Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It starts after the pirates. 

A man approaches. He’s haggard, the kind that Zuko sees in Jee when he thinks no one is watching, in Uncle when his guard slips, when he looks in the mirror. 

He stops a few feet within Zuko and holds this ground against the scowl Zuko’s face is permanently skewed in. 

“You found the Avatar,” he says. It’s not a question. 

“Yes,” It reeks hollow on his tongue. 

“Then you can find my daughter.” 

Zuko stares. The man’s eyes are the soft browns of most Earth Kingdom citizens, but he doesn’t flinch away from the reds of Zuko’s uniform, nor the Fire that he so obviously is. It’s a kind of desperation that’s familiar. That's left Zuko being comfortable around pirates, bounty hunters and murderers. Even if he doesn't agree with them, hates them even, they are a means to an end, and that makes it worth it. 

“Your daughter?” Zuko in lieu of anything else. He can admit, only to himself, that he doesn’t have a lead on the Avatar at this moment in time and the excuse still sits on his tongue, but he hears the man out because - well. Maybe it’s a little like looking in a mirror. 

“Shoh. She’s nine. It’s only been a few hours. I woke up and she was gone.” 

Uncle and the Lieutenant are suspiciously silent behind him, and Zuko can feel their steadiness, soft waves of that natural Firebender heat, but it doesn’t falter. They’re waiting to see what he’ll do, to see how he'll be an ass about this situation. 

Zuko refuses to look back. Fuck them, anyway. “She’s nine?” 

The man nods. He meets Zuko’s eyes in that steady, blank look that strikes him somewhere he can’t place. “She’s all I have.” 

That’s all he needs to hear, really. 

Children don’t just disappear. People don’t just disappear. Other people just stop looking, stop asking questions, stop poking the platypus-bear. Zuko’s never been very good at sitting back and letting life walk over him, and he’s not about to start now. 

Shoh is nine, and her parents love her. She’s nine, and she’s missing, and her father stands in front of him like some desperate, crumbling statue of strength and hopelessness. 

Zuko isn’t this man’s ally. But he knows what being at the very edge of despair feels like, and he can’t ignore it, even if he wants to. Even if it’s a waste of his time. 

If there’s one thing Zuko has learned, is that people always talk. Secrets don’t stay secrets forever. There are very few people that can take their cold hard truths to the grave and die with it. 

He can pick a natural gossip from a mile away, and maybe Jee says his habit of eavesdropping is ‘rude as all fuck’ but it’s got him more leads than anything else. 

Manu’s girl is missing, one lady says. She’s young, worried. She looks to the sky like it’s there she will see the child, like the gods will return her. 

Those damned smugglers, the other lady says. She’s older than Iroh, face weathered from hardships Zuko will never know. He keeps his curses to himself this time, because pirates are one problem, but people smugglers are a whole other, and one that Zuko has staunchly avoided interacting with. They’re unreliable at best, and at worst… 

It’s not something he wants to think about. 

The port is small, and there are fortunately a finite number of buildings to search, and Zuko makes a quick go of it. He leaves the armour on the ship in favour of silent steps as he peers in.  Most of them are derelict, which makes things harder, because that opens up more options for someone trying to hide. But Zuko searches them all anyway, peers into homes lived in and watches for anything unusual, anything out of place before he drifts to the next house. 

Business owners are quiet, looking over Zuko’s poorly hidden muscular features under thin cloth and golden eyes and clam up, never mind what’s at stake. He’s just another soldier to them, and they have nothing to sell to him, products or words. He quietly notes the stalls anyway, using hostile moments of interaction to watch for anything that goes deeper, anywhere that’s wide enough to hide a child or a few. 

It doesn’t lead anywhere. 

“You have a smuggling problem here,” Zuko takes it to the sailors on the docks. They’re grumpy and as intolerable as he is. Maybe that’s why Zuko generally gets along with them. But sailors always notice more than they speak, and if you ask the right questions, you might get the answers you’re looking for, or at least a point in the right direction. 

“Something like that,” the fisherman says. He reeks of fish guts, like Zuko reeks of sweat. The sun is always more brutal in the west, and it shortens tempers and heightens emotions. 

“A child is missing. I’m looking for her,” Zuko says. 

“That so?” The fisherman doesn’t budge, but neither does Zuko.

“Didn’t realise you had a soft spot for child-snatchers,” he thinks of Manu. The blank, hard look of someone at the end of their rope, and decides that being soft about this is not something he’ll ever be. 

The fisherman meets his gaze then. He has a storm in his eyes, raging and blistering, but he doesn’t look at Zuko like he’s a kid, like he’s an annoyance. Assessing, maybe. 

“You’re protecting yourself, I get it,” Zuko pushes. “She’s been missing only a few hours. There is hope.” 

The fisherman looks west - the ocean extends out as far as they can see. The Fire Nation is directly over the horizon, and Zuko is here. It’s bizarre, and he can’t dwell on it longer than a moment. 

“Rumour has it they’re taking them to Ba Sing Se,” the fisherman says. 

“That’s fucking far,” and fucking stupid, but Zuko keeps that to himself. 

“And risky,” the fisherman says, agreeing with Zuko's unspoken thoughts. So, it’s likely a red herring. Ba Sing Se is near the eastern coast, this lonely little port is on the other side of the country. That’s a long way to travel, and a long opportunity for someone to escape, for children to get sick, for someone to intervene. 

“There are other cities,” the fisherman says. Zuko’s attention snaps to him, and there must be something to his intensity, as the man takes a near unnoticeable step back.

Omashu is not that far to the south, just a few days ride on a Komodo rhino. “You’re sure?” 

“No. But I’ve been around a while, kid.” 

Zuko bows, mostly because he’s relieved after three other sailors had nothing to offer to him and the hours keep ticking, and Shoh is nine.

He doesn’t stay to see the fisherman’s reaction, it’s not important. 

Jee wants to come with him, and Zuko says yes, because he’s tracking people smugglers and a little girl, and he’s done some stupid shit before, but he won’t say no to some help beating the fuck out of child-snatchers. And he doesn’t hate the lieutenant. Not that it’s something he’ll admit out loud. 

It’s not a solid lead, but it is something, and it is what makes the most sense. The port is small, and Zuko already searched it. They could have hours on him, but there’s only one road to Omashu wide enough to carry significant cargo, and Zuko won’t let Shoh disappear. Never. 

The thing is, Zuko is stubborn. Stubborn to the point where the lieutenant thinks he’s annoying, and the helmsman thinks he’s kind of weird. He’s never given up on anything before, and why anyone that’s known him for longer than two minutes would think that he’d let Shoh slip through his grasp severely misunderstood him on the very foundations of who he is. 

Too bad the people smugglers don’t know him. 

They catch up. The Komodo Rhino’s aren’t happy being run as ragged as this, but it’s worth it even just for the look of unmitigated fear that crosses their faces as Zuko and Jee make their presence fucking known. 

They’re smugglers, not fighters, and Zuko and Jee outmatch them on strength alone. It’s hard not to be scared of two people who tore your operation to pieces like it was a plaything, and not something so depraved that people would rather board their windows than even speak out about the things they know. 

Shoh is hidden away in a cage along with three other children in one of the carriages, three more in the other from Jee’s hoarse, desperate shouts of relief, and Shoh reaching out her tiny arms to his own as he pulls her close, scooping up as many children as he can is the easiest decision he’s made since - since then. 

They leave the smugglers where they stand, belongings stripped from them, nothing more than the clothes on their back left to them. Zuko and Jee don’t kill them, but whoever they owed the children to might. 

“I found you once, I will find you again,” he says, and he finds he means it, it rings true and hard, because Shoh is in his arms and her father and mother will hold her in their arms tonight, instead of the horrible unknown sitting on their chests, crushing them day by day, wondering what happened.

“Don’t give him a reason to go looking,” Jee adds. His voice booms across the clearing, a finality. All that matters are the children, and Zuko will bring them home. 

A port and a thousand rumours to the future, a woman walks up to him, a bag of gold coin in one hand, and a raging despair in her eyes that rivals Zuko’s at his best and forces it into his palm. 

“I need you to find someone for me,” she says. “My fiancé.”

It takes Zuko only a moment to say yes. 

Chapter Text

Jee is treating him differently. 

Something happened before the storm, because Zuko knows that saving the helmsman wouldn’t have been enough to change Jee’s mind about him. Even if Zuko’s words so obviously wrung hollow in light of his actions - he cares. This stupid crew of his is his responsibility. Zuko is the captain, and he won’t be responsible for a ship full of dead men. 

The map Rasuk got from one of the merchants at the last port is embarrassingly awful. The contouring of the land itself is a tragic, poorly proportioned catastrophe of lines, especially when Zuko has the experience of climbing some of the mountains himself - both the Air Nomads and the Earth Kingdom people build their spiritual temples high, and Zuko searched everyone he could reach in his search for the Avatar. 

Not to mention that the coastal markings look suspiciously ludicrous. He’s sailed to Mo Ce Sea, and the depth does not drop that quickly from the shore, larger cruisers would not be able to come all the way to the pier, unlike what the map indicates. 

The cartographer had to have been either drunk or a fool, because for him, on the wide open ocean, it is useless.

The sun is perpetually stuck behind thick swaths of cloud, and it’s not like a few clouds have ever stopped even a novice Firebender from knowing exactly where the sun is in the sky, but it’s another thing that he has to deal with. And Jee won’t stop staring. 

Zuko’s never thought Jee to be a man lacking tact. Maybe his lieutenant is not afraid of dancing the line of mutiny, but he’s not an idiot, and it’s not like Zuko’s the first burn victim he’s ever seen. He nearly calls him out on it, but then his gaze is on Uncle, a warmth and calmness that he hasn’t seen on him in a while radiating from him in strong unrelenting waves, and he can’t in good nature destroy the odd middle ground he’s found with Jee if it means compromising whatever good mood Iroh’s found himself in, playing Pai Sho with Rasuk. 

Regardless, the map is still scrunched in his hand, the sun is still stuck behind the clouds, and they need to stop again if they don’t want to beach themselves like the incompetent assholes they’re all pretending not to be. 

Rasuk at least has the decency to look a little bit guilty, but not guilty to actually do anything about it, so he’s not sure it means much. 

“We need to land again,” Zuko says. He glares up at the sun behind the clouds, desperate for the heat on his neck, to feel energised. 

“Well, according to the map-“ Jee starts, a grin cracks his face open because he knows the map is an embarrassment to all cartographers across every fucking border and will be little fucking help.

“Please, for all that is good, shut the fuck up,” Zuko gripes back. He could burn the map, but maybe that’s a level of foolishness that he’s not quite willing to breach. Plus, Uncle would throw him over board, and he’d deserve it. “Looks like Rasuk has himself permanently removed from any and all navigational responsibilities,” he says, mostly to stop Jee from saying anything else. 

Rasuk grins slyly at Zuko then, and that’s also new. He wouldn’t have done that before the storm that nearly sunk them. Bizarrely, He can’t bring himself to be upset about it. 

“Now you can finally pursue your true passion: map making,” Jee offers a hand out to take it out of Zuko’s hands, like he can decipher the map’s true meaning through the shaky lines and what is probably a blood stain in the lower right corner better than he could twenty minutes ago. The merchant was likely thrilled that they were even able to get the map off the shelf to be looked at, let alone sold. 

“No,” Zuko says just as Iroh turns to face the two of them from the deck. “Or finding people.” Iroh says. 

“No,” He says it again. There’s a moment of silence. “It won’t become a habit.” All three sets of eyes meet his, and they don’t believe him. 

“She was nine. A child. What was I supposed to do?”

Jee raises a singular eyebrow, challenging Zuko’s words. 

“Forgive me for speaking out,” Rasuk starts, and Zuko bristles without meaning to. He waits a moment until Zuko meets his eyes again, like he’s asking for permission. Rasuk takes the moment after Zuko doesn’t stop him. 

“But making potential allies will be far beneficial than making enemies all over the country. It’s smart. For the long-run, Captain.” 

Rasuk doesn’t look away until Zuko does, like he’s trying to make sure Zuko is really listening to him“It won’t become a habit,” Zuko says again, but even to him, it doesn’t seem to hold it’s conviction of a few moments before.

The sun peaks out from behind the clouds, a stream of heat hitting Zuko’s face like Agni herself heard his lies. 

Whatever. It won’t become a habit. 

They find a port without sinking, or something piecing the hull or anyone getting thrown overboard, which is nothing short of a miracle in of itself, so Zuko should have known that Something would go wrong. A woman walks up to him with a surety that he’s rarely seen and shoves a bag of gold coin in his hand, she only wants one thing. 

“You’re the one who found the little girl, those children?” she shoves the bag back at him when Zuko tries to return it. “My fiancé is missing, please, you have to help me,” she’s caught somewhere between rage and unspeakable despair, eyes blazing, but her hands shake. 

“I’ll give you more if you want,” the woman ploughs through. She loses the surety of a few moments before as she’s seeing him up close, their armour, their ship, everything. But still, she meets Zuko’s eyes and doesn’t back down. 

He can already hear the crew griping him about this the second the opportunity presents itself, eating his own words before he’s been off the ship for more than an hour. 

She’s scared of him, but it didn’t stop her from approaching him when she realised who he was, from whatever rumour she’d stumbled upon.  

It’s astonishing that she even found him, this stop being as unplanned as it is, but he does know what it’s like to have someone in your life disappear, to not know where to look or how to look for them. He hasn’t thought about her in a while. It sits in his chest like a stone. 

He can help this woman. 

Still, it won’t become a habit. 

Mila’s fiancé is a mysterious man. Rich landowner, rents out plots of land to farmers and a percentage of the money they make goes to him and the money rolls in pretty easily. 

It sounds off, but not in any way that Zuko can articulate. But Mila is the one in front of him now, desperate enough to put her fear aside to ask him for help, so of course he says yes. 

Mila tells him that her fiancé, Pomon, would never leave her unprompted with no warning, disappearing into the ether with no explanation and all his belongings where he left them, and Zuko’s inclined to believe her, or at least believe that she believes it. 

She’s genuine, and it’s not hard to tell. Her hand finds Zuko’s wrist, and she holds it gently in hers but the urgency isn’t missed, like she’s terrified that he’s going to up and leave her at any moment. 

Few are the moments where people are willing to throw everything else to the wayside for another, but there is something off here, what it is, he’s not sure. 

Zuko leaves Jee and Iroh to look after Mila and find a better map, and tries to brush off the new look of eager intrigue on Jee’s face like he’s watching a particularly interesting play. He can’t understand the change’s origins, and he doesn’t think Jee would tell him anything if he asked. But, well the change isn’t exactly bad, and Mila still hasn’t let go of his wrist. He decides to focus on that. 

Mila and Pomon live near the port, and it’s mostly a lucky fluke that Zuko just happened to show up as Pomon vanished. There are plenty of folks who know of the couple, and people have a lot to say, even before they’ve opened their mouths. It’s the way they tense, eyes shift to Zuko, sweeping over him trying to determine his motivations. 

Zuko’s never been as good at Azula reading people, but hostility is what he’s used to, that’s what he’s good at. He can work with that.  

The man at the fruit stand beats around the truth like that’s his job and selling overripe fruit is just for kicks when Zuko asks if he knows of Mila and Pomon, that it’s urgent. 

“He’s,” and he trails off, hands tugging at the seam of his shirt, eyes looking everywhere but at Zuko. It’s the third sentence he’s started and failed to finish, and it points to all the wrong things. 

“He’s what?” Zuko presses, only because there’s something here, and this man won’t fucking tell him. 

A thick blanket of tension settles over them both. There’s a sudden darkness coats the man’s features. 

“This is a farming town, sir. Sure, the port’s here, but that’s not where the money’s made for us. It’s hard enough to make a living as it is, but Pomon’s been increasing the rent bit by bit over time. People are unhappy with him.” 

 - And Zuko’s instinct’s confirmed. 

What it means for where he is, well, it opens up a few avenues. 

“Unhappy?” He wants more than that. Unhappy means something different here, and if the fruit vendor is nervous about it, then the problem runs far deeper.  

He peels his gaze to him like Zuko’s got him in a choke hold and squeezing the information out of him. The dramatics were old before Zuko even spoke to the man, still, he clearly is in the loop about some gossip, and Zuko wants to hear it. 

He pulls a coin from the pouch at his side and places it on the bench next to the tomatoes that he wouldn’t feed to his Komodo Rhinos, and levels the man with a glare. 

The man doesn’t smile, but the blink-and-you-miss-it twitch of his lips says he wants to. The vendor continues, “I think people want him… you know,” he looks around in big swooping gestures, eyes blown.

He leans in close to Zuko’s ear. “Dead.”

Pomon is a weird man, able to work a business like no one else and could easily be living as an upper-class Earth Kingdom citizen with his soon-to-be wife operating well within the law, and well within the satisfaction of the farmers. Why risk it all? Why enrage the very people that supply your lifestyle? 

Greed. And he get’s that confirmed from a farmhand after a few wasted hours of trying to find a loose mouth. She’s bought fresh rope and a scowl fierce enough to match’s Zuko’s. They're standing just off from the main body of shops, but close enough that anyone could hear them if they were trying to. Security for her, Zuko realises, only much, much later.

