Chapter Text
The villagers are pathetic. The only one who stepped forward to fight him doesn’t even know how to use a weapon properly. They also don’t answer when he demands to know where the Avatar is.
Zuko is… desperate, perhaps. Desperate and angry. This is the first lead he’s gotten that actually promises to lead somewhere, and he won’t let the Avatar slip away.
… He comes.
He comes to protect the village, and Zuko can’t even hide his shock as he stares down at the tiny child in front of him. He’s small, barely even halfway up Zuko’s chest. “Looking for me?” he chirps way too brightly, even as he holds his staff out defensively.
How is the Avatar still a child? How is he this tiny???
Zuko tries very hard not to think about it as he takes the boy back to his ship. He’s so small; he can’t possibly be that much of a threat, can he?
… He is.
The boy manages to escape with the help of a flying bison and two of the Water Tribe peasants. Zuko is furious and orders his men to follow. The ship is damaged, but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed. The Avatar is alive. The Avatar has returned. He might just be a kid, but Zuko knows better than to underestimate him again.
***
He chases the Avatar ruthlessly, hunting him from place to place, yet he never gets there in time to actually corner and capture him. It’s maddening. They fight time and again, but the Avatar always manages to get away just in the nick of time. Perhaps it’s because he’s lucky, too, and Zuko just… isn’t.
But that’s fine. He won’t give up, not when the end of his quest is so near, not when he can almost envision what it will be like to finally go home. All he has to do is capture the Avatar, and then, it’ll be over. He’ll have his honor, and he’ll be able to return home. Father will be proud of him, and all will be forgiven.
Nothing will stand in his way, certainly not a storm that Uncle insists is coming. Storm or no, Zuko doesn’t intend to stop. He can’t.
They keep going, and Zuko watches the skies more intently than a hawk, scanning everything as he searches for even the smallest sign that the Avatar is near. And then… there. He sees the small figure sailing through the air, glider outstretched as he flies near the shore a distance away.
“Follow him,” he orders.
“The storm is worsening,” Uncle cautions. “The ship will be damaged if we get too close to the shore.”
“Then I’ll take a boat myself!” Zuko snaps hotly, storming away. He’s strong enough to row a small boat, even if he knows how dangerous it will be with the winds picking up and the sea growing rougher. He’s so close, so close. He can’t let the Avatar slip away again.
“Prince Zuko, don’t do this. You will be lost at sea.”
He hears but disregards the pleading note in his uncle’s voice.
“I’ll be fine!” he argues, glaring. “You can’t stop me.”
Uncle certainly tries, but Zuko doesn’t listen to anything he says. He’s so close, victory within his grasp, and nothing can dissuade him, not even the likelihood that he might never make it.
In retrospect, he thinks he should have listened. The boat is slammed against the rocks hard enough that it capsizes, throwing Zuko into the stormy waters. He struggles, swimming for shore, and he only makes it because he’s already so close. He crawls out of the sea, dripping and furious. His fire is burning under his skin, the water that’s soaked into his clothing steaming away as he stalks angrily toward the cliffside ahead of him.
The Avatar was coming this way, but he’s probably long gone by now. Still, Zuko needs to find shelter from the storm before continuing his search. He’s on his own up here. Uncle and the others won’t be able to back him up until the storm has passed.
A tiny part of him regrets not listening to Uncle’s advice, but the rest of him is determined to continue the search anyway. He’ll have to wait for the rain to lessen first, and he begins to climb the cliffside toward the cave opening he saw when coming toward the shore. His fingers slip on the rock, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps going until he’s dragging himself up over the edge.
And then, Zuko’s breath catches in his throat.
The Avatar.
He can just make out the small silhouette inside… and he seems to be alone.
Perhaps this trip was not entirely without benefit.
“I’m sorry for running away,” he mutters as Zuko steps into the opening. Wait, what?
“Avatar,” Zuko says, hesitating, and the boy freezes. He whips around, eyes wide, tear tracks still on his face.
“What are you doing here?” the Avatar half-yells.
“Looking for you,” Zuko answers, hands in front of him so he can send a fireblast on a moment’s notice if it proves necessary.
He expects the Avatar to get up and try to fight, but he doesn’t. He just nods and then turns his head away. More tears spill silently down his cheeks, and something inside of Zuko clenches uncomfortably. What’s he supposed to do with tears? He can remember how his mother would soothe him when he was a child, but he didn’t cry often, and he was good at hiding when he did. It was a valuable lesson lest Father look at him with disgust or Azula mock him for his weakness.
