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Chapter Text

Fire Lord Zuko does his best to ignore the sensationalized tabloids and columns that sometimes end up on his desk along with the morning editions of the Republic City Daily. They’re never anything other than exaggerated, ridiculous stories about some disgraced politician or 3-month old gossip reprinted with twisted headlines. But once in a while, one of his friends turns up on the tabloid covers. 

AVATAR DUMPED BY WATER TRIBE GIRLFRIEND TWO YEARS AFTER END OF WAR - IS THE NOMAD LIFE JUST TOO MUCH? 

FRIENDS DESCRIBE EMOTIONAL FALLOUT WITH NEW, EXCLUSIVE INSIGHT ON THE WATERWORKS. READ ON PAGE 4. 

Zuko sucks in a breath and flips the tabloid open. 

He hates that he gets updates about his friends’ lives through these melodramatic, half-fictionalized stories. Since when did their lives grow so far apart that the paparazzi finds out about all the ugly details about his best friends’ lives before they get a chance to tell him? The tabloids printed three full pages of speculations about Aang’s negligence and Katara’s tantrum that allegedly collapsed an entire bridge in the Southern Water Tribe developments, after which Aang retreated into the Western Air Temple for solitary meditation. It sounds almost like the plot of a bad Ember Island play.

His letter to the Western Air Temple gets bounced—lack of air bison transport, he’s told—but he receives a reply from the Southern Water Tribe almost immediately. It’s as if Katara has been waiting to explode to anyone who wrote to her. Zuko wades through the pages of how angry she is at Aang, then how much she loves him, how she could never love him again, and then how she could never love anyone other than him. 

He composes the most comforting words he can think of, but they all feel like meaningless platitudes. What helpful thing can he possibly say to someone who has lost the love of her life? Still, he’s missed her in these past months. 

I’m sure you’ve been invited to Sokka and Suki’s engagement, Katara writes. Will I see you at Wolf Cove next month?      

Of course, was his response. I will be there. 

The thought of visiting Wolf Cove dances over his mind more often than he’d ever admit, so much so that it seems that some of his cabinet has started to notice.

“Fire Lord Zuko? Is something the matter?” 

Zuko snaps his head up to meet the narrowed eyes of his Minister of the Interior, honed in on him in displeasure. 

“I’m sorry,” Zuko grimaces and pinches the bridge of his nose. “What did you say?” 

The Minister of the Interior doesn’t bother to hide his annoyance. “Since the young lord doesn’t seem to be engaged with the infrastructure problems of Yu Dao island, I propose we move on to the next topic of the meeting.” 

“Which is?” 

“The matter of your succession,” the minister continues without missing a beat. “The first step of which is the search for a Fire Lady.” 

Zuko nearly spits out the lukewarm tea he’d been sipping. 

“Why the urgency?” demands another minister. “The Fire Lord only just turned eighteen last month.”

This launches the conference room into a heated discussion until the shock passes through Zuko at last and he slams a fist down on the table. 

“The average age of marriage in the Fire Nation has always been mid-to late twenties. My parents didn’t wed until my mother was twenty-one,” he says as evenly as he can. It’s one of these times that he wishes that he could look to Uncle Iroh for assurance, but Iroh had elected to be outposted to the Earth Kingdom as soon as he could get away, damn that old man. Zuko looks instead at the Minister of the Interior. “Minister Nei, explain why you believe this to be such an urgent issue.” 

“It’s no urgency, my Lord,” Nei says, matching Zuko’s tone with practiced ease. “I mean to merely suggest the start of a search, not marriage. With Ozai’s recent upset, this lowly minister believes that allying yourself with a strong family with similar values would be ideal. The girl should have a capable mind for politics as well, so as to further our cause in this treacherous court. Not to mention, a foreseeable line of succession always inspires confidence in the constituents.” 

The minister has a point, and they both know it. Many other ministers also nod in reluctant agreement. Zuko grits his teeth. “You have a long list of qualifications, I’m sure. Have you found any women worthy of this interest?” 

Nei motions to a secretary, who unrolls a scroll in front of Zuko. 

“Not many yet, but the Fire Lord need not worry. There are two ways to go about this. One is traditional—marrying a woman from the Fire Nation who hails from a respectable bloodline, perhaps one related to a past avatar,” he points to a list of names on the scroll. “Or my Lord might be…amenable to this second option.” 

The look that Nei casts at him makes Zuko feel as uneasy as walking on ice. “That is?” 

“Some of your ministers and diplomats have discussed the possibility of marrying outside of the Fire Nation. A woman of status and political sway, of course. But if you were to marry a princess of the Earth Kingdom or a lady of the Northern Water Tribe, it is altogether possible that the nations would be open to accepting this alliance and concession in place of some of the financial reparations that they’ve demanded in the peace treaty.” 

Zuko stares at him, mouth half-opened like a dumb trout. The minister motions for him to look at the scroll again, and what Zuko sees makes the blood rush to his head until it feels like it would explode. 

“I’ve taken the liberty to compile some names on this list as a start,” Nei says. “I understand that my Lord is already acquainted with—” 

“Ambassador Katara?” Zuko manages. “Why in Agni’s name is she on this list?” 

“Katara has the political sway to align the Fire Nation with the Southern Water Tribe, which will be an invaluable ally once it regains its economy in fishery and oil production. Not to mention how heavy the reparations are to the tribe leaders. Speaking of whom, her relation to Head Chief Hakoda makes her technically the equivalent of a noble.” 

The matter-of-factness with which the old man speaks about Katara stuns him for a moment. It was as if she’s simply one of the many desirable exports of the Southern Water Tribe that he could purchase.

Minister Nei takes his silence as his lack of protest and continues. “Fire Lord Zuko also has some attachment to her as a friend, I am aware. As she is recently separated from the Avatar, I am sure it won’t be difficult to foster some further affections towards this end.” 

That suggestion breaks the thin ice that they’ve been ambling over. 

“So you’re saying,” Zuko begins slowly, “to pressure one of my best friends into marrying me to get a discount on the reparations owed to her people. While she’s still heartbroken from a previous relationship.” 

The edge of the scroll catches on fire, and the minister’s face turns to the color of ash. 

Zuko imagines proposing to Katara. He doesn’t need to wonder to know that she’d never consider him as a husband, not unless she’s pressured by politics. Knowing her, she might very well put her people first and force herself to go through with it. The mere thought makes him too sick to speak. He’d rather burn another scar into his face than pull Katara into this mess. 

“I don’t think there is a need to discuss this further,” Zuko says. “Not for another ministerial term at the very least.” 

At the end of that month, Zuko sails a week’s journey to Wolf Cove with a small retinue of servants. His cabinet was not thrilled about his vacation, but he doesn’t care. His never-ending work will always be there. 

In the years since the end of the war, the Southern Water Tribe has changed so rapidly that he barely recognizes the nondescript shore where he first met Aang, Sokka, and Katara. The rebuilding of the scattered villages has turned the little dock into a harbor full of ships and fishing vessels, bustling with merchants, laborers, and families from all over the Four Nations. Under the careful planning of Hakoda, the Northern Water Tribe helped erect a great fortress walls of ice into the cliffs around them, which groaned open to usher his canoe into a canal lined with construction projects for homes, fountains, and roads as far as he can see. 

At the end of a canal, there is a collapsed bridge. A lone figure stands in front of it, her arms raised as water surges over the ruined ends of the bridge, twisting and melting into different frozen shapes. Zuko jumps out of the canoe and walks towards her. 

Katara’s dark hair is loose, tumbling over her back. Zuko can see her breathing hard as he approaches, fingers curling and flexing. But water seems to have a mind of its own. The ruins of the bridge fall back into the canal, and Katara gives an angry shout. 

“So it’s true that you destroyed an entire bridge during your fight,” he says to her. Katara whirls around and in the space of a breath, the rage in her eyes melts away.  

“Zuko!” 

She flings her arms around him and he smells the frigid, salty scent of the ocean in her thick dark hair and on her skin.  

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here,” she beams. “It’s been so annoying being the only one Sokka confides in to plan the proposal. He really likes to ask for the impossible.” 

“Like rebuilding this entire bridge?” 

“Well, that one might have been because of Aang and I. Or rather…just my fault.” 

She turns her face away, but Zuko catches that shadow that passes over her expression. He grabs her shoulder and turns her towards him. Her eyes search the ground, and her lips are pinched in the way that tells him that she is trying not to cry. 

“Katara, what happened?” 

She’s silent for a long time. He imagines the countless times that she’s had to pull herself together and force back the tears until it becomes just another part of her routine of being bright and hopeful. Zuko sits them down on the edge of the canal and forces himself to ignore the painful cold of the icy ground.  

“He could never have chosen me,” Katara says at last. “How could he? He’s the last of his nation, and it’s always been his greatest dream to rebuild the Air Nation. I could never take him away from that duty.” 

“He would’ve always chosen you. I’ve never met anyone who loves his forever girl as much as Aang does,” Zuko tells her, but that is the wrong thing to say. It’s obviously not true now. 

“We wanted to get married,” she says. “But Aang couldn’t commit to staying with me to rebuild the Southern Water Tribe, and I couldn’t leave all this behind to live at the air temples with him. Not when my tribe needs me the most during these years.” 

She points to the eddying canal below them. They watch the wide, bubbling fountains made of carved ice and buildings glisten like white marble in the South Pole sun. It’s all so beautiful. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I think I know. It was the same for Mai and I. She isn’t someone who could commit to the public role of a Fire Lady, and I couldn’t be someone who entertains her the way she wants. There is no point in being together if we know it will only end in separation.” 

Katara sighs and rests her head on his shoulder. “We’re just as cursed as the Avatar when it comes to this, aren’t we?” 

Cursed? He’s not surprised if he is, seeing as every other part of him seems to be cursed already, from his disfigured face to his family in the dungeon beneath his throne. Katara, however—the weight of her head against him fills him with a familiar, painful longing—how can she be cursed in love? Zuko just knows that once her pain has ebbed away, there will be lines of suitors eager to court her and dedicate their everything to her dreams of rebuilding the Southern Water Tribe. She will have her pick of a wonderful life ahead. He gives her a small smile. 

“I think you’ll be alright, Katara.” 

The good thing is that Katara doesn’t have to rebuild the bridge by herself—a team of waterbending engineers come to the rescue just an hour before the proposal. They pull the canal water into the elegant arch of the Southern Water Tribe moon bridge, with a round opening beneath it tall enough for a barge to pass through.  

Katara passes her hand over the broad base of the bridge, focusing her powers to keep it in place as the engineers work above her. But as always, when her mind is like the restless sea, the water roils and rebels beneath her fingers. 

“Here. Let me.” 

Katara looks up to see Zuko holding a stretch of cooling glass in his hands. He places it over where she’s working, and Katara freezes the ice around it to fix it into place. Their hands rest over one another on the underside of the bridge and when they’ve finished, the bright waters of the canal are reflected in the smooth pearl of the snow and glass. 

“Unconventional,” she says, and Zuko shrugs. 

“I’m not sure how well it will work,” he admits. “But we’ve been using a lot of glass in some of the new Caldera bridges. It’s worth a try.” 