There’s a burn scar on her arm that stretches from her elbow and disappearing under her shirt. She stares at Zuko’s scar for only long enough that there’s a strange moment of shared pain, even if Zuko is who he is. 

“Why is the Fire Nation looking for Pomon? I thought you had more important shit to get to?” 

His hackles rise automatically, and obscenities are on the tip of his tongue, but he holds back at the last second - people won’t tell him things if they hate him, and Mila deserves to know where her fiancé is. He won’t fuck this up for her. It must show on his face though, because the farmhand’s already turning away, a roll of her eyes, and Zuko scrambles, decides to go with the truth and hopes it sticks. 

“They’re not. His soon-to-be wife is though. She asked me to find him.” 

The farmhand feels no love lost for Pomon, and Zuko doesn’t need her to say it to know it, but as far as Zuko can tell, Mila’s only crime thus far has been loving a man who doesn’t deserve it.  

She doesn’t walk away, so Zuko tries again. “I don’t care about him, but I do care about Mila, and I won’t ignore her suffering. She asked me to find him, so where is he?” 

More silence, but it’s not as heavy. She looks at him only after she’s sure he’s as determined as he says. He doesn’t budge. 

“He was alive last I saw him. Mila should take what she can and run. That man’s not worth the pebbles he steps on.”

Zuko holds her gaze, searching her face, but she’s a stone wall in front of him, the scowl doesn’t budge. 

“I’ll mention it to her. He’s that bad?” 

The farmhand shrugs. “He destroyed people’s lives because of his own greed. Starved people, humiliated them. What more is there to say?” 

He purses his lips. His mind drifts back to the crew, to Jee smiling at him and Rasuk feeling comfortable enough to speak with him freely, and what it was like before the storm - a near mutiny and Zuko facing it like he didn’t incite it. It’s harder this way, Zuko thinks. But - then Pomon hated and rightfully so - and how can earning respect not be worth it. 

He likes the banter he has with Jee, and he appreciates Rasuk’s quiet digs and astute observations. He likes the helmsman’s stories, and he likes it when they don’t look at him in disgust. 

He breathes deeply, holds it just long enough to feel the burning of fire in his stomach before releasing it. 

Zuko may be a fool, but at least he’s not fool enough to realise he’s own behaviour staring back at him. Maybe Zuko didn’t rob his crew, but it’s all the same tyrannical behaviour that he doesn’t like reflected back at him. 

The farmhand is watching him, and Zuko isn’t sure if she’s scared of him or not, but her uneasiness isn’t a question, the space between them may only be less than a metre, but the abyss is something they both can sense. 

The differences between them aren’t as deep as they think, but it doesn’t make the darkness any brighter. 

“I need to see him for myself,” he says.

She readjusts the rope at her shoulder, looks out beyond him, north-east. “There’s an abandoned barn not far from here, you can’t miss it. Some of the farmers took him out there.” 

He hears the words she doesn’t say, and decidedly doesn’t think about what could have been for him if not for whatever events occurred before the storm. This man doesn't deserve the sympathy. He's not in Zuko's situation.

“Mila asked you to find him, right?” Her gaze doesn’t waver from his eyes. “Then do that, but leave the farmers that did this out of it.” 

He’s almost insulted at the idea of it, that she thought he would have done such a thing, but all he is to her is another red uniform, and his motivations to her are questionable at best. He lets it drop. 

“You have my word,” he nods at her, and she returns it. 

He peels away from her, north-east on foot, in search for a wanna-be tyrant for a woman he doesn’t know. 

The barn is just as easy to spot as the farmhand said, and for all the stories strung together and the formation of a person that Zuko had formed in his head, he’s the exact approximation of pathetic he’s envisioned. Curled up in the fetal position, arms wrapped around his legs, breaths short and stringy. Desperate for air and yet being completely useless about it. 

He stands there for a moment, and everything that he thought he’d say evaporates - because none of that matters. Not really. He’s lucky the farmers didn’t kill him, he’s lucky that the townsfolk didn’t decide to intervene, he’s lucky he has a fiancé who adores him, he’s lucky to have a whole future set out for him. The only one to blame for his downfall is him, and Zuko can’t really find it in him to feel bad for him. 

“Pomon,” he barks out, louder than he means too, but this wouldn’t have happened if not for his own greed, and Mila wouldn’t be terrified enough to run to a complete stranger of an enemy nation to help her. The man flinches. 

“Your fiancé is looking for you.” 

He sobs again, and Zuko grabs the man by the collar of his shirt and pulls him to his feet. He’s heard enough today about this man, about all the ways he hurt people. 

Time for Mila to get her husband back, and for her to get the truth. Zuko drags Pomon all the way to the dock, thankfully he's not foolish enough to think that Zuko’s grip on his collar is something that can be broken. 

Jee had taken Mila on his quest to get a better map, and the crew had served her tea and lunch as they waited. It’s a calm scene he interrupts - dirty from the arid land and sweaty from hours of searching and trying to get answers, and he’s pissed and not trying to hide it. Pomon is a quivering mess under his arm, and Zuko drops him to the floor of the ship. His wounds are superficial. Zuko doesn’t have the patience to treat them. 

“She deserves the truth, Pomon,” Zuko says. “So tell it.” 

And he does.

They leave the port behind, and they leave Mila with a set of horrifying truths to reconcile and a man trembling at her feet who doesn’t deserve her. They leave the farmers alone, and a new, usable map is in Jee’s hands. 

“Not a habit yet, sir?” Jee says, Zuko can hear his smirk. 

“Show me the fucking map,” he says, and he only pretends to be upset about Jee’s grin, and the helmsman’s soft echoes of laughter.  

Chapter Text

Zuko’s met bounty hunters before. They’re professional trackers, unlike him, although they’re only useful to employ when the one you’re looking for isn’t believed to not exist so naturally, as he’s run around the world chasing spirits, old legends and local myths, surfing the rumour mill like a wave, he hasn’t had an extended engagement with them. 

If they’re all like this bounty hunter, he thinks that’s for the better. 

She’s standing in front of him, the stowaway hidden on Zuko’s ship slung across her shoulder, a neutral expression guarding delicate but brutal features as her eyes run over him. She pretends the sheet of metal she just tore off his ship isn’t laying hazardously feet from them. Zuko steps towards her, hands clenched.  

“Wait,” She says, and for some reason, Zuko listens. Her voice is smooth as butter like it could slice through anyone. “You’re the Fire kid who’s been stirring up trouble around the ports,” she says. The hand not keeping the stowaway at her shoulder finds her hip, and she tilts her head ever so slightly like she’s a curious bird and Zuko’s something shiny she found on the ground. 

For an irrational second, Zuko forgets what she’s referring to, and instead, all Zuko can think about is the night at the stronghold that resulted in a head injury and a rumbling pit of regret in his stomach and the Avatar out of his reach once again. Selfish, and yet it still got him no closer to home and far deeper into a land of treachery that needs to stay fucking buried if Zuko wants to so much as look in the direction of the Fire Nation again. 

“I haven’t been stirring up trouble,” he hisses, but before the words have left his mouth he knows it’s too defensive. She raises an eyebrow. 

“Most Fire Nation don’t bother with pleasantries, let alone with rescuing kids and shitty boyfriends,” 

Zuko can’t think of all that right now, but he can think of is the wrecked state of his ship’s deck and the person responsible for it right in front of him. 

“You broke my ship,” he says.

“All part of my job, kiddo,” she says, apparently unfazed with Zuko's refusal to answer. She grins, goes to turn around and mount her shirshu, but Zuko grabs her bicep and pulls her back. She has the gall to look pissed at him as if she didn’t just destroy part of his deck. 

“Pay me part of your bounty, and I’ll drop it,” he says. He doesn’t think the strange skinny man over her shoulder would be worth much unless there’s a rich Earth Kingdom noble that wants this man captured and is willing to pay up, but either way, the truth remains the same. Zuko’s funds are running low, and his ship has a gaping hole in the fucking deck. 

The bounty hunter meets his eyes, and for a second he sees them trail over his scar before she meets him head-on once again.

“Fine,” she says. She flings the man’s paralysed body over the back of the Shirshu and hooks her foot into the stirrup and launches herself up with all the gracefulness of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing. She offers him a hand down, which Zuko decidedly doesn’t take. Armour or no armour, Zuko is far from clumsy. He slides his foot into the stirrup after the bounty hunter moves her foot and grabs hold of the billet strap and throws himself over the saddle. 

“I may have a better idea than splitting the coin, although it depends on a rumour I heard,” she says, quieter this time, like she’s testing the waters. 

Zuko can see the entire crew from up top the Shirshu, faces a mixture of confusion and amusement, a laugh bubbling out of Yaimu’s throat emphasising the strangeness of this entire situation. 

“What?” he says. His eyes aren’t on her, but on the back of Iroh disappearing down one of the hallways, the sign he used in the military for wait flicking across his hands in that sure way that leaves no room for argument. 

“Is it true? That you found the Avatar?” She twists to see him, her face may as well have been carved out of stone for all the information Zuko can capture from it. 

It’s different to how others have asked. No sense of urgency, no awe. The bounty hunter isn’t scared, of all emotions, that is one Zuko knows how to pick up on anyone, but it’s something close. Trepidation, maybe. 

“Yes,” he takes a gamble with the truth, or at least outright admitting it rather than trying to weasel his way out with terrible lies. 

The bounty behind Zuko makes a distressed noise, and Zuko glances his back at him. His eyes are blown wide, face sweaty, gazing up at Zuko with disbelief, with hope.  

The bounty hunter pulls a sheet of paper out of her breast pocket, bringing his attention back to her. She hands it to him, her small grin leaking back into her face. 

“Help me catch this guy, and I’ll split it. That should be enough to fix your ship, with a few leftover to get as drunk as you sailors want to right?” 

The paper is crinkled, but that doesn’t hinder Zuko from seeing the face on the paper - a red mask, plain, with two holes for eyes and no mouth. If it's from a play, it’s not from one that Zuko recognises, the one thousand gold coin bounty on the bottom of the page makes him pause. 

He spares a glance at the door where Iroh disappeared, catches Jee’s eyes caught in a silent plea to be careful. They can’t hear the conversation from where they’re standing, but it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what direction it’s going. 

“You’re a bounty hunter, it’s your job. You don’t need me.” 

She looks down at her Shirshu, giving her a pat on the back of her neck. “For people? No. For a fucking myth? Seems that’s your speciality. And I want this one under my belt.” 

Iroh returns, Zuko’s swords in one hand, a bag in the other, and an expression on his face that Zuko hasn’t seen before. He’s not smiling, but there’s a brightness to his expression that leaves Zuko a little put out. 

He hands Zuko the swords and the bag like he knows that Zuko’s going to end up doing more than he said before he disappeared into the ship, and sure enough, Zuko is going to have to confirm it for him. 

He holds up the wanted poster, the crew shuffle closer to peer at it, eyes going wide at the bounty. “I’ll help the bounty hunter capture this man, and then we’ll have more than enough money for repairs.” He turns to Jee, who he knows has been lamenting over the budget for the last few days, a silent acknowledgement. He nods and doesn’t expect the smile he gets in return. Zuko turns away quickly, mostly so he doesn’t have to think of an appropriate response. 

“It shouldn’t be too long.” 

Iroh brushes him off, patting Zuko’s leg. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll wait for your return, be careful, nephew.” 

Zuko hands the wanted poster back to the bounty hunter and nods at Iroh, at Jee, at his crew. 

He’ll get them their damn money. 

Their trip to the bounty office is uneventful if aside from the walking paycheck continuing to look at Zuko as though he’s about to pull a rabbit monkey out of a hat or make the literal fucking clouds part ways.  

“You’re getting yourself a hell of a reputation,” the bounty hunter says after she returns, a bag of new coin at her hip. “Name’s June, by the way.” 

He shrugs. “Zuko,” he returns and ignores her low whistle. Yes, it’s very Fire Nation, because he’s Fire Nation. He gestures at her own paycheck on her hip. “You can pay for the food,” he says. 

“Okay, I get it,” June mounts herself back onto her Shirshu’s back. “You don’t want to talk about it.” 

Their next trip is to the Northwest, to an Abbey Zuko remembers passing but not setting foot in. It doesn’t matter though, Zuko has a myth to hunt, and that is something he can do. 

The Abby is large, and very obviously old. The ancient sort of old that leaves the hairs on his arms standing on end. Like the Air Temples, it’s implicitly something you shouldn’t fuck with. Uncle Iroh has always said you leave old things alone, and while Zuko had brushed him off at the time, it’s been long enough that Zuko knows there’s truth there, even if he’d never say it to his face. 

It’s confirmed in the nun’s faces as they arrive. They are metal walls of careful emotions. Not a single thread more of what they want to show them. 

Their Abbey stands on neutral ground, and there are reasons that a building can stand this long through a centuries-old war and not crumble. 

A woman steps forward. Her headdress is different to the rest, pointed upwards, the lines on her face speak of many stories that neither of them will ever hear. 

June pulls the wanted poster out of her pocket and flicks it open, turning it to face her. “Heard you have a pest problem?” 

The woman scrunches her face, briefly looking outward to the forest like the masked figure will emerge having heard them. 

“Thank you,” She says. She doesn’t bow, but then again, Zuko knows what they look like to her. A Fire Nation soldier and a bounty hunter. Scarred and tattooed, they are here for the coin and nothing more. 

“Until you find whatever is doing this, you are welcome to stay here,” she gestures for the nuns to stay back behind her, away from them and Zuko’s insulted at that. He wouldn’t hurt a civilian unprovoked, and surely June wouldn’t either. 

Still, her wording doesn’t go unnoticed to him. Whatever, not whoever. But the wanted poster said the masked figure had been stealing supplies from around the area, and finally made their way to the Abbey. 

Zuko’s not a spirit expert. What he knows is limited, but he has travelled the world surfing the rumours of mystics and legends and myths only to find most of them were just people, just a miscommunication, a natural phenomenon. And spirits don’t steal food and rope and knives. Humans do. 

“It’s just a human,” Zuko says. He dismounts from the Shirshu - Nyla, June had said her name was - and makes his way to the woman. She doesn’t step back, but it looks as though she wants to. He stops, leaving a distance between them. She meets his eyes, eyes flicking to his scar, staying there a second longer than they should. “You don’t need to be scared.”

The woman watches him carefully, silence stretching on. She folds her hands in front of her. “Man is the most terrifying animal of them all. I’d be a fool to not be scared.” 

June doesn’t interrupt them, which Zuko isn’t sure to interpret as if it should be interpreted as anything at all. He thinks she’s right. There are human beings to walk the lands and murder children, who traffic humans, who abuse and strike others. But there are the nuns and others like them that spend their lives helping others. Zuko knows this place’s importance from a soldier’s perspective. Many a battle has taken place on the Abbey’s shores and close to it. If a wounded soldier, regardless of origin, were to stumble on their doors, they would help them, regardless how much they deserved it. That can’t be undervalued. 

“Yes,” Zuko says. “Not always, though.” 

She squeezes her hands tighter, and for the first time, she really looks at him. He’s not sure what she sees, but it can’t be too bad, can’t be too irredeemable. “I suppose not,” she nods at him. 

“You can call me Mother Superior,” she says as June finally comes to his side. “Like I said, until you stop whoever is responsible, you are welcome to stay, Genja can show you to your rooms. Your beast can go to the stables, it will be comfortable there.” 

She’s walking away before either of them can say another word. 

Genja slinks forward, footsteps quiet, but Zuko can tell she’s not a fighter. She doesn’t move like June does or other soldiers. Still, she doesn’t wait for them, letting the other nuns usher away Nyla as June pets her goodbye as she stalks down the hallway. 

“This man,” Genja says as she walks, her backs to the both of them. “What do you want to know about his attacks?” 

They’re on the far west wing. It’s darker this way, less lived in. He’d be put off if he had any more room for it, but Mother Superior doesn’t trust either of them, and Zuko can’t make her feel any other way about them. June doesn’t seem to care, mostly thrilled about the real bed in front of her. They’re soft, soft like the palace, and unlike the hard slabs on the ship - thin mattresses that have seen many bodies before Zuko’s and his hips sink down to touch the metal beneath him. Whatever. That’s something for Zuko in a few hours to deal with, not Zuko right now. 

The sun is starting to sink below the thick tree line and with Genja saying that this masked man only attacks at night, they need to be ready. He’s attacked almost every night this week. He’s doing it for the thrill.  

“I don’t have a scent for Nyla to track, so looks like we’re doing this the old-fashioned way,” June’s perched at the end of her bed, adjusting the straps on her hands. There’s a tension to her shoulders, and Zuko wonders if she too can sense it, the way this building is old. Maybe Zuko is getting too much like Uncle. 

“You mean the way that everyone else does it?” He says. 

She grins and shrugs. 

Silence descends between them as Zuko opens the bag Iroh packed for him. He pulls the draw straps only to see - fuck. 

His own black clothes stare back at him. He shoves his hand into the bag and finds the hard wooden mask that he fucking hid.  So Iroh knows. And he’s a wanted criminal. “Shit,” he hisses, just as June starts talking. “You seemed convinced back there that this thing we’re hunting is most definitely a human,” her words drown out Zuko’s swears, and he draws the bag closed, throwing it across the bed. 

