Sokka was burned, or how quickly they were able to bring him here, to the camp; Sokka didn’t know much, as he had been unconscious or delirious with pain for much of the journey, but he knew that Zuko had lost a lot of blood, and was dangerously sick as well. It might not matter how much effort each of his friends had thrown in to get him to safety; Zuko was lingering on the threshold of life and death, and Sokka didn’t know if he--or anyone else--had the strength to pull him back.

A sharp twinge of hot pain lancing through his upper back brought Sokka back from his thoughts. He winced with a soft hiss, and Toph’s grip on his arm loosened.

They were riding Appa up to the top of the cliffs. Iroh, Zuko, and Katara had gone first, and though they had tried to get Sokka to come as well he insisted he could wait. Iroh didn’t know how many of the healers were actually in camp right now, and Sokka didn’t want to overwhelm them. He was in pain, yes. It hurt more than he ever thought anything could. But Zuko needed help far more than Sokka did; he could bear the pain for a little longer.

And so Sokka, Toph, and Suki were the last to come up. Suki was sitting near the front, in companionable silence with Aang. Toph was clutching Sokka’s arm, hunkering down to avoid the stinging ocean spray.

Appa rose over the cliffs, and Sokka got his first glimpse of the camp. It was a miniature city of tents and makeshift huts, sprawling across the top of the cliffs and spreading into the forest beyond. Many of the tents were white with pale red trim, with banners bearing the symbol of a lotus flower snapping in the wind. The other tents were a myriad of colors, from across the nations. Greens, blues, and even a few Fire Nation reds could be seen in the mix.

There were people everywhere, some wearing blue-and-white uniforms, and others in robes of green, red, and blue. Sokka was taken aback by the diversity; near one of the White Lotus tents, there was a group of Water Tribespeople in combat robes, weapons strapped to thighs and backs. A Fire Nation girl was standing among them. A few Earth Kingdom children were carrying buckets of water, followed by a bandaged girl directing them to a white tent, one of the larger ones.

It was near this tent that Appa settled into the dusty path, slowly and carefully so nobody would be crushed beneath his massive bulk.

As the sky bison settled with a rumble, Suki and Aang rose to their feet with the fluid grace that came with being used to air travel. Toph stumbled to her feet with a grumble, much less graceful. The three helped Sokka stand, supporting his weight between them. Sokka tried to stand on his own, but black spots danced in his vision and Toph gripped his shoulders with an iron hold.

“Don’t go falling on me, Snoozles,” Toph said in her usual loud manner, keeping hold of him as they slowly made their way off Appa’s back. “You’re heavier than you look.”

Sokka held back a wince as his wounds were jostled, his voice tight with pain. “Nonsense. I’m much too graceful to fall.”

Suki cast him a sidelong glance, raising a skeptical brow. Toph snorted.

“Yeah, right.”

Sokka rolled his eyes. “Believe it.” He deepened his voice, imitating his old sword master, Piandao: “‘If you stay on this path, I know that one day you will become an even greater master than I am.’ I’m totally graceful.” He barely held back a sharp hiss as they stepped to the ground.

Suki and Aang chuckled, and Toph was smiling.

There had been a dark cloud hanging over their little group, their makeshift family, ever since Sokka found a destroyed cabbage cart and a pair of bloodied swords in a town square. Tensions were high, stress and worry even higher as they first rushed to rescue Zuko, then to bring him to healers before he succumbed to his injuries. It had been nearly unbearable, the tension taut as a bowstring ready to release.

Now, with Aang’s gentle smile and Suki’s soft laugh, with Toph’s grin and the warm feeling blooming in Sokka’s chest, he could feel some of the tension dissipating. It was still there, in the tightness at the corners of Aang’s eyes, the lined exhaustion in Suki’s face, the tenseness of Toph’s small frame, the throbbing pain pulsing in Sokka’s back. But it had lessened in the presence of their smiles, however little they had been. It had dissipated with the hope they could all feel blooming.

It had been gone for some time now, Sokka realized. He wasn’t sure exactly when their hope had left them; when they scoured the area for any sign of Zuko and came up with nothing, or when they attacked that small interceptor only to find that Zuko was farther away than they had anticipated, or even when they found and rescued their friend, only to find that he had endured more than they could possibly fathom. Now they were in a camp full of healers and warriors, all loyal to the Avatar’s cause, according to Iroh. Zuko was in the healer’s tent, accompanied by his uncle and Katara. They would help him, help all of them. The shattered hope that had been plaguing Sokka and his little, mismatched family was finally mending.

Not even Sokka’s injuries could match; the pain paled in comparison to the realization that, despite everything, they had a chance to survive.

They were going to be okay.

Katara felt like death walking. She probably looked like it too, with her stained, creased blue robes that she had been unable to change because it was the only one she owned, and her mane of tangled dark hair pulled back into a messy low ponytail. She probably had shadows the size of Master Pakku’s ego beneath her eyes, but she didn’t have it in her to care.