The engineering techniques of her tribe were long thought to have been lost until last year, when she and Master Pakku led a team of researchers to find remnants of Southern Water Tribe engineering logs in the depth of the Agna Qela archives. The old journals said that the reflection that these bridges cast on the waters creates a perfect full moon that attracts the spirits of Tui and La to bless those who walk upon the bridge. Now, Wolf Cove and all the other towns around them have started to rebuild in the styles of the curving, crystalline styles of the Southern Water Tribe cities of a hundred years ago. 

The engineering recovery effort is one of the several that she’d been buried in since the end of the war. It was the first part of the great Southern Rebuild Project that her father and the leaders of the Water Tribes have started. Seeing the magnificence of her home’s history become reality again fills Katara with an overwhelming excitement and elation, and she feels as if she has to hold back the urge to tell everyone about the most mundane details of canal urban planning or traditional sea prune stewing or temple architecture. 

Aang always listened enthusiastically to her prattling about those things, and she loved him for it. There was always a shine in his eyes whenever she spoke about plans for a new temple or rediscovering old waterbending techniques. But he could never put aside the same excitement and responsibility he had for the Air Nation to be with Katara during the rebuild project. 

It’s a ten year project, she told Zuko in one of her letters, with this being the second year already. Aang said to her with a sorrowful smile that if they can’t work it out for these ten years, there is no need to force themselves. It broke something in her. 

Sokka proposes to Suki on the moon bridge that night and receives a tear-filled and joyful yes. Their friends cheered for them, then they all returned to a feast at Hakoda’s home. Katara tries not to think about how at one point, she thought it would be her and Aang on that bridge.

It’s bad sister behavior to look and act miserable during the engagement feast, Katara reminds herself. Especially when she was the one who insisted to Sokka that he should go ahead with the proposal after he’d offered to postpone it for her. So she plasters on her best happy sister smile for everyone and stuffs her face with noodles and seaweed. The aunties and grannies around her ask invasive questions about her breakup with Aang and inform her warmly that most Water Tribe women receive their betrothal necklaces at the age of eighteen. 

“I already have a betrothal necklace,” Katara responds to them cheerily through a gritted smile. She catches Zuko’s eyes from the other side of the table, and the look that he gives her, concerned and mildly amused, makes her wish that she could talk to him and also regret that she’d said anything to him at the same time. 

Katara doesn’t get the chance to see the Fire Lord for a while between all the reunion and diplomatic meetings that follow such an important engagement. On the third day of celebrations, Katara finds Zuko by himself on the moon bridge. 

“I thought you left this morning,” she says, surprised. 

“I decided to visit some of the new housing developments.” He straightens when she stands next to him. His voice is a little hesitant when he says, “I want to see how the Fire Nation can support the rebuild project. Beyond just the reparations.”  

Katara blinks at him and feels a warmth spreading in her chest. “That’s very kind of you.” 

“It’s nothing compared to what you and the rest of the tribe are trying to do. It’s the least we can offer.” 

The quiet between them is always comfortable, because Katara knows that neither of them are expecting the other to fill it with any forced, awkward small talk. They watch their mirrored reflections on the placid canal water. 

“Are you planning to get married soon?” she asks. 

“What?!” 

“Or engagement? Anyone in mind?” 

“No.” Zuko looks as if she’d just asked him if he’d jump off the bridge naked. “I’m not planning to marry for many years yet. Although my stupid advisors have started talking about it already because they’re worried about the optics as the new Fire Lord.”

“Really?” She leans towards him. “What kind of Fire Lady do they have in mind?” 

“A politically-apt Fire Nation noble lady, or an Earth Kingdom princess for allianceship, or—” A blush begins to creep across his cheeks, and Katara can’t help but think that it’s kind of cute. “No one specific.” 

“Ah.” She crosses her arms. “I’d never marry anyone from the Northern Water Tribe. You know how those men are, and they have mothers who tell you that you’re on a timeline to become a wife right after you break up with your boyfriend. And there aren’t that many Southern Water Tribe men my age in general. The pool is literally very small.” 

“So an Earth Kingdom guy. Or Fire Nation.” 

“What if I became a Fire Nation noblewoman?” Katara laughs. “Or the Fire Lady! Can you imagine?” 

Zuko says nothing for so long that she starts to worry that it was too weird of a comment. She is about to change the subject when he says, 

“I think you’d actually make an amazing Fire Lady, Katara. You have the brains to contend with the court and the heart to change the lives of the people. You would be able to create a new nation that sees itself and its world completely differently from before.” 

He says it so matter-of-factly that Katara can only stare at him for a long time. Zuko stares straight ahead at the railing on the bridge. He is completely serious. 

Katara of the Southern Water Tribe, Fire Lady? She’d laugh if the Fire Lord would act like it’s something to laugh about. 

The first thing she thinks about is Aang, but she quickly pushes it out of her mind. Then the barbed but genuinely concerned words of the Water Tribe aunties come to her mind, and Katara can’t help but acknowledge the very deep and very real hole of fear that has opened up within her since she’d decided to dedicate the entirety of her life to the rebuilding project for the next eight years. 

It’s so embarrassing and foolish of her to feel this way; like she'd be bound to feel sad and alone unless she had a man by her side. She’s acting exactly like what those misogynistic aunties expect. And yet, none of her rationalizing and resolve in the last month can change the reality of her anxiety. 

Seeing her dear friend’s straight back and faint blush gives her an insane idea. 

“Say, Zuko,” Katara starts. “Let’s get together if we’re both still by ourselves at the end of the Southern Rebuilding Project.” 

At that, the silence that erupts between them is awkward. Zuko stares at her like she’s a strange spirit animal that just emerged from the ocean. Spirits, what did she just suggest? But then he laughs. 

“That will be a long time off,” he says. “You’ll probably have fallen in love with someone and gotten married long before then.” 

“Sure, and so will you,” she retorts. “But it’s for insurance, a last resort if I am going to be alone at the age of twenty-five, and if you are really scraping the bottom of the barrel of women to be Fire Lady. Hopefully, neither of those things will become true.” 

Zuko’s face is unreadable. He studies her carefully, and she realizes that he’s looking at the betrothal necklace at her collarbone. Katara wants to tell him that he doesn’t have to think so hard about something silly like this. 

“Being the Fire Lady would be almost the same as being the wife of the Avatar,” he tells her. “I wouldn’t ask my wife to renounce her culture, but she would dedicate much of her life to the Fire Nation…To being with the Fire Lord.” 

“I know,” Katara says. A part of her is impressed at how thoughtful Zuko is towards this. “But like I said, it’s a last resort. Besides, I don’t think you need to be worried at all about having no one to choose from to be your Fire Lady.” 

He says nothing to that, and she barrels on before she starts to grow too embarrassed as well. “We’ll also help each other find the love of our lives during the meantime, of course. I’ve met some wonderful Fire Nation girls recently that would love an introduction.” 

“I’m not looking to get married anytime soon,” he reminds her, and she’s relieved to see now that he’s broken out of that wooden facade he’d been wearing. He gives her a small smile. “But if it’d make you feel better, Katara, we’ll do it.” 

“Great.” She offers her hand, and he shakes it. His fingers are warm around the back of her hand. “Sokka told me that the promises made on moon bridges like these are sacred. We may or may not be cursed by the moon and ocean spirits if we break the pact.” 

“Of course,” Zuko snorts. “The Fire Lord is never one to break promises. Especially not to his friends.” 

Chapter Text

Happy 18th birthday wishes to the Esteemed Fire Lord Zuko…

…The rebuilding of the temple is well ahead of schedule, thanks to the architects from the Fire Court! My father and Sokka also send their gratitude for your sponsorship of the precious metals…

Oh, I’d rather you not ask about the suitors! The Water Tribe aunties are getting more and more vicious with every month that I don’t have a warrior lined up to marry. 

And how was meeting with the Fire Nation noblewomen? Everyone was talking about how some of them are the descendants of Avatar Szeto, which would make the royal bloodline basically invincible. Not sure how much of that you believe, haha. Did you at least make use of the conversation points I gave you? 

Your friend, 

Katara

Dear Katara , 

Happy birthday. It’s hard to believe you’re nineteen now.

…Thanks for asking about it. Work with the education ministry is slow to reform the textbooks and national curriculum. How can you possibly undo a century of brainwashing in just a few years at school? What can you possibly tell the kids when their parents and grandparents and great-grandparents have known a completely different world? These aren’t rhetorical questions. I want to get your thoughts. 

Like the young noblewomen I met last year; it felt impossible to connect with them. They don’t go about in the same world that we do. 

If the aunties still bother you, I can send you some popular novels and magazines to give them. That should give them something else to talk about for a while. 

Yours, 

Zuko

Happy 22nd birthday, Fire Lord Zuko! 

…Congrats on a great birthday bash, too. What did you think of Earth Kingdom royalty? I know King Kuei was trying to set you up with one of his nieces. 

But if you ask me, which I know you will, I don’t know if they’d adapt well to the Fire Nation. Did you see how one of them almost needed a physician after she tried the fire flakes? I saw her wooden expression almost change. 

Fundraising the Southern Rebuilding Project is still keeping me busy…did you hear Aang has taken a new girlfriend? She’s an Air Acolyte. 

I’m glad for him. It’s been a long time. 

Your friend, 

Katara 

Dear Katara,  

Happy 21st birthday. I’ve heard no news of your engagement, so I’m guessing that Matchmaker Wu’s magic didn’t work on you. Better luck going forward, otherwise you’d have to marry me in another four years. 

I’m sorry. Just kidding. But it seems like Aang will be the next of us to marry next summer… My council has started pressuring me in earnest to find a Fire Lady recently, too, but they’re used to me putting them off by now. 

I wanted to warn you about some Fire Nation men, especially those we met at Wolf Cove last month. Seems like there’s a popular trend of them marrying Water Tribe women to have them as conquered, exotic trophy wives…not that you’d let yourself be fooled by them! I know that. 

But just in case, there’s an old wives’ method of testing firebending men for their character…

Yours, 

Zuko 

Happy birthday, Zuko! 

26 almost seems too old. Thank you for still replying to me, though I know you must be busy with what’s going on in Republic City. 

…and thanks for asking about that suitor. I gave a hard and cold rejection to his proposal. Was I too cruel, Zuko? Maybe I’ve grown into a callous woman that doesn’t care about others’ feelings. I’ve changed so much. 

But at least the Southern Rebuilding Project is finally coming to a finish after all this time. I could cry thinking about how we’ll cut the final ribbon in just one more year. 

Your friend, 

Katara 

Dear Katara, 

Happy 24th birthday, my friend. Congratulations on finishing the Southern Rebuilding Project as well. You’ve done more for the Southern Water Tribe than most chiefs have in their entire lifetimes, and you and your people have much to be proud of. 

I was just thinking, and perhaps you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but it would be nice to have you in Caldera again. Would you want to come to the Agni Lovers’ Festival at the end of the summer? 

It will be fun and you will meet suitors if you want. It can be as you want it to be. It’s been a while since you’ve been in the Fire Nation... 

Yours, 

Zuko

“Did you hear about how the Young Lord Shi had to suddenly leave the celebration last month?” Sokka asks, his mouth full of candied hawthorns. “Apparently he got diarrhea out of nowhere.” 

