Chapter Text
After Zuko's banishment, after the Agni Kai, the burn on his face that took half his sight and more than a quarter of his hearing, Zuko and his uncle left all Fire Nation soil. They had been warned that a single toe on Fire Nation soil would end in death. For both Zuko and Iroh.
At first, they had nowhere to go, no idea how to get anywhere remotely safe—or at least somewhere where their presence didn't condemn them to death. Iroh was the one who had the idea of going to one of the poles.
Zuko hadn't understood why. Not really. Iroh told him that the Water Tribes were peaceful people and not one of them would even think of hurting Zuko. He didn't show it, but it was comforting. The idea that no one would try to hurt him, especially after the duel with his father...
It took weeks, over a month to get from the Fire Nation borders to the South Pole. Mostly because they had to find a ship to get them there since they couldn't get one from the Fire Navy.
Zuko was thirteen and scarred and—not that he'd ever admit it—absolutely terrified when he and his uncle finally washed up on Southern Ice. The boat they'd bought was small and cold and Zuko had had to learn Breath of Fire just to keep warm. His face still hurt even with the ointments from his uncle and Zuko's meticulous cleaning and dressing of the wound, it burned just as much as when Fire Lord Ozai had inflicted it on him.
Oh, and he was hungry. Hungrier than he'd ever been. He and Iroh hadn't eaten in days, not being able to do much but hide away and try to generate as much heat as possible. No time for hunting.
The first thing Zuko heard when they got there was the voice of a boy yelling out for his father.
"Dad! Dad, there's people! There's people on the shore! Dad!" The boy yelled. Zuko and Iroh traded looks. They should get out and show peace. However 'peaceful' Iroh said the Water Tribes were, they would be better safe than sorry.
Iroh stepped out of the boat cabin, walking out onto the board, completely exposed, completely vulnerable.
Zuko heard someone yell about it being just an old man. Mere seconds later, he heard his uncle call out to him.
"Zuko, come now, they won't hurt you."
He almost wanted to scoff. Like that was something he was worried about—it absolutely was but no one needed to know that, not even Uncle.
He stepped out of the cabin, tentative and slow and shaking so much he couldn’t tell if it was from fear or from the cold. He stepped out into the open, the cold wind making his face sting, making his scar burn. Zuko wasn’t sure he’d make it another day out in this cold.
“He’s just a child.” Zuko heard a man say. He turned in the direction of the voice, eye landing on the man who’d spoken. He was tall and well built and Zuko could tell that this man must be their leader. Their chief. Zuko heard gasps. Horrified gasps. They must have seen the other side of his face. The burn. It stung worse with the wind directly on it.
“What did they do to you, my boy?” He heard another voice say, much too close to him now. He flinched back, recoiling away from the voice. The man had been on his left side, he hadn’t heard him or seen him. He couldn’t see. He—
“Oh, hey, easy there, you’re ok.” That same voice said. He was in front of Zuko now. Zuko could see him now. He was about the same as the chief but he could tell it wasn’t the same man. His hair was longer, a couple more braids.
“Uncle—where’s my—” Zuko felt the words tumble from his mouth, felt his heart race at the thought of having lost his uncle to these people. He scanned the boat, no uncle. Scanned the ice below. Still no uncle. Where was—
“Zuko. Here, I made tea.” Iroh said, kneeling down next to his nephew, a cup of hot tea in his hands. How had he had the time to do that? It didn’t matter. He was here, he was alive. He took the cup into his hands, the warmth seeping into his hands the longer he held it. The tea itself was familiar, the same jasmine tea Uncle always made when Zuko was caught off guard by his inability to see or hear on one side. He drank it slowly, savouring it. Letting it heat him up from the inside.
“Uncle.” Zuko said, looking up at his uncle, looking away from the Tribe man in front of him. “Uncle, are they going to have us killed? Will they send us back to father?” Zuko knew he shouldn’t let his emotions get the better of him, knew he shouldn’t cry in public or show his fear. But he was thirteen and he was no longer allowed in his own home and he was terrified.
He heard more gasps. The man in front of him leaned closer. “Kiddo, what do you mean ‘have you killed’?” he asked, his voice softer now than it had been. Zuko didn’t answer. He couldn’t bring himself to. “Why would your father want you dead?” He asked.
“I—I spoke out of—out of turn.” Zuko hated the way his breath stuttered, hated the way the words lodged themselves in his throat. He felt a hand land on his shoulder. His uncle’s hand.
“We won’t let anyone hurt you kid.” the man said. He held out a hand to Iroh. “I’m Bato. I’ll take you to Chief Hakoda in a moment. First—” He turned to Zuko. “—let’s get you both some parkas.”
Zuko and Iroh were now both wearing blue parkas that kept them much warmer than it was logical—not that either of them was complaining. Bato took them to Chief Hakoda. He was talking to a young boy and a younger girl. She was probably Azula’s age. Zuko felt a pang in his chest at the thought of his little sister. He never thought he’d miss her so much. He knew she didn’t miss him. She had smiled when he was begging his father for mercy, on his knees in front of the whole Fire Nation upper-class. Azula had always wanted to be an only child.
He heard the boy speak and recognized him as the boy yelling for his father when Zuko and Iroh’s boat had arrived on their shores. “Dad, who are they? They aren’t the black snow men.” The chief answered with something Zuko couldn’t hear and then the boy was ushered away by an elderly woman that looked like she could be the boy’s grandmother. Zuko wondered who these ‘black snow men’ were.