“I’m here,” the boy answers finally, voice trembling ever so slightly. “What are you going to do now?”
Zuko glances out at the storm, feeling the vibration of the thunder all the way in his bones. “Storm’s going on,” he admits. “I won’t get far with you in this weather.” He moves closer, sitting halfway between the cave entrance and the Avatar.
The silence that settles is uncomfortable, to say the least.
“What are you doing out here alone?” Zuko asks finally. “I thought you’d be with your friends.”
He sniffles, wiping at his eyes. “I never thought people would blame me for disappearing. They think this war is my fault, because I wasn’t there to– to stop it.” His breathing hitches, just a little, and Zuko resists the urge to scream.
Barely.
“Why would you care what they think?” he asks, scowling. He doesn’t want to have this conversation, but he started it, so he can’t just end it.
“B-because it’s true!” the boy all but wails, a sob shaking his body. “I ran away, and I wasn’t there when everyone needed me.”
Zuko opens his mouth to say something and then closes it again. He doesn’t want to deal with this – at all – but the tightness in his chest refuses to be ignored. The Avatar isn’t an elderly adult who has mastered all four elements. The Avatar is a child. A tiny child who probably doesn’t know anything other than airbending given that he’s only ever used the one element in combat.
Although, there was that time when he fell into the ocean and waterbent himself out. Maybe it was a fluke? Or maybe he’s just trying to fool Zuko into underestimating him a second time.
He sees the boy shiver a bit and leaps on the chance to do something. “Are you cold? I can– start a fire?” It comes out as more of a question than an offer, but when no objection is forthcoming, Zuko stands awkwardly. He hunts some bits of wood and piles it in the center of the cave, igniting it with a spark from his fingertips. “I can’t take you back to the Fire Nation if you’re sick,” he says, almost defensive.
The Avatar shuffles a little closer, clutching his flying lemur. His hands tremble as he pets the animal, but Zuko pretends not to notice. “Thank you,” he says softly.
Zuko nods, staring into the flames. At least then, he doesn’t have to see the agonized expression on the child’s face. This isn’t how hunting the Avatar was supposed to go, but he tells himself that he’s good at adapting to unusual circumstances. It’s not so bad, really. He’ll just have to be careful around him. It’s not as though they’re friends just because they aren’t fighting. Strategically, it only makes sense for Zuko to wait to capture the boy. The storm outside is violent, and he won’t get reinforcements until it dies down.
“What do you mean, you ran away?” Zuko blurts out, because he clearly has terrible self-control, and he does not need to ask that, it doesn’t even matter –
The Avatar twitches, fingers clenching on the lemur’s back. “The monks told me I was the Avatar only a few months ago– well, months ago for me. I never wanted to be, you know? But they said war was coming, so they needed me. I– the other kids didn’t want to play with me anymore, and my– my guardian tried to make it easier, but the other monks thought I should keep training.”
He pauses, sniffling and wiping his eyes. “I heard the monks talking. They were going to send me away for training. They were going to take everything from me! Everything I knew and everyone I loved. How could they do that to me?”
For a moment, his eyes and tattoos glow, but he breathes in deeply and seems to settle, curling in on himself.
He’s still crying.
Zuko looks away, uncomfortable and equally uncertain how he’s meant to react. He doesn’t know what this feeling is, but he doesn’t like it. “I know what that’s like,” he says haltingly, because he should probably say something. “I was banished. It was–” terrible awful horrible “–strange to be away from home.”
“Why were you banished?” the Avatar asks curiously.
Zuko scowls. “That’s none of your business.”
“Okay,” he nods, not even phased. A moment passes before he speaks up again. “Do you… think it’s my fault? For running away?”
“What? The war?” Zuko questions, incredulous.
The boy nods seriously.
Zuko scoffs. “No. It was selfish, but if you’d been there, you would have died.”
“But– my people needed me and I wasn’t there to help,” he protests.
Annoyed for reasons that he can’t even explain, Zuko shrugs, scowling harder. “And? No matter how many people you killed, you would still have died. That was the night of Sozin’s Comet. The records say the power it granted to firebenders was… unfathomable. You were a kid. Do you even know how to use the other elements?”
“I–” The Avatar is staring at him now, wide-eyed. “I don’t want to kill people.”
The laugh that’s torn from Zuko must sound unhinged. “Then you would have died. No matter how much power you might possess, it means nothing if you don’t know how to use it.” It’s a cruel truth, perhaps, but it’s one the boy needs to hear – and one that he seems to refuse to understand. “You were too young.”