“Young Lord who?” 

Around them, the streets of Caldera flutter with red and gold streamers laced around rows of glowing red lanterns above their heads. Food stalls fill the air of the capital with the warm smells of candied potatoes and roasted kabobs, and carts lining the roads peddle fresh fire lilies and lotuses to couples strolling arm-in-arm through the market. The Agni Lovers’ Festival has always been Zuko’s mother’s favorite festival, and for the tenth anniversary of the war’s end, he’d done everything in his power to revive it to the passion that he’d remembered in his childhood. 

Sokka is still talking to him, and Zuko does his best to listen while taking in the festivities around them. 

“Young Lord Shi, the heir of the Linkou Province in the eastern Earth Kingdom?” Sokka reminds him impatiently. “You know, one of the men that Gran-Gran was trying to set Katara up with when all those dignitaries visited to celebrate the end of the Southern Rebuilding Project. Poor man.” 

Oh, that peacock. Zuko remembers the vain Earth Kingdom young lord that boasted to him about how he’d wanted to take a Southern Water Tribe peasant bride to experiment with a “sparrow to phoenix” transformation project. 

“He should’ve been careful with what was in his dessert if he was so weak against milk,” Zuko says without trying to hide his disdain. “He was an embarrassment even without shitting himself in front of the entire Southern Water Tribe and all the world dignitaries.” 

“Who said anything about milk?” Sokka stares at him, and he realizes too late what he’d said. The heat of embarrassment begins to warm his neck. 

Sokka eats the last hawthorn on his stick with a pop , and an insufferable grin creeps onto his face. “Either the Fire Lord has great intel on useless world leaders’ gossip, or he sabotaged a marriage prospect for my sister.” 

“He was an airheaded bastard riding on his father’s nepotism,” Zuko snaps. “Agni knows why your Gran-Gran would want to set him up with Katara, but I was doing you all a favor by getting rid of him for good. That parading clown won’t show his face in the Southern Water Tribe again.” 

Sokka throws his hands up. “Hey, I didn’t say you did a bad thing. I know what most of these young lords are like. It’s just that…” 

“What?” 

“He’s not the only suitor for Katara that’s been mysteriously ousted recently.” Zuko avoids Sokka’s raised eyebrows. “Or similarly humiliated, in some cases.” 

“I don’t know what you’re implying, Sokka.” 

“There was the Northern Water Tribe hunter, who you saved when he fell through the ice. Or the brothers from the Fire Nation, the ones who wanted to learn healing from Katara but were called back home early by a royal decree?” Sokka counts off his fingers. “I can go on.” 

“I don’t see how I am responsible for the misfortune of random men,” Zuko says evenly. “But they were all either chauvinists or hucksters that Katara would’ve hated, so no harm done in what I can tell.” 

Damn him. He should’ve known that Sokka would be sharp enough to pick up on the few—just a handful—of times that he’s lightly discouraged abhorrent men from making advances on his friend. Zuko debates how embarrassing it would be to ask Sokka not to tell Katara about it, if he hasn’t already.  

“I just wish that you’d enlist my help in some of these sabotages,” Sokka complains. “I’m her older brother, after all. If you involve me, it would seem less like you’re a sad, hopeless friend pining after—”

Zuko elbows him. From across the street, Katara waves to them and weaves her way through wooden carts and performers. The red silk of her Fire Nation-style dress shifts around her like the delicate petals of a poppy blossom, and Zuko gathers his thoughts just in time to greet her and congratulate her on the rebuilding project. 

“It’s so good to finally get away from home for a little. The Fire Nation feels different after so long,” Katara says. The light of excitement in her eyes is enough to make Zuko forget that entire conversation with Sokka and fill him with an insensible giddiness. “What should we do first? The market or the shadow puppets opera? What should we eat first?”  

They buy fire flakes from the vendors, watch the performance of shadow puppets, and play games to win little prizes like charms and candies. Katara and Sokka’s eyes become bright at the common Fire Nation children’s games that Zuko hadn’t thought to play in decades, and he can’t help but chuckle at their delight. 

It’s late afternoon by the time they stroll to the opposite side of the festival, where florid silk tents circle a plaza and the saccharine smell of perfume floats through the air. Zuko doesn’t need to enter any of the tents to know the services they’re offering. 

Katara looks at him and Sokka. “Would anyone care to join me?” 

“I wouldn’t keep getting my hopes up about matchmakers,” Sokka says, earning a venomous glare from Katara. “The more prophetic they’ve claimed to be, the more terrible your matches have been. What’s this, the fifth one you’re visiting this year?” 

“These will be different! The matchmaking traditions at the Agni Lovers’ Festival originated from the ancient gods, and the royal family has relied on them for centuries.” She turns her gaze to Zuko, and he doesn’t get a chance to question the validity of that claim. “Why don’t you come with me, Zuko? Don’t you want to try your luck?” 

“I’ve never been lucky in my life,” he says, to which she rolls her eyes. 

Accompanying Katara to do anything matchmaking-related is the last thing he wants to do. But it’s the exact reason why he invited her to this festival, he reminds himself scornfully. What right does he have to feel bitter about this? Still, Zuko decides that he’d rather keep some distance between himself and whatever romantic hope the matchmaking will stir up in Katara. 

He gives his two friends a smile. “Not today. My ministers have been waiting on me for some meetings, actually. I’m sorry, Katara.” 

It’s not true—most of the cabinet has taken the day off for the festival. Katara’s face falls, and he’s filled with a torrent of guilt. He bids her and Sokka goodbye, and turns from them back towards the palace.  

Seeing Zuko hastening back to his meetings, Katara can’t help but feel a twinge of annoyance amidst her disappointment. 

“He could’ve at least told us a little earlier instead of suddenly disappearing like that,” she says. Sokka is wearing a funny look on his face, one that always means that he knows something she doesn’t. “What? What were you two talking about?”

“About your shitty suitors from your phony matchmakers,” Sokka says, and she rolls her eyes as they begin to stroll down the lane towards a plaza in the middle of the market. “Well, what have you been doing these past few months?” 

“I’ve been doing… some interviews.” 

Sokka raises an eyebrow, and she sighs. 

“Zuko doesn’t know about this, so don’t tell him. But some members of his council asked me to help organize meetings to identify potential Fire Lady candidates, and as his friend, I’ve promised to help him with matchmaking, too.” 

“And…?” 

“And there’s not a single suitable one. Can you believe it, Sokka? We’ve interviewed dozens of noble families in the Fire Nation, and their daughters are all beautiful and accomplished and graceful—much more than I am, anyway. But I can’t even hold a conversation with most of them about current events or their opinions on his policies without getting an earful of Sozin-era propaganda.” 

Her voice has risen louder than she’d expected, and the couples around them shoot them quizzical looks. Sokka laughs sheepishly and tells them, “Sorry, my sister has unrealistically high standards for the suitors of a friend she definitely isn’t into.” 

“They’re not unrealistic!” Katara forces her voice down from a screech. She can feel the blood rushing into her head. “And I’m not into Zuko, you blubbering seal. I’m just trying to help him.” 

“Sure, alright,” Sokka says. “How else are they failing your standards of perfection?” 

“The handful of girls who aren’t sprouting propaganda at me are either conspiracy enthusiasts or disaffected and bored like his past girlfriend, which I know he hated. Some of them are sweet, but they don’t know Yu Dao from Lu Dao.” Katara huffs. “Or I just didn’t like them. They didn’t feel right.” 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re trying to sabotage the prospects of our esteemed Fire Lord,” Sokka says. “What does ‘not feeling right’ mean anyway? I don’t believe it’s possible that you haven’t found one good candidate.” 

“How can you suggest that? Zuko is one of the people I know best in the world, and I’ve been trying to do right as his friend to find just one girl that could be a good Fire Lady. Who else would he possibly take as his wife if we don’t find someone?” 

“You, for instance,” he says, and his nonchalance sends a spike through her. Spirits, she’s going to have high blood pressure talking to Sokka. 

“Please. How can I be the Fire Lady?” 

“Why not? You clearly know him and the politics of the nations and the courts better than all these Fire Nation girls.” 

“You know it’s far more complicated than that. He’d be pressured by the reparations, and I’m wrapped up in my work at home. Can you imagine what a contrived proposal would do to our friendship?” The logic in that truth makes her feel a little more even. 

“Wouldn’t be contrived if you both wanted it.” 

Katara grits her teeth as he bites into another kebab. The din around them rises as the festival goers swarm around a large roped-off ring in the middle of the plaza. A man standing within the ring shouts into the crowd as he waves a red banner above him. 

“Come on, my fair fire ladies! We need just one pretty volunteer to be the prize for this age-old Fire Nation tradition. Come up here, and the winner of the duels in this very ring will take you on a sweet date tonight!” 

Katara turns to her brother with a scoff. “Contrary to what you think, I have far better things to do than try to sabotage our friend’s marriage.” 

She makes her way towards the ring and shoves to the front of the crowd, where a small gaggle of girls have already gathered in front of the banner. The man’s eyes land on her, and he grins wide with a mouth full of missing teeth. 

“Ah, a Water Tribe beauty! This will be an exciting twist for our valiant contestants. Come up here, little moon goddess!” 

He pulls her onto the stage and the crowd cheers. Katara’s stomach flips as she realizes just how large the audience is. The contestants have already gathered too—young men of every shape and size, warming up on the side of the ring. They grin and wave enthusiastically when she sees them, hooting and whistling in a way she’s not sure she appreciates. 

But it’s too late to back out now. The announcer’s voice booms from behind her. 

“The old man of love ties an unbreakable red string of fate between soulmates. Let’s see if we can find”—he pauses to ask for her name—”Katara of the Southern Water Tribe’s soulmate today!” 

The crowd cheers as the announcer produces a statue of a bronze dragon the size of her forearm. From its mouth, he pulls out a spool of red string and ties it around Katara’s ring finger. Her string connects through the dragon’s belly to its tail, which separates into two more red strings. The announcer directs her to tie each of the strings onto the fingers of two of the contestants—bulky, robust Fire Nation men. One of them winks at Katara as she ties the knot on his finger. 

“You know how this goes, folks! The first man to subdue the other and break his string without bending is the winner of the duel and advances onto the next round! Last man standing with his red string still connected is the lucky guy to sweep our moon goddess off her feet.” 

And just like that, the duel begins. 

Katara has seen suitors in the Northern Water Tribe duel for the right to court before. Sometimes if the combatants are skilled enough, it’s quite an entertaining afternoon show. She’d never imagine that she’d be the object of a duel before though. 

Spirits, if those aunties can see her now! It’s not so much that she seeks the approval of the nosy Water Tribe mothers, or even that she believes this shallow, performative confrontation is a good way to court anyone. But, Katara realizes as her chest thuds with every slam of blade against armor and body against body, it is nice to be desired. She’s never been an object of anyone’s desire worthy to be fought over, since—she swallows. Since Aang, she supposes. But that doesn’t matter anymore. 

The contestants come one after another and she leans into the theatrics by blowing kisses to them or allowing them to kiss her hand. The crowd loves it, and they root for whichever fighter seems the strongest. But no one is able to last more than two rounds. 

