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Chapter Text

     The past five days had been interesting, to put it mildly.

    Zuko had been whisked away day after day, even after his coronation, to meetings with generals, prison guards, foreign diplomats, sages...he had hardly had time for tea with his uncle, let alone seen the people he had begun to call his friends, although they had been staying in the palace the whole time.

    He found himself unable to rest during the day and unable to sleep at night, a predicament that was not unfamiliar to him, but with his new status as Fire Lord, had been heightened by the weight of the nation on his shoulders.

    With such being the case, it almost felt surreal when the young Fire Lord found himself with nothing to do, walking the halls of the palace with no voices to be heard but that in his head.

    Admiral Yuzu had dragged on and on for the better half of that meeting earlier, repeating reparations in the former colonies to a group of people who had all heard him the first time. It had been dreadfully boring, and though he could have ended the meeting as soon as the man ran out of things to say, he had learned his lesson about interrupting military figures long ago. 

    He wondered vaguely about those colonies, Ba Sing Se in particular. It was there that he had stayed for so long with his uncle, where he had served tea and showed Jin the lanterns, where he had freed the Avatar’s bison, where he had…

    He stopped.

    Ba Sing Se was where he had stood and done nothing as Azula shot down Aang, the child Avatar, the world’s last chance for peace.

    Zuko shook his head and continued walking, desperate to forget.

    That was all over, he reminded himself. He had redeemed himself, hadn’t he? He had joined Aang and his friends, he had helped to end the war.

    Spirits, it was he who signed the treaty just five days ago! 

    He continued walking, and before he knew it he found himself in the Royal Gallery with the paintings of his forefathers looming over him. 

    Though he would never have admitted it, Zuko was intimidated by their presence.

    There was Sozin, who had scorched the earth, who had hunted down and killed every Air Nomad except, by some stroke of incredible luck, the Avatar.

    There was Azulon, who had demanded Zuko’s blood be spilled to pay for his father’s insolence, who had carried on his father’s war with no sign of backing down. Despite the vague resemblance, it was hard for Zuko to imagine that this man, all skin and bones and angles, was the father of his laid-back, tea-loving uncle. 

    This said, he could see the resemblance to Ozai crystal clear.

    Though Ozai’s face was broader, and though his portrait was more ornate than Azulon’s, the two seemed to share a sharp, blood-red aura that seeped into every empty space around it, like tea leaves placed in hot water.

    Zuko looked up to see the resemblance more closely.

     There was Ozai, who had refused to wait until a later age to have his portrait painted, so certain that in the four years since he had taken the throne, he had already done enough to fill the portrait. 

    There was Ozai, who, upon meeting Zuko, had wanted nothing more than to cast him over the palace walls, who had challenged the boy to an Agni Kai as though he were a grown man, who would have burned the Earth Kingdom to the ground if the Avatar had come out of the iceberg just a little later. 

    Zuko stepped past those portraits, half-expecting to see the next and finding nothing but a blank spot on the wall where the next one was supposed to be. 

    And the next one, Zuko suddenly realized, would be a portrait of himself. 

    When he was named heir to the throne all those years ago, he had daydreamed about the portrait as he practiced his katas or ate his dinner in silence. Would he have soldiers at his feet, like Sozin, or plumes of dust, like Azulon? Would he be the Fire Lord by the time Sozin’s Comet came back and have it arch over his head in his portrait the same way it did his great-grandfather’s? 

    He shuddered just remembering those days, though the question returned to him in that moment. What would be on the portrait? What would he do for his country, and for the countries that his had attacked?

    The fact that he was Fire Lord, that his portrait would be the next among these revered and respected men, seemed almost like some cruel joke to Zuko.

    Why him, he wondered, and not someone else?

    Fire Lord Iroh would have been remembered as a great peace bringer. Perhaps he would have held a scroll, as Sozin did, but instead of a declaration of war, he would hold some kind of treaty.

    And if Iroh had brought peace, Fire Lord Lu Ten would have brought stability, restoring the world almost to the way it had been before the war. 

    Even Fire Lord Azula would have been remembered as a powerful and respected ruler, despite her means of gaining such respect.

    But Zuko?

    He shook his head, sighing, and decided to think about something, anything else. There was no use worrying about his legacy when he was only five days into his reign. In that time, he reminded himself, he had already signed the peace treaty with the Earth Kingdom and the Water Tribes. That would be something for the portrait; he would be fine. 

    Taking a breath and straightening his shoulders, he turned and began on his way to the gardens, hoping to unwind a bit. 

    Although he had been there sometimes after Ba Sing Se had fallen, he still could not shake the feeling that he was returning to the gardens after a long time. 

    Perhaps it was just the fact that he had been so busy as of late.

    When he opened the door leading to the gardens, he did not expect to find Sokka sitting by the turtleduck pond.

    The Water Tribe boy turned upon hearing the paper doors slide open.

    “There you are, Your Majesty!” Sokka teased, his blue eyes glistening in the sunlight, contrasting his dark hair and skin.

    Zuko felt his face go red, brushing a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “You really don’t have to call me that.”

    “Where have you been? I feel like I’ve hardly seen you this week!”

    “Well, I am the Fire Lord,” Zuko said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not like I can just spend all of my time goofing off.”

    There was a brief pause.

    “Not that I’m saying that it’s bad to be with all of you, but—”

    “No, I totally get it,” Sokka interrupted. “The opposite is true for me. All of us have been so busy, you know, with the fighting, and the prison breaks, and the whole taking down your dad thing...it’s weird to have nothing to do again.”

    Zuko sat down a few feet away from Sokka, slightly surprised to hear him so earnest.

    In a way, it reminded him of his mother. Zuko could remember confessing his feelings to her at the exact spot he sat at then, angrily telling her about Azula’s antics, or beaming as he showed her the new firebending forms he had learned. 

    But ever since she disappeared, he had kept his emotions to himself.

    Zuko wondered vaguely if Sokka talked with Hakoda about those sorts of things before noticing that he and Sokka were the only ones in the garden.

    “Where are the others?”

    “Hm? Oh, Katara and Aang went to practice their waterbending down by the docks.”

    “And Toph?”

    “She’s out getting some food. She says that the street food is better than whatever they’re serving here.”

    Zuko’s brow furrowed. “You didn’t go with her?”

    Sokka laughed quietly. “You know me too well, Zuko. For once, I actually wasn’t hungry. And Suki’s training that one acrobat who used to hang around your sister, so for now, it’s just me and you.”

    Zuko nodded in acknowledgment, focusing on the turtleducks as they quacked and floated about. Silence began to roll in like storm clouds between the two, and Zuko grew desperate for something to talk about.

    “How’s your father?” he finally asked. 

    “He’s fine.”

    “They didn’t mess him up too bad in the Boiling Rock?”

    Sokka turned from the pond and smiled at Zuko with one of his eyebrows cocked. “He was only there for a day, and you were there to see most of it. He’s fine.”

    Zuko blushed. “Right, of course.”

    Sokka put a hand on his arm, causing Zuko to flinch. 

    Sokka pulled back, confused. “I’m sorry,” he began. I didn’t mean to—”

    “It’s fine,” Zuko muttered, embarrassed at himself for flinching. He wasn’t even sure why he did it; it’s not like Sokka would have hurt him.

    “I just wanted to thank you for everything with the Boiling Rock.” A beat of silence passed, and he smiled. “I still can’t believe that actually worked.”

    “I was crazy to take you,” Zuko admitted. “It was a suicide mission.”

    “Well, we did get out with my dad in the end. And we even found Suki!”

    “And Mai kicked Azula’s ass.” 

    Sokka laughed louder than Zuko had expected. “Spirits, Zuko! I didn’t know the Fire Lord was allowed to curse like that!”

    “Only if no one’s around to hear,” Zuko replied.

    The two laughed and stared out at the turtleduck pond. 

    “How is Mai, anyway?”

    Zuko shrugged. “She’s fine. About as fine as she always is, I guess. I haven’t seen her much since the coronation.”

    “You thinking about making her your Fire Lady?”

    Zuko blushed. “Well, I don’t know…” he gulped. “I mean, I got banished, and then I came back, but then we broke up, and now we’re together again. Not that I’m saying I wouldn’t want to marry her, just...maybe not right now.”

    “Right,” Sokka said, nodding. “That’s fair. Just don’t make her too angry. She’s got all those stilettos.”

    “Well, Suki’s got those fans; I doubt you would want to make her angry either.”

    “You raise a good point,” Sokka commented, tilting his head slightly. 

    Feeling bold, Zuko added, “And neither of us want…” His mind blanked as he tried to remember the girl’s name. “Neither of us want to make Tui mad.”

    Sokka smiled slightly. “You mean Yue?”

    Zuko nodded, hoping he had not upset him.

    “Yeah, you’re right. She might just cause another eclipse and take away your bending!” he joked, waving his fingers and pointing up at the sun, feigning alarm.

    For the first time in a long time, Zuko laughed heartily. He was immediately taken back by the sensation of it and stopped almost as soon as he had begun, though noticed that it had been...strangely good. He couldn’t remember finding something so funny in a long time.

    But then again, Sokka was funny. Zuko had to admit that much.

    To think that they had only gotten to know each other in the past month was bizarre. Zuko had never grown so close to someone this fast, but the two had technically known each other for longer. 

    He did not fully trust Sokka, not with anything important, anyway, as the only person he trusted important matters to was Iroh, though Zuko did feel a strange sort of connection with him, something so foreign and unlike anything he could recall feeling that he wondered if the two had known each other in their past lives.

    He wished he could see Sokka more often, that was it. The two were friends, evidently, and Zuko knew that that friendship could be cultivated like chi by a bender, blossoming into something greater than light conversation and a sense of familiarity.