Now, it’s the boy’s turn to scowl, and he kicks at the rocky ground. The lemur chitters accusingly in Zuko’s direction. “You don’t know that,” he argues. “Maybe I could have–”
“Whatever,” Zuko snaps. “Feel bad about something you couldn’t have changed if you want. It’s not my problem.” The Avatar looks stung, and Zuko viciously stomps down the abrupt tightness in his chest at that. He does not feel bad about speaking the truth. “Anyway,” he adds, because he can’t just stop talking today, can he, “you have killed before, Avatar. Just recently, you and your friends wiped out a Fire Nation village. Don’t think I didn’t hear the reports.”
“What?” He has the audacity to sound bewildered. “… Oh. That– that wasn’t us. There was–” He hesitates, and Zuko can see him thinking. Calculating. “There were rebels,” he confesses finally. “They said they needed our help to fill their water reservoir so they wouldn’t die when the Fire Nation soldiers burned the forest.”
“And you believed them?” Zuko demands and then scoffs. “Of course, you did.”
“That’s not fair!” the boy protests, looking hurt. “We didn’t know. Sokka figured it out. He got all the villagers out. No one was killed.”
Maybe Zuko assumed too much when he saw the report. “Even so,” he says stubbornly, “if you insist on fighting us, eventually you’ll have to kill. Or you’ll be captured.”
The boy smiles, faint but real. “I thought you were here to do that.”
Zuko scowls again. “I am!” The fire blazes brighter in the face of his anger. “As soon as the storm ends, you’re coming with me, Avatar.”
His smile fades. “The world needs me now. Even if– even if I don’t want to be the Avatar, I can’t turn my back on the world again.”
“You’re not,” Zuko says in a perfectly reasonable tone.
“I will be if I go with you!” The boy’s expression is scrunched into a frown. “I can’t do that, Zuko.”
Frustration builds, and Zuko grits his teeth and glares. “Good thing I wasn’t asking.”
“Do you even know what the Fire Nation will do to me if I’m captured?”
“Yes!” he snaps. “Now stop asking questions.”
… It’s a very quiet wait, aside from when the lightning flashes and thunder roars outside. The rain is falling in sheets, so heavily that Zuko can’t see outside the cave’s opening. The Avatar remains silent, even though his eyes keep darting toward Zuko and then away again. The storm begins to lessen after an indeterminate length of time. The fire is dying out, too, even as it keeps breathing in time with Zuko. The boy must notice, and he almost looks like he means to comment, but somehow keeps his mouth shut.
And then, Zuko hears the sky bison’s bellow.
His time is up. He goes for the Avatar, but the boy sees it coming and throws him back with a sweep of air. Zuko slams against the rock, grunting but getting right back up. It’s long enough for the boy to run, but not far enough for him to avoid the fireball that Zuko hurls at him. He spins to deflect it, and then, the Water Tribe peasants are there to drag him away, onto the bison. The lemur screeches as it flies after.
Zuko chases as best he can when he’s on foot, but the edge of the cliff stops him. He could climb upward, but they’re flying, and he’ll never make it in time to make a difference.
The only good thing is that no one is around to witness him screaming and throwing fire furiously at the walls of the cave. It changes nothing; it doesn’t even really make him feel better.
Eventually, the ship shows up. Uncle takes one look at his expression and immediately ushers Zuko to his quarters for tea and a talk.
He listens as Zuko rages at how the Avatar was so close yet managed to slip away. He offers tea and meditation, but none of that is going to be enough to bring him back. The Avatar was right there. They talked. Zuko doesn’t share that part. He doesn’t tell Uncle what the boy said to him, and he can’t say why. Maybe because, deep down, a part of him feels that the talk was something that bordered on treasonous. He’s not supposed to be getting to know the Avatar’s past. He’s not supposed to be acting friendly with him. He is the enemy, and he must be captured.
Otherwise, Zuko will never go home.
Do you even know what the Fire Nation will do to me if I’m captured?
“What will happen when we capture the Avatar, Uncle?” he asks finally, a cup of tea later.
Uncle strokes his beard. “Well, you will go home like you’ve been dreaming of.”
“Not– not to me,” he answers, shaking his head. “To him. What will Father do to the Avatar once he’s been captured?”
If Uncle is startled by the question, he doesn’t show it. His hesitation could just as much be from thoughtfulness as surprise. “He will be imprisoned,” he replies. “To kill him will only lead to his reincarnation, and that is something my brother will not want to risk.”
“Can we really contain him?” Zuko questions dubiously. “He’s– he’s the Avatar.”