Iroh was cradling Zuko, tucking the prince into his chest. Zuko was completely limp, eyes half-open and glassy. He was too weak to move or even make a sound, but his body was still wracked with violent shivers.

Katara and Iroh slid down from Appa’s back, and Aang flicked the reins and took off to retrieve the others.

The white tent before them was larger than the others, with a crest in the front bearing the universal symbol for medical aid. A huge mountain of a Water Tribesman stood in front, burly arms crossed over a barrel chest. He wore sleeveless robes showing off his tattooed arms. A no-nonsense scowl was set on his craggy, scarred face.

His sharp blue gaze snapped to Iroh and Katara as they approached, fixing Iroh with a stern glare.

“Grand Lotus Iroh. What brings you here?” His voice was so deep Katara was vaguely reminded of rumbling thunder.

“Kotar,” Iroh said, voice urgent, “my nephew requires medical care. Immediately.”

“Please,” Katara said, stepping forward. Her voice cracked, exhaustion and worry making their presence known. “He’s hurt, bad, and my brother, too.”

She expected the huge man to argue, but he just met her eyes and nodded once. “Follow me.” He turned and disappeared into the tent, Iroh and Katara following at his heels.

The inside of the tent was surprisingly spacious, with cots and thick rugs set up at even intervals along the padded walls. Two cots were occupied, one with a girl about Sokka’s age with bandages swathed around both arms, and the other with an older man with what looked like a broken leg. A few blue-robed healers could be seen, both men and women, bustling about to see to the patients, roll up bandages, and organize their stores.

Kotar led them to a cot far away from the other patients, with a screen for privacy. He indicated Iroh to lay Zuko onto the cot, which he did, carefully and so, so gently.

The men were speaking in hushed tones, and Katara came forward to hear. She wanted to help, after all.

Iroh was explaining what they knew about Zuko’s injuries, which admittedly wasn’t much.

“He has suffered extreme burns all over his body,” Iroh explained, “as well as deep cuts that have bled extensively.” The man paused, hesitating, then continued. “We think he had been drowned,” he murmured. “Repeatedly.”

Kotar nodded, thoughtful blue gaze on Zuko. “He will require the best work we have to offer,” he said finally. “I will have my assistant bring some water.” He turned. “Anuka!”

The girl who had been sitting on the edge of the cot rose to her feet and walked over. Right away, Katara could tell she was a warrior; she was lithe and strong, and carried herself the same way Suki did, with that predatory grace that made her move differently, as if the world were made of smoke and she was passing through. The girl was Fire Nation, with inky black hair and sharp golden eyes. A scar ran down her cheekbone to her jaw, and another cut across her forehead and down across the bridge of her nose.

“Just because I’m confined to the medical tent doesn’t mean I’m your assistant,” the girl, Anuka, grumbled.

“This is urgent,” Kotar said. “I need water, and lots of it. Don’t do any of the lifting yourself, you’ll pull out your stitches. Find Buhi and Kami, they can carry it for you. Now, go!”

Seeming to understand the urgency of their situation, Anuka nodded tersely and strode from the tent, her dark robes billowing behind her in her haste.

Katara glanced around at the healers in the tent, wondering which one would come. To her surprise, though, Kotar knelt beside Zuko’s cot, resting a large hand on the boy’s chest.

“He is having trouble breathing,” Kotar said after a moment. “There is water in his lungs.”

Katara’s gut clenched painfully at the words; up until now, her theory about him being drowned had been just that: a theory. Now it was confirmed. She was overtaken with another wave of rage toward the man who had done this.

“If the water stays there,” Kotar continued, “he will not survive. I can bend it from his lungs, but I will need help; any wrong move could result in a lung rupture.”

“I can help,” Katara said, stepping forward. She was tired, but the other healers were busy with their own tasks. She could do this much.

Kotar nodded in confirmation. “Come forward, then.” He glanced at Iroh. “We will need you to hold him down. This will not be comfortable.”

Iroh nodded, moving to gently press Zuko’s body to the cot.

Kotar met Katara’s eyes. “Are you ready? We must make this quick.”

Katara nodded firmly.

Kotar turned his gaze back to Zuko.

“Then let us begin.”

Everything hurt. He was so cold his teeth were chattering, but he didn’t have enough energy to try and stop it. Someone was carrying him, he thought; he couldn’t tell who. He could hear voices from far away, but he couldn’t discern what they were saying.

The last thing he remembered, from behind a haze of pain and exhaustion and fear, was the sound of the cell door slamming closed with a reverberating clang.

He must have lost consciousness, because the next thing he knew he was dreaming of a ship cabin, rocking gently with the waves of the sea.

Uncle Iroh had been there.

But it must have been a dream because he hurt and he was so cold and tired and he just wanted to go home. The memory of his uncle’s embrace was a distant one, farther and colder than the stars.