    Zuko had grown closer to Sokka than he had ever expected to when he was following him and his friends to the Western Air Temple, and though this was true for Aang, Katara, and Toph as well, he felt as though it applied the most to Sokka.

    Why that was, he could not explain, or at least not until a string of long-gone memories returned to the front of his mind.

    He vaguely recalled wandering around the palace as a child, looking for some red-clothed servant boy and hoping to catch a glimpse of him and he led important nobles to guest chambers or opened the door for his sister.

     He had admired that boy, he remembered, similarly to how he admired Sokka.

     But then he remembered something else, something he had forgotten about entirely.

     He remembered his mother, he remembered the pond, the pond he and Sokka were sitting at right then, and he remembered a lesson taught not through a burning hand against his back, as his father would have done, but through a parable, almost, of turtleducks and turtlecrabs. 

     Zuko stood up suddenly, praying to Agni that Sokka did not hear the small gasp that escaped his lips.

     “Is something wrong?” the Water Tribe boy asked, confused.

     “I…” Zuko stammered. “I have to go. Fire Lord duties.”

     And without another word to Sokka, he fled the garden, closing the paper doors behind him.

Chapter Text

   Zuko’s hands were trembling when he found himself back in the palace, memories he didn’t know he had suddenly springing to the front of his mind as he desperately tried to ignore them.

   He hated it. 

   Specifically, he hated knowing that if anyone saw him in that state, the servants would start whispering to each other about a poisoning attempt or illness, and some physician or another would not leave the young Fire Lord be until whatever was ailing him was gone.

   It would take a lot more than bitter teas and cold rags to calm the storm inside of Zuko, and he did not want to explain anything to anyone, so as he slowly walked through the palace on his way to his apartment, he let the memories play. 

   He had been ten years old when it had happened, having spent all of his free time that day looking for the servant boy he admired, hoping to catch in the corner of his eye a red tunic or pale, slender hand as the boy disappeared behind a corner, though Zuko had seen nothing.

   In a way, he was grateful. He could handle seeing the boy from a distance, stealing glances at him whenever he was nearby, but something about the thought of talking to him made Zuko’s stomach flutter with anxiety.

    Having been unsuccessful in his search, he decided to take advantage of the last hour or so of daylight and go to the garden to be with his mother.

    He slid open the paper door and ran to the pond, eager to see what the turtleducks were up to. 

    “Is everything alright?” Ursa asked, having heard his quick footsteps.

    Zuko nodded as he sat on his knees. “I just wanted to see the ducks.”

    Some of the creatures plunged their heads into the water, looking for food, and Zuko watched closely for a minute before turning to his mother.

    “Do you want to see the new move I learned today? It’s starting to get dark, so it probably won’t be good, but do you want to see me try?”

    Ursa smiled slightly. “Of course. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

    Zuko stood up, closed his eyes, and taking a deep breath, he got into the stance he had learned and tried to produce some sort of flame as he brought his hand forward.

    Nothing happened, but Ursa clapped anyway. “Very nice!”

    “No, there’s no fire!” Zuko complained. “It’s not even firebending! I need to try again.”

    He tried the move once more, letting his embarrassment and shame turn to anger as he thought of Azula’s taunting when she had seen him practicing, and that time, a bright orange flame shot out from his hands.

    His anger turned to surprise and delight as he realized what he had done, and he turned to his mother smiling and awaiting her response.

    “Excellent!” she said, clapping. 

    Zuko rolled back his shoulders, proud of himself. Ursa’s words were nice, even if she did not know much about firebending. Perhaps he would have the chance to show his father later.

    Perhaps he could make him proud. 

    He walked back to where his mother was and sat down, smoothing his tunic and admiring the way that the setting sun seemed to tinge the air various shades of pink and orange, making the water look smooth and glassy.

    “You’ve been getting better,” Ursa commented. 

    Zuko turned to look at her with one eyebrow cocked. “Do you think so?”

    Ursa nodded, smiling. “I do. You’ve clearly been working very hard.”

    Zuko groaned, beginning to pick at a piece of grass. “That’s not a good thing. Azula doesn’t have to work for it.”

    “She is very talented, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t work to improve your bending.”

    “It doesn’t matter. I’ll never be as good as her.”

    Ursa looked into her son’s eyes. “She might be the better bender, but you’re still very good, being the son of the Fire Prince and all, and even if you couldn’t bend at all, you’re better with weapons than she is. That will be useful. Maybe one day you’ll go and fight like Uncle Iroh and Lu Ten!”

    “Maybe…” Zuko grumbled. Remembering the servant boy and wanting to change the subject, he asked his mother, “Do you know that one servant’s name?”

    “You’re going to have to be a lot more specific.”

    Zuko blushed and stared into the pond. “Well, he’s my age, I think. He holds doors open and stuff like that. And his hair is a bit messy, but it’s not so bad.”

    “I’m not quite sure who you’re talking about.”

    Zuko went on, hoping to give his mother a better picture. “He’s very pretty, and he seems nice. I like him.”

    Ursa turned to her son, her mouth creased into a flat line. “What do you mean when you say that?”

   Zuko shrugged, not thinking much of it. “I don’t know. I like him. I hope someday I can write him a letter without my name and say a lot of really nice things, and he’ll go all around the city looking for who wrote the letter. Then, one day, he’ll see me and know it was me because I would be really nice to him, and then we would…” Zuko trailed off, placing a finger to his lips in thought. “I don’t know. I guess we’d hug or something. He looks warm.”

    Ursa was quiet for an unusually long time as Zuko looked up and watched the sunset, growing more afraid as the moments passed that his mother was ignoring him the way his father did.
   
    Finally, she spoke.

    “It’s not good to like him like that.”

    “I know he’s not very noble, and he probably can’t bend, but he’s nice, and I promise that he—”

    “No, that’s not the reason.”

    Zuko’s brow furrowed in confusion and slight fear. “Then what is it?”

    “A boy must fall in love with a girl.”

    “Well, yeah,” Zuko began, unsure of where he was headed. “But…” He thought for a moment. He had never met someone who had fallen in love with their own sex. His mother was right. “But why?” he asked, more emotion in his voice than he would have liked. 

    Ursa took a deep breath and closed her eyes, causing Zuko to worry that she was upset.

    “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

    “It’s alright. Let me explain something, Zuko. Do you remember the turtlecrabs on Ember Island?”

    “Yeah,” the boy began, relaxing his shoulders a bit. “Azula chased me with one last year, saying she would make it pinch me if I didn’t run fast enough.”

    “I remember that,” Ursa sighed, laughing slightly. “I want you to think of the turtlecrabs, and then look at the turtleducks. They both live in water, and they both have shells, so why can’t a turtleduck and a turtlecrab fall in love and marry each other?”

    Zuko waited for his mother to continue before realizing that she was expecting him to answer the question, at which point he tried desperately to think of something before she got impatient. 

    “Um...because animals don’t get married?”

    “That’s a good guess, but not what I had in mind. Nature made them too different to have children. If they can’t have children, the population becomes lower, and if it gets too low, neither population can defend themselves from hawks or armadillo-bears.”

    She continued, “It is every Fire Nation citizen’s duty to their people and their country to marry and have children, but two boys cannot do that.”

    Zuko was quiet for a minute, pondering the words. Even at the time, he knew that they made sense. They had to; his mother didn’t lie all the time the way Azula did. But if two boys could not fall in love, what was he feeling for the servant in the palace? He wanted to ask his mother, or maybe Lu Ten once he came back from the Earth Kingdom. He was old enough to understand the world better than Zuko but young enough that it wasn’t weird to ask him, and besides, Iroh had said that the two of them would be home within a year. 

    “I understand,” Zuko said at last. Lowering his head, he added, “I’m sorry that I didn’t know before.”

    “It’s alright.”

     It had become darker since Zuko arrived, and he would have been afraid of it if his mother was not next to him. He wanted to hug her arm for a while, but he knew that he was getting too old, and so standing up, he bid farewell to her and walked back into the palace.

    He had only taken a few steps before bumping into someone, and looking up, he saw that it was the servant boy.

    Zuko froze.

    “I’m so sorry,” the boy said, picking up the freshly folded laundry that had fallen from his hands and lowering his head in apology. “You must forgive me.”

    Just an hour ago, Zuko would have been ecstatic to find the boy, to be given the opportunity to speak to him. He would have asked for his name at once, already thinking up words for the letter he wanted to write.

    But remembering his mother’s words, Zuko realized that he should not ask the boy’s name, let alone say anything to him. 

    It was his duty to his people.

    He put on the face he wore when in front of his grandfather, straightened his back, and walked past the boy without stopping to catch a glance of him. 

    And there he was, walking the halls of the palace as he had that evening, faced with the same challenge.

    The only problem was that he knew Sokka, and he knew him better than he had the servant boy. The two were friends, and thus it would be hard for Zuko to ignore him.

    The weight of his mother’s words fell on him like a ton of bricks at that moment.

    If what she said had been true then, when no one had dreamed of him taking the throne, it was truer as he walked to his apartment with the five-pronged flame behind his topknot. 

    In a cruel twist of fate, he passed the Royal Gallery once more.

    There was Sozin.

    And Azulon.

    And Ozai.

    And standing beneath them was the trembling Zuko, who, if he was not careful, would betray his nation to lay in the arms of a non-bending peasant from the Southern Water Tribe.

Chapter Text

     Though he would have much preferred it, Zuko did not take his dinner alone, as he had promised to dine with his uncle, and Iroh was no fool. If Zuko sent some servant with a tray of food to his uncle’s chambers instead of dining with him personally, he would immediately know that something was wrong.

     The last thing Zuko needed was for his uncle to find out about his predicament, and so he sat in silence at the table, picking absentmindedly at a well-seasoned piece of hippo-ox as Iroh spoke of a play he had seen recently.

