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There was a small fountain in a small garden next to the turtle duck pond. It wasn’t the fountain that Mai and Zuko had fallen into. No, this one was smaller. Zuko remembered that one day, his mother had told him that this fountain was originally built for Uncle Iroh, who’d wanted a quiet place to enjoy his tea even when he was younger. Fire Lord Azulon had commissioned a small fountain in a small, secluded garden and the Fire Nation’s best gardeners had spent the good part of a year building and tending to the small, quiet place. It had a small pond and a shishi-odoshi that occasionally disrupted the quiet of the garden with the clang of bamboo hitting a rock. Ursa had explained that this was used to scare off any loud wildlife or birds, which is why Zuko wasn’t allowed to bring and turtle ducks into the garden. They would be scared by the abrupt sounds. Zuko thought it was weird that turtle ducks could be so easily scared by something so simple. He found the rhythmic interval soothing. It reminded him that even through the quiet of the garden, he wasn’t completely shut off from the world.
These days the fountain was mostly abandoned. Iroh and his son were off somewhere, fighting the Earth Kingdom, and Ozai had never been the biggest lover of tea and tranquillity. The only one to visit the small garden was Zuko. He, like his father, never really took to tea as much as his uncle did, and he never really saw the point in tranquillity when there were fictional monsters to beat up with a new sword or when there were new moves to learn from Piandao. But the longer his uncle and cousin were gone, the more he found himself searching for places with traces of their memory. Zuko’s mother often spent time with him at the turtle duck pond, or read him stories, listened to his ideas of giant dragons and heroic deeds, her eyes soft and warm, her presence comforting and homely. But she never went to Iroh’s garden with him. Zuko never found out why. She had duties to attend to, things to do, and sometimes she just seemed… sad. Closed off, even from Zuko.
Zuko had learnt that over the years that when his mother stared off into the distance, a yearning, mourning expression on her face that he did not understand, there was little that he could do apart from leaving her be for a few hours. He’d taken to exploring the gigantic palace, seeing if he could find new places, undiscovered parts of the palace that had been unused for generations. On one of those trips, he’d ended up staring out of a window in a small tower, when he suddenly heard the clang of the shishi-odoshi . His focus was directed down onto the small garden and he’d suddenly remembered the times when he, Iroh and Lu Ten had sat in the garden, Lu Ten settling Zuko on his lap and listening to Iroh tell an outlandish tale he’d picked up on his travels. Zuko had felt warm all over and from that moment on, he spent a few hours every week in the garden. He rarely did anything but sit on the low stone bench, dangling his feet and watching the mesmerizing up and down of the shishi-odoshi . Zuko was never disturbed. The only one who knew where he was during times like these was his mother, and she never came, always waited for him to return to her and return to the world. Zuko was the only one who spent time in the garden.
Or so he thought. One day, after he’d gotten in a stupid fight with Azula again and their mother had scolded them both sternly, Zuko had stormed off in a rage, making his way to the garden with a few detours in case Azula was following him. He’d calmed down a bit when he arrived, ready to spend a few hours staring into nothing and feeling the soothing warmth of the garden and his memories calm him back down so the turmoil inside of him finally stopped . But when he stepped into the garden, there was a sound that wasn’t supposed to be there.
The garden was always filled with a low, soothing gurgle of water flowing out of the bamboo and the regular clang of the rock. Sometimes there was a whisper of wind blowing through the grass and the enclosing hedge and trees, but the rest of the garden was quiet. Zuko was familiar with this quiet, he loved it, enjoyed it, appreciated the repetitive sounds and their soothing nature. On that day however, there was… sniffling? Slowly, Zuko made his way towards the fountain, slightly annoyed that there appeared to be someone who had intruded on his own personal safe haven, but when he rounded the last hedge, that annoyance was quickly squashed.
Mai was sitting on the stone bench, her legs pulled up to her chest and her face buried in her arms. Silent, slow sobs wracked her small body as she clung to herself. Zuko felt something fragile inside him clench at the sight. It felt wrong to see Mai cry. He didn’t want to see her cry. He wanted to see her happy. Mai didn’t smile much, but when she did it felt… right. It felt like something in Zuko’s albeit short and messy life finally fit .