He takes a breath. “Spirits don’t steal food.” 

June leans back on her hands, looking over at him as he stares at the bag on his bed. “This one might.” 

“No, it doesn’t,” he says. There’s an idea forming, a bad one considering his status, but worth it if it means he gets to make this masked asshole who takes advantage of vulnerable civilians piss himself.

“Damn, okay then, spirit boy. Why the fuck do you know all this anyway?” 

Zuko is not known as a prince around here, he’s just the Fire Nation sailor who’s been finding people and stirring the already muddy water a darker brown. The Blue Spirit is known as a vigilante who’s not afraid of fucking anything. Not the Fire Nation, not the Avatar, and certainly not some asshole in the woods. He knows who’ll be the more effective one in this situation. 

“Took me three years to find the Avatar,” Zuko’s not sure why he tells her. It’s not like he owes her anything, but maybe it will make the next secret he reveals feel slightly less insane.

She hums an acknowledgement, attempting disinterest, but Zuko’s anything but boring to her. She wouldn’t have dragged him along otherwise. He takes a breath. She won’t leave him or dob him in. He’s too exciting for that. 

“June, I have an idea.” 

June knows these woods because she spent a lot of her childhood around it. She said she’d hunt game with a bow and arrow for her and her father but eventually turned that in for knives and shuriken and anything else sharp, and deadly she can get her hands on. He doesn’t ask where her father is now, and June doesn’t ask him where his is. 

Zuko’s borrowed map from the ship is a nautical one, but it still works for what they need, and June’s memory is still as strong as ever as she points to three places on the map, all in a straight line. Old Fire Nation watch tower points through the mountains along an old route, used only now for travellers who happen to stumble upon it and the locals who want to take a shortcut to other villages. A good hideout, and not too much of a walk back when carrying arms of stolen goods, far closer than any town. It’s a good first point of call, and considering this masked asshole thinks that robbing an ancient sanctuary of nuns renowned for caring for anyone who needs it is cool, Zuko wouldn’t put it past him to pick it. 

June grins at him. She’s excited, leaning over the map, and back at Zuko like an excited puppy. “We should head on foot. Nyla’s a little too big and loud if you want to be all stealthy and shit,” she wiggles her fingers in the air like being quiet is a foreign concept to her. It probably is. 

“Fuck off,” he says and knows it’s a stupid response. She claps him on the back hard enough that he stumbles as she laughs. 

“I’m just teasing,” she forcefully rights him and looks back at the mask laid out on the bed. “I never would have guessed the crazy bastard that single-handedly saved the Avatar would be you.”

He’s pretty sure that this is June’s way of giving a compliment, but he doesn’t thank her, he’s not a spectacle to marvel at. Far from it. 

“We need to go,” he says. He slings his sword across his back. “It’s bad enough that you know. I don’t want the nuns knowing as well.” 

June runs long fingers over the weapons strapped to her waist, her tantō strapped to her back. “I think it might be a good thing if they knew.” She glances up at him. “Don’t you want to be in good favour with them?” 

“I’m not in good favour with them,” he tucks the mask under his arm and hopes that no nuns are wandering the halls. Or they could just take the rooftops. 

“Exactly. They’re wary of you, but the Blue Spirit? He’s a bit of hero along the south coast.” 

He pauses at the singular window at their room, hands halfway to wrenching it upwards. It leads directly to the outside of the Abbey - a dangerous room to be in, and one that was no mistake. “Not a risk I want to make. Plus, they’re scared of you too.” 

She takes the deflection and shrugs. “I’m a bounty hunter. Better that way.” 

So neither of them are willing to talk about it. Fair enough. They have a job to do. 

The whole thing is actually pretty pathetic. The myth and menace in question doesn’t need to steal as much as he has, from the people he has, and so Zuko’s already pissed long before they find him. When it stops being for survival and starts being something else, something a little darker, that’s when your actions will come back to haunt you. 

They don’t find him at the outposts, but a cave, in-between the second and third outpost, hidden away by shrubs and trees, but not from the tiny rabbit-mice scurry away into the cave, and naturally, not from Zuko and June to following them into it. 

He’s not sure who’s caught more off-guard; the man at his and June’s feet in a puddle of piss and consequences, or Zuko, staring into golden eyes that match his own. 

June’s hand is at his bicep the moment she meets the man’s eyes, but he’s not sure what she thinks he might do. He’s not going to let him go, he may have no honour left to his name, but he’s not like that. 

June only lets him go when Zuko doesn't immediately start breaking bones. Instead, Zuko hauls him up with one hand and pushes him towards the plates and bowls and rope and bandages and shit that he doesn’t need, all that he’s taken, and put the good the Abbey does in jeopardy because of what? The fun of it? 

“He wants you to pick it up,” June says to the man, the smile in her voice is audible. 

Then man shudders, picks his way over to the pile and starts to pile it into one of the bags. 

“I’m sorry,” the man says. His hands are shaking. He does mean it, that much is obvious. But is he sorry for what he did, or just sorry that he got caught? 

Zuko shrugs, and points back down to where the Abbey is, it's the only notable building in that direction.

“You’re taking me to the Abbey?” He asks. He’s piled the stolen goods into two sacks. He turns his head to Zuko, then to June. 

“Not our place to play judge, jury and executioner,” June says. She twirls the man’s red mask around in her hand. “We’re just here to collect a pay check, big boy.” She glances at Zuko, still masked, watching the man haul the bags over his shoulder. “At least I am, Blue’s pretty pissed about you though, ruining the reputation for dangerous men in masks and all that.” 

Zuko keeps his mouth shut at the quip, if only just. He gestures again, out the cave. 

They have a long walk ahead of them. 

The nuns want nothing to do with the man. June takes him to Mother Superior herself despite dawn not having cracked the horizon, so Zuko can sneak back to the room to change. She comes back to the room with her right fist a little bloody and a strange quietness to her. She bares the stern words of whatever Mother Superior had to say to the man with Fire blood running through his veins that Zuko does not want to know and does not ask for. 

She follows Zuko’s gaze to her hand and looks down at the blood, flexing her hand. “He deserved it,” she says. He believes her. 

“I have to admit,” she walks over the bed parallel to where he’s laying and flops ungracefully on its covers. “That was the most fun I’ve had in a while.” 

With anyone else, he’s not sure if he’d call it fun, but with June, he doesn’t think there’s another way to describe it. 

“Yeah,” he says. 

June lifts her head from the bed and grins. She got him to fess up to something personal, good for her. He’s not sure why he thinks June is someone to trust, but whatever equal footing they’ve found, he doesn’t want to ruin it. It’s not something he’s ever experienced outside his lieutenant, and it’s embarrassing, how much he wants to hold on to it and never let go. 

He turns away as June strips out of her hard leather and weaponry, finding their own spot next to the bed. She doesn’t have nightwear, much like Zuko, sleeping shirtless with the pants that he was wearing when he arrived, she keeps the shirt and small shorts she had underneath her dress. 

There are candles in the room, but Zuko doesn’t light them, and June seems content to sit in the darkness just before dawn. They need sleep before they begin their trek back to Zuko’s ship, even with dawn only a few hours away. 

It’s a little embarrassing, that they both end up on the floor within the first hour, pillows and blankets dragged down with them. Soft mattresses no match for hardened backs and sore muscles. 

They’re close enough that their backs are pressed against each other. Zuko tells himself it’s because of how warm his skin is as a Firebender, lasts right up until June reaches behind her. She finds his hand, and she grips him tighter when he tries to pull away. 

“Relax,” she whispers. “You have my back, right?” 

He forces his mouth to form words. “‘Course,” he says. He sounds like he’s dying. 

“And I have yours,” June says. 

It’s not enough, and it’s too much. It’s the best he’s slept in months. 

Zuko wouldn’t go as far as to say Mother Superior likes him by the time he sees her again, and maybe June is right, that she’d like him more if she knew of his extracurricular activities of literal treason, but Zuko’s not willing to threaten the fragile relationship he has with his home even further. She doesn’t thank him, but she nods at him as he and June saddle up Nyla again. There isn’t that hardened fear of inevitable danger that will befall them. He thinks she wants them to leave as soon as possible, but they’re both more than willing to oblige. 

Zuko turns to face Nyla, just as the atmosphere plummets, the nuns are tense, backing away from him and turning to the door as it stands open. Zuko turns to the door, and he grips Nyla’s saddle, steadying himself against the wave nausea that nearly brings him to his knees because the Avatar is there. 

He’s still as young as he was at the stronghold, as he was at the South Pole, and there is no amount of wishing and meditating and praying that Zuko can do to make him anything other than what he is. 

June appears at his back, not touching, but there’s a protectiveness to her stance that can’t be denied. 

“Avatar,” Zuko says. 

He takes a defensive stance in the entryway, and Zuko - he can’t. 

“The nuns are in danger,” Zuko says because their captive does pose a risk to the nuns, to the towns around him if Zuko and June don’t get him the fuck out of here.  If Zuko doesn’t get the fuck out of here. If he hurt the nuns in the ensuing fight, wouldn’t that just cement all of Mother Superior’s fears? Wouldn’t it undo all of this? What would it mean, for him to help anyone only to hurt them immediately afterwards.

“Danger?” the Avatar twirls the staff in his hands, eyes flitting between Zuko and June like he’s not sure who to be more scared of.

Zuko sighs, scrubs a hand over his face. If his life was crumbling apart before, it’s well on its way to ruin now. What is he even doing here, saving some random nuns from some dipshit who takes advantage of civilians on neutral ground. The whole reason he’s here is because he’s a disgrace. Because he insulted the Firelord to the highest degree, in front of his court, not because some asshole is too fucking stupid to learn how to hunt. 

What will it look like to father, that he spent most of his time running around the Earth Kingdom rubbing noses with its people, befriending them, helping them. It’s another reason why nothing makes sense. Another nail in his fictional coffin. He already went behind the Fire Nation’s back once to free the Avatar from Zhao, let him go when they were in the storm, and now he’s here - befriending June, a bounty hunter, and letting Earth Kingdom nuns house him like he’s not someone to be inherently feared. 

Even worse, Zuko thinks, are the next words that come out of his mouth. More than anything, because he knows it’s right. 

“We took care of it, but we need to leave to secure the area,” he gestures to June, then to the Nyla-paralysed man thrown across the back of his saddle. 

The Avatar stares at him, and Zuko can’t blame him because what is he doing? The nuns sheltered him and June despite holding their own reserves, and he and June came here to sort out a problem, she never signed up to get caught in Zuko’s crusade, nor would she benefit from it. After she held his hand last night, why would he want her to? 

He wants to go home, more than anything he wants to leave, but he’s not sure if he’s willing to burn all his bridges as he goes. Not anymore. 

And that is the most traitorous thought of it all. 

“You’re not…” The Avatar trails off, his face has slowly morphed into something odd, like it was in the forest after he’d saved him. 

Zuko swallows. He forces himself to stay still, arms fisted by his sides, June at his elbow, ready to fight a fight Zuko doesn’t want her to. He could attack, he should attack. 

“Well,” the Avatar says. He straightens from his defensive position, muscles lax and a tiny smile flitters across his face like there’s a joke there, and he knows that Zuko knows exactly what this is all about. “I’d stay to help, but I really have to go.” He moves around them, heading deeper into the Abbey and Zuko furiously squashes the realisation that the Avatar likely arrived around the same time as Zuko did for him to already be staying here. 

He picks up a jog, but he slows and turns back just before he’s swallowed by ancient walls, that tiny smile still there. “I’m glad you’re okay, Zuko.” 

June is silent at his side, as are the nuns still in the courtyard. 

“Wait, what the fuck?” She snaps the silence with a brutal loudness, and it takes him a moment to realise she’s got a death grip on his shoulder, and it takes him a moment to realise he’s gripping her right back.  

“Shut up,” he says. He pulls away, wiping at the sweat on his brow, and tries to not think about how he let the Avatar escape. “It’s complicated.” 

“No kidding. What, did you two have a thing or something?” June twists to face the dark corridor he disappeared down. He's no doubt with his friends now, but Zuko knows what it’s like to stare to the empty space of where the Avatar stood long after that moment, desperate to see that form once again. That another opportunity didn’t slip through his fingers - another failure. 

“No,” he grunts. He doesn’t have the energy to be pissed at her, and he can’t be bothered to defend whatever little crumbs of honour he has left to protect. Not against someone like June, not when they’ve spent all this time together. Even if neither of them have said, Zuko knows she can tell he’s got nothing left to him aside from a lofty ambition that he knows, he knows is only good for him, and the nation that destroyed these people’s lives. The nuns aren’t wary of him for no reason. 

The trip back to the bounty office to drop off their man and collect their coin, and then on to the ship seems longer on the way back, but that could just be his own thoughts weighing him down. If June notices, she doesn’t comment on it. 

It’s not until they’re at the base of the ship that he speaks, throat raw like he’s been screaming. “Thanks.” 

She’s unusually quiet. It’s a content moment of silence until she pats him on the knee. “Until we meet again, Zuko,” she says. It’s quiet. None of her usual bite, just quiet words meant only for him. 

He swallows the lump in his throat. “Until we meet again,” he says. 

He dismounts Nyla and scratches her snout in a silent goodbye. 

“Don’t fucking die,” She calls out as she pulls away, her hard grin back, splattered across her face, and Zuko meets it with a frown that he knows will make her laugh. “Fuck off,” he shouts back. He stands on the port until he can’t see her. 

There’s a weight of gold in his pocket, a ship to fix, and a crew well missed. Right now, that’s enough. 

Chapter Text

The tsungi horn is tucked away in Zuko’s room. 

Iroh had put it in there in hopes that it would invoke some deep-seated instinct to re-live his time at the palace under the secret tutelage of Jika at the odd request of his uncle, teaching him all the songs that Iroh wanted him to learn. Zuko, now a little older, a little more jaded, thinks that Iroh bribed the man into it. Music has never been something considered a skill by his father, nor his grandfather. 

It does tempt him, but he hesitates. Is it too much too soon? It’s been several years since he’s played. Not since before. Would he remember how to play? Would he be able to pick up on these old sailors tunes with the little practice he’s had? And, most importantly, would it be an insult to the crew, that he’s trying too hard after what he's put them through? 

Guilt is a comfort sometimes, out on the ocean. He holds on to it, if it’s driving him forward, then he’ll grab it. The crew has suffered under his immaturity the last several years, and he is scrambling to piece together something that could have been. 

Rasuk had smiled wider than he’d ever seen when Zuko had stepped foot upon the deck to join them. Jee grinned at him, hands flicking through signs in his typical awkward but meaningful way - about time, asshole. And his uncle. He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t need to, for Zuko to know how much it means to him. 

It’s all a little shallow, to him. Still. It’s something. It’s more than he’s ever done before. He’s never had this before. People he just… exists with for the sake of existing. 

Jee leans against him when he sits down, an elbow directly into his side. It doesn’t hurt enough to warrant a response, but Jee laughs, interrupting the song when Zuko overreacts, plays it up like he’s seen the other crew do. Maybe he’s not great at this yet, but Zuko likes to watch, and he likes to learn. 

Jee’s lute is old. He can’t remember if he’s always had it, or if he bought it at one of the ports. It’s well-loved either way, And Jee rocks back along with the flow of the song, eyes closed, finding solace in something that under any other circumstances than this would amoral. The navy wouldn’t tolerate this, and yet. 

His fingers twitch for his tsungi horn, untouched in his room. 

Next time, he tells himself. Don’t rush it. 

Eezah and Turu spend a significant amount of the song dancing. Flowing through exaggerated movements that Zuko doesn’t think are anything more than what they’ve made up on the fly. They flutter along to the beat of the instruments, delight stretching across their faces that Zuko had stubbornly refused to witness all this time. 

It’s only when Zuko catches himself humming along to Iroh’s off-tone singing to a song he didn’t realised he knew, that several sets of hard-set boots interrupt the night with startled fingers striking wrong. 

Zhao, flanked by two soldiers on either side, one side of mouth turned up at the corner, like has a joke that only he is privy too, and maybe that is the joke in itself. 

“I’m taking your crew,” he says, no preamble. He’s smiling small enough that his teeth don’t show, but it’s quirked up at one side, a glint in his eye that under the soft light of the fire makes him look as though he just crawled his way out of the bottom of the ocean. 

Zuko’s on his feet before he can think. The guard tries to stop him with a firm hand on his chest, but they don’t expect it when Zuko grabs their wrist, elbows them just below the sternum where the armour ends, and he flips the soldier over his shoulders, and doesn’t bother watching where they land. Zuko’s fist clocks Zhao’s jaw before he can react, and Zuko doesn’t spend hours training upon deck to have piss poor punch. 

His head rips back, blood splatters to the ground and Zuko grabs him by the collar and wrenches him back up, holding him there. 

“You’re not taking my fucking crew,” he says, only loud enough for Zhao’s ears. He’s inches away from his face, and Zuko can see the temptation in Zhao’s eyes to spit the blood out of his mouth onto Zuko’s face but Zuko dares him, dares him - and something must click that Zuko wants to punch him, wants Zhao to give him the excuse, as Zhao’s face crinkles in disgust, and he doesn’t follow through with the urge. But Zuko’s not in the fucking mood. Not for this, not for Zhao, not for everything to crumble apart, not when things were finally bearable. 