     “...And then, he turned himself into a pickled cumberquat! It was the funniest thing I have ever seen, nephew!”

     Zuko silently sighed. He would have loved to see the play, but, as always, he had no time.

     “Nephew?”

     Zuko looked up at his uncle.

     “You are awfully quiet. Is everything alright?”

     Zuko took a breath and put on the face he had worn in front of his father as a boy.

     “I’m just tired.”

     “Tired?” Iroh asked skeptically. “Why don’t you have some tea?.”

     “It’s too late for tea.”

     “It is never too late,” Iroh said, waving his hand.

     Zuko took a breath, trying to keep his anger at bay. “Well, I don’t want any.”

     Iroh nodded, taking several bites of his food before speaking again. “What has been on your mind? I imagine you’ve got quite a bit to think about.”

     It was clear that he was not changing the topic; he was just approaching it differently. “The Earth Kingdom,” Zuko responded, taking comfort in the fact that it wasn’t entirely a lie. “I’ve agreed to their reparations.”

     “And what are they?”

     Zuko sighed, placing his hand to his temple. “Admiral Yuzu says they still need to figure it out. The Grand Secretariat is the only one who has any idea what’s going on, and even he’s confused. On top of it, no one knows if the Earth King is legally allowed to have a say in it. The only thing we know for sure is that we’re paying a sum of gold pieces to both the former colonies and the citizens of those colonies.”

     “It will all be figured out in due time,” Iroh reassured.

     “I guess,” Zuko said,  hoping that the conversation would end there.

     Much to his dismay, it didn’t.

     “What else have you been thinking about?”

     Zuko thought for a moment, reflecting on what he could say that would be truthful without arousing his uncle’s suspicion.

     “My legacy,” he said, feigning calmness.

     Iroh’s brow furrowed. “You have been the Fire Lord for less than a week. Why worry so soon?”

     Zuko took a breath, his hands warming beneath the table. “I know, it’s stupid.”

     “No, I understand it. But you’ve already ended the war; things can only go uphill from here.”

     Zuko nodded, anxious to end both the meal and the conversation. “Thank you, Uncle.”

     That night, lying on the silk sheets with the moonlight gleaming in through the window and trying not the put too much pressure on the spot where Azula had shot him a week prior, Zuko calmed down some, thinking long and hard about what to do.

     He thought he had rid himself of his unnatural feelings after the conversation with his mother. There was no way they should have been able to come back, especially considering he had a girlfriend.

     He did not have many opportunities in his youth to speak with anyone his age, and thus, he had never been able to give much thought to matters of crushes or fleeting romances. When he had been banished, he was too focused on capturing the Avatar to get to know people. But when he had been running from Azula…

     He turned on the bed, recalling the people he had met. 

     There was Song, that girl in the countryside with the scar on her ankle, but Zuko had only known her for a few hours, and though the two conversed, he was too deep in thought then to have felt any sort of anything for her.

     In Ba Sing Se, he had gone on a date with Jin. She was well mannered, with a gay disposition and a round, youthful face that any sane man in the Lower Ring enjoyed seeing. Zuko had genuinely enjoyed her company. He didn’t mind lying about everything to her; he was used to lying by then. 

     What was the most intriguing was that when they arrived at the dark Firelight Fountain, something had stirred within Zuko that made him light the lanterns.

     Was it love, he asked himself? Pity? 

     Surely, he thought, it must have been some sort of affection for her; the two had kissed! 

     It had been his first kiss, turning him into a ball of nerves and confusion as he stood in front of the lights. Her lips were warm, with the faint scent of oranges still on them.

     He had liked it, hadn’t he? 

    Why did he back away? 

    Things truly had been complicated, and Zuko would have been a fool if he thought otherwise. But was it more complicated than it seemed? Why had he hesitated when he kissed Jin?

     Was it because he felt like he was lying to her about his identity, because he had never interacted with people his age so intimately, or because deep down, he wished that Jin’s shoulders were broader, that her hands were more calloused, and that when their lips met, Zuko could feel stubble brush his face?

     He sighed aloud, realizing that his self-examination was going to be harder than he had thought.

     He had formed a relationship with Katara and Toph, he thought, but they were so different from Song and Jin. Zuko liked Katara; she was very determined, optimistic, and had the same deep blue eyes as her brother, but the young Fire Lord could never see himself in a romantic relationship with her. Besides, Aang seemed to like her, and Zuko did not want to find out what would happen if he stole the Avatar’s crush.

     Toph, on the other hand, was twelve, and thus entirely out of the question for him.

     There were only four girls he met that he could have felt something for, and for all but one of them, he felt nothing.

     So what about Mai?

     Did he hesitate with Jin for fear that he was forsaking Mai?

      The two hadn’t been dating, of course, when he and Jin had kissed, but Mai had liked Zuko for years. Despite her coldness, she relaxed slightly around Zuko, and better yet, she was from a noble family. Everyone in the Fire Nation expected a match to be arranged between the two, and the fact that they were officially courting each other only made such expectations stronger.

     He loved Mai, Zuko remembered. Even if he had feelings for Sokka, he was courting, and would most likely marry that graceful, deadly girl with the bored-looking eyes and long red sleeves.

     He took a breath, relieved. Yes, he was going to be alright. He had quelled his feelings for the servant boy; he would do the same with Sokka. 

     The first chance he had the next morning, he would invite Mai to the palace.

     He was about to fall asleep when he remembered that he had forgotten someone he had met on his travels.

     On the ship to Ba Sing Se, he had befriended Jet, that Earth Kingdom boy with barley hanging out of his mouth. The two had gotten along well, even if Jet grew suspicious of Zuko, tried to kill him, was promptly arrested, and, if that play on Ember Island was to be believed, brainwashed and killed by the Dai Li. 

     For once, Zuko had been grateful for his scar. The tea shop was crowded when Jet attacked, but no one believed him when he had said that the angry tea server in Earth Kingdom clothes with half his face burnt off was a firebender. 

     The two had gotten along reasonably well before then, becoming as close as one would expect two people to become when they sneak around in the middle of the night to steal food. 

     Zuko took only as much as he needed; he did not want to risk arousing suspicion, because as he had learned time and time again, the suspicion of others never ended well. 

     Jet, on the other hand, took a bit more than he needed, if only to press his luck, and as the two of them fled to another part of the ship, the mischievous boy would slip a cold moon peach or stale egg custard tart into Zuko’s warm, pale hand.

     This confused the banished prince, as he was by no means used to such generosity or affection from anyone, let alone from people he had only met recently.

     So why did Jet do it? If he had any brains, he would have known not to trust strangers, not to show them such kindness. 

      Kindness, as Zuko had learned from his father, looked a lot like weakness.

     But Jet, according to everything Zuko had seen,  was no weak child; he was resourceful, independent, and had ways of getting what he wanted.

     And from time to time, as the two of them sat against the cold wooden floor, Zuko would look up from eating whatever contraband Jet had given him and find the boy glancing at him, which, at the time, Zuko had interpreted as a silent way of telling him that the jig was up; Jet knew everything Zuko had been trying to keep from him.

     But lying on the warm sheets of his bed and reflecting on those days, Zuko could see in Jet’s now-glazed-over eyes a much different sentiment, one he was only able to recognize from his growing relationship with Aang and his friends. 

     There was a tenderness in Jet’s glances, a warmth not unlike the shy, admiring looks that Aang would give to Katara when he thought no one was looking.

      Zuko sat up slightly in realization.

      Could it be that Jet had harbored feelings for him?

      It would explain the gifts of food, he thought, and Jet’s seemingly out-of-character trust of him, not to mention the glances and invitation to join his gang of war orphans.

      As he sat on the bed, he realized that comments he had taken as condescending had been genuine compliments, what he had thought was an alliance for the greater good was an attempt to initiate a closer relationship, and what he had viewed as Jet’s attempts to humiliate him and keep him in line was, of all things, flirting.

      A wave of confusion swallowed Zuko up.

     He was not the only one who felt such unnatural things for good-looking boys.

     Had Zuko loved Jet back, then?

     He’d been oblivious to the boy’s advances when they had occurred, but did he feel any sort of subconscious attraction to him? Now that he knew the truth about Jet’s actions, would he feel attracted to him?

     The boy had not been particularly handsome, or at least, not by Fire Nation standards. His skin was deeply tanned from long hours under the sun, and everything about his body, even his eyebrows, was rigid and angular.

     And aside from being all angles, he could be quite harsh. 

    Despite the two’s past camaraderie, Jet did not hesitate to fight the banished prince with everything he had in him.

     So even if Zuko had loved Jet, Jet had grown to resent Zuko.

     Jet may have fallen in love with a man, but he was a criminal, Zuko reminded himself, fated to die young and be buried unceremoniously in some potter’s field in the Lower Ring. It did not matter who he found himself staring at, whose arms he’d be found in some humid morning.

     Zuko, on the other hand, was the Fire Lord. 

     For the third time that day, he felt that sickening sense of dread, that nagging voice in his brain that told him he was no better as the Fire Lord than he was as Lee, misguided and naive in the ways of the world.

     He bitterly wished he’d stayed in Ba Sing Se forever, serving tea and getting to know Jin.

     He wished he was a normal man, able to at least examine his feelings and not have to worry about their effect on the country. 

     He wished Lu Ten had survived the war, leaving Iroh to bear the burdens of the five-pronged flame.

     And, forcing back his tears as sparks flew from his fingertips, he wished his father had killed him all those years ago.

     Mai seemed to be the one person in the Fire Nation not afraid of Zuko.

     Where others would have bowed down in respect, she entered into the palace meeting room, her back completely straight and her lifeless eyes directly on the Fire Lord.