“Drugs and food deprivation will keep him docile enough,” Uncle tells him, shaking his head. “Do not forget that the Fire Nation captured and imprisoned many waterbenders from the Southern Water Tribes.”
Zuko’s mind is altogether too happy to provide him with images, each one more disturbing than the last. For some reason, he’s never given much – or any, admittedly – thought to what will happen to the Avatar after his capture. He always assumed that Father would take care of it, because of course, he will. Father knows best. He always knows best.
And yet, he cannot explain, even to himself, why Uncle’s answer disquiets him so badly.
The boy cannot be older than ten. Eleven at most. He’s an airbender, the last airbender. He’s never learned the other elements. He’s – he’s not harmless, but he’s not the threat that Zuko had been anticipating when he first set out on this journey.
“Well,” he says finally, shrugging, “I guess it doesn’t matter as long as he’s contained.”
“I suppose not,” Uncle answers evenly, and Zuko cannot, for the life of him, tell if Uncle can sense that he’s lying.
It matters. It matters, and Zuko hates that it matters, but after talking to the Avatar, he simply cannot look at him the same way.
I never wanted to be, you know?
But he still has his duty to his nation, his orders from Father, and he won’t betray that, not even for a ten-year-old boy.
***
Zuko sneaks into the stronghold undetected. It’s almost child’s play, but he cannot deny the lingering anxiety deep inside of him. If he’s caught, it won’t be like it is when he’s playing as the Blue Spirit in other places. It’ll be worse. He’ll be accused of treason, and perhaps rightfully so, but it’s not treason. It’s not.
He’s not doing this to save the Avatar; he’s doing it for himself. Because if Zhao gets the Avatar, then Zuko will never be able to return home.
At least if the Avatar is out there, Zuko will still have another chance.
He moves through the shadows, light on his feet in a way that Prince Zuko never is. The Blue Spirit is different, enough so that no one will suspect who he is unless they take off the mask. He moves through the guards, taking them out ruthlessly one by one as he approaches the room where the Avatar is being held. The door swings open almost soundlessly, and Zuko’s breath catches as he assesses the scene inside.
The boy is chained. His wrists and ankles are attached to two columns on either side of him. He looks… Small. Terrified. He’s been crying, too, and Zuko feels a surge of emotion. He doesn’t know if he’s angry or relieved or something else entirely. He moves forward, pretending he doesn’t hear the boy’s gasp as Zuko swings the swords down to cut through the chains.
He rubs his wrists once they’re free, and Zuko looks away when he sees the raw redness of them. The Avatar was clearly struggling in a futile attempt at escaping. “Who– who are you?” he asks, voice trembling.
Zuko doesn’t answer, gesturing to the door. There will be time for conversation later, time for him to decide how to handle the revelation of his identity – or if he reveals it at all. There will be time for him to process the way the Avatar was imprisoned. It’s no worse than what he envisioned after talking to Uncle, yet it still makes something twist uncomfortably inside of him.
The Avatar is a child.
And Zuko would like to say that Father would know how to handle him, that Father will find another way to keep him contained, but he already knows how Father treats children. Zuko’s punishment might have been necessary, it helped him learn, but it also – it also isn’t something that he would wish on anyone. He still has nightmares of the fire burning his face, of the unending painpainpain that reshaped his entire world. He’ll never be free of his mark of shame. He doesn’t understand what he did, exactly, but that’s just because he’s too stupid to fully grasp the lesson that Father was trying to teach him.
He knows that he won’t do it again if Father gives him a chance. He’ll be good. He’ll make Father proud.
But – but –
He thinks about taking the Avatar home in chains, thinks about the child who will be forever locked away from the world, trapped and caged and never free, and he feels sick.
The boy is ten.
He’s three years younger than Zuko was when he lost his home, younger even than Azula the last time Zuko saw her.
He tries to keep those thoughts from distracting him as he leads the Avatar through the stronghold. They nearly get caught by the gate, but Zuko crosses his swords at the child’s neck and tries not to feel too sick at the way the boy tenses against him, terrified. Zhao lets them leave, but before they make it into the forest, something hits Zuko’s mask. He falls, and darkness rises to claim him.
Zuko wakes to feel air on his face. Tree branches are overhead, and the sky is lightening. He’s lying on the forest floor. With a groan, he shifts, reaching up to rub at his throbbing face. Being hit with an arrow will do that; he’s just lucky the mask was durable enough to block it, or he would have been killed. It’s not a pleasant thought.
When he lifts his head, the Avatar is sitting there opposite him, watching intently. “Thank you. You saved me,” the boy says quietly.