“I guess it means that the Fire Nation’s young men are all quite talented,” she says as she ties the string around the finger of a new contender. 

“But they haven’t dueled a Water Tribe warrior so far, have they?” 

Katara’s eyes snap up to meet a boy with a broad face and a wolf tail cut like what Sokka used to wear. His eyes are the color of the ocean around glacier ice. 

“For a surprising girl, I think her champion ought to be a surprising contender too,” he tells her. He must be younger than all the other men who’ve come before, and from his zealous grin and muscle-flexing, Katara guesses he might even be younger than her. 

“We’ll see,” she tells him with a light tone. On nothing more than a whim, she pulls the blue silk ribbon out of her hair and ties it around the bare tattooed arm of the boy. The crowd gasps. 

“Now that’s an unfair advantage,” the announcer says. “What is your name, young warrior?” 

He raises his club to the air. “I am Kova!” 

Kova demolishes the next five contestants and looks like he’s having fun doing it. The crowd goes crazy for him when he flexes his muscles at them and flashes them a toothy grin. The blue ribbon on Kova’s arm grows torn and grimy with sweat. When it finally falls from his arm and gets trampled underfoot during one match, the boy hardly notices. 

“I’d give anything to go on a date with him. You’re gonna have a great evening,” a girl next to Katara whispers to her with a longing look in her eyes.

It’s not that Kova is a bad person; there is a part of Katara that finds his enthusiasm and the light in those blue eyes endearing in the same way that a polar bear puppy is endearing. If anything, he is the paradigm of perfect masculine savagery that Water Tribe men strive for. But as Kova spits into the dirt on the side of the ring and roars at the crowd, Katara only feels a sickening pull in her core. 

If that girl wants to go in her stead, she’d gladly let her. She has long since started to regret that meaningless show of favor from earlier. Kova snaps the string of the sixth man clean through. 

“We have a clear winner!” The announcer shouts. Kova gives a roar of victory as if he’s just been christened a new god by the adoring audience. 

“Are there any other contenders?” Katara asks, hoping her voice doesn’t carry any hint of the desperation she feels. “There should be at least one more, right?” 

The announcer scans the crowd. From the back, a hand shoots up. 

“Yes, come forward!” 

The sea of people part before him as if shrinking away from a leper. When the contender reaches the ring, Katara finally sees why. 

The man doesn’t look like a human at all. He lumbers towards her with a red headdress embroidered with beads and yellow feathers looms over his head, trailing tassels down to a thick red beard that reaches his midriff. His clothes are ridiculously elaborate in the same way, armored with licks of golden embroidered flames and so loose around his frame that she can’t tell what his body might look like beneath them. At his sides is a wide broadsword.

The strangest of all is the man’s wooden mask—it is painted in swirls of black and red around an enraged approximation of eyes, nose, and a demonic scowl. Katara feels the man’s dark and unblinking gaze though slits of its eye holes bearing down at her as she ties the string around his finger. It feels like standing in the shadow of a monster from the spirit world that is a moment away from devouring her. But she recognizes this unusual look. 

“Are you an actor? Why an opera costume?” she murmurs to him, but he acts as if he doesn’t hear her. 

The announcer pulls himself from his shock and motions to the masked man. “Now, final contender, what is your name?” 

The crowd waits nervously, but the man gives no response. 

“Are you quite enamored with this Water Tribe goddess?” 

Still no response. The announcer blinks awkwardly and turns back to Katara. 

“And what is at stake for you in this match between Kova the warrior and this silent figure, little goddess?” 

She looks between the two men, one of whom is so preoccupied with the peanut gallery that he doesn’t notice the psychotic way that his opponent’s gaze is fixed on him from behind that bizarre mask. An evening with either of them makes her feel ill. 

Katara’s mind flits momentarily to a promise on a bridge, years ago. 

“Finding a suitor here will mean I am freed from a pact I made with someone to marry him if I am still single this year. I will no longer be bound to be his wife, trapped in his palace like a caged bird,” she announces. The crowd’s gasp at her dramatic declaration makes her feel a little guilty for using her and Zuko’s friendship as entertainment fodder. She’s relieved that he’s far out of earshot. 

Kova points his club at the masked figure. “My club will free this lady from the bonds of her pact with that monstrous man! I will—” 

The masked figure doesn’t allow him to finish before he draws his sword and strikes. The duel begins. 

Kova is forced on the defensive for the first time, blocking the broadsword as the masked man hacks towards him. The strings between them pull and strain as Kova twists away from his attacker and lunges back towards him. They parry, dodge, and tangle against one another for longer than any of the other matches so far. 

The confidence from before has drained from him. Katara can see the flush growing on the young man’s cheeks and the stumble in his feet as he tries to find the masked man’s string. Amidst the elaborate red of his beard and the costume, and the movement of the duel, it’s near impossible to find the single red string. Meanwhile, the string stands out like a bright red vein against Kova’s blue tunic. 

He must be tired, Katara realizes with a twist as Kova is forced onto his back at the edge of the ring. The masked man betrays no hint of emotion or exhaustion, and he continues to strike at Kova far more viciously than she feels is really necessary. It’s hardly a fair fight right now, Katara thinks. 

Kova puts one foot behind another, and she sees him step into a dip in the ground. His body lurches forward just as the masked figure’s sword swings a wide arc toward the string at his neck—

“Stop!” 

Her shriek echoes over the horrified crowd. She hears a painful crack, and the masked figure stumbles back. Katara can already see the slice of blood across Kova’s chest, dripping onto the dirt ground. His string is snapped and his club drops to the ground. She glances towards the contender. 

The masked man clutches his arm where the club struck him. He has gone very still. At his feet lay the two ends of his red string, still in one piece. 

Katara rushes into the ring and wastes no time in pulling water onto Kova’s wound. He groans beneath her hands, and she’s relieved to see that the wound is shallow. The stunned announcer turns to the crowd.

“W-well! A surprising turn of events, I suppose, we’ve never had such an upset before—” 

“Where is the other one? I’ll heal him too.” She turns to see the masked man pressing himself to the edge of the ring like a cornered prey ready to bolt from its hunter. When his eyes meet hers, he stiffens. The hairs of his beard are loosened, and it falls from his face with the bottom of his mask and cracks against the ground. His chin and jawline are sharp, pale, and human against the strangeness of his costume. 

Katara suddenly feels as if she’d been struck by lightning.   

“Wait!” She shouts, but the man has already bolted. He pushes out of the ring and into the stunned crowd. 

She bends the water from Kova, who’s already mostly healed. He grabs her hand. “Does that mean I win if he forfeits?” 

Katara winces. “Sorry. But I don’t think there was a winner in this match.” She pulls her hand from his and runs after the masked man. 

Despite his head start, it doesn’t take much for her to track down his path. The festival goers gawk after him and tsk at the upturned carts and stools that he leaves in his wake, and she follows the scene until she sees him clutching his arm at the end of an alleyway by the palace. 

What kind of person would fight and injure himself for an evening with her, only to run away without so much as a word to her once as soon as she tries to speak to him? Actually, there is only one person who comes to mind who’d do something like this. 

Katara bolts after him and sends a torrent of water towards his feet. He stumbles and gives a shout of protest, and it’s all she needs to ice his legs to the ground and pin him against the wall. In this back alleyway, the sounds of the festival around them die away, and it’s just the two of them. 

Chapter Text

As he walks back towards the palace, Zuko bites back the bitter taste of disappointment and forces himself not to look back at Katara and Sokka. Putting distance between himself and Katara is always the hardest thing he does, but he reminds himself that it would always hurt less than whatever he’d see if he stays. 

He meanders through the streets instead and passes by an excited rabble of young Northern Water Tribe hunters clustered by the gates of a small opera theater at the edge of the market. Zuko eyes their bared weapons warily. 

“...the Agni’s Duel in the plaza,” one of the young men is saying. “I hear the girl’s beauty is on par with our Princess Yue’s.” 

“They’ve already started! It’s been a while since these duels had a Southern Water Tribe girl for the prize.” 

This makes Zuko stop in his steps behind them. Agni’s Duel, a distant evolved cousin of the Agni Kai, had never interested him much because of its rules against bending. Iroh told him once the tradition came from a legend about a princess born from a volcano who was so beautiful that the twelve sons of the Fire Lord fought one another for her hand in marriage, but he’d always thought that it was just a lame excuse for men to fight one another in public without the honor or risk of a real Agni Kai. Not to mention, a woman as a “prize” is an appallingly backwards tradition for a place like Caldera. 

“What’s her name? Katara, like the companion of the avatar?” 

Agni. What is Katara doing there, of all people? She knows better than to put herself out in a dirty meat market where insects of the most unsavory kind will swarm. 

“Kova, what are you going to do once you win an evening with her?” 

Zuko whirls around to see them all looking at a hale and broad young man.

“I’ll show up in the end to let the trash sort themselves out first,” he laughs and brandishes his club. “If a peasant girl like that is as pretty as they say she is, you might hear a good story from me tomorrow morning. Or we might be shopping for a new necklace!” 

Blood rushes like erupting magma up to Zuko’s head, and he doesn’t bother staying to hear the jokes that his friends throw after that. He pushes into the back of the theater and grabs the first mask he sees. 

The plaza is already packed when he gets there, so preoccupied with the duels that he doesn’t even garner too many strange stares in his elaborate opera getup. He wishes that he’d grabbed a less conspicuous mask—at least one that’s a little more thematically appropriate for the festival—but he’s glad he didn’t spend the time to go all the way back to the palace. 

Kova swings his club and sends an Earth Kingdom man flying against the ropes of the ring. The announcer strikes a bell, and the crowd roars in approval. 

“We have a clear winner!” The announcer cries. 

In the dais ahead, he catches the fluttering red of Katara’s dress and the glint of her red thread swaying in the dusty breeze. She’s too far away for him to see her expression. Is she happy about Kova, or is she as appalled by him as Zuko is? Either way, they’ll spend the evening together, which doesn’t mean much when Katara can look out perfectly fine for herself, but Zuko knows how much faith she has in these matchmaking hucksters’ promises. As his friend, he should at least let her spend time with a more gentle and caring suitor. How can he say he’s looking out for his friend if he’s letting the likes of Kova win her hand? 

Zuko shoots his hand up. 

“Yes, come forward!” 

Katara’s eyes widen in something between shock and curiosity when she sees him, and her hands are warm when she ties the thread around his finger. Zuko bites his tongue to keep himself from responding to her questions. If she doesn’t know him by touch, she’d know him from voice alone. 

The announcer asks her something, and Katara thinks for a moment before responding. 

“Finding a suitor here will mean I am freed from a pact I made with someone to marry him if I am still alone this year. I will no longer be bound to that man.” 

The crowd goes wild at that answer. An ugly knot twists itself in Zuko’s throat, but he swallows it down. What is there for him to be hurt about? That’s what their pact is—no strings attached, just a safety net for each other. But Kova seems to think that it’s a coerced damsel-in-distress situation. 

Zuko draws his broadswords, and Kova reacts just in time to bury his blades in the side of his club. It’s been a while since he’d sparred with just his swords, and he might have enjoyed it more under another circumstance. Still, Kova is a talented fighter with a warrior’s sense to match any of his generals, and that flicker of rage inside Zuko makes him strike with just enough vicious intent to make the young hunter begin to falter.  