     Where others would have dressed in their finest clothing to meet with him, even if they had seen him a million times before, she walked into the palace in the same red robes she always wore.

     Where others would have praised Zuko more than he deserved as soon as he stepped foot in the room, Mai muttered a simple ‘hey’ and waited for a response, showing no emotion whatsoever.

     Despite her cold demeanor, Zuko knew that she loved him. She had to, considering she had been willing to get herself killed by Azula just so Zuko could break a man he didn’t know out of prison. 

     He took a breath, ready to rid himself of his feelings for Sokka. “It’s good to see you,” he greeted, stepping towards her and putting an arm around her shoulder.

     Mai looked down at his hand for a second, cocking her eyebrow, and then looked back up at him. “I didn’t have anything better to do.”

     “Neither did I,” Zuko said, hoping Mai would take it as a compliment and not an insult.

     She nodded in acknowledgment of the statement, showing neither appreciation nor offense as she wriggled free from Zuko’s arm and sat kneeling on the couch.

     Zuko joined her as quickly as he could, facing her and worrying he had somehow upset her. 

     It wouldn’t matter if he did, of course, given that he was the Fire Lord and could have her executed for disrespecting him, but he was not like his father. He had the decency to be nice to the people he was supposed to love.

      In an attempt to make things right, he reached for Mai’s hand, which, to Zuko’s surprise and relief, she took wordlessly and without hesitation. 

     The two sat in silence for several minutes before Mai spoke.

     “How’s being the Fire Lord?”

     Zuko shrugged. “Fine.”

     “I imagine you’ve got a lot of work to do.”

     “Yeah.” After a moment’s pause, he continued, “But I’ll still make time for you.”

      Mai did not smile, as she rarely ever smiled, though Zuko noticed that she squeezed his hand slightly tighter in acknowledgment. 

     He was doing well so far.

      “How’s your family?”

     “They’re still upset about me getting sent to prison, but I don’t know what they think they’ll do about it now. After all, I was doing it to bust out the Fire Lord.”

     Zuko smiled. 

     Mai continued, “Ty Lee will be leaving for the Earth Kingdom in a month or so for formal training. I hear that the leader of the Kyoshi Warriors wants to stick around here for a bit; make sure nothing happens to you.”

     Even though he had the Avatar, a waterbending master, an earthbending master, the Dragon of the West, a girlfriend with knives in her sleeves, and more than one skilled warrior on his side, a chill ran down Zuko’s spine at the thought of assassination.

     Perhaps his father would break out of jail. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t firebend; Iroh had escaped prison without producing a single flame. 

     There was also Azula to worry about; she still had her bending, and if she had killed the Avatar in a relatively calm state of mind, Zuko didn’t want to imagine what she could do while unhinged.

     He would be surprised if she hadn’t zapped someone dead already. 

     “Nothing will,” he said, doubting it as the words left his mouth.

     “Are you sure?”

     This made Zuko uncomfortable. It reminded him of his younger days, in a sense, when he would attempt to do something and have his father or sister immediately make him second guess himself. Was he sure no one would try to end his life? Of course he wasn’t; if she wanted to, Mai could strike him dead right then and there.

     But was he supposed to tell her that?

     He genuinely didn’t know.

    So, unwilling to discuss the subject any longer, he turned and grabbed Mai’s waist, pulling her into a passionate (or perhaps just messy and awkward) kiss.

    She let out a slight gasp of shock, and when Zuko had pulled away, he was disappointed to find that she looked more confused than anything else.

    And Zuko?

    While he had been hoping to feel some sort of warmth coursing through his veins, all he felt was the embarrassed blush on his cheeks as he realized he had chosen the worst moment to kiss her, and worse yet, that he had not felt anything as strongly as he had hoped.

Chapter Text

     In the week and a half after, the young Fire Lord fell into a pattern: he would wake up, bathe and dress himself, eat breakfast with his uncle and his friends, and spend the next eight or nine hours passing laws, repealing them, agreeing to reparations, speaking with diplomats, and all those other things of royalty people seldom think of, too blinded by the magnificence of the golden hairpieces and silk robes to care for the real politics of it all.

    Afterward, he would dine with his uncle, speaking with him of the day’s duties and Iroh’s return to Ba Sing Se, which was always closer than Zuko would like. Their time with each other lasted about an hour, and as that hour passed, the young Fire Lord could feel his muscles relax slightly.

    Iroh had a way of illuminating things; Zuko could hardly keep up with things when they were happening, always asking people to repeat themselves or elaborate on something, but his uncle could illustrate the matter plainly, from point A to point B.

    Frankly, Zuko didn’t know why the old man kept putting up with him.

    After dinner, he could finally have some time to himself, as long as there was no urgent business he had to attend to. But unfortunately, because he was the Fire Lord, something needed taking care of more often than not.

    Eventually, he would retire to his chambers, where he laid still, trying to drown out his thoughts of Sokka with memories of Mai, stopping now and then to recall his mother’s voice, so soft and comforting compared to his father’s gravelly tone, or Azula’s loud, noble one, sharp enough to cut his throat. 

    The next morning, he knew, he would do it all again.

    It was one of those mornings, at breakfast, when he learned some rather disheartening news.

    He sat eating rice and fish, listening to Toph and Aang as they discussed bending techniques. While Aang was the avatar (and the youngest to master all four elements, at that), Toph was arguably the better, or at least more experienced, earthbender.

    They both had unique styles, and thus unique topics to speak of; Aang was the living relic of the previous century and a naturally powerful bender, and Toph had learned from the original earthbenders.

    Despite his unfamiliarity with earthbending, Zuko soon found himself listening to the conversation, fascinated.

    The others did the same; everyone had stopped speaking to hear the two.

    As Zuko absentmindedly looked around the table, however, he noticed a bored expression set in a certain person’s bronze face.

    It didn’t surprise him much; aside from Suki, Sokka was the only non-bender at the table. Why should he care for the form or technique of an art he would never learn, never fully understand, even?

    Zuko expected him to make a witty remark in his typical fashion, but the minutes passed, and Sokka did not.

    All he did after Aang finished talking, in fact, was turn to the young Avatar to ask a question.

    “Can I borrow Appa?”

    “Sure. Where are you going?”

    “To Wulong forest. I’m going to go look for my sword,” he sighed, sounding bored and vaguely upset. Turning to Suki, he added, “Feel free to come if you want.”

    Suki stood up, and together, the two left the room.

    Zuko felt a sense of tenderness and concern for his friend, and against his better judgment, turned to Katara to ask a question.

    “Is he alright?”

    Katara hummed and nodded. “He’ll be fine.”

    “I thought he was over the whole non-bending thing,” Toph admitted.

    Aang shrugged. “Maybe it’s because he lost his sword.”

    “Maybe he’s just bummed out that he’s leaving,” Katara suggested.

    Zuko felt his eyebrows shoot up. “What?” he asked, almost dropping his chopsticks.

    “Didn’t he tell you? He and our dad are going back to the Southern Water Tribe tonight.”

    “He didn’t say anything about that!” Zuko cried, appearing more desperate than he would have liked.

    There was a moment of silence, and Iroh placed a hand on his nephew’s shoulder, causing Zuko to flinch slightly.

    “It’s alright, nephew. Perhaps he did not want to hurt your feelings.”

    Or he doesn’t care enough to tell me , the young Fire Lord thought. Sure, Sokka had seemed genuine when the two of them were at the turtleduck pond, but it was not a stretch to think it had all been a ruse to make Zuko feel better. Believing that it was was the safer course of action, if nothing else.

    Unwilling to embarrass himself further, Zuko took a breath and stood up, his back straight as he left the room.

    Sokka was going home, he thought.

    If he wasn’t around, Zuko couldn’t feel anything. It would be alright, one half of him said.

    But he felt so disheartened knowing that he and the Water Tribe boy only had a few more hours together, and most of them would pass with Zuko sitting on the throne and Sokka on the back of a bison. Sick of beating himself up, Zuko listened more closely to the latter half of his mind, swearing to make the most out of what little time the two had left.

    He wanted to say something; not how he felt, and not goodbye. He wanted to give him some sort of token to remember him by. He wanted Sokka to stay, if only for a little longer. 

    But there wasn’t time to worry about that then. He was the Fire Lord, and he had other, much more important matters to concern himself with. 

    When Zuko finished his dinner that evening, he knew what he was going to do and went straight to find Sokka, asking all the servants if they had seen him. Those who didn’t apologized to the Fire Lord, waiting for him to burn their wrists or simply push them aside if they were lucky. 

    The servant who directed the man to the guest-chamber, on the other hand, said a silent prayer for the Water Tribe boy, as the Fire Lord had seemed very, very eager to see him.

    Zuko opened the door much louder and with much more force than he had expected to, and Sokka, who was sitting on the bed, flinched and whipped his head around upon hearing it. 

    “Zuko?” he asked, recognizing the man.

    Zuko, realizing that he appeared desperate, attempted to feign casualty as he leaned in the doorway. 

    “Hello.”

    There was an awkward silence for several moments.

    “Is...is everything alright?”

    “Yes.”

    “Then why’d you come running into my room?” Sokka asked, smiling nervously.

    Zuko felt his cheeks glow with heat. “Well, I just…” He rubbed the back of his neck, not knowing what he was going to say. “I was thinking, you know, and…

   He trailed off, shaking his head.  “You were looking for your sword earlier, weren’t you?”

   “Yeah.”

   “Did you find it?”

   Sokka shook his head. “No. I looked everywhere.”

    “Well, I...I know it meant a lot to you, and I know it probably won’t be much consolation, considering yours was made of volcanic steel or obsidian or something, but the palace has a bunch of spare swords lying around, and I thought I could give you one as a parting gift.”

    Sokka’s eyes widened.