It’s the first time he’s joined the crew for a music night, the first night he’s joined the crew for anything outside of hunting down the Avatar. It’s embarrassing that it’s taken him this long to feel as though this is a place he can sit. That sitting with the crew on the deck, listening to voices rumble through the air, and the sailors awkwardly moving through dances and stories that this deck has never seen - that it’s not something that he’s above. 

He’s lived as a common sailor for the last three years and lived among them. He’s sat with many Earth Kingdom people and shared a meal with them, shared a bed with them, shared a worry with them. It’s taken him this long to truly sit among them, to see these people as people. 

Of everyone, why is it that Zhao is the one who thinks that he can take that from him? Why is it that good things must always fucking crumble? 

The other soldier has Zuko’s forearm in both hands trying to pry him off of Zhao’s collar, but Zuko holds steady, and he’s not listening to the shouts behind him, or the words of his Uncle, because there won’t be a crew if this man doesn’t leave. 

“You’ve become just like them,” Zhao says. He smiles again, this time blood coating his white teeth. “Just like the savages out here.” 

Zuko’s grip tightens, pressing his knuckles into Zhao’s throat from where he’s holding his collar. 

June’s not a fucking savager. She’s a person, she’s got kinds wrapped in layers of aloofness that she likes to keep hidden. 

She’d kill Zhao for that, and he feels that rage for her, it’s white and hot, and he’s furious, more than he’s been in a long, long time. More than he is every fucking day on this damned ship, sailing the ocean and searching for a human being that no one believed existed. 

And Mila is not a savager. She is a woman who had her heart toyed with by a man who deserved nothing more than the dirt under his feet. 

Shoh is not a fucking savage. She’s a child, and she was so scared when Zuko had pulled her from the cage, and she’d held him so tightly, like he was something safe. 

She wasn’t scared of him. And he had held her tightly to his chest, and he didn’t let go until she was home. 

He tears his arm free from the other soldier, and before he can make contact with Zhao’s face a second time, there’s another arm holding him back, and another pulling him away. He leans back on the two people holding his arms, lifting his feet off the ground, and kicks out, aiming for Zhao’s chin. He glances his skin, hard enough that the force leaves him staggering, not enough to knock him flat like he’d hoped. 

“You’d defend them?” Zhao hisses, righting himself, hands pawing at bleeding and tender spots of skin. He wipes the blood from his chin and laughs, quiet and almost hysterical. 

“No wonder your father wanted your little sister to be the next Firelord. No wonder he wanted you gone.” 

Iroh is suddenly in front of him, hand outstretched, not touching this chest but close to it, obscuring Zhao from his vision. He takes a slow step forward, forcing Zuko backwards. He’s saying something. Zuko can see his mouth moving, can see the look across his face - he’s upset. The rush in Zuko’s ears drowns out whatever words that Zuko should be listening too. 

The two people on either side of him are still holding him, hands tight around his biceps, but not enough to hurt. 

He’s not taking his crew. He can’t take his crew. 

“Captain,” one word breaks through. Zuko heaves a breath. Jee to his left, lips close to his ear. “Calm down.” He hisses. “Breathe.” And Zuko does. He heaves a breath, and then another, even if the anger doesn’t fade. 

Eezah’s still got Zuko’s arm. His sharp, unnaturally dark gold eyes meet Zuko’s. “It’s fine, sir. It’ll be fine,” he says, but his own voice betrays him, and it slices Zuko right down the middle. 

Jee grabs his attention back, forcing himself in his line of vision alongside Iroh. “There’s nothing you can do,” he says. But that’s the problem - there is nothing he can do. Zuko is a prince, but the word now rings hollow. It doesn’t mean anything to Zhao, and it doesn’t mean anything to the other naval commanders. It holds little meaning, little praise. 

“Don’t fight me, Zuko,” Zhao’s voice booms across the deck, and sucks the life out of his with a single blow. “You can’t stop me.” He turns his attention to the crew, eyeing them with no more interest than he would a stray branch on the forest floor. 

Eezah let’s go. His face is white, and Jee grabs him by the shirt to guide him to their quarters, followed by a sad parade of the others, because this is his ship, and they're his crew, and for once he was fixing a mistake, and it was working.

“What are you planning?” He barks it out, harsh enough to draw Iroh’s gaze and a snap calm sign flitting across Jee’s hand just before he disappears below deck.

“I’m planning exactly what you could never do.” 

He watches the crew leave, and calls himself a coward for letting it happen. Azula wouldn’t have let Zhao stomp all over her, wouldn’t have let them take away important people to her. 

He waits at the opposite railing from where they left until they are ants along the beach shore, walking to another ship that isn’t his, on a quest that could see them all killed.

“Prince Zuko,” Iroh leaves him alone only for as long as it’s clear that this isn’t a hole that Zuko is going to dig himself out of. He’s behind him somewhere, and Zuko doesn’t bother to turn. He’s not apologising, not for that. 

“Save your breath,” he hisses. The wind burns his face like there are ice shards in the air itself. He stands fast, lets it burn, lets it hurt. “I’m not sorry. I’m not apologising.” 

Iroh says nothing, but Zuko doesn’t hear him leave. 

“I’m not sorry,” he repeats. His voice sounds old in the frigid air. “He took my crew.”

Silence stretches again. Iroh shuffles behind him. He’s never seen his uncle lost for words outside those early days on the ship. The days that Zuko doesn’t like to think about. It’ been a long time since then. 

“He did.” Iroh says. There’s nothing to his voice that means anything. He’s got that annoying, unshakably steady to e that Zuko knows hides all the things that he doesn’t want Zuko to see, all the things that Zuko doesn’t know. 

“That’s not all,” Iroh says. 

Zuko grips the railing. He doesn’t want to talk about it. What’s the point, talking about it? His crew are gone. Off to the North to complete the mission that Zuko has failed to do, not only in capturing the avatar, but also in having the fucking backbone to follow through with it. He stood there, and he let the Avatar walk away multiple times, he committed treason for him and still let him walk. The Avatar had looked down at him and asked him if they could be friends, and Zuko let him walk away. 

And here he is, standing on the deck of a ship that has no crew, undone because he can’t do what his father can, what his sister can, what Zhao can. He saw the people of the Earth Kingdom, and he helped them. He defended them to a fellow Fire Nation man, even though the only ones to hear the words were a pack of Firebenders.  

What’s there to say, other than Zuko has failed on all fronts. He’s failed his crew as their captain, because these last few weeks don’t make up for the way Zuko has treated them all these years, and Zuko had finally got it. He And Jee had worked their way to neutral ground, found footing that worked for them enough that Zuko enjoyed his company. 

The crew didn’t look at him like they did before. He’d finally got it, and now, he’d let them down the biggest way possible. 

And he’d failed as a son. His father had given him one job, and not only had he failed to do it, he questioned it. Is still questioning it, even in the face of this. Because he’s seen the hope on people’s faces when they speak of the Avatar. He’s seen it on the faces of a thousand Earth Kingdom people, and maybe it was easier to push that aside in the beginning, when people thought he was a myth, that he’d abandoned them to fall victim to people like him. But how can he? How can he hand over the Avatar to his father and let Shoh down? She believed Zuko was someone who was safe. She had trusted him. June had held his hand, they had fought together, had fun together. Can he put their lives in jeopardy? His legs give out - but Uncle is suddenly by his elbow, easing him to the deck of the ship, pressing his back to the railing. 

“There is still hope,” Uncle is saying. He has an arm around Zuko’s bicep, and the other at Zuko’s neck. 

Zuko’s shaking his head before he’s finished speaking, because he wants to believe him, but he can’t. There is nothing left for him to do. Even if Zuko suddenly grew the backbone he needed to capture the Avatar, Zhao has an entire fleet, most of the navy, at his disposal. Zuko has himself, and his Uncle, and the swords mounted to the wall in his quarters. 

“No, we must never despair, my nephew,” Iroh says, as though there is anything in Zuko left to salvage. Uncle doesn’t know everything. He doesn’t know he let the Avatar go - and not just once, and not just because he was out of reach. He doesn’t know if Zuko saw him again, he’d most likely make it a fourth time. He doesn’t know that Zuko committed treason, that he betrayed his country by freeing the Avatar, and that he betrayed them all over again because he defended and fought for the very people that are meant to be his enemy. Whatever shred of honour Zuko had left, there’s most certainly none left now. 

“No,” he says. He tries to reach up and pull Iroh’s hands away from his face. He wants to stay here on the deck and never move again, and he wants to scream, to punch something. “Uncle, you don’t understand,” he says, but Iroh keeps his grip on him, not too tight, but Zuko also doesn’t do too much to fight it either. 

He looks his uncle in his eyes only a moment, before he pulls away. Pulls his eyes to the ground like it will eat him alive and spare him the misery of admitting something so vile, and yet something so natural, that he doesn’t think he could ever go back on it. He’s so comfortable with the feeling of treason on his shoulders. He cares more for June and Mila and Shoh than he does for the people at the palace. 

“What don’t I understand?” Uncle’s hand on his bicep is the only thing keeping him tethered to here. 

“I can’t be forgiven,” Zuko pries the words from his mouth, and he can barely stomach the words because Zuko himself was the one who sunk the damn ship that would have been his ticket home. There’s no prison sentence for treason. Only the gallows, and a black mark on history if it cares to remember you at all. There’s no coming back from that sort of betrayal. 

“Why?” Iroh pushes him again. 

“I freed the Avatar,” Zuko spits out the words, clasps shaking hands around his ankles, keeps his face trained to the ground. “I freed him from Zhao. And then I let him go. And even worse,” he hisses, tears from uncle’s grasp, no matter that he craves it. 

He betrayed uncle. Because who has been here for him the whole time, even at the palace, Iroh was safe. He was safe. He chose to come on this honourees journey of fools with him. Zuko could not only not fulfil it, but he couldn’t even with the possibility right in front of him. 

He grips the railing, and looks into the ocean. It’s black in the limited light of the moon. Zuko cannot see his reflection, and yet the waves continue to beat gently against the strong metal of the ship. 

“I have let him escape, uncle. More than once!” He doesn’t dare turn to face him. Doesn’t dare because Zuko cannot, in his heart, hate what he has done. Heat pours up his neck, in shame or embarrassment, he’s not sure. His fists tremble around the metal of the railing. 

“I prioritised the lives of these people here over my own.” 

Silence stretches on for only a second as Iroh peels himself from the ground, emitting a groan as he rises. Zuko can’t stop the flinch that rattles him at the noise. He pulls his eyes back to the ocean. It’s still as dark and unknowable as before, and it’s the only thing that makes any sense. 

“You do not need forgiveness,” Iroh says. There’s no whimsical note to his tone, nor is it flat. “As you have not done anything wrong, my nephew.” 

“Yes, I have,” he says. Fire spits out his mouth in a rushed gush of panic. His throat burns, unshed tears near falling. “I committed treason. I betrayed everyone.” 

“I’m not sure Shoh and her parents would say the same. Or Mila, or the nuns, or June. Or even the men who steal children, and the men who rob nuns.” 

“They don’t count. They’re just Earth Kingdom savages,” his voice snaps on the last word. He echoes Zhao’s own words and feels ill for it, as he should. June had held his hand that night, and trusted him to protect her, and he’d trusted her to protect him. How can she be what the tutors described to him at the palace, when he finds himself longing to see her again like he’s known her his whole life. How can he believe that these people don’t matter, when he risked his life for them? 

If he hands his father the Avatar, June will burn for it. 

“If you truly believed that, Prince Zuko, you would not have defended their honour so valiantly against a man like Zhao, who cares little, even for the soldiers under his command.” 

Iroh places a hand on Zuko’s shoulder, he squeezes. Zuko still cannot bring himself to look into his eyes, to meet his attempts to make Zuko appear to be someone who has respect to his name. 

Iroh’s words leave red stains on his weakening armour. It’s crumbling under the weight, but he thinks it’s been wearing away since he held the Avatar’s gaze as he defended people he didn’t know. 

“That’s…” He searches for the right words. His throat is dry. “I cannot go home. You deserve to go home.” 

Zuko knows what happens to traitors on home soil. He’s heard the rumours.  

“No more than you do,” Iroh challenges him. “You don’t want the people you’ve come to care about to get hurt. There is nothing dishonourable about that. Fire or Earth, it doesn’t matter.” 

He wants to believe him. More than anything, he wants to believe him. 

 The moon ripples in its reflection on the ocean’s surface. He tilts his head up to look at it. He knows what the consequences are if Zhao successfully conquers the North Pole. 

“You want to see June again, don’t you, Prince Zuko? You want to see your crew?” 

“Yes,” he barks out. It’s something he knows is true. The only thing he knows that is true. 

“Then, how best can we do this?” Iroh gestures for him to follow. He doesn’t seem perturbed when Zuko hesitates, back still pressed to the railing, as if separating from it will cast him adrift. He doesn’t comment, nor slow his pace as he guides Zuko deeper into the ship. He allows the time for Zuko to roll the thought over in his own mind. 

He swallows, as he blinks to adjust the sudden dark of Iroh’s quarters, and then again to the low candles that alight with a carefully aimed strike from his uncle. 

Uncle busies himself with a tea set, and Zuko finds himself trapped in the doorway. He follows Iroh’s movements without investment in the movements. 

Zuko committed the ultimate crime by letting the Fire Nation’s biggest threat, their biggest adversary, walk off on multiple occasions. Even if his father never discovers that it was indeed Zuko who stole the Avatar from Zhao’s custody, it would be enough to have him thrown in the deepest pit go the Boiling Rock and forgotten about and there’s no one that would question it. It burns his chest, sets fire deep in his chest like a furnace that he thinks will never stop. 

If he stops Zhao, then the Avatar will live - and June and the others might live. And he burns his old, rotten bridges, for a path no longer possible. 

If he helps Zhao, then what? He may get to go home and maybe his father will look at him, really look at him like he is more than nothing. But there are consequences for that. Bloody ones. Tiny, innocent bloody consequences. 

There isn’t a debate. Not really.

“I need to find the Avatar,” he says. His own voice startles him in its irony, and the room swims back into something recognisable. Uncle is pouring tea, and he doesn’t stop, even when Zuko’s voice - too loud and too much in an empty ship that may never see the faces of it’s crew again - reverberates through the room. 

“Is that wise?” Iroh says. His tone is light, but there’s an edge Zuko just catches. 

The tea Iroh pours is Jasmine. It’s not Zuko’s favourite. He’s not sure if he has one, or if he’s never taken the time to taste it enough to know. Even as his uncle sits here, Zuko isn’t sure what he wants. He’s let Zuko lead the way, and he’s let him make his own decisions. 

“No, I mean, not like that” he scratches his head, knocks his knuckles against his topknot, shudders at the implications of what he’s about to do. “If Zhao wins, then… Uncle, I can’t let them down. I won’t.  

His back sticks to his clothes. Iroh sets Zuko’s cup of tea on the table opposite him, like he expects Zuko to sit with him as though Zuko did not just propose to betray his country in front of a General, the Dragon of the West. No more hiding it, he’s said it now, admitted it out loud that the friends he has made mean more to him than he is willing to do to redeem himself. 

Instead, his uncle smiles. It’s gentle, soft. Dimples flare, and no teeth show as he lingers on Zuko at the doorway. 

“Shoh would approve,” he says, quietly enough that Zuko almost asks him to repeat himself. He rises from where he was kneeling, and hesitates only a moment before his arms are wrapped around Zuko tighter than he has in longer than Zuko can remember, he can’t remember the last time he let him. 

“And so do I,” he says. Like a puppet with its strings cut, Uncle’s weigh is the only thing that keeps from the cold floor. 

And for the first time in a long time, Zuko hugs back.

The fleet will be leaving soon, and it’s not as though Iroh can suddenly take up Zhao’s offer of joining on his crusade when he has made it clear that it is of no importance to him. Iroh is right, no matter how much either of them don’t like it. Abandoning the ship is also… irresponsible at best. The townsfolk at the port are just that - civilians. They don’t have the resources to remove the ship, and nor would it be desirable to fall into unsavoury hands should it be abandoned. For now, at least until either Zuko returns with his crew, or until Iroh can sell it and move on. It’s far from ideal, but their options are limited, and there are only so many mistakes one can make before their clock runs out. 

It is a good thing that Zuko is fit as he is, swimming through the water until reaches the nearest ship a part of the fleet, with the water cold enough to burn and the breath of fire that would light him up like a painted target if he chose to do it. 

Maybe it’s Zhao’s arrogance leaking off and infecting every vessel or the calm before the storm that leaves security lax. There’s no one on board when Zuko scales the side of the ship, which is a relief with the tremors that rattle him. He crouches down by the railing, aware that water pools at his feet and there is very little he can do about it, even when he raises his body temperature to dry his clothes. It will have to, and considering the overall silence, it seems as though his uncle was right. Security is lax. The fight for them has not started yet, and the prince of the Fire Nation breaking into a vessel is not a factor that anyone considered. 