It’s not a fair fight; Kova is tired, but the technique of his swings is still that of an expert fighter. If there’s anything Zuko hates to do, it’s to back down from a good fight. The world around them blurs, and that damned red string is so close. Kova’s body lurches back over a dip in the ground, and Zuko almost has it—

“Stop!” 

The sound of Katara’s voice jolts Zuko back. It takes all the strength in his body to freeze his swords just an inch from Kova, but the tip of his blade slices into Kova’s low collar. The hunter’s response isn’t as fast as his, and the hefty bludgeon of the club smacks against Zuko’s head a split second after. The world spins red and blue. 

When he’s gotten his bearings again, head throbbing, Zuko looks down and sees the red string dangling from his clothes. 

It’s loosened but intact. A few paces away, Kova’s string lay snapped at his feet. He’s won. 

Zuko sees Katara looking up at him, eyes bright and shocked. His eyes are bleary, and he’s vaguely aware of the sound of his mask cracking onto the earth. He thinks for a moment that Katara is coming towards him, but then Katara is kneeling next to Kova. 

Shit. 

She’d been hoping for Kova to win this entire time. What had he been thinking, getting involved when they’d been about to call the match?  Katara looks up at him, and that gaze is all that Zuko needs to bolt from the ring. 

He doesn’t know how long he traipses through the market, overturning the festival in his dizziness with blood seeping down his temple. The outraged vendors shout after him, and he must look the most bizarre sight to the festival goers. But he doesn’t need to go too far. Just to the backdoor of the palace—

Zuko stumbles into an alleyway, leaning hard against the dusty wall and glad for some reprieve from the eyes of the festival. But he doesn’t take more than two steps before a flash of cold wraps around his ankles. He looks down to see ice pinning him to the ground. He growls and pulls at his feet helplessly. 

Behind him, blocking the light from the head of the alleyway, is Katara with water dripping from her flask. She covers the distance between them in a stride and traps him against the wall. He shrinks back from her when she leans in to peer at his mask, and she pauses. 

“Am I not who you thought you wanted?”

Her voice is softer than he expects and there is a shadow of shame that colors her face. Zuko wants to bite through his tongue with the same desperation he feels to wipe that expression off of Katara’s face. 

“No! You—You’re everything I want.” 

“Then why did you run?” She demands. “I was going to heal you, but you don’t have to deny it if you don’t want a peasant like me to touch you.” 

“No, it’s not that!” 

She studies him for a moment before bringing a stream of water to the side of his face. It feels as gentle as a kiss, and the pain in Zuko’s temple instantly dulls. Water mixed with blood and sweat drips through the jagged edges of his mask and down his chin. He feels distinctly as if he’s defiling Katara’s entire water flask. 

“Why would you come after someone as strange as me?” He asks, rasping his voice. “Are you really so desperate to marry?” 

Katara hesitates before pinning him with a scowl. “Is it so bad to want to be loved? I didn’t join Agni’s Duel because I was desperate. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be wanted, is there?” 

“No,” he says. “There’s nothing wrong with that. But you didn’t answer my question. Why do you want to be loved when there is already someone who will marry you? Why do you speak of freedom from being loved?” 

Katara’s hand slacks against his head, and the water shrinks from him. Her fingers wander down to trace the exposed part of his jaw gently, her brows furrowing. Zuko feels his entire body lit with electricity.

“It’s not like that. We created a marriage pact to help each other find love, but we’d only get together in the sorry event that we’re both still alone by my 25th birthday.” She doesn’t meet his eyes. “It’s just…insurance. He’s a dear friend of mine, but he won’t see me in that way.”

“How do you know?” Zuko bites back his tone of indignant protest. 

“It doesn’t matter what we feel, actually.” she says. “He needs someone who is not me. I couldn’t fit into the role that he’d want his wife to be. We’d both only hurt ourselves and hate each other if we were together.”  

The simple certainty with which she imagines a future where they hate each other more than they love each other drives an icicle into Zuko’s chest. It’s strange, because they began their relationship wanting to kill one another. But now—he swallows. A world where he loses Katara as his friend, where he does anything to hurt her, is one that he’d break himself a hundred times over to escape. 

It doesn’t matter what he feels.  

Zuko tightens his fists and draws a breath. The ice melts around his limb, and before Katara can open her flask, the air around them warms unbearably and he pushes his way towards the open street. 

“Wait!” 

A blast of water slaps him from behind and knocks the mask onto the ground. Katara grabs his hand and whirls him around. 

“Katara,” is the only thing he can think to say to her. Her eyes widen as she takes him in. 

“I wouldn’t have expected to see the esteemed Fire Lord in this kind of place,” she says. “Did you think I wouldn’t be able to tell, Zuko?” 

Katara’s voice is soft and low in a way that he’s not heard in a long time. It’s like the sound of a distant wave that’s barely suppressing a raging sea beneath, and it sends a chill down his spine.

“I thought it was a good disguise.” 

“I’ve healed you enough times to know every callous on your fingers. And that voice. You weren’t fooling anyone.” 

Zuko cringes. “When did you figure it out?” 

“When you started fighting. Did you forget that I know you use broadswords?” It might be laughable if he isn’t so mortified, and if he can’t feel the waves of anger rolling off of Katara. “Why did you do that, Zuko?” 

“I—” he scrambles for words, but they all tumble from his mind when he sees the tears beginning to well in Katara’s glare. 

“You know how much I was looking forward to the matchmaking rituals and to actually finding someone.” Her voice shakes, and it makes him hate himself. “Why would you crash the duel like that when you don’t have any intention of acting as the winner?” 

“I’m sorry,” Zuko says. “I’m so sorry, Katara.” 

“Even if I didn’t enjoy the evening with whoever the victor is, it would have been better than that !” Her voice is rising to a fever pitch. “Alone and the talk of the town.” 

He hangs his head and lets the silence and her anger fill the space between them. There is only one thing that he can think of that can absolve him in this situation, and it’s something that they should’ve done a long time ago, even if it means that they’d be cursed by Tui and La and all the gods of the Spirit World. 

“Let’s break off the pact.” 

Katara blanches. “W-What?”

“That agreement we had to get together if we’re still single this summer. It’s done. Forget it.”

“Zuko—”

“I thought I wanted to protect you, but in reality I’ve been overstepping. At the duel, and all the other times before.” He forces the truth out of himself, where it’d stuck like a sore within him for so long. 

Katara stares at him, and he’s not sure if she’s angry or shocked. He’s not sure which is worse. 

“What do you mean by all the other times before ?” 

She deserves to know the truth about this, even if it means that he will have to come clean about everything else. The realization dawns on her, and he watches her face slacken. 

“The hunter that visited last year. The Fire Nation healers.” Her eyes widen, and Zuko wants to sink into the ground. “That was you ?”

He doesn’t need to nod for her to read the confession that’s plain on his face. 

“And Lord Shi’s incident at the banquet. We thought he was dying!” 

“I didn’t mean for him to get so sick! Afterwards I had envoys send medicine to his court.” 

“Spirits, I heard that he was incapacitated for almost a week after that!” Katara covers her face with her hands, and the sound she makes is something between incredulous laughing and crying. “Zuko, you beast!” 

“Those people were the scum of the earth,” he says, despite feeling very much like the scum of the earth himself at that moment. “They just hid it well.” 

“And what about Kova?” 

Zuko thinks about the jokes he’d overheard Kova make to his friends, but it seems now like such a trivial thing. What young hunter doesn’t make a few crass jokes to his friends? Zuko has done the same thing. 

He can’t meet her eyes because he can’t bear what he might see in them when he finally tells her. Zuko has imagined this exact moment over and over; a thousand variations of the exact words that he’d say, and a thousand different ways Katara might react. Countless dreams and nightmares have plagued him into inaction for so many years. But now, standing in a hole that he dug by himself in front of the woman he cares most about in the world, he suddenly feels the weight of it all slip away from him. 

“I couldn’t stand the thought of you being with him. With any of them.” 

The silence stretches like an abyss. 

It’s only when Katara speaks again that he raises his head to look at her. Her eyes were still fixed on him with an inexplicable expression. 

Her voice is barely more than a whisper. “But how can I possibly be with you? It would mean…” 

She trails off, and he’s almost glad. Zuko is used to disappointment and attempts to soften rejection, which people like his father and Azula don’t even bother to do. He doesn’t need every word to be spelled out. 

“It’s alright, Katara,” Zuko tells her as gently as he can. “I didn’t want to strain our friendship, although I guess it’s already strained because of me entering that stupid duel.” 

“No—I’m sorry, Zuko.” Katara squeezes her eyes shut, and it does nothing to help the terrible sinking feeling in his stomach. “I’m sorry for making that pact in the first place when it can't possibly end well. Tui and La curse me.”

He laughs softly. “You have nothing to apologize for. If they curse you, let them curse me, too.” 

He should’ve known better than to say yes to her that night on the bridge, because though he can lie to her and say that he had no idea it would come to this, it would be far from the truth. 

For Zuko, the marriage pact had never been insurance. The marriage pact has always been an impossible hope. Katara has always been his impossible hope. 

She shakes her head. “Even if we want to be together—” 

“Do you want to?” He can’t help the way that a sliver of hope in him snaps up at her words. 

“Does it matter whether or not we want to? You’re the Fire Lord, the leader of the Fire Nation. Would I just be your plaything?”

“No!” He stares at her. “Never. You have such a brilliant mind and compassion, Katara. You’d be my Fire Lady.” 

Katara returns his gaze, pained with horror and guilt. 

“I can’t.” 

They’ve arrived at an impasse, and it’s one in which their pact would never work no matter the circumstances. 

“It’s alright,” he says again. 

“You know how heavy the destiny of the Fire Nation is. How can that be mine?” She whispers. “I’m just a fool who was desperate to be loved.” 

They’re two creatures of duty, following their responsibilities over their hearts, and Zuko has nearly forgotten the reason that he has been doing this all in the first place—so that his dearest friend might find the love that she deserves. 

Zuko the Fire Lord, bound to a destiny where his life is never his own, is not what Katara deserves. No matter how great of a Fire Lady she might be. He forces that dream from his mind and forces himself to smile at her. 

“You’re not a fool, Katara. You’ll find someone who loves you. I’m the one who broke the pact, but you’ll always have the moon’s blessings.”

“Zuko—”

“I’ll still help you find love. That was never something we needed a pact for.” 

He can’t bear the bewildered look on her face, caught halfway between shock and pain. Before Zuko allows himself to think too much about it, he leans forward and kisses Katara on the forehead. Her skin is as warm as the waning afternoon sun against his lips. 

He turns back towards the palace and doesn’t let himself look back.  

“Why do you look like a turtleduck shat on your shoes?” 

Katara looks up to see Sokka narrowing his eyes at her. She scowls back at him, and he raises an eyebrow. 

“Was the matchmaking tradition to find your soulmate actually just a business sham? And you realized that genuine love and relationship isn’t something a fortune teller can give you, but something that you have to cultivate on your own? And that your wise older brother was right all along?” 