    “That’s...thanks, Zuko. You really don’t have to do that.” There was a brief pause before he added, “And for the record, I made it out of space rocks.”

    Zuko felt his brow furrow. “Space rocks? Where did you—how did you forge a sword out of those?”

     Sokka smiled mischievously. “I have my ways.”

    The Fire Lord  shook his head, concealing his smile. “I think we might be calling the wrong guy the Avatar.”

    Sokka shrugged as he stood up, playing along. “I mean, Aang was in an iceberg for a hundred years. Someone else could have gotten his powers.”

    Zuko gestured for the boy to follow him, and together they passed through the straight, narrow corridors of the palace to the room the Fire Lord had spent so many of his younger days in.

    It was a medium-sized room with dark wooden floors.  In one corner were dummies and a crate of bamboo sticks for cutting practice. Long red banners hung from the walls, spaced apart by racks of blunt wooden swords for practice. Above some of these racks hung actual swords for use, Zuko’s favorites being dual blades similar to those he had used as the Blue Spirit. Above some others, however, hung the blades of historical military figures or otherwise notable people. 

    Zuko walked to a rack and pulled off two of the wooden swords, handing one to Sokka. He then walked several paces away from him and turned around, readying his sword. 

    “Alright, show me what you know.”

    Sokka smirked, readying himself.

    He seemed more inexperienced than Zuko; his feet were too close apart, and as the Fire Lord turned about him, he noticed the boy stumble as he pivoted.

    That said, his forms were quite good for a beginner. 

    It was Sokka who struck first, and though this surprised Zuko, he quickly regained his composure. 

    Though the ‘fight’ ended rather quickly, Sokka lasted longer than Zuko thought he would; his posture and footwork suggested he was new to the art, but there was a shocking familiarity to his technique that made Zuko wonder who had taught him.

    “You’ve trained, haven’t you?” he asked, removing the blade of his sword from the side of the boy’s neck.

    “Yeah, a little” Sokka replied, laughing. “In the Fire Nation, actually. We don’t really use swords in the Water Tribe.”

    This only heightened Zuko’s suspicion. “Who was your teacher?”

    Sokka snapped his fingers, trying to remember. “Piandao. He’s some guy that lives on a cliff, and he’s part of the White Lotus, so your uncle—”

    “I know who Piandao is,” Zuko interrupted. “He was my teacher.”

    “Really?”

    “Yes, back when…” Zuko thought about stopping, but as soon as the thought crossed his head, the words were already out. “When they didn’t think I could bend.”

    “They doubted it?” Sokka asked, incredulous. “You’re, like, the best firebender I’ve ever seen!”

     Zuko felt himself blush. “Well, maybe now I’m good at it, but I didn’t have the spark when I was born, and Azula was always miles ahead of me, so…” He shook his head. “That’s not what we’re talking about. They didn’t think I could bend, but my uncle said it would be good to learn some kind of combat, so I chose swordsmanship. And Piandao is one of the best swordsmen in the Fire Nation, so he taught me.

     Sokka’s eyes widened. “He’s the best?”

    “Yes.”

    The boy smirked after a moment. “Then the best swordsman in the Fire Nation told me I could surpass him.”

    “Honestly,” Zuko began. “I’m not surprised. You’ve got a genuine talent, but you need practice, and more training would be nice if you can get it.” 

    Zuko returned Sokka’s practice sword to the rack, then reached above it for one of the real ones on display.

    As the Fire Lord presented it to him, Sokka bowed respectfully. An idea flashed across Zuko’s mind, and as Sokka stood up, thanking Zuko and making witty jokes about the situation with the sheathed sword in hand, Zuko realized he only had one chance to ask his question, and it was then and there.

    “Wait.”

    Sokka stopped and looked at his friend.

    “I know you have to get back to the Water Tribe tonight, but…” he trailed off, unsure of how to continue. “But I think there’s a case to be made for you staying here.”

    Sokka’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

    “You’re an excellent swordsman, Sokka. I think you should sharpen your skills.” After a moment, he added, “Piandao can continue teaching you, and when I have time, we can practice.”

    It felt like hours before Sokka spoke again, and when he did, he spoke with a sobriety in his voice Zuko rarely heard. “I appreciate it; more than you know, actually. But I just got my dad out of the Boiling Rock, and we haven’t been home in a long time. I’ll make good on your offer as soon as I can, but for now, I need to be home.”

    Zuko nodded wordlessly. Though a part of him wanted to beg the boy to stay, if only for a little longer, he remembered his own emptiness when he’d been at sea for months, when he’d been wandering the Earth Kingdom without his uncle, and he knew that he could not. It only made sense for Sokka to go home; it was stupid of Zuko to even ask him to stay.

    But he dreaded the thought of being away from his friend after the two of them had just gotten to know each other. 

    “I understand,” he finally said. Attempting to maintain the collected air expected from royalty, he closed his eyes, bit the inside of his cheek, and continued, “I look forward to seeing you soon.”

    Something indescribable crossed Sokka’s face; a flash of pain, but one he tried to suppress, or, at the very least, one that didn’t affect him too deeply. 

    Zuko wondered about it, and the two were silent for several minutes before Sokka looked kindly into his friend’s eyes and said, “Goodbye, Zuko.”

    While the Fire Lord wanted desperately for him to make some jest or one-liner characteristic of him, he did not; Sokka walked out of the training room without looking back.

    Zuko stood meditatively in the emptiness for some time, his own wooden sword still in his hand. What had crossed Sokka’s face? What did it mean?

    Were the spirits trying to tell him something by pulling him apart from every boy he developed feelings for?

    He could almost hear his father’s voice in his head, telling him that whatever he had tried with Sokka had been a stupid, fruitless endeavor, and that he was paying the price for it, standing cold and alone on the wooden floor.

    The old Zuko would have grabbed the nearest practice dummy and sliced it to bits, or burned it to ashes, but the Zuko in the training room was no longer the banished prince he had once been; he was the Fire Lord, and he had corrected more than a few of his ways. 

    Instead of mutilating a dummy, all he wanted was to go to his chamber and meditate alone.

    He took a breath and walked to the racks along the wall, returning his sword and examining some historical ones hanging above him.

    The blades had rusted, worn out from hard-fought battles and the wrath of the elements. Yet as he examined a long, straight sword from centuries prior, several characters intelligible through the rust caught Zuko’s eye.

    Removing it from the wall, he turned it in his hand and examined the inscription.

    To Shozao, from his lover Naesun, on the eight-thousand and twenty-fourth day of the Era of Yangchen .

    Shozao.

    Naesun.

    They were both male names.

    Zuko almost dropped the thing where he stood, but he did not. Instead, he reread it, thinking he must have taken something out of context. Perhaps there had been more to the inscription, something that the sands of time washed away.

    He checked for half-gone characters, for any evidence that something was missing, but he found nothing.

    The inscription made little sense to the Fire Lord; if the two had been in such a relationship, why would one admit it on the other’s sword, right where anyone close enough could see it? If Zuko remembered his studies right, it wasn’t as though Shozao was some unknown soldier no one would notice; he was a colonel who held back Water Tribe pirates and later became a well-respected diplomat. 

    Then again, Zuko’s teachers had said that the aforementioned pirates had wanted to impose on the sovereignty of the Fire Nation and its people, something which was most likely false in hindsight.

    What else, then, had the Fire Nation lied about? 

    It would not make sense for Shozao and his lover to be so brazen if they were living in the era of Avatar Aang, but perhaps in the era of Yangchen, it did.

    He suddenly thought of his mother’s words in the garden. 

    She had called marriage the duty of every Fire Nation citizen, while Zuko’s feelings for boys the opposite of that duty.

    Thinking back on the moment, it sounded so unlike her to speak of citizens’ duties, and so much like the imperialist ideals he had learned to regurgitate.

    If the turtleducks and turtlecrabs represented the Fire Nation, he asked himself, then who were the hawks and Armadillo-bears they had to defend themselves from?

    Zuko had many memories of his mother, and as he recalled, she was not very patriotic; that is, she did not show the fervent, imperialist patriotism that was expected of a member of the royal family.

    In front of the people, she was a figure of feminine grace and power; when Ozai became the Fire Lord, she became the mother of the future heir, and thus the mother of the country itself.

    But in private, Ursa was different. She was no powerful figure—though she was a descendant of the Avatar, she was completely incapable of firebending, and she had grown up in a small town on an insignificant island. 

    Becoming a princess, and eventually the Fire Lady, did not give her power over the people, and she was helpless against Ozai. Try though she did, she could not keep him from burning Zuko’s back when he misbehaved, or coldly dismissing him as a worthless child.

    Yet she held, at least in Zuko’s mind, an air of confidence about her; a power over herself and her actions, even though she had control of nothing else that happened to her or her children.

    It had always amazed him, and he longed desperately to see it again, to have that kind of power over himself.

    Looking down at the swords again, he wondered if his mother’s speech at the turtleduck pond had been genuine. Had she truly thought Zuko’s feelings unnatural and not worth pursuing, or had she wanted to protect him? Admitting such thoughts to anyone else would have greatly dishonored him, and depending on who heard it, could have hastened the burning of his face.

    It was the last thing his mother would have wanted.

    So had she lied to Zuko to keep him from telling it to anyone else, or had she regurgitated Fire Nation propaganda for the same purpose? 

    As he returned the sword to its rightful place on the wall, Zuko’s head was pounding. It had been an all-too eventful day, and he needed time to himself. 

    He would look into the history of the Fire Nation’s attitudes eventually, but it would take work to uncover any actual truth—work that Zuko was in no state to complete.

    For the first time since his conversation with Sokka, he wandered down the halls and slid open the paper doors to the garden, where he sat and watched the ducks in silence.