Zuko grunts. “I guess I did.” He pushes himself upright, squeezing his eyes shut at the wave of dizziness that rushes through him. “I– I have a boat.”
The Avatar nods. “The soldiers are still patrolling. We’ll have to be careful.”
Zuko tries to stand, nearly falling when his balance strongly objects to the change in position. In a flash, the Avatar is there, hovering close as though to steady him. “I’m fine,” he snaps a bit defensively. He doesn’t need the boy to think him weak. He’s not.
“Why did you help me?” Still quiet, still skittish, and Zuko feels a violent swell of some unnamed emotion that feels like anger but not quite.
“Because I can’t go home without you,” he answers.
The boy shuffles back, almost as though he’s bracing himself for something. For Zuko to attack him. “Why not?”
“It was the condition of my banishment,” Zuko explains grudgingly. “I can go back when, and only when, I have you as my prisoner. I’ll go home. I’ll get my throne.”
“Oh.”
The Avatar fidgets, and Zuko tries to cling to the image of going home. Of sleeping in his own bed. Of being treated with respect instead of scorn. The longing melts away every time he remembers how scared the Avatar had been when he was in the stronghold.
“Do you really want to be the Fire Lord?” Aa- the boy questions. “Isn’t it a lot of work? You’ll be in charge of the war and stuff, right?”
“I know,” Zuko answers, a bit impatiently. “I’m the crown prince. Everyone expects me to come home victorious.” My sister already would have, he doesn’t add.
“I mean…” The Avatar shrugs. “There’s always other options, right? Other ways of getting what you want. I’m just saying. Maybe you don’t have to be like the other firebenders. You’re definitely nicer.” He actually smiles at that, tentative and hopeful, even when Zuko scowls. “What the Fire Lord is doing is wrong. I think you know that. I mean, you saved me.”
Zuko tries to pretend that he doesn’t notice the way the boy’s voice trembles on the words.
… He can’t pretend.
“Not because of you,” he says stubbornly.
“And you talked to me in that cave,” the boy insists. “You didn’t have to. You made me feel better.”
“Not intentionally,” Zuko mutters, but as he looks as this child in front of him, he’s forced to confront the uncomfortable truth that he… doesn’t want to hurt him. That hurting him feels wrong. That letting anyone else hurt him would be wrong.
The Avatar is not the threat that Zuko came out here to hunt. He’s just a child.
“I used to know people from the Fire Nation,” he continues, shrugging. “A hundred years ago. Kuzon. He was one of my best friends, and he was a firebender, like you.” He smiles sadly. “We had so much fun together. If we knew each other back then, do you think we could have been friends, too?”
Anger surges at the boy’s presumption, but half of that anger is directed at himself. Because… Zuko knows that he is not the prince he should be. He shouldn’t be hesitating like this. He shouldn’t be talking to the enemy. He shouldn’t be worrying about what will happen to him after he’s captured.
And yet, all of those thoughts haunt him ceaselessly, especially after seeing how he was chained in that place.
“… maybe,” he admits finally, because it’s safer than saying yes. The Avatar, Zuko realizes, is easy to like. Maybe part of it is his youth; he’s so young. It’s easy to want to protect him, no matter how strange or unsettling that feeling is.
“You could… come with us?” the Avatar suggests shyly. “If you want, of course.” He rubs at his wrists, almost absently. They aren’t as raw looking as they were when Zuko rescued him, but they still look like they hurt.
Zuko slumps back against the tree. “I’d be a traitor,” he points out sensibly. “I’d be betraying my nation.”
“I don’t want to hurt your nation,” comes the immediate reply. “I just want to stop this war. People are being hurt. On both sides. I–” His voice trembles again. “I’m the Avatar. I have to make it right. It’s what I owe the world.” He sounds almost hopeless. Discouraged.
“Maybe we can– find a way to work things out,” Zuko concedes finally. Uncle will probably kill him, but he can’t disagree with the Avatar that the war is hurting everyone. How many Fire Nation soldiers are dying because of it? If they could end the war, they could save lives. He can find another way to get the rest of the world to see – and share – their greatness.
The boy lights up. “Really?”
“Really,” he says flatly. This time, he manages to stand. “But I have to check in with my uncle first. Maybe we can meet up somewhere?”
The Avatar, Zuko decides, is far too trusting. He tells Zuko where their camp is without hesitation. It would be easy to go in there with his soldiers to capture the boy, but…
He remembers how small and scared the child had been in those chains, and he just – he can’t.
He just barely manages to get away before the boy tries to hug him.