“Shut up.” 

“So you’d rather spend the evening back in the inn with me? Where’s the hunky winner that was gonna give you the night of your life?” Sokka had left right after she’d joined the Agni’s Duel, muttering something about how grossed out he feels watching random strangers fight like dogs over his sister. 

“It didn’t work out,” Katara says. “Zuko might have…crashed the thing.” 

Sokka stares at her for a long while, then bursts out laughing. But when he sees the tears slipping unbidden from Katara’s eyes, his laugh turns instantly into the stern dismay of a protective older brother. 

“Katara,” he pulls her towards him. “What happened? What did he do?” 

“It’s not like that,” she says quickly as she swipes at her eyes. “Well, it is a little bit—but…” 

Sokka stares at her, and Katara knows that she can’t hide this from her brother. 

“We broke off the marriage pact,” she says finally. “It’s stupid that we kept it up for so long, but I never thought it’d actually come to pass. But apparently all this time, Zuko has been getting rid of my suitors.” 

“Is that so?” Sokka’s voice is surprisingly even, which makes her think that he’s not all that surprised. Damn him. So he’s been in the know this whole time, too. “Are you sure you’re really upset about that? I see the way you look at him when you think he’s not looking.” 

Katara glares at him. “What is the point of being together if I don’t marry him? But if I marry him, how can I be his Fire Lady?”

“Of course you can be the Fire Lady. There’s no law against that. If anything, it’s already a part of the reparations agreement between our nations. Besides, the Southern Rebuilding Project is finished. You know you don’t have to stay in the Southern Water Tribe if you don’t want to.” 

Sokka’s calm logic, like Zuko’s matter-of-fact faith in her, only makes her feel more insane. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I love Wolf Cove and Caldera both.” The tears don’t stop, and Katara thinks of herself, bejeweled in the attire of a queen with the crowd of Fire Nation, surrounded by Zuko’s cabinet. She thinks of familiar blue oceans and ice, hundreds of miles away. It feels like something from a fever dream. “But how can I ever love someone so much to leave behind everything I built? It’s not fair!” 

Her brother sighs. “It’s not, I suppose.”  

The revelation that Zuko has been in love with her this entire time, a childish fantasy she used to entertain all the time, doesn’t even shake her as much as she thought it would. All she can feel is the massive realization that he wants her to be his wife. 

Fire Lord Zuko wants to marry her. He wants her to be Fire Lady Katara. 

The thought makes her feel like she’s drowning, the weight of the water pulling her from all sides and yet so lightheaded that her feet can’t touch the ground.

I can’t , she had told him. Zuko would never push her. And with those two words, Katara is certain something unfixable snapped between her and Zuko that night, like the delicate red string around a warrior’s finger.

Sokka sits down next to her and lets her lean her head against his shoulder. “If you don’t want to be the Fire Lady, someone else will.” 

“I know.” 

They stay like that for a long time until he finally says, “I guess it’s as bad of a time as any.”

“What?” 

Sokka rubs his face. “I’m sorry, little sis. The Fire Council requested you to help evaluate another Fire Lady candidate in Agna Qel'a. I know we just got here, but they asked if you could come within a month. They said she’s promising.” 

Fire Lady candidate. Right. If Katara doesn’t want to marry Zuko, this is the least he can do for him. She takes a breath and stands. 

“Let’s get ready, then. It will take a few weeks to get to the North Pole.”

Chapter Text

The candidate is beautiful. 

Katara has seen photos of her before, in the brief sent from Minister Nei during the weeks between leaving Caldera and arriving in Agna Qel'a. Still, she can’t help but feel stunned by the way that the girl before her seems to have flesh finer than glacial ice and bones as elegant as if they’re carved from jade. 

It doesn’t matter. Katara reminds herself that she’d promised to do everything in her power to help Zuko find love, with or without their pact. This would be no different from any of the other Fire Lady interviews she’s been conducting. Katara sits down in the cool wide hall of the Agna Qel'a home and takes in the young woman. 

Her name is Suizen, like the hot springs of the Northern Water Tribe. It fits her, Katara thinks. She can feel the warmth of a calmly contained passion to the girl that rests just below those cool, elegant green eyes. 

She’s of both Water Tribe and Earth Kingdom ancestry, according to the brief. Orphaned at a young age by a rogue band of Fire Nation mercenaries, she was raised by Water Tribe nobles. 

“She is an overseas council member. Like an ambassador?” Katara asked during the trip, and Minister Nei nodded. 

“Quite a similar profile to Master Katara’s,” he said. She chose to ignore that comment. 

Suizen offers her tea served in the traditional Southern Tribe manner and smiles. “It’s always been a dream of mine to meet you, Master Katara. I’ve heard about your achievements since I’ve been a child. If being the Fire Lady means that I’d have you as a close counsel, that would be the greatest honor.” 

She is far more comfortable and easy to talk to compared to most of the other candidates that Katara has met. It’s not that Suizen is that much younger than her either; at the age of twenty-one, she was eleven when the war ended. Katara sips the tea. It’s brewed to nostalgic perfection. 

“Being the Fire Lady also means many other things,” she says. “For one, do you think you’d be accepted by the Fire Nation? There are many who still believe that a Fire Lady of another nation will taint the sacred bloodline of the royal family, and even more who would hate the idea of a non-Fire Nation royal influencing the politics.” 

Her words come out harsher than she intends, but Suizen looks unfazed.

“I know. And I fear it will be even worse when they know that marriage to a foreigner is part of the reparations.” 

“It’s true. Many won’t take kindly to it.” 

The young woman purses her lips. “These difficulties are all part of the mission to improve the Fire Nation, are they not? I’ve met many young Fire Nation ladies, and though they are bright and sharp, they’re all rather…” 

“Brainwashed?” Katara supplies. Suizen nods. 

“They won’t lead their nation in a new direction. But I know what it is to be disdained by others, Master Katara. I’m a female council member in the Northern Water Tribe, and I’m sure you know what that’s like. I’ve never wanted to be liked by everyone.” 

The girl fixes her with a steely gaze, and Katara can’t help but feel a wash of awe alongside the flicker of annoyance. 

“That’s good, though it never hurts to be liked.”

“True, but if I’m anything like you, I might win over even the most stubborn of the Fire Nation people,” Suizen says with a small laugh. “With everything that you did for them during the war, and saving the life of their Fire Lord—the everyday folks already love you like their own.” 

Katara blinks. It’s true that she enjoys a welcome as warm as one given to the avatar whenever she visits the towns and villages, but she’s never dared to hope that that welcome might extend to her as their leader. She shakes the thought from her head. 

“Have you thought about the fact that you’d have to give up your responsibilities to the Water Tribe and the Earth Kingdom? Give up your life’s work to live in the Fire Nation?”

“I’m not giving up my life’s work,” Suizen responds. 

“Oh?”

“My life’s work is my people. If I can do that best by changing the politics of those who have oppressed us for so long, why shouldn’t I do it? After all, it is what Fire Lord Zuko wants, too. We would be hand in hand, step in step together in that endeavor.”  

“Do you trust those around you to continue your work here, then?” Katara thinks of Sokka, the engineers, and the architects, digging through the archives for old Southern waterbending technology. She thinks of her father, leading new squadrons of fresh-faced warriors to settle the abandoned islands around the South Pole. 

“Of course,” Suizen replies without hesitating, and the flicker of annoyance grows in Katara. This girl is more naive than she’d expected if she is so ready to drop her life and go. The Fire Lady should be someone a little more mature and practical. 

“There is one thing that worries me, though,” Suizen continues. For the first time, Katara sees the shadow of uncertainty clouding her features. “It’s foolish.” 

“Nothing is foolish when it comes to your matrimony.” 

“Well—perhaps you will understand, since you loved the Avatar.” 

A sick feeling begins to fill Katara’s stomach. “That was a long time ago.” 

“But it’s the same for loving anyone who has a destiny like that, isn’t it? Their life is never fully their own, but that of their people’s.” Suizen’s voice is even, hands resting in her lap. She’s folded up so neatly that Katara can hardly tell that she was anxious. “The destiny of a Fire Lord is their people, so even the esteemed Fire Lady will always be second in Zuko’s heart; the same way that being with the Avatar means that he’d always put the world and his destiny above those he loves.” 

That is almost true. Putting the world above love was always something Aang struggled with. In the beginning, he didn’t hesitate to put aside his duties for her, which ironically gave Katara an uneasy feeling of guilt and responsibility when she found out he evaded yet another council meeting to spend time with her. Wrestling between her and being the last airbender was something that never failed to grieve the both of them, pushing them to the last days of their relationship. For Zuko, who is so much more destiny-led compared to Aang, Katara knows that there would be little he wouldn’t sacrifice for the Fire Nation. 

“I know that I may never have his whole heart,” Suizen admits. 

“Does it scare you then? To know that you won’t be the most important thing to the person who is the most important to you?” 

“Yes. It does.” 

Suizen hangs her head, and if her words hadn't been needling Katara, she’d feel a pang of sympathy for the girl. She is already going through the grief of losing someone to the world before she’s even had the chance to love him. At least with Aang, he and Katara spent a few happy years together. 

“That is the fate of loving Zuko,” Katara says. “Of loving anyone like him. The fate of the Fire Lady’s is to love him enough for the both of them.” 

Suizen looks at her with a dark green gaze that pierces right through her words. Between them, the clay teapot grows cool. 

“You’re the Fire Lord’s closest friend, Master Katara. I know that you were also on the shortlist of Fire Lady candidates.” 

“Yes, that’s right.” 

The Fire Council showed her that list years ago, but Katara demanded they disregard her. Back then, she didn’t even bother to ask them what Zuko thought of her being on the list. 

“Then I’m sure that you’ve thought through all these things already. Did you ever consider it? Marrying the Fire Lord?” 

Her question presses against the part of Katara that’s started to hurt the most. The part that is fully aware that despite her best efforts and against her better judgment, she has always loved Zuko. But she’s never dared to wonder if it would be enough. 

For as long as she can remember, she’d only ever turned that yearning into a reassurance of their friendship. And now, into a razor focus on her responsibility to the future Fire Lady. 

“I don’t think that’s important to our conversation,” she replies, not bothering to keep the ice from her voice. 

A beat passes, then Suizen bows her head, though the gesture doesn’t make her seem remorseful in the least. “Forgive me. That was out of line.” 

She's an astute one, Katara will give her that. A great trait for a Fire Lady. But what Suizen says next only makes the feeling in her stomach worse.

“It’s because of your close counsel with Fire Lord Zuko that I’ve always looked up to you, Master Katara. I heard you were also the mind behind the first moon bridge in the Southern Water Tribe. It’s quite an engineering feat.” 

“They’re so common here in Agna Qel'a,” Katara says. “Nothing special, I’d think.”

“I am a little superstitious though,” Suizen confesses. “I do believe that confessions and proposals on the moon bridges are blessed by Tui and La, and that they’d bless the couples for eternity. If Fire Lord Zuko would have me, I’d only want it to happen on a bridge he built—the one in the Southern Water Tribe. I hope he doesn’t mind this little thing.” 