Chapter Text

     As the Fire Lord sat on his throne the next day, he found his thoughts turning to a stream of brackish, rippling water as he remembered the inscription on the sword and saw Sokka’s eyes in the back of his mind, shining like a candle in the night.

     He watched the people talk at him, bringing news of freed prisoners of war, fretting over crop failures, and explaining clan tensions on small, outlying islands, the Fire Lord’s hands resting in the smoothness of his silk-laden lap as the flames before him illuminated the dark floors.

     He slowly became less and less concerned with the matters presented to him, waving the advisors away and saying he needed time to think; that he would have an answer in the morning.

     In fact, it was not until the doors opened, or rather, were thrown open in the middle of a discussion on taxes that he fully directed his attention to his duties.

     The economic advisors turned, wondering who had interrupted them. 

     A man entered the room walking straight and tall, his feet falling on the mirror-like obsidian floor beneath him in a quick, purposeful pattern. He looked about thirty years old, with a neatly trimmed beard and armor indicative of a high-ranking officer.

     Next to him was a baffled guard, apologizing profusely to the Fire Lord for the disruption.

     “My Lord,” the man began, bowing as he approached the throne. “I apologize for my insolence in disrupting you.”

     Zuko held his hand up, almost as confused as the guard, and slightly suspicious, too. “You are forgiven,” he said after a moment. “But who are you, and why are you here?”

     “My name is Captain Tozaro; you assigned me to watch over your father at the Capital City Prison. I request to speak with you.”

     Zuko heard his heart pound in his head as he looked towards the economic advisors, unsure of what to do. Cursing himself for his ignorance all day, he dismissed them, watching them leave the room before turning to the man before him.

     “Speak,” the Fire Lord ordered.

     “My Lord, there is still much support in these lands for your father. While I am certain you are aware of this, I do not believe you realize its magnitude.”

     “What do you mean?” Zuko asked, wondering if he had been blind to the matter when it was presented before him. He would surely notice a bold act of defiance by someone in the throne room, but in his daydreaming, perhaps the young Fire Lord had missed something; word of a disgruntled populace or a nobleman’s forgetting to bow.

     The man spoke sternly, yet without harshness, his voice echoing through the dimly lit chamber and his eyes unflinching. “The people liked your father; they liked your sister. I am sure you are aware of how the capital exults the royal family, and to what extent they can go to tear a member down. They used to think you were a fool with the way you kept trying to capture the Avatar, and it only made the rest of your family seem more fit for the throne in comparison. But you came back after Princess Azula killed the Avatar, and the people proclaimed you a hero.”

     “Then I left…” Zuko finished, his eyes feeling heavy. 

     The captain nodded. “Yes. You disappeared after the eclipse, and the capital called you a traitor; There was a campaign, I remember, to record that you had died during the invasion. They saw you as a disgrace to the nation, a figure of weakness.”

     What else is new ? Zuko wanted to say, looking down at his hands with his brow furrowed. What came out instead was, “Why are you telling me this?”

     “My Lord, the people see you as a weak Fire Lord, and your family is still alive. They have much support, and I fear that if they were to get a bit more, they could put your father—”

     “Ozai cannot rule again,” Zuko interrupted. “Avatar Aang took his firebending.”

     “And what of your sister?” the man asked with a bite to his voice that made Zuko flinch back on instinct. “Can she not bend, My Lord? She’s been imprisoned, yes, but the threat of her escape—or, by Agni, a plot to free her—is always looming over us. The people do dislike you, to the point where a good amount would rather have her rule, even in her madness! And some yet would rather have a non-bending Fire Lord!”

     There was a pause, and the captain took a breath. “There have been attempts to free them, My Lord, taking place in your own city; outside of your own palace. That is what I came here to say. The people are angry, and they are much, much more powerful than you currently seem to believe.”

     The man was gutsy, Zuko thought, if nothing else. With any other Fire Lord, the captain would be banished or imprisoned before he could even think about leaving the room.

     But Zuko was no man for such punishments; he knew them all too well.

     After three years, he would still lay awake at night, feeling the stone of the Agni Kai chamber beneath his hands, hundreds of eyes clawing into him as he begged for mercy.

     He could remember his father’s tone, his words, even if the ensuing pain made the memory foggy.

     You will learn respect …

     The young Fire Lord looked down at Captain Tozaro, awaiting a response.

     And suffering will be your —

    “What must I do to appease them?” Zuko asked, refusing to allow his father’s voice to drown out his own.

     The captain stared into the flames. “You must show force, My Lord. These are troubled times, and the people will take advantage of your inaction. It wouldn’t hurt to transfer Ozai elsewhere, though it does not guarantee there will be no further attempts to free him. I believe you must…” the captain trailed off. “You must show what happens to those who do not support you.”

     “How?” Zuko asked, his eyes narrowing.

     The captain took a deep breath and nodded to himself. “The safest course of action is to sentence Ozai to death, My Lord.”

     The words struck the Fire Lord like an arrow to the neck, and before he had time to process his thoughts on the matter, he was speaking. 

     “What would it matter if I killed him?” he asked. “What would it have mattered if the Avatar had killed him? He would have supporters; we would have people attempting to free Azula.”

     “I understand, My Lord, though if the empire’s supporters lose their greatest figurehead, they will not have the morale to continue to revolt against you. If you yourself were to order his execution, the blow would be all the more devastating.”

    The thought of killing Ozai was a strange one to Zuko. He had always thought that task would go to Aang, and even when it didn’t, he thought he would be safe from the shadows of his father’s regime.

     What a fool he’d been. 

     The problem, Zuko realized, was that the regime was only technically gone. Power had shifted, and the war had ended, but it would take more than a coronation speech to change the minds of the four generations of Fire Nation citizens who had known nothing but war and submission.

     After all, Zuko did not go from trying to capture the Avatar to joining him overnight. 

     The Fire Lord closed his eyes for a moment, his mind a blur of ugly uncertainty. When he opened them, he looked down at the captain and spoke. “I thank you for your advice.”

     The captain bowed and left the room.

    Zuko entered the dining hall that night fiddling with the sleeve of his robe, his brow furrowed still. Before his uncle had the chance to even greet him, the young man spoke.

     “They're are trying to free my father.”

     Iroh’s eyebrows shot up, his face pale.

     After a moment of stunned silence, he sighed and said, “I should have expected it,” and motioned to the seat where his nephew usually sat. 

     Zuko took his seat, hardly touching his food as he explained his predicament to Iroh. “...He wants me to execute him, Uncle. He said it was the only way to prevent a large-scale revolt.”
The old man took a sip of plum wine, his eyes completely focused on the Fire Lord as he said, “He is not wrong.”

     Zuko felt his eyebrows shoot up.

     “That said, he is not entirely right either. A show of force would break their morale, but you don’t have to show such force by executing your father. I would not stop you if you wanted to go through with the captain’s request—such decisions are not mine to make—but know that it’s not your only option.

     “What you must do is transfer your father elsewhere; somewhere in the countryside, perhaps.”

     Zuko nodded. “But how much will that fix? There will still be people on his side, and they’re going to follow him.”

    Iroh was quiet for a few moments. “You’re saying that they’ve tried to break him out?”

     “Yes.”

     “Make a speech in front of the prison. Tell the people that you won’t tolerate dissent and that anyone trying to free your father can join him.”

     “That’s good,” Zuko complimented, finally tasting the strong savoriness of the roast duck and realizing for the first time since dinner began just how hungry he was.

     Iroh laughed, and the atmosphere of the room changed within seconds, but the young Fire Lord found he could not relax so easily. The last few hours had been terribly stressful, to put it mildly, and while things seemed easy sitting at the table with his uncle, he knew that lying in bed that night, he would worry about the predicament the same way he worried about everything else.

     A thought came to the young Fire Lord suddenly as a hawk swooping down to catch its prey as he recalled the inscription on Shozao’s sword.

     It was a well-known fact that his uncle was old; not old enough to remember the Era of Yangchen, of course, but if Zuko’s theory was correct, if relationships between members of the same sex became frowned upon at some point during the war, then there was a slight chance Iroh would remember a time when they were not as reviled.

     “Uncle?” Zuko asked.

     “Yes?”

     “Do you...what do you know about Colonel Shozao?”

     Iroh chuckled. “Shozao? I could tell you all about him. My tutors were very insistent that I learned of his life and achievements.”

    “Then who was Naesun?” Zuko asked, hoping he had remembered the name right.

     “Another military official; I cannot remember which rank.”

     “And the two knew each other?” Zuko asked, his stomach fluttering as he got nearer to the information.

     “Oh yes, they were quite close.”

     “Close how?”

     Iroh raised an eyebrow, taking quick glances in both directions, and Zuko grew afraid that his uncle suspected something.

     “They were close friends,” Iroh said, confused. “Are you feeling well, Zuko?”

     Zuko felt his cheeks warm and cleared his throat. “Yes.” After a moment, he asked, “They were never lovers?”

     Iroh’s eyes widened, his confusion growing before turning to concern. Speaking as one might speak to a feverish person, he stated, “Nephew, you have had a long day. Perhaps you ought to retire early tonight.”

     “I’m sorry,” Zuko said weakly, a lump forming in his throat as he thought of disappointing the old man once again. “I didn’t mean to imp—”

     “It’s alright,” Iroh interrupted. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t know what would make someone ask such a question, but there’s no harm in asking it as far as I know.”

     Zuko silently sighed, his relief almost overshadowing the question of why his uncle had forgiven him for his question.

     Shozao was a national hero, and while patriotic fervor had become much less important since the war ended, to question if he had taken any male lovers was to question his honor, and according to Ursa’s words, his loyalty to the country.