“Hello, I am the Southern Water Tribe Chief Hakoda.” The chief bowed his head to Uncle, then to Zuko. Uncle bowed—the sort of bow they would always perform back in the Fire Nation, a way of showing respect to others—Zuko followed, bowing too. The chief seemed uneasy with the display of respect. Perhaps he hadn’t realized they were Fire Nation. Maybe this was the moment they were killed, or sent back to Fire Lord Ozai to be sentenced to death. Instead, Chief Hakoda bent down a little so Zuko didn’t have to crane his neck quite so much to look at him.
“How old are you?” The chief asked. Zuko blinked at him, looked between him and Uncle, who raised his eyebrows at him to answer the question.
“I’m thirteen, sir.”
“Ah, you’re only a bit older than my son, Sokka.” Chief Hakoda said. Sokka. That was the boy’s name. “He’s a cycle younger than you.”
Zuko nodded, unsure why the chief was telling him this.
“I’ll talk to your—” The chief turned towards Uncle, “—uncle? Is that right?” Uncle Iroh nodded to the chief and the man turned his gaze back onto Zuko. “I’ll talk to your uncle and you can go set up an igloo or a tent with Sokka.” Ah, that was why. Zuko thought.
Zuko shook his head. “I wish to stay with my uncle.”
Chief Hakoda frowned and for a moment Zuko was back in that war meeting, telling the generals that their plan to kill innocent soldiers was inhumane. For a second, Zuko was on his knees begging his own father for mercy during the Agni Kai. For a split second he could hear a distortion of Fire Lord Ozai’s voice saying you will learn respect and suffering will be your teacher, burning his only son’s face, taking away his left eye with fire Zuko was supposed to fight.
The chief opened his mouth—surely to say it, surely to repeat it, surely because Zuko had suffered and had still not learned respect—and Zuko couldn’t help the way he recoiled. He flinched back like a hand had struck him, stumbled away from Chief Hakoda and fell to the floor, one eye welling with tears as the other oozed with a mix of tears and blood. His burnt tear duct did not allow true crying.
Uncle was by his side in an instant, hand on his right shoulder, making sure to stay in Zuko’s line of sight so as not to spook him any further. Zuko clutched his uncle’s sleeve, choking on his own breath.
Chief Hakoda was in front of him. Chief Hakoda was crouched down in front of him, not getting any closer. Chief Hakoda—he didn't look angry. He didn't look like he wanted Zuko dead or like he wanted him gone—looked at him like he was guilty. Eyes soft and sad and the complete opposite of what Father’s eyes had ever looked like when on him.
Zuko could see Uncle speaking but his ear wouldn’t take in any words, his brain wouldn’t process the sound, it was like he was trapped, unable to move, unable to think past the fear of his own father’s fire.
During the months since the Agni Kai, Zuko had not been able to look at fire without being overrun by memories of the fire that burned him. Uncle made his tea with only the heat of his palm, never once using an open flame, Zuko’s breath of fire was a mere thing that didn’t do more than heat his breath. Zuko hadn’t used his own fire once since. He couldn’t. Not when the sight of flame made his breathing erratic and his eyes blur.
Uncle Iroh’s hand shaking his shoulder brought him back to reality.
“—phew, we are at the South pole. There is no fire, there is no Fire Lord. You are ok, you are safe here, Zuko.” Uncle was saying. He said things like this, when Zuko woke from nightmares. He’d remind him they were away from Caldera, away from the fire that had hurt him. He would steep jasmine tea and stay with Zuko until he fell asleep again.
Chief Hakoda looked at Uncle, brows furrowed in confusion or worry or both. Zuko couldn’t tell.
“Is the boy ok? What happened?” The man asked. Uncle didn’t answer. Zuko could see him shake his head, dismissing the chief’s question.
Zuko hated this. Uncle was worried and the chief was asking questions he didn’t want answered. He must look weak. Father always said he was a weak child, even as a baby. He couldn’t let the chief think him weak, not if it meant the tribesmen might decide against keeping such a weak prince. What if he ruined their chances at safety? No. He wouldn’t let himself ruin it. Not when Uncle had come of his own volition, not when Uncle was only condemned to death because he chose to leave with Zuko.
“I’m fine.” Zuko said, forcing himself to brush Uncle’s hand off his shoulder and stand. “I’m fine, Uncle. I’m sorry.” He apologized, bowing to Chief Hakoda again.
“I—um—I will… Where can I find your son?” Zuko asked, refusing to make eye contact with the chief. Not after that.
Chief Hakoda squinted at him, eyes searching his face for Agni knows what. Finally, he breathed out a sigh and pointed in the direction of the igloos, where Zuko had seen the old lady and the two kids—the chief’s kids—go in. “You’ll find him with his grandmother, Kanna.” Chief Hakoda said.
Zuko nodded, bowed one last time to both the chief and to his uncle before leaving them to find this Sokka boy.
Maybe he’d be nice enough not to say anything about Zuko’s scar.
Maybe he’d be afraid of him, he was fire nation after all and if Zuko had learned anything since leaving Caldera, was that the world did not hold the Fire Nation in very high esteem.
Zuko just hoped he would be allowed to stay, at the very least.