The memory of the ice bridge in Wolf Cove, fortified with glass from Zuko’s hands, resurfaces faintly in Katara’s mind. The pain presses harder into her, and she feels like she is drowning again. 

“The first moon bridge in the Southern Water Tribe was built by me and Zuko together, actually. You should know that just as the genuine hearts are blessed by Tui and La, the disingenuous hearts are cursed by them. It’s not wise to make such a request so lightly.” 

Suizen begins to say something, but seems to think better of it. A shadow passes over her face. “I didn’t realize that you are also the superstitious type, Master Katara. But I shouldn’t think there would be any disingenuousness on that bridge. Do you?” 

“I would only want the deepest happiness for those who meet on that bridge.” Katara tries to keep her voice smooth. “Not for any promises to be made out of ambition or obligation.” 

“Is there a person you wish to share that happiness with on that bridge?” 

There is only one person that ever comes to her mind, with his warm yellow eyes smiling against the horrors that he turned from; the voice that softens when it speaks to her, and the calloused hands that’d always hold hers so gently, until the one day that it will inevitably hold someone else. 

“I’m not sure what you’re implying, Lady Suizen. This isn’t about me,” Katara says as calmly as she can. 

Spirits, what is she saying? It’s more than evident that Suizen has spent time in courts and politics. Before Katara realized, she’d been backed into a corner by just a few questions, all while Suizen never breaks her respectful and pleasant tone. There’s no denying it—this girl is the strongest Fire Lady candidate she’s ever met. 

“But I think it is about you.” Suizen meets her gaze. “You have been on the Fire Lady search council for the past five years, Master Katara, and I’ve heard from Minister Nei that you’ve rejected countless candidates in these five years. Ladies and noblewomen from both in and outside of the Caldera courts.” 

Her tone is still light, but now there is an undeniable coolness to it. “It’s very clear how much the council values your input—and how much Fire Lord Zuko values it—no matter how unusual it might be.” 

“We’ve been friends for a long time,” Katara says, the fraying edges of her composure slipping into the pitch of her voice. “I’m not sure what you’re implying, but he is very dear to me.” 

Suizen regards her for a long time, then says. “I also have friends with whom I’ve lived through the darkest days of the war. The bond we have with someone who’s fought together with us is unlike any others, and even more so when one of them would give his life away for his friend.” 

Katara thinks about the lightning strike on Zuko’s chest, a mark that will be passed down in modern legends about Azula’s cruelty and his bravery. His love. 

“Zuko would’ve done the same for any of our friends. He would’ve done the same for you if you’d been in the path of Azula’s lightning.” 

“But he did it for you.” Suizen’s eyes are as clear as the water of the spirit oasis. “Master Katara, I urge you to be clear with your feelings with the Fire Lord. You hurt more people than just yourself with your facade.” 

Those words feel like another lightning strike to Katara’s chest, one that she couldn’t redirect. She feels it crack into her and rise into a roaring flame.

“The only facade I put on is for the best of our four nations,” she snaps. “It’s not something as childishly simple as you make it out to be, Suizen. You have no idea what you’re saying.” 

“No, I don’t, but I don’t plan to wither away the peace between our nations because of your masks and games,” the young council member replies. “I know we all put on facades, Master Katara, but I’d hoped to meet the woman behind it. I’d hoped the rumors about you were mistaken. But it seems that nothing I can say that can change the outcome here.” She stands, unfazed. “Please excuse me.” 

She turns and leaves the room. Katara looks down to see the tea, now frozen into a solid block of ice in her hands. She shouts and hurls it against the wall, shattering the clay cup into pieces. The council members filter in, bewildered and faces blanched. 

“Master Katara, what happened? That was the shortest interview yet.” 

Katara’s throat goes dry. She should’ve been the one leaving this room, impressed and delighted that after years, they’ve finally found a candidate fit to be Zuko’s Fire Lady. Instead, an ugly coil of resentment and anxiety is wrapping itself around her gut. 

She has no right to feel like this, and it’s not as if she could ever take Suizen’s place—especially when she has never been willing to risk nearly as much as her for the chance to love Zuko. 

“Master Katara.” Minister Nei hurries towards her.  “Was she a good fit?” 

Yes. Yes, she was, and Katara can think of no other answers even though she wishes that she can be fourteen again and scream at the council to keep that girl far, far away from Zuko and never have them meet. 

But she’s not fourteen anymore. Katara hears a voice like her own say something that makes the council’s horror turn into relief and elation. 

“But take me off the search council. I’m not doing any more interviews.” 

She pushes past them and bursts out of the building, running until the fire burning her chest turns into a cold blade cutting her in half. Her feet stop at the edge of a sheer cliff that overlooks the wild churning sea, and her gasping breaths finally rattle into sobs. 

She is a coward compared to Suizen, and it was rich of her to be so appalled at Zuko when she’s done the same thing for years. She is a wretched coward who’s chased away her friend’s prospects in order to hide her jealousy under a pretense of caring for him.  

She makes herself sick. You’d understand, since you loved the Avatar , Suizen said. As a child, Katara had not loved Aang enough for the two of them. When it’d come down to him or the Southern Rebuilding Project, she’d given him up for her duty to her people. The project is over now, but this is the same decision all over again, isn’t it? 

Can I love him enough for both of us? 

She doesn’t know. All she knows is that she’s been hiding a truth she’d known for too long.

She loves Zuko. 

She loves him, and even if the entirety of the heart that she is able to give him won’t be enough for the weight bearing down on them both, she would always go on loving him pathetically with all of the inadequate, too-little love she can give. 

But perhaps it doesn’t even matter. She imagines Suizen, bedazzled in the scarlet opulence of the Fire Lord’s bride. To imagine losing Zuko to a lifetime of loving someone else makes her foolish heart forget how to beat. But worse yet is imagining Zuko in a lifetime of sorrow and loneliness. 

Katara would break her own heart a million times over before she’d let Zuko feel anything like that. 

The new Fire Lady candidate's report arrives at the palace a month after the Agni Lovers’ festival. The council members approach him, nervous as usual whenever they try to broach the topic of his marriage. But to their surprise, this time they are not met with smoldering tablecloths and a murderous glare. 

“Who is she?” Zuko sounds tired. They show him the report on Suizen. 

She looks like a nice girl. She’s young but boasts an impressive resume of political feats and a passion in her eyes that he can respect. With a pang, he realizes that she reminds him of Katara. 

“And what does Katara say about her?” 

“We didn’t consult her.” A council member admits nervously. “She asked to be taken off the search committee after their conversation.” 

That strikes at a painful chord in Zuko’s chest. It’s been a strange but cordial silence from Katara the last few weeks, and he’s missed her more than words can describe. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t written any letters. Looking at Suizen’s image, he finds himself wishing that the woman on the paper is Katara instead. 

Damn fool he is, his mind replays that scene in the alley over and over again—her fingers against his jaw, her mouth devastatingly close to his. But then Zuko recalls the coldness in her eyes, and it makes him want to die when he thinks about how much he wants her and how little she wants him. 

“My lord, the rest of your advisors have done research on her and propose that the Fire Lord move forward with a meeting at the very least—”

“I’ll meet her.” Zuko’s eyes betray no emotions, his voice as monotone as if he’s asking about the weather on Ember Island. “And you’ll have an answer after that.” 

HAS THE MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR IN THE FIRE NATION FINALLY FOUND HIS MATCH? 

RUMORS FLY ABOUT THE FIRE LADY SEARCH COUNCIL. WHO IS THE MYSTERIOUS LADY THAT HAS FINALLY SOFTENED ZUKO’S HEART? PALACE EXPERTS CLAIM A BETROTHAL FORTHCOMING!

THEORIES ABOUT THE FUTURE FIRE LADY ON PAGE 9

Katara stuffs the newspaper into the fireplace without bothering to look at any of the other headlines. 

So Zuko decided to meet Suizen after all. She realizes with a sting that they’ve been out of touch for so long that she’d found out about his impending betrothal from the press, of all things.

There’s only one way to remedy this, and at least it’s something she can do. Katara forces deep breaths into her chest, then sits down at her desk and begins to write.  

Dear Zuko,  

I know it’s been a bit weird

Dear Zuko,  

How have the last few weeks been? I haven’t heard from you since the festival, but your advisors mentioned that you decided to meet the candidate

Dear Zuko,  

It’s been a hot summer! Let’s go for some ice in Caldera

Dear Zuko, 

I’ve missed you. When did you decide to go ahead with the betrothal? What changed? I just want

It takes an entire week of drafting letters and cursing at her desk before Katara finally gives up and visits the Fire Nation cabinet to ask for an in-person audience with their Lord. But the ministers are always apologetic when they describe the unending list of appointments and meetings that he has, and suggest politely that she writes to him instead. 

It would be easier if any of her letters ever make it past the fireplace. 

FIRE LORD IN SOUTHERN WATER TRIBE ON STATE VISIT

AGENDA INCLUDES MEETING WITH WORLD NAVAL OFFICERS AND KATARA’S BIRTHDAY GALA. COULD A BETROTHAL HAPPEN IN WOLF COVE THIS SUMMER? 

Katara’s 25th birthday arrives quietly two months after her last words to Zuko at the Agni Lovers’ festival. She flips through the papers absentmindedly without reading any of the words as her thoughts circle from Zuko, to the ordeal of the Fire Lady, to her selfishness, and then back again to Zuko. Katara is all too aware of her encroaching insanity.  

If nothing else, they will definitely see each other at her birthday gala. Her father insisted on throwing her a bash and inviting all of the dignitaries, maybe because of some holdover guilt over not being around for her birthdays as a child. Katara doesn’t fight him on it. She dresses herself in a turquoise gown and strings glass beads around her wrists and through her braids. 

She forces herself not to scan the crowds to look for Zuko. His entourage is running late from other arrangements, and she is informed that the Fire Lord might be far too delayed to make it to Wolf Cove for the evening. 

It doesn’t matter. It is not her night to be disappointed, she tells herself. Katara busies herself entertaining the dignitaries from the Fire Nation, the Earth King, and of course, the Northern Water Tribe aunties. 

“Ah, the beautiful lady of the night!” 

Three of Hakoda’s cousins bustle towards her—it’s just her luck that they’re the most talkative ones with the most grandsons. Katara grabs the glass nearest to her and downs the liquor in one gulp. She’d been drinking steadily the entire night, but she needs to be as inebriated as she can be for this conversation. 

It works, kind of. Katara plasters a smile on her face and nods along to their inquiries after her work and of course, how much time she’s spent working and not meeting the talented young men of their tribe. 

“My Kaina already had three babies at her 25th birthday,” one of them chirps. “But Katara, such a strong and beautiful girl, should have no problem catching up at all!” 

“As strong as she is, she is wasting all of her health and youth away in those stuffy meetings with advisors and old men all day. Before you know it, dearest, you won’t be able to have healthy babies anymore. How regretful you’ll be then!” 

They titter in agreement, and Katara thinks that she can almost get away from the conversation when the first auntie raises an eyebrow at her. 

“That is, unless there is a man who catches her eyes in those meeting rooms!” The others ooh in agreement. “We’ve all been speculating about you and Fire Lord Zuko for years now, and we all really thought something would come of those rumors. My, what a match that would’ve been. Shame that that one seems to be snatched up now!” 