     Iroh was a wise man, as Zuko had finally learned, and his judgment was correct more often than not. He did not buy into Fire Nation propaganda—or at least he hadn’t after returning from Ba Sing Se—but it was still inconceivable that he would not scold Zuko for the question.

     Before he had time to think of a reason he didn’t, his uncle continued, nonchalantly eating his dinner as he said, “Though strangely enough, such relationships are not uncommon in the Water Tribes. I’m sure he was exposed to a few while fighting them.”

     If he had been lit on fire, Zuko would not have known. No flame could be hotter than the red at his cheeks and the tips of his ears at the moment, nor could any pit be deeper than the one that grew in his stomach.

     It didn’t sound true, but there was no reason Iroh would lie about it.

     And if it was true that the Water Tribes did not care, Zuko thought, his heart fluttering with newfound possibility, then perhaps Sokka reciprocated his feelings—at least, would not think him strange for having them.

     Iroh suddenly glanced up at his nephew. “Are you alright?”

     Zuko snapped out of his stupor, blinking and trying to seem calm. “Yes, fine. Thank you.”

    He took a breath and ate the rest of his meal in silence, contemplating as he listened to the bright clink of his chopsticks hitting the side of his bowl.

     While his uncle clearly knew relationships between two men existed, he did not seem to believe Shozao was in one. This, Zuko deduced, meant one of two things: either attitudes on the subject had never changed, and the men on the sword were incredibly bold for inscribing their relationship like that, or attitudes had changed before Iroh’s time.

     This caused a problem for the young Fire Lord, as he was fairly certain that any pre-war documentation on the matter would be incredibly difficult, if not impossible, to find.

     Lucky for him, he heard the grunt of a flying bison overhead, and on it, he knew, was a one-hundred-and-twelve-year-old monk.

Chapter Text

     As soon as dinner had ended, Zuko bid a hasty farewell to his uncle and hurried to the courtyard, wringing his hands as he overheard a conversation between Aang and the caretakers of the royal stables.

    “Maybe if you…” he began. There was a loud grunt from Appa. “Oh, no, I guess that won’t work.”

    “Should we prepare some sort of temporary bison-shelter for him, Avatar?”

    There was silence for a moment as Aang pondered it. “No, I think it’s alright. Appa will probably be more comfortable out here, anyway.”

    “Very well.”

    Zuko turned the corner, nearly bumping into a caretaker exiting the courtyard. As he caught sight of the monk, anxiety fluttered in his stomach.

    “Aang,” he whispered urgently, glancing around to make sure no one was in earshot of the two.

    Aang turned and bowed dramatically. “Fire Lord Hotman.”

    Zuko rolled his eyes and continued without acknowledging the gesture (or the nickname) any further. “I need to ask you something.”

     “Lay it on me.”

     “Did you...do you…” Zuko shook his head. “Let me start over. Sokka’s Water Tribe, right?”

    “Last I checked.”

    “Well,” Zuko began, cursing himself for not thinking the conversation through beforehand, “I’ve heard some...strange things about the Water Tribe.”

    “Like what?”

    Zuko stared off at the massive bison taking a nap on the warm tiles of the courtyard. “Apparently, there are men in the Water Tribe who enter relationships with other men. And from what I understand, it’s not all that uncommon.”

    Aang was quiet for a moment. “Is that strange?”

    Zuko was dumbfounded. “Agni, it’s...Yes, it is!”

    “Huh,” Aang said after a moment. “That’s weird. I mean, it’s not weird, it’s just...I don’t know. It must be a cultural thing. The monks taught me that love transcends gender, so I never really thought it was weird.”

    “They really told you that?”

   “Yeah.”

    Zuko was silent for a moment, a strange sort of hollow feeling developing as he wondered why his great-grandfather had to destroy such an accepting and peaceful culture. 

    Aang looked up at the Fire Lord. “Now, what does this have to do with Sokka?”

    “Oh, right…” Zuko rubbed the back of his neck. “I heard it, and I was just...well, I was just wondering if he’s ever done anything like that.”

    “He’s never really talked about it, so I wouldn’t know.”

    “Isn’t he with Suki, though?”

    “Yeah,” Aang said, nodding. “But he could still like guys.”

    “But he’s with a girl,” Zuko repeated, his brow furrowed.

    “Maybe he likes both.”

    “That can happen?” Zuko asked. “How?”

    “I don’t know. I guess it just does.” Suddenly, the Avatar’s eyes widened, then narrowed, a crooked smile crossing his face as he asked, “Why are you asking?”

    Zuko backed away and put his hands in front of him. “I...I’m not—”

    “Do you like him?” Aang teased, advancing towards Zuko as he retreated.

    “No, I don’t! I swear I don’t!” Zuko felt his breaths hasten, his heart pounding to the beat of the lump forming in his throat.

    As the young, vulnerable Fire Lord crossed his arms in front of him, ready to defend himself, Aang stepped back several feet, his smile disappearing as a regretful and somewhat puzzled expression took its place.

     For a moment, the only sound was that of Zuko’s shaky breathing. 

    Finally, the Avatar spoke.

    “I’m sorry, Zuko.”

    The man—the boy, rather—lowered his arms, taking in his friend’s words, but too ashamed by how easily frightened he was to look at him.

     “I didn’t mean to scare you,” Aang continued. “I was trying to be funny, but…” There was a brief pause as he took a breath. “I guess it’s more serious to you.”

    “I’m sorry,” Zuko sputtered at the ground. 

    “It’s okay. I’m not mad at you. Why don’t we go sit with Appa for a bit?”

    Zuko watched as Aang calmly walked towards the giant bison napping on the ground and sat down, his back against the beast.

    Despite how stupid he thought it would make him look, Zuko found the invitation quite enticing, and did not regret his decision as Appa’s sun-touched fur warmed his back.

    Before he could even think, he blurted, “I...I do like Sokka.”

    “Really?” Aang asked.

    “I—” Zuko groaned, frustrated. “I don’t know! I think that I do, but it’s all so confusing! I’m with Mai, and he’s with Suki, but I don’t think about Mai half as much as I think about him, and...and now I’m the Fire Lord, and I never expected to be, cause I was sixth in line for the throne as a kid, and half the population would rather have my father on the throne, and it’s all just a mess!”

    Aang sighed. “I think I know how you feel. As far as the Fire Lord part goes, anyway. I never exactly expected to be the Avatar. When they told me that I was, I couldn’t handle how much it changed things, and…” he trailed off briefly. “I ran away when everyone needed me.”

    Here, he turned to face Zuko.

    “But it didn’t stay that way forever. Even if I hadn’t been in the iceberg, I would have eventually accepted what I needed to do, even if it changed things. I know it probably feels like you don’t belong to yourself anymore, and I know that’s an awful feeling, but you’re still  you, and there are some things about you that no amount of politics or saving the world or people wanting to see you hurt are ever going to change.” 

    Zuko digested this, gathering himself. 

    “And I guess I can’t really relate to everything going on with you and Mai and Sokka, but I know you’ll work through it.”

    “Please don’t tell anyone how I feel about him,” Zuko begged. “Those sorts of things never happen here. If people found out...I don’t even want to think about it.”

     “Then I won’t tell anyone,” Aang promised. “And I’m sure it’s more common than you think. Maybe you just need to get out more.”

    Zuko took a breath. “Well, that’s actually what I came to talk to you about. I think at some point it was accepted, but something happened during the war that made people change their minds. You said you were in the Fire Nation before the war, right?”

    “Yeah. My friend Kuzon lived in Je Shu.”

    “Do you remember anything about what it was like back then? How those relationships were treated?”

    Aang put his hand to his chin in thought. “I don’t think so, but this one time, I saw an elephant rat wrestling—wait!”

    “What is it?” Zuko asked eagerly.

    “I remember visiting Kuzon right before they told me I was the Avatar, and we were by this wall. There was a poster about it.”

    “What did it say?”

    Aang’s face fell suddenly as he recalled the words, and his eyes seemed to darken. “It said that the Fire Lord had criminalized same-sex relationships.”

    “I knew it,” Zuko breathed.

    “But we didn’t take it seriously then. When Kuzon pointed it out, we laughed. It didn’t seem like something anyone would be able to enforce, and I guess I kind of forgot about it after that. Did it really work?”

    “It did,” Zuko said. “It had to have. But was it completely accepted back then?”

    “I don’t know, Zuko. It seemed like it.”

    “Then why would Sozin criminalize it?” the Fire Lord wondered aloud. “Was there some sort of long-term advantage, or was it just a  preference of his? Did the poster say anything else?”

    Aang closed his eyes in thought. “There was something about the Fire Nation needing children to build a powerful nation for the future...I think the population might’ve been smaller back then. I guess if they wanted a fighting chance in conquering the world, they would need more people to fight for them.”

    “That would make sense,” Zuko whispered, remembering his mother’s words once again.

    “But you know what?” Aang asked, his eyes suddenly regaining their usual brightness.

    “What?”

    “You’re the Fire Lord, Zuko! You can overturn the law!”

     Zuko shook his head. “I don’t think I can. Not right now, anyway. I’m three weeks into my reign and the guards have already caught people trying to sneak weapons into the palace. I don’t need to give anyone else a reason to turn against me.”

    “Oh, right…maybe some other day, then.:

    “Sure.”

     There was a brief, but awkward silence.

     “Regardless,” Aang smirked. “I look forward to being your wingman.”

    “Wingman?” Zuko asked, blinking. 

    “Yeah! I owe it to Sokka, after all. He gave me some good tips about flirting.”

    “He probably doesn’t even like me. Agni, he might not even like guys! You wouldn’t be doing him any favors trying to set him up with me.”

    Aang thought for a moment. “Then I guess I owe it to you for telling me about your dad’s plans for the Earth Kingdom!” he reasoned with his twelve-year-old logic.