The next problem is a problem in of itself; there are a set number of soldiers on board, and an extra body is not something that will go unnoticed, even if it’s protocol that soldiers don’t remove their helmets whilst in uniform. The only option is to simply not be seen. 

Zuko’s never been a good liar, but he is smart enough to know that. He won’t make a good spy, and he won’t make a good undercover seaman until they arrive in the north. But what he’s never struggled with is going unnoticed. 

He broke into the Pohuai stronghold twice. He’ll hide out on a ship for a week. 

He waits a second longer until he is no longer dripping to leave a trail of water across the deck. He sticks to the railing, letting the natural shadow under the moon’s light hide his approach. There will be someone awake, even when anchored there are still jobs to do, but the chances of Zuko genuinely running into someone is unlikely if he stays away from the sailor’s personal quarters and the bridge. 

The new cruisers are big and there are places to hide. Many, many places to hide. 

He gets dressed quickly in the darkness of the storage room, only letting fire dance across his breath when he is sure there are no approaching footsteps to hear him. He folds his clothes up and tucks them into the duffle bag over his shoulder. 

He puts his hand on the door handle, not turning it until silence has reassured him that he is alone. 

The hallway is dark, aside from the moonlight that sneaks strands of light through a porthole, like a finality, a stamp of a new chapter, or perhaps a new book. 

Somewhere east of him lies his ship, holding his uncle, who left him with sift words and an embrace that left him breathless. Somewhere to the north, among the many ships in the harbour, lay Zuko’s crew. Then, even further north, lays the Avatar, the very one Zuko to protect. 

The world sits in an odd new light, one he doesn’t know what to make of, one he doesn’t know how to walk with intention - but he won’t let Zhao destroy what he had. 

The Earth Kingdom people aren’t fucking savages. And Zuko is not someone who breaks someone's trust. 

Chapter Text

The cold snaps at his cheekbones, bites at his eyes, a suitable punishment for exposing skin to the elements. Each paddle of his canoe pushes him closer to his goal, regaled with uncertainty and desperation. 

The Avatar is somewhere hidden among the buildings, a volcano of political strife trapped in the body of a child. 

It’s not the first time that he’s done this, not the first time that he looked a lifetime of this, of running and running with no end in sight, with his father leaving him to rot, but this is the final nail in this coffin. 

No one but the Avatar, his crew and some Earth Kingdom civilians who Zuko confided in for reasons beyond his own understanding, saw his treasonous acts prior to this; but sabotaging a calculated effort to bring the war even closer to a Fire Nation victory by not just letting the Avatar go, but protecting him? Making a concerted effort to keep him out of Fire Nation hands? There’s no prison in the country that bothers to house people like him. There’s no country to go back to, and he understood that when he told his uncle, and he understands that now. 

If he survives, there’s a path of nothing that lies ahead of him. He’s saved those civilians of the Earth Kingdom, saved the Avatar, and he'll have helped save the lives of many more if he’s successful. He’s also condemning his own crew to the ocean. Failure or success, he’s not sure what to do, how to save them, how to see them again. 

Admiral Zhao has a reputation. Preservation of human life is not a part of that. He takes a deep breath, the cloth covering his mouth sticking to his face. 

Despite it all, he knows that it’s the right thing. He can stare up at the ceiling of his bedroom and cry out to an empty room all he wants, but when Uncle had heard his proposal and smiled, full of terror and pride, he knew it was the right thing. When he turned his back on the flag after he rescued the Avatar from Pohuai, he should have understood. When his father condemned people like Mother Superior to a life of a cautious balance of compassion and terror, seeing the colour he wears and thinking he is not capable of anything more than the blood his nation has spilled and will spill, he should have known. Just as he didn’t hurt Mother Superior, it didn’t earn her trust, because it didn’t matter. One nice deed of a man she doesn’t know doesn’t re-write the pain, and the death he represented. He should have known. 

When the Avatar looked him in the eye asked him if they could be friends, despite it all, in spite of it all, well, maybe he did know. 

He understands now, though, as he glides along the ocean’s dark waters, moving in and around floating ice. Zuko won’t let the Fire Nation win, he won’t let Zhao win. Of all people, he’s the one that deserves to be dragged to the sea bed by the weight of his armour and arrogance. 

There’s no wind tonight, and the current is weak, working with him as he draws himself to a sharp stop behind an iceberg, backpedalling the oars to slow down, he reaches out one hand to steady himself against the ice. 

There’s a sentry at the top of the wall that separates him and the North. The attack from the earlier leaves itself as ugly gouges out of what once was towers and the wall itself, its integrity compromised, and Iroh put him through some semblance of schooling on the deck of the ship between Zuko blasting the air with Firebending that could be better and glaring at a map, puzzling the pieces of the myth of a spirit that haunts the aqueducts of far south islands of the Earth Kingdom to know that’s exactly what their plan was. A battle of the sun and the moon.

The sentry is tiny from where Zuko is nestled behind the ice, small enough that Zuko can’t tell if they’re looking down where he is or out along the horizon where over a 120 ships lay ready. He holds steady, and then the sentry turns, their back facing him, and Zuko pushes himself off the ice, paddling until he reaches another iceberg. 

It’s large, and connects to the ice that forms the inner right wall of the city, extending outwards like shards. He lets the canoe bump into the ice before he pulls himself out, careful to not overbalance and not only fall into the water but also give away his position before he’s even breached the wall. He heaves the canoe onto the ice, the snow and the Turtle-Seals scattered about, watching him with big, black curious eyes smothering the sound of his approach. 

He keeps low, hunkering down along the mounds of ice. There’s a large, rounded piece just ahead of him, facing the wall. He approaches, climbing until he’s halfway up. Zuko peers across out from behind, eyeing the wall, and the sentries. There’s a lot. Enough to guarantee that Zuko walking up to the wall is going to get him spotted. He curses under his breath hard enough to make Yaimu blush and turns around. 

This was the risk he was prepared to take. With the North’s walls not breeched by the Fire Nation for 100 years, it wasn’t as though Zuko even had the option to plan how to find a way in. He marches back towards the canoe, mind rolling with what he can do next. 

There’s the gentle snorting and rumbling of creatures to his left, he tears his head to see them, annoyance at the tip of his tongue, but the gentle animals aren’t looking at him. Three of them move, wiggling along the ice, and jumping into a circular hole. 

He stares at it for a moment. They’re not coming up for air in the open ocean. He would have seen them on his way inwards, but he’s only seen a few on the icebergs, which means they're coming up for air somewhere inside the ice. 

He approaches the hole and sees the last of the Turtle-Seal’s tails disappearing into the black water, and knows that his options are less than bleak. He’s not going to go back to the ship, that’s not an option, and he can’t exactly walk up to the wall and politely ask the dozens of Warriors to let him in because, yes, he’s the son of the Fire Lord, but he’s different. 

His distorted reflection stares back at him, and maybe that means something symbolic, with how messy every thing is, with who Zuko is and what he believes should never be compatible. Whatever. It’s not as though Zuko has ever done anything in his life the typical way, often without his say, but why start now? 

He sucks in a breath, dives in - and takes another chance. 

Zuko’s swam in cold waters before, much to Iroh's chagrin, but the water is always tempting, and Zuko fell for Jee’s bright-eyed challenge hard and fast. He knows, theoretically it will be colder than swimming around the Northern Air Temple like he had what seems like a lifetime ago. He knows that it won’t be easy, but the way his entire body seizes up the second he breaches the water sends him tumbling around for precious seconds he can’t waste. He forces his legs to kick, hands outward, and makes himself move. The saltwater burns his eyes, and combined with the lack of sunlight to guide him, he’s swimming near blind, only the gentle displacement of water as the dark formless figures of Turtle-Seals to guide him. 

He finds the hole just as his lungs are burning harder than his limbs are, he’s only just able to make it. He pushes the last Turtle-Seal’s tail out of his path that’s still wiggling its way onto dry land, grabbing onto the thick, frozen earth and hauls himself out of the water, collapsing onto the ground. 

The air in the cave isn’t any warmer, and all Zuko can do is lie there, trembling against the ground, legs still mostly submerged in the water, and he doesn’t have the energy to move them. 

All he can hear are the rushed, frantic pants of his own breath in his ears; and the horrifying realisation he can’t open his eyes is the only thing that forces him to inhale. He holds it, exhales, inhales until he can sense it, the spark of warmth running through his body like a wave breaching the shore line. He nearly sinks into the feeling entirely, until something wet and soft nudges his head. Then again. Uncle's words burst through his head as though that was the prompt he needed - his Breath of Fire.

The two rushed bursts of flame from his mouth aren’t his best work, but it does the job, jolting his body into some semblance of life. He pulls himself up onto his elbows, eyes finally open, and pulls himself the rest of the way out of the water. 

He gets to his knees before he pauses. The Turtle-Seal he’d pushed out of the way pulling himself to safety stares back at him. It snorts, blowing air into his face, before knocking its snout into Zuko’s forehead. 

He stares back. He’s not sure what to do. He’s never seen a Turtle-Seal up close before, and he didn’t realise they were friendly, even after Zuko just firebent in front of it. The creature leans forward, bumping its snout against Zuko’s nose. 

“Thank you,” he says. He blinks at his own response. Maybe it’s the cold. 

He pulls himself up and looks around for the first time, shaking out cold limbs as he gazes around the cave system, looking over the heads of more and more curious Turtle-Seals watching him. 

Ahead of him to his right he can hear the rush of water, obscured by a cave wall. He runs a quick hand over the Turtle-Seal’s head next to him without looking at it before he walks towards the sound. He rounds the corner, and pauses. Water is pouring out of a hole in the cave wall. It’s good, because it means the water is coming from somewhere, and it means that Zuko can follow it. 

He gazes into the water for just long enough to consider other options, but he knows there are none. There’s no other way out of the cave. 

He breathes out, his body thrums with heat. At least this time he knows what it will feel like, and maybe he can insulate himself, even if it’s just a little from the cold. 

He braves the onslaught of water. It’s moving too fast for Zuko to open his eyes, which leaves his hands and feet to feel for usable crevices along the rocky wall to push himself along. 

He can’t move too fast, or he’ll slip. He can’t move too slowly, or he’ll run out of air. The balance is delicate, and Zuko isn’t sure he finds it, not with his arms trembling against the stone, threatening to slip if he doesn’t hurry. 

He pushes forward, catches himself on the stone when his hand slips, and pushes forward. There’s a change in the pressure, the water isn’t pressing down, pushing him backwards as much, and the next time he reaches up, his hand finds the edge of the narrow hole. He’s finally able to peel his eyes open and pushes upwards, kicking as hard as he can, his hand breaks the water and immediately hits the cave roof, then his head breaks the surface. 

He has to keep his head bent at an angle to avoid scraping his scalp against the rock. He gulps in air for a moment, letting his eyes close, treading the water. He counts to 10 in his head, then plunges his eyes under the water again. There’s a small cave that he’s swam into. Nowhere to go to the left of him, but there’s an entrance to another part of the cave to the right. He can’t see where it goes, or how far it stretches. If there’s an exit that way, or a dead end. He pulls his head above the water, heaves in another breath, and pushes himself off of the rock ceiling. 

He swims, rounding the corner further into the cave, and sees light. 

He swims for it, not out of breath yet, but even with the breath of fire he’s not sure how much more freezing water his body can take. He approaches the light, reaching upwards - and his hands make contact with more ice. 

Zuko slams his fist into the ice once, twice, before the urge to breath forces his mouth open, and salt water rushes in. He slams his mouth shut, drifting for a moment as his lungs rage. He looks up, and places both hands up against the ice. It’s thinner here, that he knows. He heats his hands up, forcing as much heat into it as he can, and the surrounding ice begins to splinter and melt. 

He punches through the remaining weaker shards to force a bigger hole, and pulls himself up too fresh air. 

He flops onto the smooth, curved ice beneath him, heaving stunted, desperate breaths until he’s cognisant enough to check his surroundings. If he was found here by someone, he’d be near defenceless. 

Smooth ice means he’s probably in the city, and he confirms it when he opens his eyes, getting to his knees. 

He’s in a large pipe, undoubtedly made from waterbending, its smooth purposefulness tells him as much. He turns to look behind him. The tunnel goes deep enough he can’t see the end. A soft glow from the moon illuminates the opening and he crawls towards it, sticking his head out just enough to look around. There is water below him and to the left of him, extending into some sort of river running through the city. There are buildings to the right of him, and he sucks in a breath, collapsing back against the inside of the pipe. More climbing. 

He’ll give himself a few minutes. 

With the Northern Water Tribe been relatively untouched by his father’s regime, logically he knew that the city would be big. Still, it’s a fucking craft. The workmanship of the architecture and understanding that it was done by bending is somehow still shocking, no matter how logical. 

He stops, perched behind a wall. It’s early morning, and he can feel the sun, not risen but not far off peaking over the horizon. 

It shouldn’t be shocking. He’s travelled the world. The Air Temples are unlike anything he’s seen before. The Taku ruins are remnants of something great. The Southern Water Tribe has shadows of what once was. 

He’s seen the world. What more proof does he need that the big wide world is nothing that he was told? He’s befriended people from the Earth Kingdom, and they’ve shit all over the things he was told at the Palace. And here he is, fighting for them. 

He looks back out in the direction of the ocean, and he knows that his crew are out there, and he still… he still wants them to be okay, but he also needs the Avatar to live. There’s a cold breeze that nearly makes him shiver, reminding him he can’t have it both ways. That’s why he’s here, having abandoned his uncle, leaving his crew to the wilds of Zhao’s glory hounding, and he’s aware his actions of tonight aren’t going to be isolated to his immediate surroundings. He’s condemning them all, and he’s the one to blame, even if it's what needs to be done. 

The moon lights his way through the city, helping him, despite all the cruel teachings about her he’d not long ago believed. 

He takes a breath, and reaches up to the outer lip of the pipe, preparing to climb into the heart of a city that doesn’t trust him. It’s the right thing to do. The only thing to do. 

 Zuko understood finding the Avatar would be a problem, but it’s not shaping up to be the type of problem he’d suspected it would be. People are nowhere to be seen, which makes sense in hindsight. The sun is nearly risen, and with it goes the Waterbender’s advantage.  

The iced pathways that follow the rivers are bare and darkened. Windows black, and the only sound he hears is the gentle push of water on the sides of the river. 

It’s not so much a matter of hiding from people, as it is finding anyone at all. Uncle’s voice echoes in the back of his mind as he contemplates his next move. The Avatar is most likely where the other Water Tribe warriors are, armed to the teeth. 

Zuko is a lone Firebender in the middle of the Northern Water Tribe, and the only person who could vouch for him is the Avatar himself. 

A bead of sweat drips down his face despite the nearly debilitating cold. He’s tucked away underneath a bridge, the water below him is dark and cold and Zuko keeps himself planted firmly between the two blocks of ice, not vying for another dip. 

If he comes across a Warrior, they will try to kill him, and Zuko will have to fight, proving only that he’s an enemy - an enemy that has pierced their defences so deeply he was wondering the streets freely. It would earn him immediate death at it’s kindest. 

If he finds the Avatar with a Warrior, perhaps he can still plead his case. 

A dire situation lays before him. 

With dawn rapidly approaching, Zuko is running out of time. Zhao’s plan has to be something more substantial than bomb them and kill them. He’s not stupid, at least not stupid all the time, but Zhao is a risk-taker. Iroh’s white, blank expression as he gazed out at the ships in the harbour as Zuko readied himself told him of a danger that scared even his Uncle. 

He’s not Iroh, though. He’s not sure what to expect, or what to prepare for. All he can do is find the Avatar, and make sure he doesn’t fucking die. 

Zuko twists to the side enough to crack the bones in his aching back, as if hoping that it will give him an idea. He settles back down, folded nearly in two, sword at his side digging into the ice and finds he’s still left with the same predicament. Fuck. 

He hears a cry. High-pitched and presumably a child. Maybe the cold has finally gotten to him, but he freezes nonetheless, pressing his back against the ice. It comes again, a cry, watery and scared. It’s not an adult’s voice. Its close, and the tiny pads of footsteps confirm only the worst: there’s a child wandering about. 

Zuko remains hidden. If the child is wandering around now, surely the little one’s home could not be far off. Surely. He’s not sure the source of the child’s crying, but it’s difficult for him to believe a child could so easily slip out of their parent’s grasp when their home is under siege. He waits, listening for the heavy boots and panicked tones of an adult not far behind, and hears nothing. 

He curses again. He doesn’t have time for this, but, as he finds himself twisting to grasp the sides of the bridge and haul himself up, he's doing it anyway. He remains crouched down where the bridge meets the sidewalk, and sees the child - a little boy. He immediately stops crying when he sees Zuko, rooted to the spot. 

“Little one,” Zuko commands. “Where is your mother?” 

He’s thankful for the cursory, if lacklustre teachings of Iroh’s before he left of the culture of the Northern Water Tribe. Hopefully it’s enough to convince the child that Zuko is meant to be here. Hopefully it’s enough to keep Zuko alive. 

“I don’t know,” the child whispers. His arms are tightly wrapped around his torso. Hiss eyes flitter from Zuko’s face to the horizon where dawn threatens to spill over. 

“You’re not one of the Warriors,” he says. 