For a few seconds, he was rooted to the spot, reeling from the realisation. He took a few moments to collect himself, his heart speeding up. Slowly, making sure that his steps made a noise on the slim, pebble-covered path towards the bench, he made his way over to Mai. She tensed up but didn’t look up from underneath her hands. Her body stilled and Zuko cleared his throat.
‘Mai?’, he asked quietly, his voice cracking slightly. If he wasn’t imagining it, the tension in Mai’s shoulders let up slightly. Unsure what to do, Zuko stood in front of her for a few seconds, before nudging her slightly to the left so he’d be able to take a seat next to her. Mai moved to the side slowly and Zuko sat down, softly leaning his shoulder against hers, feeling the soft shivers that were still running through Mai’s body.
For a long while neither of them said anything. Mai kept sniffling into her arms but slowly, the shivers died down and she leaned against Zuko’s shoulder more firmly. Zuko felt a tingling warmth emanate from his arm. He’d never really felt anything like it before. There was something addicting about the feeling that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Mai slowly lifted her head from her arms, letting her legs down to dangle next to Zuko’s. They still didn’t say anything. Zuko watched Mai from the corners of his eyes, but she stared resolutely ahead.
Zuko didn’t know how long the two of them just sat there, listening to the soft breeze, the gurgling of the water and the clang of the shishi-odoshi , their arms firmly pressed together, their hands in their respective laps, staring into nothingness. He’d always felt oddly at peace in this garden, fearing that if anyone ever disturbed it, his peace would be destroyed. Strangely enough, Mai’s presence in his little bubble away from the stressful, loud, painful world where his father yelled at him for simply existing and his sister bested him in everything, didn’t destroy the quiet.
If he’d stopped to think about it, Zuko would have found that Mai sitting next to him only made him feel more at home.
Slowly, the light in the garden started dimming down, the bright early autumn sun setting behind the roofs of the palace, bathing the garden in a golden light. The last rays of sunshine hit the small field of flowers growing around the fountain, illuminating them in a wave of red and gold.
‘This is my favourite time here’, Zuko said, finally breaking the silence.
‘Hm. I guess it’s neat’, Mai mumbled, her voice scratchy from crying and neglect.
Zuko smiled. He turned towards Mai, who was looking at the golden and dark red flowers. She had the most miniscule smile on her face and Zuko felt his heart speed up again.
‘If you want you can come look again. Tomorrow, I mean. If you want that that is. You don’t have to, I mean-‘, Zuko started, feeling his face heat up at his fumbling.
‘Okay. Don’t make a big deal out of it, Zuko’, Mai answered, shooting him a short glance, her eyebrow raised.
‘I won’t! I promise!’, Zuko said, nodding enthusiastically, ignoring the fact that he was probably blushing like an idiot.
Mai let out a huff that could have either been a sigh or a laugh.
‘Just shut up and watch the sunset with me, idiot’, she whispered, turning back to look out over the roofs of the palace.
‘Oh-Okay’, Zuko said, smiling at her dumbly.
Unbeknownst to both of them, their little garden would become a safe haven, away from the world, away from their parents. Over the years, the two of them would sometimes spend hours sitting in silence, staring into the distance, exchanging hushed whispers.
Many years later the small garden next to the turtle duck pond became the place where Mai and Zuko’s daughter took her very first steps, illuminated by the golden light of the setting sun as Mai and Zuko were sitting on the small stone bench they’d shared so many years ago.
‘She’s doing it, she’s doing it!’, Mai exclaimed, her voice quivering and uncharacteristically high.
Laughing brightly, Izumi waddled around the small fountain, reaching up to pull down the shishi-odoshi , making it clang against the stone loudly. Rushing over to pick up his daughter, Zuko chuckled and said:
‘Don’t make a big deal out of it, Mai.’
Mai, who was still sitting on the bench looked up at her husband holding their baby daughter in his arms and a small, soft, warm smile spread over her lips. Zuko thought she looked like everything he’d ever wanted.
‘Just shut up and watch the sunset with me’, Mai whispered, her eyes never leaving Zuko’s. Zuko could feel his breath catch as the golden light encased his wife and she held out her hand, asking him to take it and sit with her. And well, Zuko would have been an idiot not to.
Zuko sat down, his daughter propped up on one arm and his other hand clasped tightly in Mai’s.
‘Okay’, he whispered, craning his neck so he could lean his head on Mai’s shoulder. It felt like home.