Something in Katara breaks, and regret does indeed come when she feels the unsettled alcohol churn in her stomach. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” she mutters and turns away from the aunties, striding out of the great hall and into the South Pole summer night air. She waves off a server and stumbles towards the canal, where the moon bridge that she and Zuko built rises before her in a glittering spread of ice.  

These bridges are becoming so commonplace in Wolf Cove now that they’re hardly a special spectacle anymore. Still, this place holds a tender place in Katara’s heart. She grips the ice railing and closes her eyes, feeling the drowsy sway of the alcohol and her exhaustion take hold.

Zuko couldn’t make it after all. Not that it’s important when they both have so much to do. There’s still so much work to be done to rebuild the buildings and roads in this part of Wolf Cove, Katara thinks. And of course, the Fire Nation will need to prepare for the betrothal of a foreign Fire Lady…

Her tornado of thoughts fizzles into a wisp, and then everything goes dark. 

The Fire Nation ship docks just as the distant bell on the outskirts of the city tolls eight in the evening. Zuko hurries down the plank and barks at the first carriage driver he sees. 

“To the Municipal Hall, as fast as you can!” 

No thanks to the unpredictable winds that made him this late. Zuko curses and tries to quiet the thundering in his chest. It’s only been two months since he’d talked to Katara, and yet it’s felt like years. Even if he only gets to exchange platitudes with her tonight, it will be enough to reassure him of…what? He doesn’t quite know, but all he knows is that he needs to see her face.

In the Municipal Hall, the entire building has been arrayed in glorious sashes and furs. Zuko dismisses the offer to announce him and instead asks where Katara is. 

“I saw her by the back door earlier,” the butler begins, trailing off as the Fire Lord makes a beeline for the back of the hall. 

There she is—unsteady on her feet, her blue dress and white furs pooling around her as she clings to the frame of the door. Zuko slows as he stands behind her, suddenly nervous. Katara doesn’t notice though, and she steps into the garden. 

He follows her wordlessly to a moon bridge spanning the little stream in the lawn, where she leans heavily on the railing. He is about to call out to her when—

“Katara!” 

Her body collapses like a rag doll. In a single stride, Zuko closes the space between them and catches her in his arms. 

It’s not the first time he’s seen her fall asleep standing up. In the early days after the war, she’d done it more than once in his meeting rooms, much to his advisors’ annoyance. But Katara is much more familiar with her limits these days, so it can only be one other thing. 

He catches the whiff of alcohol on her as he slips an arm beneath her knees and carries her to the bench on the bridge. She weighs almost nothing in his arms. He takes in her face, dark lashes fluttering against her skin and her mouth parted in a small gasp, and brushes away a stray tear on her cheek.

“Agni, how much did you drink?” he mutters. “And why are you crying?” 

He allows himself to hold her next to him for a moment longer, relishing the heat of her body against his and the nearness of her face, so close that if he drops his head just a few inches, he imagines that he can feel the softness of those lips against his. 

But Zuko only ever imagines. He imagines, and he aches. He moves her body to the bench and leans her head against his shoulder, pulling his cloak over her. Then he waits. 

The moon is high in the sky when Katara finally groans and rubs her eyes. She glances around, confused, before her eyes land on him. Bewilderment washes away to shock, and she scrambles upright. 

“Zuko!” There’s a faint blush over her cheeks leftover from the alcohol. “You came.” 

“I’m sorry I’m late.” His shoulder feels cold where her body left his. “I was afraid I’d missed out on the festivities, but it seems like you don’t even enjoy them.” 

“It’s not that. I’ve been tired, and the drinks didn’t help.”

“Well, I don’t mind you using me as a pillow.” 

The words come out before he can think about them. Katara looks away. “I don’t know if your future wife would like that.” 

“What?” 

“Since you’re about to be a betrothed man now, what would she think?” 

“I—” The words are like tangled strings in his mind. Is that what she’d been thinking of? “I’m not going to be betrothed, Katara.” 

Her gaze snaps to him, wide with surprise. “But…Suizen?” 

“I’ve only met her once last month, very briefly. But we’re not betrothed.” He thinks of the headlines exploding across papers every week. “The tabloids always exaggerate anything related to royal marriages for as long as they’ve taken place. I would’ve told you the details if we’d written. I’ve been wanting to come see you, but I’ve been so busy.” 

She shakes her head. “Why not? Why haven’t you done it yet?” 

“Because—” Zuko swallows. There’s only one reason why he’d not proposed to Suizen, or to anyone else. But he’d prepared another reason for anyone who asks. “Because I wanted to ask you about Lady Suizen first.” 

Her mouth settles into a thin line. “Ask about what?” 

“You cut the interview short despite her being the most promising candidate my advisors have ever found.” Aside from the one sitting next to him right now, at least. “And then you smashed the tea set and asked to be taken off the search council. What happened?” 

“I replaced the tea set.” 

“What happened, Katara?” Zuko repeats. “Is there something wrong with her that my advisors aren’t telling me?”

She pushes herself away from him and turns to the other end of the bridge. Several long moments pass before she says,

“Nothing. There was nothing wrong with her.” 

A weight that Zuko hasn’t realized he’s been holding in his chest sinks. “Then why? Why were you so upset?” 

“She wanted her proposal to be on this moon bridge,” Katara says, the edge of her voice as stiff as ice. “For blessings and happiness, just like Sokka and Suki. But I told her that any vow on this bridge should be made with hearts pure with love. Not hearts concealing ambition or selfishness, unless she wants to end up as fish food in the ocean.” 

Hearts pure with love? That would be a luxury for a political marriage like the one he’d have with Suizen. The girl is a bit naive then, just as his advisors had said, if she has hopes of growing such a love for him by the betrothal. 

“That was good advice,” he tells her. “If anything, I’d hope that she doesn’t grow a heart pure with love so quickly. It wouldn’t be fair to her if I can’t feel the same way.”

“Ah. She’d be disappointed, then,” Katara says with a rueful smile that makes Zuko wish he hadn’t said so much. 

“I guess I’m pretty good at disappointing people around me,” he says. 

“No, I am too.” Katara hangs her head. “Zuko, I’m sorry for leaving the search council and for acting like that to Suizen. I was not reasonable.”  

Tears begin to well at Katara’s eyes again, and his fingers go instinctively to swipe away her tears. “Did she do something? ” 

Seeing Katara cry always makes Zuko feel completely undone, and his mind scrambles for any way to make her feel better. He really should be the one cursed by the spirits, he thinks, if he hasn’t been already. All these years, he’s been hanging onto the dream that on this very evening, Katara would become his. That night on the bridge eight years ago, he was the one secretly hoping that there wouldn’t be anyone else to take the place in her heart before then. He’d never had a pure heart in this bargain, because he’d only said yes for her. And he’s sure that the spirits know it. 

So why is she so upset that she’d quit the search committee? There is one reason he can think of, but it’s one that he’d all but given up on as an impossibility after Agni’s Duel. 

“To be honest, I’ve never upheld my end of our pact very well either,” Katara tells him miserably. “I should’ve been helping you find your Fire Lady, but instead I was scared that I was going to lose you forever.”

“You’d never lose me,” he says. 

“That’s not what I mean.” She laughs bitterly and pushes his hand away from her. “I should be the one cursed by Tui and La, Zuko, because I’ve been chasing away your Fire Lady candidates, too. Just like how you chased away mine.” 

He feels the bottom of his stomach slide out. “Chasing them away?” 

“I’d nitpick at every one of them and make them seem worse than they really are to your council; too rude, too uneducated, too familiar with the Ozai loyalists. It honestly wasn’t hard to pick them apart when I know you so well.” Katara covers her face with her hands. “Didn’t you ever wonder how it’s strange that we couldn’t find anyone suitable for so many years? At one point, Minister Nei thought that this was another impossible quest, like searching for the Avatar.” 

“I…I never cared to think that much about it,” Zuko confesses, too stunned to laugh. 

“I was afraid to tell you because I’m so afraid of what it would mean to be the Fire Lady.” She swallows, and her voice comes out hoarse. “But how could I have known that on my 25th birthday, all I’d want is the two of us to be together? ” 

Zuko pulls Katara’s fingers away from her face, pulls her to him, and kisses her.  

He tastes the bitter tang of alcohol on her lips, mixed with the salt of her tears. It feels like he’s been struck by lightning again, except this time, he can feel his entire insides flutter to life with fire. He feels her press back against him, deeper and more tender than anything he’s dared to imagine before.  

Then the realization hits him with the shock of a thunderclap. It all feels like a dream, as if he’s sleepwalked into an alternate universe where nothing feels real. 

“I never wanted you to feel the weight of these feelings I had,” Zuko admits to her. “I know the fate of a Fire Lady can be a bitter one, and I would never pressure you into it, Katara. I’ve always loved you too much to ever want you.” 

Katara’s expression changes and in that moment, he hates the chasm that this destiny inevitably opens up between himself and anyone he loves. 

“But I want you, Zuko,” she says, and he feels his heart leap off a cliff. 

Katara continues. “The lot of the Fire Lady is to love the Fire Lord enough for both of them. That’s what I told Suizen to do, and I’ve never thought I could do it. But when I think about losing you forever, I can’t help it. Even if it’s not enough and you’ll have to choose the world over me, I can’t help it. I still want to love you enough to have you.” 

It’s silent for a moment between them, then he laughs and hugs her close. 

“Katara,” he breathes when they finally break apart. “I would be the happiest man in the four nations if I have even just a sliver of your love. If it’s you, it will always be enough.” He whispers against her ear. “You know that it has always been you.”

Katara laughs through her tears. “Since when?” 

Agni, longer than he can remember. When was it that she first began tugging at that part of him that hurts, when it began to unravel him without any abandon at her feet? Maybe it was when he saw her back, straight with resolve as they flew on Appa to the Southern Raiders. Or maybe it was the moment he opened his eyes in the Agni Kai court and saw her with that relieved smile on her face. Or maybe it began in that moment in the catacombs of Ba Sing Se, when he’d felt her fingers on his scar and the first threads of himself started coming undone. 

“For so long that it’s embarrassing,” he says. He’d tell her all of those things eventually. 

“It feels like I’m on the edge of an iceberg about to step into the ocean,” she whispers. “How can I be the Fire Lady?”

“Because there isn’t anyone else that can do it as well as you. Katara, if you will have it—if you will have me—I won’t have anyone else.” 

Katara closes her eyes. “I’m still scared, Zuko.”

“Then let’s make a new pact.” Zuko says, pressing his forehead against hers. “You don’t have to be the one to love enough for both of us, because I have always been, and I’ll always be yours.” He kisses her fingers. “I am with you on the precipice, and I’ll be with you when we fall in. We’re already changing everything in this new world anyway, so we’ll keep changing it so that it can be the two of us. No matter what it takes.”

On the bridge at the end of their pact, it’s the push and pull—Tui and La—of their two destinies. The two of them together will always be a give and take, of their lives, of their duties, and of countless other things to come. 

For her, Zuko will push and pull endlessly against his destiny to make her a part of it. The slow smile that softens Katara’s face makes everything around Zuko feel bright. 

“You have a deal, Fire Lord Zuko.”