There were more voices, but Zuko couldn’t tell what they were saying. A heavy haze lay over him, blurring his thoughts and making his eyelids heavy.

He was laying down now, but he had no idea when he had been set down. More voices, their words inaudible. Then hands were on his shoulders, pressing him down. It was all the warning Zuko had before the water came.

It didn’t come from the outside, but from within, bubbling from deep inside his body. It boiled up from his lungs, filling his throat and nose and mouth.

He couldn’t breathe.

He tried to scream, but the only sound that came was a gurgling cry.

Zuko struggled feebly, throwing every last bit of energy he possessed into throwing off the hands, which he knew surely belonged to Chuzai. Who else would be drowning him… again?

More hands came, and Zuko’s struggling was put to a halt. The panic gripped him as more water spilled from his mouth.

He couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe!

The cold water filling his mouth and nose was the last sensation he knew before giving in to blessed darkness.

Chapter Text

All was quiet in the spacious medical tent. All was still.

They had brought him a chair after the first hour of him kneeling at his nephew’s side. Of course, they’d made him rest and eat before he took up his vigil, but not even the spirits themselves could keep him away for long.

And so he sat, and waited, and watched.

It was so much better than his silent vigil on the ship during their mad dash to safety. There, they hadn’t had proper medicine or even real bandages. There, Zuko had shifted, whimpering in pain because he had been neither asleep nor awake, but somewhere in between.

Now, he was still save for the rise and fall of his chest. Zuko’s breaths were shallow, but they were even.

He was in a deep, medicine-induced slumber, as he would stay until his body had strengthened and recovered enough to wake.

They had already been there for three days, but the head healer predicted that Zuko would not awaken for at least another four or five.

In the meantime, Kotar had inserted a tube into Zuko’s arm, attached to a plastic pouch filled to the brim with water and nutrients, feeding directly into his bloodstream. He was severely dehydrated and malnourished, and so Kotar was doing what he could to remedy it.

Medical tents were the stuff of both his nightmares and his daydreams. It had been years since his last time inside one, yet it felt like it had happened a mere few days ago.

The tent had not been white, but red. It had not been quiet as this was, with the tranquil feel of only a few other patients; instead, the air had been filled with the groans and pleas of dying men, the frantic bustle of field medics rushing to save as many of the wounded as they could.

He remembered that day as clearly as he saw his nephew resting before him. The sharp coppery tang of blood, the battle raging on in the distance.

He should have continued fighting. Any good general would have. Instead, he knelt beside the cot, tears in his golden eyes, because his entire world lay there, in pain and dying.

His legs had been smashed by the boulder, bones crushed beyond repair. His ribs had snapped, his lungs collapsing. There was nothing anybody could do.

“’M sorry, father,” Lu Ten had rasped, coughing up blood.

Iroh’s throat had been too choked with tears to reply. After everything, after everything, his beloved son lay in front of him, body crushed beyond saving, desperately drawing in each breath because it could be his last.

“I’m sorry,” the general had said finally, holding his son’s hand so tightly it couldn't have been comfortable. With all the pain Lu Ten was in, however, the young man likely didn’t even notice. “I’m so sorry, my son.” His voice cut off into a choked sob.

Lu Ten raised a shaking, blood-covered hand, brushing it against his father’s cheek. Wiping away his tears and leaving behind a small stripe of blood in their wake. The son comforting the father, even as his heartbeat slowed and his vision dimmed “Take Zuzu…to the beach…for me. I…promised him I would…” Lu Ten broke off into a bout of ragged coughs; blood bubbled from his lips, and he grimaced in pain. When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer, weaker.

“...I see…Mother.”

The tears were pouring down Iroh’s face in earnest now, clouding his vision; he wiped them away. He didn’t want his last time gazing upon his son’s face to be clouded with tears. Agni, he didn’t want this at all. “What does she look like?” Iroh whispered, swallowing thickly.

Lu Ten’s lips lifted in a small, serene smile. “She’s beautiful,” he whispered, gaze far away. “She…she’s so beautiful.”

Iroh let out a sob, unable to hold it back. “Yes, she is,” he murmured, clutching his son’s hand. “Go to her, Lu Ten. Go to her.”

The serene smile remained on Lu Ten’s face even as his chest fell still and a medic stepped away, shaking their head. His eyes stared straight up, gazing at nothing as he smiled. At peace.

Iroh collapsed over his son’s body and howled. It was a broken sound, one that should be physically impossible for a human to make. But make it he did. And his heart would make that sound for the rest of his life.

He shook himself from his musings, gazing at his nephew. Zuko’s face was still pale, though some coloring had returned. The feverish flush to his cheeks had receded, the dark shadows beneath his eyes a little lighter.

Take Zuzu to the beach for me.

Iroh sighed heavily, curling his fingers around Zuko’s. After all this hell was over, maybe he would.