No he isn’t, and he’d never pass as one even if he managed to somehow disguise himself as one. He's not Water Tribe, evidently so. There's nothing Zuko can do about that. But Zuko is a fighter, through and through. That’s something he can use. 

“No,” he says. He leans back on his hunched, hopes it looks somewhat more relaxed than he feels. “I’m a soldier. Well... was.” He gestures to his face, and lets the little one put his own, if slightly misled pieces together. “I am with the Avatar,” he adds, and hopes the young one won’t question why he was under the bridge. 

The boy’s face perks, eyebrows shooting to his hairline. “Did you fight those Ashmakers?” 

“Yes,” he says, his voice sounds rough to his own ears. Technically, he’s not lying. He did fight, and will fight. 

“My dad’s a fighter, like you.” He looks at Zuko’s scar, takes another tentative step closer. “He’s fighting them too. He’s gonna protect us,” his tiny hands clench into excited fists. A near-lost memory crosses his vision; a letter from uncle, the knife tucked into his belt, and war no more than a foreign concept to him, and feels a little sick. 

The boy spins around, gesturing to the hair that’s pulled into a what Iroh said is a Wolf’s Tail - long, and shaved around the sides. He has more hair than the Water Tribe man Zuko’s seen the Avatar travel with, though he’s not sure what it means between the two of them. The Wolf’s Tail doesn’t  have the same symbolism to him, but it’s certainly something he can understand the importance of. 

“Your father is very brave,” he says. His voice stumbles over father, a word he’s not said in so long, but thankfully the little one doesn’t appear to take notice. Zuko is a soldier to him, a symbolism against his own people. A surreal thought, even if he’s not wrong. 

Zuko blinks, and draws them back to the original problem: combat is imminent; a child is in the streets, and Zuko still has not located the Avatar. 

“Your mother, child? She must be worried.” 

The mood sours instantly. “I got lost,” he says to his feet. 

“That's okay,” Zuko says. He stands up, scoops the child in his arms, hoisting him onto his back. The child squawks, but loops his arms around Zuko’s neck without prompting. “We’ll find her. The fighting will start soon.” 

“Sorry,” the child whispers.

“It doesn’t matter,” Zuko replies. He’s surprised the words come to him as easily they do, but they feel right nonetheless. “As long as you’re safe.” 

The child tucks his head against Zuko’s shoulder - it’s a burden, but, he thinks of Sho, her tiny arms around his shoulders not so long ago, and understands, the weight of a child is no burden at all. 

“Are the civilians all together?” Zuko asks, already moving. He knows there’s no one in the houses, he’s checked already, and as risky as it is to place all your civilians in one place, it’s less of a vulnerable position than out in the open, in houses that can clearly be seen by the battleships. He may not be Azula in terms of strategy, but at least the basics were not lost on him. Plus, he'd crawled through old tunnels to enter the city. It makes sence to use them.

“Yes. Underground.” He points in the direction he was heading, near the wall that guards the city to the east. “That way, I think.” 

He takes a breath, and hopes the trust of a child will mean something to adults trying to stay afload in a war. 

They make it to the wall in record time, the little boy keeping a keen eye out for familiarity, and Zuko following old but undisturbed footprints, and the pattern of houses. No doubt, the houses would be connected to the bunker. No sense in trying to fit hundreds of people in one or two entries out in the open. Following that train of thought, he turns a corner, the wall now immediately in front of them, and hikes the boy higher on his back.

“Child,” he says, and the boy eagerly leans forward, listening. “Where did you exit the bunker?” 

“Oh,” the boy says. Zuko feels him perk up, eyes scanning the area around with a more critical eye. “Through my Aunties house,” he points at a house a few meters down the path along the wall. “I wanted to help,” he deflates on the note, and Zuko jostles him slightly, as though a good shake will ebb the guilt of a child being unable to shed blood for a war that’s too old for him. 

“You’re not old enough to help your father, but it’s important you are still here for him to come back to,” Zuko follows the boy's direction, weaving between intricate fountains and carvings that decorate the edge of the city between the wall and it's houses. “What will your father do if he returns to one seat empty?” 

The boy hunkers down against Zuko’s back once again. He doesn’t cry, but Zuko can feel the strength of his heart beating against his back. “He would be sad.” 

Much like Zuko must return to his uncle, this boy must return to his family. This little one cannot help Zuko on his mission, but he can stop a family from crumbling from grief, and that is enough. He remembers the look on Shoh’s fathers face as he looked at Zuko - the enemy - and was prepared to give up all morality to find his daughter. He understands. 

“Right,” Zuko enters the house, shuffles over the disturbed fur on the floor and makes for the back of the house where the boy directs him. “The Warriors will need you when they get back. Your mother needs you to help her. It’s very important.” 

“It is?” He asks as they reach the entry, hidden behind a tapestry of a pond, as the boy points out. Zuko pushes it to the side, slipping through into a corridor of dark ice. 

“It is.” He thinks of Iroh, staying behind to mind the ship, at least for the time being, his words that held little meaning before all this started, and echoes them back to young, foreign ears. 

“Helping to end the war isn't always on the front lines," he says the words, feeling as though they are coming from a different mouth, but he understands them now, more than ever. "You are what keeps the Warriors fighting. You are your father's hope."

Like it didn't make sense to Zuko when Iroh had tried to explain it to him, that Zuko living was enough, it won't make sense to this boy now. When he's older, he'll understand. 

He takes a breath, as the corridor leads him to voices, hushed and, amongst that, one shrill with panic. He hopes that they’ll believe that if won’t hurt a child, he won’t hurt them. A chance, not one he can afford to take, but one that he’ll take anyway. 

Faces come into view as he enters the cave. The bunker is a natural cave, a part of the eastern wall itself. Its ceiling stretches high and circular large enough to hold near double the people currently in the city. Candles light the room around the edges, casting a bizarre yellow light over tired faces. 

A woman stands, her back to Zuko and the child, being held by another. The eyes of others in the room struggle to watch the scene of a mother's anguish. 

Before Zuko can make his presence known, the child scrambles off Zuko’s shoulders, landing on the ground in a flurry of limbs and energy. He calls out, and runs over to the woman not facing them. She tips around, along with every other head in the room. 

“Taru,” the woman rips herself free from her companion and scoops the boy into her arms, kissing his face and stroking his shaved scalp as the boy clings to her. 

All eyes slowly drift to the stranger in the room, not accusing, but wary all the same. Zuko is aware of what this looks like. He as swords strapped to him, a knife at his side, a scar that covers half of his face that’s visible with his mask. He's not here to hide.

He straightens himself under the weight, and pulls the mask off his face. 

“The soldier helped me get back!” The child - Taru - says, a grin spreading across his face. He leans closer to his mother and whispers theatrically, loud enough that everyone close can still hear the words. “The Fire Nation did that to him. He's like the Warriors.” 

His mother nods, her hand finds the back of her son's head, tucking him against her chest like an infant. “ I see.” She says. Her face looks withered in the shaky light. 

Zuko scrambles his memory for an appropriate greeting, and comes up short, only the vision of kneeling like he's prostrating to the Fire Lord’s throne burning into his vision. 

He bows his head a little desperately, and feels wholly inadequate against the gazes of people who have not laid eyes on someone who looks like him their whole lives. 

“I’m with the Avatar,” he says. He sounds more confident than he feels. “I got separated from him in the initial battle, and I found your little one trying to find him.” 

A rumbling of voices errupts from the room. Looking at him, then between each other. Their eyes lock on his scars, on the weapns at his hips.

A man stands up from the crowd, silencing them. He’s taller than Zuko by a head. A missing right arm the only indication to why he’s not out fighting with the other men of the tribe. 

“Is that so?” He asks, the accusation of where his loyalty lies not is blatant. Zuko frowns, straightens his back and meets his gaze. This at least is something he can handle, anything other than the empty gaze of civilians too tired to be scared any more.

“I will protect the Avatar from the fleet,” he says, and there’s no faking sincerity. He means every word. He’s committed treason for this. He’s putting the lives of his crew below the life of this person he doesn’t even know the true name of. He’s condemned them in a way. If Zuko is able to keep the Avatar alive, if they are able to stop the attack from succeeding, he could be killing his own men, and yet that’s a decision he has made himself. 

He will lose everything he had for this gamble, for the Avatar. 

“I will not let him die, no matter what happens, I will keep him safe.” 

The man blinks once, twice, before a grin stretches across his face. It’s lopsided, a thick scar that runs from his right nostril to just past the corner of his lips ensuring it. 

“Alright,” he extends his only arm out, reaching for Zuko’s own when he doesn’t reciprocate, so they are grasping each other’s forearms. Zuko squeezes the man back before he can truly process it’s meaning, or the significance of it. 

He’s released after a moment, and the palpable tension of the room becomes slightly more breathable. 

The ex-Warrior glances at one of the elderly women, and she stands, gingerly favouring her left leg. She comes to stand at the Warrior’s elbow. 

“So,” she says, pressing a small hand against his chest, as though she can glean all she needs from the contact alone. 

“You’re looking for the Avatar?” 

Chapter Text

The bunker looms over Zuko, both welcoming and a warning. If he fails here, if he cannot stop his country from capturing the Avatar, then, he just as much signed his own death warrant as he has for the rest of the world.

The Water Tribe people are in various stages of standing and sitting, but all of them balance caution and curiosity, watching him. Zuko casts his eyes around as an elderly woman approaches him, coming to stand in front of him. She’s small and frail, but there’s an air of power about her that Zuko can’t place. He thinks it’s like Uncle sometimes when he’s been meditating for a while and his gaze is far away, but knowing, seeing something that Zuko can’t.

She takes her time, her eyes running over his face, then trailing down, clocking each of his wounds - the broken skin on his knuckles, the tempered tremor of the cold, old scars Zuko has too many of.

She hasn't said anything by the time her gaze returns to his face and her expression is as icy as the bunker’s walls. He’s pinned under gaze, and it takes everything in him not to crumble right there and let the horrible truth spill out, who he really is. 

“You need to find the young Avatar and his friends.” She starts.

Zuko nods. He can’t look away from her eyes. They look like the raging ocean is trapped in them.

She takes his hand in hers, running tiny wrinkled fingers over his callused palms, pulls him closer, and as strange as it is, he lets her. Then, she lets his hand go and holds his face in her hands. Zuko cannot move, immobilised as she holds him captive, searching Zuko’s golden eyes for something he’s not sure he can give her.

Softly, so only he can hear her, she whispers, “You cannot hide your fire from me, boy.”

Zuko swallows, his heart thunders in his chest. He almost lies again, but he’s no Azula. Zuko’s a fighter, not a liar, or spy. But he’s relentless in a way Azula could never understand. Zuko knows his intentions are good, he finally, finally, understands what he needs to do, what his destiny is.

It was never to sail the world, lost, trying anything to get back home. It was never to hunt the Avatar down and return him in chains to his father. It was always, from the moment he was born, to end up here, betraying his country to fight for peace.

He decides to tell her the truth, or as much as he can of it.

“The Fire Nation - my people - are attacking. They will overpower the Waterbenders come dawn. I won’t let them. I won’t let them take the Avatar.” His voice is as soft as hers, but the metal in his tone softens her gaze.

“I will do whatever I need to do to keep my people from taking the Avatar, from taking the North. I will protect you.”

She smiles, softly, and decides to take a gamble on him. She lets him go, and just as suddenly, there is a weight lifted from around the room, like a deep sigh of relief. He passed the test, somehow.

He straightens up, breath shaky. He lets out a huff that’s caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh. The relief leaves him exhausted. He tries his best not to let it show as the woman smiles at him, sad and hopeful. Zuko nods at the woman, grateful, as the implication of his presence sets in. If Zuko was anyone else, his existence would mean the murder of everyone in this room. Zuko’s fear, he realises, is nothing to the fear of these people looking at him, a stranger with golden eyes and Fire burning through his veins.

“My name is Lia. The boy you returned to us is Taru. What is your name?” The woman asks.

Zuko answers with the only response he can - the truth. He can’t lie to her, not after whatever she just saw in him.

“Zuko.”

“A strong name for a strong fighter,” Lia chuckles breathlessly. “You have a great challenge ahead of you. We are at a crossroads. This moment will shape the war, and dictate our survival, and the survival of our culture, and our history.”

Zuko nods again, a little dumbly. He’s never experienced fear like this. Fear of an enemy coming to your doorstep to kill every person breathing, as his people did to the South, he’s not sure it’s his place to say anything at all. 

“Avatar Aang sought out the spirits,” she says. “The Spirit Oasis is the most sacred place in the North. You will find him there.”

Zuko isn’t sure how Lia can know where the Avatar is with such certainty, despite presumably being deep in the ice since the fighting began, but there’s a lot about Lia that Zuko doesn’t quite understand, like how she could sense him, all of him, right down to his bare bones, and how everyone in the room waited for her verdict, whether or not he was here to help or to kill.

Lia’s instructions are simple - head deeper into the city. In a cave, where the air is warm, and grass grows lush, he’ll find what he is looking for.

“Thank you,” Zuko says, with more reverence than he cares to think about, and before he can think better of it, he’s moving through motions drilled into him since he could walk - one hand clenched, the other, palm facing to the side, placed on top of his clenched fist and he bows.

“Good luck, Zuko,” Lia says.

Zuko turns, heading back to the tunnel. He’s always been like a platypus-dog with a bone, but somehow, it feels heavier now. A new determination drilled right in his bones.

Nothing is going to stop him from protecting the Avatar. Not Zhao, not Azula, and not the entire fucking Navy.

  The biting cold of the outside is harsher with the dawn approaching, but Zuko forges on, a renewed rush of energy propelling him forward. The bubbling in his chest a strange mix of excitement and fear.

He looks around. The Northern Water Tribe naturally leads one's gaze northwest, away from the ocean. It's built to lead your eyes there. And that is where the Avatar is, where the only chance for the survival of these people, of Taru, and ultimately, Shoh, and the Earth Kingdom people. 

Lia saw something in him, something worth trusting. It's another life weighing on his shoulders, pushing him forward, further and further away from his home, and Zuko is no longer fighting it. 

The streets are empty, and quiet in a way that unnerves him. He slowly makes his way deeper into the city, keeping to the shadows where the light of the moon can't reach him. He cannot afford a mishap in the streets now. All it takes is one Warrior to spot him, and there's no amount of begging that will keep him from either capture or death. 

It's nothing he's ever seen before, compared to the city he grew up in, buried in a dormant volcano. There's little warmth here, instead, there is water around every corner. He tries to imagine what it would be like to have your element all around you, everywhere you look. The sun pushes him forward and envelops him in power, but it's not as physical as this city is. 

And Zhao wants to flatten it. 

A voice carries across the city, and Zuko sinks against the wall. He waits a moment, burying himself in the darkness. It's no one close by. He continues. 

Eventually, he sees it - a door. Circular and Wooden. It stands out so starkly against the soft glow of white ice. He stands in front of it, exposed to anyone's eyes, and yet he cannot find it in him to care. He reaches for the handle and pulls it open. Immediately, he's flooded with an unnatural warmth - Lia said grass will grow here. Zuko had thought it would be a metaphor, like one of Iroh's many words that Zuko can't make sense of. 

He steps through, bending over, grabbing the wooden edges to fit through. Finally, he straightens up, and he sees something impossible. An island, grassy and healthy, a tree blooming, pink flowers ruffling in a breeze that doesn't exist. And finally, the Avatar. 

Zuko moves on autopilot, closing the gap between them. he reaches the bridge before he's noticed, Zuko's footsteps silent as ever. One more barrier between them. The Avatar and his two comrades - the Waterbender girl, and another girl with white hair he's never seen before - stare at him. Zuko stares back. 

“Zuko,” the Avatar says, voice almost a whisper and eyes wide. Zuko nods, relaxing his stance.  The boy stares at him, long enough that Zuko has to resist the urge to take a self-assessment of his presentation. But perhaps it’s less what Zuko looks like, and more that he’s here at all.

Maybe everything has led to this moment, where he meets the Avatar on a mutual goal, ready and willing to help him stop his own nation from wiping out another, just as they had done this to the Avatar’s own people. He’s almost giddy with the thought.

He could not be farther from home in this moment and the path behind him back home has been crumbling ever since he held little Shoh in his arms, but this moment, he knows is where those bridges will burn. He’s not just letting the Avatar go, helping him escape from Zhao, he’s actively stopping his country from winning the war. He’s planting himself firmly as an enemy, now with a terrifying, liberating note of finality.

There may as well be no one left in the world at that moment, as Zuko stares, hard and exhausted and relieved all at once. His legs tremble, but, like always, he holds fast.

“I…” Zuko starts, suddenly breathless, heart pounding. He never considered the Avatar would refuse his help until this moment, and Zuko’s never been known for words that strike souls like Uncle, or the soft-spoken, but strong words of Yaimu, penetrating Zuko even at his most stubborn.

Then, a memory - the forest floor, laying there, a soft bed of leaves under Zuko’s pounding head, staring at the sun starting to shine through the leaves, and then him telling Zuko about a friend he loved with golden eyes who died long ago, before the war, before everything and words that haunted him for nights.

“Aang,” It’s the first time he’s said the Avatar’s name. He's not aware he even knew it. 