    “I don’t think that’s a very fair—” Zuko stopped and groaned mid-sentence. “It doesn’t matter. Sokka’s probably back in the Water Tribe by now, and if anyone finds out how I feel about him, I’ll be humiliated. There’s not really much you can do to set me up with him.”

    “I can write to him,” Aang suggested. “Maybe find out if he swings that way.”

    Zuko furrowed his brow in confusion..

    “You know, if he’s into guys?”

    “Right,” Zuko said, pretending he had heard the expression before. “Just don’t let anyone know anything. And if you’re going to ask him, you’ve got to find a way to make it sound natural.”

    “Oh please, Zuko. I’ll be careful; I’m the master of caution!”

    The young Fire Lord pressed his lips into a straight line, not wanting to weigh the truthfulness of the statement. “You’d better be,” he began, the corners of his lips ticking upwards. “Or I guess I’ll have to start chasing you around the world again.”

    Aang stood up, smiled, and saluted as he grabbed his glider. “You can count on me, hotman!”

    With that, he flew off, leaving Zuko to scratch Appa’s fur.

    “Wingman…” he muttered to the creature, shaking his head. “At least I know he cares.”

Chapter Text

     When he saw Suki approaching him in the hallway, Zuko could not help but think the worst. Surely there had been an attempt to break into the palace, and a mob was after his head.

     Or perhaps nobles had been kidnapped, and their safe return depended on impossibly high demands.

     No, a rebellion had broken out in the former colonies.

     Zuko could rule nothing out so soon after the war’s end. The country’s still, humid air was thick with disloyalty, and for Zuko, paranoia and skepticism of everyone he didn’t know personally seemed to hang above him, close in on him like vines around a tree.

     It didn’t help that he had made a speech in front of Caldera City Prison only a few hours earlier, taking his uncle’s advice and warning any potential dissenters of swift punishment with little mercy.

    But as Suki approached the Fire Lord, she did not seem worried in the slightest; in fact, there was gaiety and confidence in her step. 

    She bowed, if only to be polite, and spoke. “Good day, My Lord.”

     “Has everything been alright?”

     The girl rose and held forth a folded piece of paper, losing her formal demeanor almost immediately. “Everything’s fine, as far as security goes. But that’s not why I’m here. Sokka wrote to all of us, and I thought I’d give you your letter. I knew you weren’t very far.”

     Zuko felt this stomach flip, the thought dawning on him that if Sokka had taken the time to write him a letter, he must have been thinking of him while he was gone.

     He leaned forward slightly, about to take the letter, before stopping to think for a second.

    He couldn’t let himself become so attached. The two had hardly gotten to know each other before Sokka had to return to the South Pole, and while Iroh’s words suggested the possibility that Sokka had feelings for men, it wouldn’t make sense that he had any for Zuko.

     But there was no way to know if Sokka had written to him out of courtesy or genuine desire to speak with him unless Zuko read the letter, and though his better judgment told him to burn the thing as soon as Suki was out of sight, it was curiosity that killed the crococat.

     He gingerly took the letter.

     “He probably thinks he can get a favor or something,” Suki said, laughing slightly. “You know how he is.”

     Zuko forced a laugh. “Yeah. Thanks, Suki. I’ll see you around.”

     “You too!” she said, turning as she hurriedly walked away. 

     When she had disappeared from sight, Zuko glanced around, hid the letter in the sleeve of his robe, and began his way down the hall to a parlor he knew no one had used in years.

     While he knew it was ridiculous to go to such lengths to read an innocent letter in private, Zuko’s face warmed with shame at his excitement over the thing. If anyone (especially his uncle) saw him so flustered over it, he reasoned, then it would only be a matter of time before they figured something was off.

     It seemed to take him hours to reach his destination, always worrying that the letter would slip out of his sleeve in front of some far-too observant servant.

     When he had finally reached the room, he entered and shut the doors, his back to them. Once he was certain of his solitude, he took a breath of relief and unfolded the letter, eager to see its contents.

     Your Most Exquisite Fire-ness,

     It’s been a while, huh? I would have written to you sooner, but the seas were kind of rough, and my dad and I arrived at the Southern Water Tribe later than we expected.

     It’s weird to be back again, especially after being away so long, and especially now that my dad’s here. It’s almost a stretch to believe the war is over, you know? It’s been going on our entire lives, and now it’s just...over. Seeing him back here—you can almost pretend it never even happened. 

     It’s just weird. Sorry for getting so personal.

    There are a bunch of Northerners around. You weren’t there when it happened, but that old Water Tribe guy at Ba Sing Se sent a bunch of waterbenders to help rebuild the South after the Siege of the North. He trained Katara, freed Ba Sing Se with your uncle, and now he’s married to my Gran-Gran. Small world, am I right? Seeing people other than Katara waterbending will definitely take some getting used to for our village, and I guess the Northerners will have to get used to the Arctic Hippos. That should be fun (for me, at least).

     I’ve got to admit, I miss all of you more than I thought I would. I guess you just don’t travel around the world with a bunch of strangers and not make friends with them. 

     Enough about me, though. How are you? Katara says that she hasn’t seen you around much, but I guess being the Fire Lord is a full-time job. 

     I hope to hear from you soon.

    Yours Truly,

    Sokka

     Zuko fretted. 

     All the letter revealed was that Sokka missed him; it gave no clue as to how much or in what way.

    But maybe that wasn’t as meaningless as Zuko thought. If Sokka had written to him simply for the sake of writing to everyone, would he have included the passage about missing everyone in the letter meant specifically for Zuko?

    He shook his head.

    It was a letter written in the common language, not some ancient code, and Zuko was a teenager, not a hardened detective. There was no point in looking that deep into it.

    For the time being, he was content to stare at the paper mindlessly, to be alone with Sokka’s words in a place he would remain unbothered. 

     He didn’t even register the voice muttering curses from outside the door until it had opened. 

     Zuko flinched and turned to see Mai’s pale face in the room’s dimness.

     “Zuko?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”

     “What are you doing here? No one’s used this room in years; how did you even know where it was?”

     “I used to come here all the time when Azula, Ty Lee, and I were kids. No one ever thinks to look here when playing hide and seek.”

     “But what are you doing here now ?”

     “I came to see you,” Mai shrugged. “Well, I came to the palace to see you. Everyone told me you must’ve been busy and that I should wait. I didn’t find you anywhere when I went looking, so I thought it was true and came here to wait. I didn’t expect you to actually be here. What’ve you been up to, anyway?”

     Zuko hesitated a moment longer than he should have, unsure of what to say, and for a moment, Mai’s wooden face creased, showing the slightest bit of concern.

     “Are you alright?”

     “I was reading a letter from my friend, that’s all.”

     “Why’d you come all the way out here to do it?”

     “I wanted to be alone.”

     “Oh.” Mai shifted her weight. “Should I leave you be, then?”

     “No, it’s alright,” Zuko was quick to assure, taking Mai’s hand. “I’ve read the letter; I don’t have anything else I need to do now.”

     Silence came in.

     “Did something happen? To your friend, I mean.”

     “Well, nothing bad , just…” There was no good way to explain it. Even the best way to throw off suspicion was risky, but with no better alternative, Zuko lied, “She went back home, far away, and now I miss her, so…”

     “Hm,” Mai grumbled, her face turning back to wood. 

     Zuko could tell this was not a good sign. “But…” he began, hoping Mai would not sense the truth behind his eyes. “It’s not like I like her or anything, you know? I’m just...I wish I had gotten to know her better. She was nice.”

     “I trust you,” the girl said, looking Zuko straight in the eyes. 

     He could not tell if she was concealing her emotions, as she always did, and dewdrops of sweat collected on his brow at the thought of his own lie coming to light.

     “I’m glad,” he replied, clutching the letter in one hand and Mai’s hand in the other, the words tumbling out of his mouth as graceful as a dragon moose with a broken leg.

     He kissed Mai softly and quickly, as though to affirm his love for her and her alone.

     Once more, he felt nothing.

    After a brief silence, he asked, “Have you eaten yet?”

     “No.”

     “Then tell the servants to prepare tea for us,” he told Mai. “You can wait for me in the main dining room; you know where it is. I’ll be there soon.”

     There was a hint of a laugh in her voice as she rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say, My Lord.”

      With that, she left the room.

      Zuko unfolded the letter, his heart threatening to crawl up his throat.

      Eventually, he knew, Mai would figure out he was lying. His insistence to read the letter alone should have been evidence enough that something was wrong.

     She had sacrificed everything for him at the Boiling Rock, betraying her nation, one of her closest friends just so he could escape, and he repaid her by lying to her face?

      He was one of the few people who had ever changed the numb expression on her wooden face, and he would never love her. He had tried to force himself into it, to focus on the soft curves of her body and the warmth of her lips so many times, and it never worked. 

      But she was fiercely devoted to him, and she had specifically instructed him never to break up with her again; There was a very good chance Mai would personally slit the young Fire Lord’s throat when she realized the truth.

     He was damned if he married her, and he was damned if he broke up with her.

     Strangely, he thought of his conversation with Sokka at the turtleduck pond.

     Just don’t make her too angry , the Water Tribe boy had said. She’s got all those stilettos.

     A groan of frustration scratched its way out of Zuko’s throat.

     He wasn’t supposed to be thinking of Sokka; not with Mai so happy to be with him, not with the constant threat of a revolt at the palace steps.

     He examined the letter, not fully reading it.

     He was a fool.

     Sokka had a girlfriend; he had a girlfriend.

     To the deafening sound of his heavily protesting mind, he burned the letter, watching with mixed emotions as the hastily-painted characters curled in on themselves. 

     When there was nothing left, he took a sharp breath and left the room, ready to join Mai for tea and pretend nothing had ever occurred.