There’s a silence, thick enough that Zuko could drown in it. But then Lia’s words pierce through his fear. It doesn’t matter if the Avatar - if Aang - refuses him. Zuko will still protect him and the North. Zhao is coming with almost the entire Fire Nation Navy to kill every person behind these walls. Zuko has already committed to this, committed his life to the Water Tribe, the Earth Kingdom and the Avatar. Lia’s words still ring in his head, louder and louder with each moment. The weight of the Earth Kingdom people’s trust and guidance all led him to this moment. If his banishment was lifted and he was welcomed back home, he doesn’t think he’d be able to take it. These people deserve to live, and Zuko will no longer be complicit in his father’s war.

So, Zuko meets Aang’s gaze and grasps a memory. “I remember the forest, after Pohuai, you asked me a question.”

Aang’s eyes go wide. He takes a tentative step forward, and stops, gaping. Zuko ploughs through the guilt of not understanding the Avatar back then in that forest. “I think there’s hope for us yet.”

There's a beat, then the water tribe girl finally moves closer, positioning herself so Aang is just behind her, but Aang steps out of her shadow almost immediately.

“It’s fine, Katara,” Aang says. An old gentle smile lights up his face.

Katara pauses, looking between the two of them, seemingly putting the puzzle together herself. Zuko thought Aang would have told his comrades the details about their encounters, about Zuko’s very obvious changing heart, and yet he’s glad he didn’t. Zuko’s mistakes and close calls were just that, close calls with a rebellion against his country, and Aang seemed to see right through Zuko’s patriotism, even when Zuko himself couldn’t. Instead, the Avatar waited until he was ready.

Katara stands down, as the other white-haired girl, about the same age as Zuko, joins the two at the edge of the crescent-shaped pond. There’s something about her that’s odd, that Zuko struggles to place.

“Is he…” he begins and halts. She’s watching him with eyes wide and cautious, just behind Aang and Katara. Vaguely, Zuko wonders if she’s ever even seen Fire before.

“A firebender,” Aang says, brightly, and with weight. Aang’s eyes are still locked with Zuko, and he’s not sure either of them could break it if they tried. “A firebender who is here in the North Pole to help us keep you and your people safe. A firebender who risked his life to save mine and-“

Somehow, in the light of the moon, he looks exactly how he appeared in Zuko’s dreams long before he ever found him at the South Pole. A child, and yet older than the trees themselves. Ancient and tiny. Unknowable. In the dream, Zuko would reach out, yearning for something, and the Avatar would smile with tears in their eyes, disappointed. It’s only now Zuko thinks he understands.

Zuko knows what Avatar Aang’s words will be before he says them, a lump forming in his throat.

“-and my friend.”

Zuko releases a breath. He wants Iroh here, to see that he made it. On the backs of Jee and his crew, he made it. He can look the Avatar in the eye and not be crippled with a yearning for his home that exists only in Zuko’s mind. A life that he cannot have. He sees the Avatar, and he’s strengthened in his presence. 

“My friend,” Zuko echoes, his voice stronger. As he promised Lia, as he said to Uncle - he won’t let anything happen to the Avatar.

The Waterbender, Katara, eventually steps forward, breaching the invisible ties between Zuko and Aang, snapping them out of the moment.

She watches him carefully. She’s placated by Aang’s enthusiasm and the strange moment between them, but he hasn’t proven himself to her yet. Zuko is not worried anymore. He will fight for Aang, and for Katara, and for the white-haired girl. For Lia, for Taru, for the Water Tribe.

“Not to interrupt this… moment…” she looks unsure, but forges on. “We still have a problem of the Fire Nation about to breach the wall. Dawn is almost here.”

Zuko finally severs the gap between him and the group, crossing the bridge to the island where he can see the pond’s clear water. His eyes are drawn there. Two koi fish, back and white mirror each other, circling around and around.

Lia said this was the most spiritual place in the entire North, but nothing here feels quite as important as the two fish in the pond. He pulls his eyes away, looking up. The white-haired girl is watching him carefully, her eyes dart to the pond and back to him again. She doesn’t move from her position, hands clasped together in front of her, and robes complicated and clean. She’s important to the North, that Zuko can tell.

“Do you have a plan?” Zuko asks.

Aang looks down at his feet, suddenly sullen and Katara’s eyes droop, as if they’ve exhausted this topic already.

“We’re outnumbered. Dawn is approaching, and the entire Fire Nation Navy is knocking at the door,” Katara says, not cold, but guarded.

“I was trying to get in contact with the spirits,” Aang says. “This is the spiritual core of the North Pole. They might be able to help us.”

Zuko nods and casts his eyes around. The air is comfortably warm, a peacefulness reserved only for this space. The two fish still circle each other. But if Zuko learnt anything from his years trekking the globe, hunting down the slightest rumour of spirits or strange lights or wailing forests, it’s that spirits are unique. They operate according to a logic that none of them could hope to understand. It’s a long shot, but he understands it’s their only option.

His people will eventually break through the wall and the Waterbenders will only be able to hold out for so long.

Zuko will only be able to hold out for so long.

“If the spirits can share some wisdom with us, then we might just get out of this alive,” he says. Movement catches his eye, and he finds himself looking at koi fish again, drawn into the monotony.

Aang positions himself back in front of the pond, legs crossed.

“That’s the idea,” Aang’s tone drops a bit. “I need to figure this out before the sun rises.”

Zuko catches the tone and blanches. “You can’t enter the spirit world?”

Katara steps forward, tone biting like a dolphin-piranha sizing him up. “He’s trying. It’s not as though it’s as simple as night and day.”

“I understand that, but time isn’t really on our side,” Zuko bites back, knowing he shouldn’t as the words pour out. Iroh and Zuko’s conversation on the ship before Zuko left comes back to him. How it felt like there was more to Zhao’s plan. A level of hubris that was foolhardy even for Zhao. “Most of the Navy is out there, and there’s something else to this plan, some other element, I just know it.” he bites back, worry fuels his rushed words.

Everyone is staring at him now, a new kind of horror rising with the dawn.

Zuko continues. “He took my crew. And my ship. Commandeered them for this…” he barrels on, pushing Jee’s bright smile from his mind, the budding comradery that Zuko had never known, Zuko’s tentative hope of some kind of future with them, now squashed because of Zhao. Because of Zuko.

“Zhao’s a fucking narcissist, but he’s not a complete fool. At least not when it comes to glory hunting. He told me that he would be remembered as the conqueror, that even the spirits would remember him.” 

The white-haired girl speaks again. She is soft-spoken and gentle, yet, she is louder than all three of them. “You think it has something to do with this place?”

Zuko’s gaze snaps towards her and she flinches, nearly steps back but stops herself. 

“You keep looking at the fish, at Tui and La,” she says to Zuko’s silence.

Katara and Zuko’s eyes meet, slowly, her eyes widening, and a sick thought starts to form in Zuko’s mind, waiting for Katara to connect all the pieces.

She doesn’t meet anyone’s gaze, an edge to her voice that speaks of pain. “They wanted to eliminate the South of Waterbenders, but that took years. Raid after raid, and we fought back, but the fish are the moon and the ocean… they are the source of Waterbending, our life, if something were to happen, then-“

“There’s no need for raids.” The other girl finishes.

A silence descends between them all, heavy enough that Zuko can feel the pressure, pushing at his lungs. He hadn’t really thought about it. About the South, about what it means for there to be no waterbenders there, about what his own people had done. But now, it’s all he can do to watch the moon and the ocean circle each other, as they have for eternity.

“Roku will know something,” Aang says, desperation colouring every word. He sinks to the ground in a meditative position, also unable to look away from the moon and the ocean. “I’ll figure something out.” He says. Then a second time, firmer, “I’ll figure something out.”

Then, Zuko’s gaze is torn to the southeast. He doesn’t need to see it to know the sun has begun to rise. Just as Zuko turns to the group to deliver more terrible news, two events occur at once; a flying bison roars, glancing the top of the wall surrounding the oasis as it descends;  and a terrible tremor shakes the ground, once, then twice, then over and over.

The attack has begun.

Zuko had seen the sky bison before, of course. But seeing the beast again, this time, now without that type of rotting, biting anger in his chest, he stares for just long enough for it to become embarrassing, and Katara’s brother - Sokka, he quickly finds out - decides not to hold back. He’s quickly placated by the solemn mood, meeting each face with growing dread as he reaches the strange grass of the Oasis.

“What?” He asks.

“We think Zhao’s plan may have something to do with killing the koi fish - the moon and the ocean spirit.”

Sokka's face goes white, eyes locking with Katara. “That would be bad, right?” He says, voice barely above a whisper. Katara’s despondent stare answers his question.

More silence.

Zuko can’t think.

“The attack has begun,” Sokka says eventually. “We’re holding our own, but… it’s not going to last.”

“Maybe, if I can find Tui and La in the Spirit World, I can warn them,” Aang says, but Zuko shuts him down almost immediately.

“None of that will matter if their physical form is still here.” He lets it sit for a moment, willing another to chime in.

Surprisingly, it’s the white-haired girl who speaks, a surety to her voice that can’t be argued with.“We must protect the Oasis. You four won’t be able to help out there as much as you will here. If the Fire Nation destroys the spirits…” she trails off, but they all hear her words.

Aang stands, and for a moment, he seems taller, and older, like the words aren’t just his. “I will do everything in my power to protect the spirits, Princess Yue. You have my word.” Aang bows, and the pieces suddenly fall into place. The white-haired Water Tribe girl is the Princess. He blinks, remembering a life that feels so far away, that Zuko is, was, a prince, the same standing as her. Now, Zuko’s a traitor, a rebel, and an enemy of the state. He would smile, if the circumstances weren’t as dire, as he adds another transgression to his growing list - and bows to the Princess of the Northern Water Tribe.

The moment passes, and Sokka presses strategy, looking between them. “We shouldn’t all be in the one place, it’s too easy to ambush and overwhelm us.”

“Zhao doesn’t know I’m here, he won’t know there’s anyone missing from your group,” Zuko offers.

Sokka grins, and clasps his hands together, a slightly wild look in his eyes. “Perfect. There are small crevasses all along the cave wall. How do you feel about having the height advantage?”

Zuko cracks a smile. “Of course. People rarely look up.”

“This is still really strange, by the way,” Sokka says, looking him up and down.

“I can tell you about all my transgressions against my country later if you would like.”

Sokka snorts, before turning back to Yue, Katara and Aang. It’s unanimous between them that Yue stay away from the fighting - there’s something special about Yue, but she’s definitely no fighter. Sokka busies himself getting her up on top of Appa with a level of care that surprises him.

“Maybe you three should stay together,” Zuko says once Sokka climbs back down. “In case we get separated. It’s important nothing happens to Aang.”

He aims for conviction and must land on something more intense, as he watches Katara and Sokka share a look.

“Sure,” Katara says, measured. “I really hope everything you say is true. We’re trusting Aang’s judgement of you.”

Zuko ignores Sokka’s whispered, are we? and bows his head. He’s about to fight his own people. He’s not sure if even he fully understands the gravity of what he’s committed to. Truly, once and for all, he’s never going home.

“I’m sorry,” he says. It’s inadequate. He hopes his actions speak louder than words. “For hunting you all. For not understanding sooner.”

To his country, there is no returning from treachery. A bridge burnt is just ash. And all Zuko has are ashes.

Katara nods. Not accepting, but not rejecting his words either.

He knows he’s on the right path now, even when the guilt builds up in his chest, burning. Leaving his uncle behind, risking his crew’s lives, and not fighting hard enough to keep them safe in the first place - still, now more than ever, Zuko understands he was always going to end up here with the Avatar, not as an enemy, but a friend.

He makes for the wall and breathes deeply, letting the warmth of the rising sun drive him forward.

By the time the sun sets, the Water Tribe will still be standing, tall as ever. Zuko will make sure of that.

Chapter Text

Sokka watches as Zuko scales the cavern’s rocky wall. It’s relatively easy, with many footholds. He doesn’t want to be too high, that it would make jumping off dangerous and that he wouldn’t be able to hear any potential conversation between a firebender and Aang and his friends. He needs to be just high enough to give him an edge.

In the end, the Oasis chooses where he hides. There’s only one place that would work to hide him enough and not keep him from being able to know when to engage.

He peaks over the edge. Sokka smiles at him, shooting him a thumbs up. Zuko reciprocates after a second of hesitation, then retreats back into his hiding spot.

He hopes he’s wrong, that he leaped to a conclusion too quickly, and that Zhao’s target isn’t the Oasis at all, but it’s all fitting together a little too neatly.

Zuko stays hidden, listening to Sokka’s hushed words to Yue, her soft words back to him.

Katara, quiet and severe, warning Aang to not hold back. That makes Zuko pause. There’s a story there. He pushes it away for now.

Now, all they can do is wait while the world outside shatters.

The whine of wood creaking jerks Zuko out of his half-awareness. He sticks his head out, his movement pulling Katara’s gaze to him. Her eyes widen, and she stands up quickly, her action pulling up the others with her.

The two share a moment — a split second of terror. If the Fire Nation is here so quickly after the dawn attack, when the ground starting trembling, then it’s no mistake at all. They’re not just trying to take the city, they’re going to eliminate the waterbenders.

Zuko pulls back, hiding amongst the darkness as the door opens.

A soldier steps into the Oasis. The bone white markings of their skull helmet are stark in the natural low light. Then another, and another. Four soldiers.

Lastly Zhao steps through the threshold, crushing any hope that was left that he could be wrong.

Zhao follows his soldier’s gaze, clocking the three people standing guard.

“Clever,” he mutters. “Or-” he moves forward, and the soldiers around him part, flanking him at his sides as he approaches the pond. “— Perhaps an unhappy coincidence.”

“Zhao,” Aang brands his staff. It turns up dirt and crumbles the grass with the force. “You don’t have to do this. You can turn back.”

“And why would I do that, when I am so close to becoming a greater legend than even you, Avatar?”

Zuko can see Aang’s reaction, even from where he’s perched. He tenses, teeth gritting. Even the Avatar would not be able to placate Zhao’s drive for glory. And Zhao’s not the type to care how many corpses he must climb over to get there.

The soldiers are antsy. Hands clenched, ready at any moment to strike out while Zhao parades himself in front of them. Zuko tenses.

He has the advantage of height and surprise — he can take out one soldier at the very least, two if he’s lucky, before the situation will dissolve into chaos, then at least, they have more of a number advantage. He holds steady, sweat beading on his forehead, debating when to strike.

Zhao is at the bridge now, eyes on Aang like a hungry komodo-rhino. Humiliation is driving him now. Zuko understands that anger-born humiliation better than most. He’s embarrassed, and desperate, and that makes him unpredictable and more importantly, deadly.

Aang’s voice, still pleading, is only strengthening Zhao’s resolve. No one’s looked up, looked around. Aang holds their attention resolutely, working in Zuko’s favour, at least for now. When is the issue.

Zhao gloats some more, words not important. Zuko waits. Katara’s hands twitch with anticipation.

“It’s for the best that you’re here,” Zhao says the words slowly, like it’s sat on his tongue for an age, preparing for this moment. “I can eliminate waterbending once and for all, and neutralise the threat you pose. I want to see it on your face.”

All pretence gone, the soldier closest to the pond dives to the ground, reaching for the fish circling each other in the pond.

Katara’s hand jerks, encasing the man’s arm in thick ice, heavy enough to keep him pinned for at least a moment. Zhao moves as well, striking a blow at Sokka, and capturing Aang’s attention as he deflects it. Zhao takes the moment of Aang’s distraction to turn to the pool, readying himself to strike

Zuko leaps from the cavern. He hits the ground in a roll, remaining still on one knee as he, strikes out at the closest soldier with enough force to send them on their back, winded at the least, armour smouldering. Katara finishes the soldier off with a swift and brutal whip to the head, knocking him unconscious.

Zuko spins, avoiding a confused blast of fire, draws his swords, and stabs cleanly through the solider’s lower left abdomen, right where Zuko knows the armour ends. The soldier falls and doesn’t move. Red stains the bright green grass. Zuko’s heart stops beating for a horrible second.

Silence befalls the scene. One soldier lay dead, the second unconscious, and a third with their arm cased in ice. The final solider stands in front of Zhao, chest heaving from an unseen encounter with Aang.

They both stare at the intruder, a firebender dressed in white, swords drawn, defending the enemy. Zuko sees the exact moment when they both realise who they’re looking at. Zhao shoves past the solider, eyes wilder than Zuko has ever seen. He raises a fist, and levels a blast at Zuko’s face. The blast is fast, vicious, and hot. He barely deflects it, fire singing his shoulders, and lets it fizzle out on the moisture-rich grass behind him. Zuko holds his stance, and Zhao’s gaze.

Smoke smoulders from Zhao’s hands, his face is twisted up in disgust. After a moment he breathes out, relaxes and laughs. “Oh, this just keeps getting better.”

Zhao takes another step forward, flicking his gaze between the Avatar and the Southern waterbender, making vile comments in his mind at the connection. “Banished, and now a traitor. There is a special hell that awaits you, prince Zuko.”

A foreign calmness settles over Zuko as he watches Zhao’s face. There’s no more need for Zhao’s lies now. He doesn’t have to pretend to respect Zuko, and somehow, that brings more relief than anything else. He’s a real traitor now. He’s attacked a Fire Nation Navy Commander, murdered one of his soldiers, and all Zuko can feel is relief.

Zuko breathes in deep, eyes closed and feels the burn of fire in his chest rising then breathes out fire billows out from his nose. He keeps his stance. Katara and Aang remain stoic and ready, just the same as him.

“Nothing to say? How unlike you, Prince Zuko.”

Zhao draws a breath, twists back slightly, and Zuko moves, dodging Zhao’s kick as fire spews into the surrounding trees. Some catch, others splutter out. Zuko remains crouched, as Katara strikes — water from the lake pummels the final solider’s chest, throwing him backwards hard enough that he keeps rolling once he hits the ground.

Aang turns to Zhao, sweeping his staff in a brisk motion, forceful but cautious. Zhao tries to dodge, but it catches him enough to knock him off balance. He stumbles, just as the other soldier frees his arm from Katara’s ice. He ignores his superior, and reaches out again. This time, no one’s looking at him amongst the chaos. The soldier snags the white fish and throws it in the direction of Zhao, who catches it, reaching out with both hands blooming with flame in an impossible move as he tries to catch both the fish and himself in his fall.

Zuko hears someone yell, and he moves without thinking, lunging for Zhao as he recovers, taking a few steps forward to maintain his balance.

Several things happen quickly: Zhao catches Tui in a violent palm full of white-hot fire; Katara encases the soldier again in ice, this time, almost his entire frame; Zuko reaches Zhao, throwing himself at the man and tackling him to the ground with all the strength he can muster, and the entire world disappears into a muted grey.

Zuko pulls himself off of Zhao’s chest, near flailing in his effort to see Tui, but before he lays eyes on her, Zhao’s face tells him everything he needs to know. He’s smiling, uncaring that Zuko has him pinned. The burnt corpse of the moon lays next to them, and all Zuko can see under his grip is hatred.

Then, Aang screams, filled with a guttural pain and frustration, as Katara’s own water cascades around her.

Zhao takes advantage of Zuko’s shock, grabbing him by the shoulders and throwing him off of him. He lands next to Tui and a violent desperation that he hasn’t felt since the early days of his banishment fills his bones with such a rush, his own speed surprises him.

Zhao’s retreating back is a target, and Zuko charges him, fire bursts out, igniting the oasis in a brightness that feels foreign without the moon. Zhao holds fast but stumbles. Curses slip from his lips as he realises Zuko will catch him.

Zuko reaches out, snags the shoulder plate of Zhao’s armour, and puts all his strength into throwing him backwards.

Zhao sees it coming and twists, unable to stop himself from hitting the ground, but turns at the last second, making sure not to leave his back vulnerable, and lands in a squat.

Slowly, Zhao rises from his crouch. The twitch of the corner of his mouth doesn’t leave.

Zuko flicks out a blade hidden in a pocket of his pants in reply. He hears the muffled sounds of anguish behind him, the two waterbenders experiencing a pain that Zuko can hardly even fathom. It’s a level of cruelty that he’d detached himself from, refused to believe his nation capable of until an Earth Kingdom man forced him to look. How can he hold an ounce of pride, when this is his country? How can he kneel and swear loyalty when his home is what tried to destroy Katara and her people? The ruined villages that spread across the Earth Kingdom tell a story of violence that was caused by his people.

Zuko came North to protect the Avatar from a monster. He just forgot that monsters look like men.

Zhao twitches, then thrusts an arm forward with a burst of fire, and Zuko dodges, rolling to the side. The fire strikes closely behind him as the heat billows against Zuko’s back. Zuko bares teeth, and strikes once again, attempting to pin Zhao down once and for all, but Zhao predicts his move and pivots. Zuko catches himself before he overcompensates and hits the ground, one hand hitting the grass. He uses the leverage to stabilise himself and narrowly avoids a violent blast of fire that singes his shoulder and ear.

They pause for a moment, the only sounds Zuko can hear is their heavy breathing. Zuko strikes first this time, fire blooming along the blade that’s seen him through more fights than he cares to admin, handcrafted by Earth. A flurry of blows are exchanged — Zuko lands strikes as does Zhao, until the sudden silence behind them cuts to short, unwillingly pulling their attention away from their fight and back to the Oasis. The pond glows, illuminating both the glittering grass and the bodies of the fallen and incapacitated soldiers, one killed by Zuko’s own hands. Distantly, Zuko realises that the glow is from Aang. The water ripples and begins to rise, gathering more water with it than contained in the pond until it stands, towering over even the mighty Water Tribe walls.

It’s a kind of power that’s otherworldly- like the old stories Uncle would tell of him of spirits pushed to the brink and then some. There should always be two fish in the pond. The Moon Spirit was killed and balance has been disrupted, and now the Ocean stands over this village with a goal that Zuko can fathom a guess at.

He wants to kill the firebenders.

Zhao mutters under his breath, bringing Zuko plummeting back to himself with it. Pale, a sheen of sweat forms as he realises the ocean himself seeks revenge.

The creature stands tall, formless and glowing. It reaches out with tendrils, wrapping around the bodies of soldiers fighting in the city and crushes them, throwing them into icy water outside the city walls. He’d call it a monster, if he didn’t understand the spirits. The Moon is dead, and Aang is the vessel for the Ocean to wreak havoc on those who’ve disrupted the balance of the world, who ripped the Moon away from its eternal partner.

As the Ocean begins to move further into the city, it’s back facing the Oasis, he can see the tiny form of Aang, arms outstretched, with a single-minded goal of revenge. It’s a power he only understood conceptually, but to see it before him, his knees tremble.

A sob behind him tears him from his reverie, plunging him back to reality, but he doesn’t have time to find its source, as Zhao disappears from in front of him, making for the door with an impressive speed.

Zuko turns back just quick enough to see a scene of despair. The three of them crouched over Tui, their expressions hidden by the unnatural darkness from her absence. Any reservations he might have had deep with him seem to evaporate at the sight. Another culture destroyed and for what?

Iroh would scold him, but Zhao’s retreating back fills him with a determination that he knows he can’t leave alone.

“He won’t get away!” Zuko calls out, only waiting long enough to see Sokka look up at him before he takes after Zhao through the icy grey streets.

They dodge bodies of Fire and Water alike, corpses littering the ground no matter where they seem to step. There are dark splatters of blood along walls and footpaths. The Ocean still slowly moves above them, arms sweeping down, carefully leaving the Water Tribe men and devouring the Fire.

Zuko finally catches Zhao at a bridge, stretching across a narrow waterway, a burst of Zuko’s flame forces Zhao to stop, igniting his tunic, and he tears it from his shoulders, growling. He tosses it to the side and turns around.

Zuko and Zhao face each other, silent for only a moment, as the screams of Zhao’s soldiers roar distantly just over the wall.

“I never thought it would come to this, my Prince,” Zhao says, taking a stance, fists at the ready, no longer smiling. “I thought many times I’d like to kill you, but I never thought you’d side with them, I never thought I’d kill a traitor,” he spits out the words with venom.

A noise rises from Zuko’s throat, visceral and real. These people are just that — people — and Zuko understands that he too once believed Zhao’s violence, but how can anyone look into the eyes of the little children of war torn countries like Shoh and Taru, or the weathered faces of people who’ve lived in fear since the day they were born like Lia. All Zuko can find in him is disgust at hearing those words, and looking at the man who spoke them into the air.

“Murder is murder, Zhao. The Water Tribe will make sure you reap the consequences of this. I’ll see to it.” Zuko replies, sliding a foot back for a more secure stance and raising his hands, ready.

“They’re not even benders now, Zuko. I’ve won, and the only one I answer to is the Fire Lord himself.”

Zhao steps forward. Zuko matches him. The Ocean flows through the city, melting and forming again as it pleases, but even its presence fades in comparison to the pounding in Zuko’s chest. It’s not his place to take revenge, but he can’t let Zhao walk away. Even if the fight is lost, Zhao cannot leave unscathed and victorious. There’s rope hanging off Zuko’s waist. He’ll hand Zhao over to any survivors and let them decide his fate.

Zhao strikes first, a flurry of quick bursts that Zuko dodges by hopping up onto the bridge’s boundary. Zhao aims for his feet and sweeps fire like a scythe. Zuko leaps over it, landing behind Zhao, who twists to face him just as quickly. They exchange more blows in much the same way: Zhao strikes hard and fast, orange fire lighting up the dying world around them as Zuko flips and spins, striking when an opportunity opens itself. Then: the world changes, lights up, colours bloom in Zuko’s vision and soft white and blues arise again, illuminated by the moon. He breathes out, unsure how this can be, but not finding it in himself to care. There’s a crash, the sound of splashing water, and yells of vindication somewhere past the wall and hidden among buildings that tell him that Zhao’s plan has crumbled.

Zhao is still, staring up at the moon, eyes blown wide. “No!” He screams. Zuko doesn’t try to respond, taking advantage of Zhao’s distraction. He hits him with blast after blast until Zhao is on his back and Zuko’ fists are inches from his face.

“Do it,” Zhao hisses.

Zuko grunts, flipping him over onto his back as he unhooks the rope and quickly ties Zhao’s arms behind him, and then his ankles. Once secure, Zuko leans in close, grabbing material around Zhao’s neck and pressing him into the ground, perhaps harder than he needs to but no less deserving. “Your life or death is dependent on the mercy of those you tried to eradicate,” Zuko returns.

The Ocean is suddenly rising up from around the bridge, enclosing around them. Its long tendrils reach out, prying Zuko’s hands off of Zhao and pushing him back away from him. He stumbles, but the Ocean doesn’t let him fall, soft water levelling him to his feet.

Then, it envelopes Zhao, dragging him off the bridge. Zhao thrashes, desperate for purchase, a sound echoes from his throat that’s violent and guttural, but all Zuko does is watch, and La drags him to the river below them.

The Water judged him, and found him guilty.

The city still stands as dawn breaks.

The wounds are visceral, and even when washed out of the snow and ice, Zuko knows the people will never forget what happened this day. What sacrifices had to be made to ensure their survival.

There are too many bodies to bury, and the Princess’s death echoes around every corner, with every gust of wind it carries her sacrifice. Even Zuko can feel it, despite exchanging only a few words with her.

Walls and architecture created and designed by beloved Waterbenders long since past now lay in ruin. Their touch and impact erased in a single night. Zuko can’t help feeling haunted the longer he stays here. A responsibility weighs upon him. It was his people after all, no matter how much they'll want his head on a spike after his actions. It’s still his blood, his country.

He joins Aang and the others in the cleanup, sticking close to them. He’s not afraid, but he doesn’t know the Warriors, and they don’t know him. They have just fought a battle for their lives against people who look like him, and he doesn’t want to take a chance that he might bear the brunt of someone’s anger. His survival here banks on the Avatar’s trust and the word of the civilians in the bunker.

In the hours until dawn and just after it, everyone’s eyes drift to him. He senses it with every step, like there are eyes in the walls themselves. He never considered the aftermath. Zuko was lucky that Lia saw his intentions through to his very bones, but he also knows Lia is special. Most only have their eyes and an intuition on whether a stranger can be allowed to breathe the same air they fought to protect.

It’s only when he finds himself separated from the others that fear finds its way into his heart. The sun has long since breached the ocean, peering over the snow and ice and making it shine impossibly. A man snatches him away, piling boxes into his arms, and then accompanying him with his own as they trudge through winding streets to am unknown destination. His hair has been pulled out of its wolf tail, and he hasn’t tried to fix it, nor has he tried to do anything about the blood on his tunic, or the deep, painful looking bruises across his forearms.

Zuko trails behind the man, and tries not to let the silence threaten him. Most of the civilians are gathered together, working hard to make priority areas usable again, caring for the wounded and gathering essentials. Zuko’s not sure what’s in these boxes or why they’re moving away from the others, but Zuko is not in a position to question anyone here.

Eventually, they arrive at a large cavern, formed roughly, indicating a lack of care and personality. It’s not a home. He pauses outside, steps unwilling to travel across the threshold. He isn’t sure of this man’s intentions. Perhaps it’s as simple as using the extra pair of hands, or maybe it’s another test — likely with fewer words and more fists if Zuko knows anything about soldiers.

The warrior steps into the house. When Zuko doesn’t follow, the man sticks his head back out, gesturing for Zuko to enter. When that doesn’t work, the man walks up to him, carefully removing the box from his hands, and shuffles back inside. He doesn’t seem angry, but Zuko still can’t be sure, or bring himself to cooperate. At least here, someone might see that Zuko didn’t initiate whatever conflict may erupt.

“There’s nothing to be frightened of,” the man says once he emerges from the darkened storage room. His voice is gruff, yet warm. Zuko’s shoulders shudder. “Not if your loyalty is as true as the Avatar claims.”

“It is,” Zuko says. “I've committed the greatest betrayal in the eyes of my county. They’ll do everything they can to kill me now,” Zuko hears himself talk, and knows the words he says are true, and yet the whole world is a little far away to be real. He swam through arctic waters, boarded a ship as a stowaway, attacked and assaulted an officer of the Navy, personally killed a fire nation seaman and, at the very least, indirectly killed his crew all to ensure the survival of people he never met. His father is going to want his head and more.

His body begins to feel the consequences.

The man gestures again for him to come closer, and this time Zuko trails along behind him. His legs burn now that he’s aware of the ache, and the rest of him is a moment away from catching up. The Warrior finds a low ledge jutting out from a wall. It’s meant to be decorative, but he lowers himself down onto it with a wince. He pats the space next to him.

This, Zuko follows. What else is he to do?

“I am Yosko.”

“Zuko.”

Yosko huffs, leaning his head against the wall.

“A reflection of my heritage,” Zuko offers.

Yosko breathes quietly. “As is mine.”

Silence descends. Zuko cannot fathom Yosko’s intentions. Mostly, the man seems tired. There are deep lines in his face that make him look older than he is. There is no anger that Zuko can sense, only a sadness. It doesn’t dull Zuko’s suspicions. Their view is a ruined bridge, piles of displaced snow and ice that Zuko remembers seeing upon entering. Its carvings destroyed. He knows the waterbenders can re-create it, but he’s not so stupid that he doesn’t understand that that’s not the point.

“News travels slow to us, out here,” Yosko breaks the silence. “We isolated ourselves for our own protection, but that isolation also has left us vulnerable.” He doesn’t look at Zuko as he speaks, just gazes up at the sky — pale blue and cloudless. The sun pierces the cold just enough that makes being here in the heart of water possible for Zuko.

“We hear about things late, or not at all. It allows fears to fester and hollow us out. Until the attack, it sometimes did not feel real.”

Zuko understands he is building up to a point. He waits Yosko out.

“The Fire Nation tried to eradicate my people. How can someone of your status, possibly end up here, sitting next to me in the heart of the North Pole, when the alternative is a life of luxury?”

Zuko stares at Yosko, drinking in his question, and fumbles a way to answer. He knew the truth of his identity would spread the second that Aang had to swear Zuko’s allegiance was genuine to the Chief, but the answer still seems impossible. For Yosko’s sake, he knows he must try.

“I met a man, Manu, in the Earth Kingdom. He asked me to find his daughter. She’d been taken by human traffickers.” He doesn’t attempt to hide the bite in his words at the thought of those men.

“I managed to get her back to her father. After that, it happened again. A woman whose husband was a greedy scumbag, a man who was stealing from an Abbey…” He doesn’t mention Taru, fearing that Yosko would take it the wrong way, that Zuko is inflating his own importance in this conflict.

A tiny frown has formed across Yosko’s forehead.

“I guess it’s hard to hate the enemy once you understand them,” he finishes lamely. How else can he explain it? He spent three years exploring the world. He’s met civilians and soldiers; poor and rich; benders and non-benders; lawmakers and lawbreakers; spiritualists and scientists. How can he walk away from that and not realise the great lie?

When Yosko doesn’t say something immediately, Zuko continues, trying to hide his desperation to be believed.

“I killed a Fire Nation seaman today. I may have killed my own fucking crew, and the thing is, I don’t regret it. I murdered a fellow countryman and I didn’t feel anything at all.”

His eyes suddenly burn and he ducks his head. “I know this is my destiny, I understand that now, but I murdered my friends to do it,” he finishes with. “My crew were good men. They stood by me all this time and never buckled, even when I strayed further and further from our country’s cause.”

Yosko speaks only after Zuko is left breathless. His words are quiet and said with meaning. “If your men are as half as good as you say them to be, then they’ll understand why you chose this path. There’s nothing to forgive.”

His throat burns and Zuko doesn’t trust himself to reply.

“My son says you’re the bravest soldier he’s ever met,” he says after a minute.

Zuko looks up at him.

“Taru. You took him back to my wife.” A ghost of a smile flits over his face.

Zuko’s head swims through the exhaustion and finally puts the pieces together — why the man singled him out, isolating him. For no nefarious reason at all, but for his son.

He curses under his breath, rubbing his blistered and bruised hand over his face.

Yosko just laughs loud and hearty.

He extends out a hand, and Zuko stares blankly. Yosko reaches out and takes Zuko’s corresponding arm in his. He clasps Zuko’s forearm, and Zuko catches on, grasping back.

“Welcome to the North Pole.”