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The ceremony begins in the weather-worn tent, despite the mud and the loud bustle of soldiers outside. Somehow, under rough canvas, the recited words between the betrothed seem especially sacred.
“I, Katara of the Southern Water Tribe, daughter of Kya and Hakoda, take Zuko, Prince of the Fire Nation and first heir, to be my husband, my helpmeet, my kin.”
Touching the embroidery on her sleeve, she switches to the ancient Water Tribe dialect, speaking softly, as if to herself.
The boy across from her, sat up on his knees, breaks his stoic study of her face with a small smile, a look of wonder. “What does that mean?” he asks, leaning towards her.
The girl, perched across from him in robes of white, smiles. Iroh thinks she is still so young, but there is a deep wisdom in her eyes. On the golden pillows she sits straight, as calm and steady as her element. When she recited the words, it was as if they were fed to her by ancestors still watching.
“Now we are a tribe unto ourselves.”
Zuko’s eyes leave her for a minute, contemplating. Then he smiles.
“A tribe unto ourselves.”
For a moment, not the first, the witnesses in the war tent feel a bit as if they are intruding.
The young couple glows, smiles reflecting back at one another like the white sun shining on deep waters.
The captain of their transport interrupts the moment, opening a box beside her. She is sitting in as their officiant, wary of the minutes passing and the movement of the tides. If the couple notices her impatience, they do not make it known.
Zuko, in silken robes of black and red, takes the braid as offered - fine, brightly dyed ribbon in cobalt and crimson, shot through with gold and silver. The boy takes the girl’s hand and begins to wrap their wrists together.
Even in a rushed, wartime wedding, certain customs must be followed. Especially for the heir to the throne.
He is dressed more simply than a prince ought to be, Iroh thinks, not that his nephew ever enjoyed the ceremonial dressings of his station. Nearly all his life, Iroh has attempted what Ozai refused to do: prepare Zuko to one day rule. But not only that: to live, to thrive, and to love.
Iroh clutches at his damp handkerchief and watches his nephew bind himself to his bride.
When he and Huang Moli had married, their braid had been made of pure gold chain, dangling with rubies. Their wedding had been a royal affair that lasted an entire month. It was so grand he barely spoke a sentence to his wife each day. Each feast was longer, the outfits heavier, the crowds even larger.
But the night before it all began, the couple had snuck out to the mountains, into a tent not unlike this one. Her family from the northern islands had their own traditions.
Huang’s grandmother, Lin Ye, the village shaman, had burned incense of agarwood and wove a shroud to cover them both. Tern feathers for the distance their love traveled. Gold pieces for the wealth and luck of the crown. Crumbled soft lava stones for the new soil of their union. Huang’s eyes looking to his, the warmth of their clasped hands.
It was the only ceremony he remembered.
Despite all of Iroh’s initial concerns, the couple in front of him were not full of fiery bursts of passion or giggling nerves. He looked to his nephew - a new calm settled about him. Still stubborn, but sure. When Iroh had stepped from his tent on the edge of Ba Sing Se to find the waterbender (“Master Katara, Uncle,”), she and his nephew were nervous. But no longer. Watching them now, hands bound, cloaked in robes slightly too large for them, Iroh thinks the children of war have seen the world burn, yet still let the hope of the future flame within their hearts.
He does not know it, but that’s how the decision to wed was made, in the grips of hope.
Days earlier, Katara and Zuko lay on a moth-eaten mattress in the temple, clutching hands. The sun was still hours from rising. Their bags packed for their journey, they whispered together as if scared to be caught.
“I want to start a school in every nation. Where everyone can come and study - benders and healers, and anyone else. Just like this - making friends, learning from each other.”
“I want to build carehouses for the war veterans. We’ll invite the Northern healers. Melt down the ships for tools. And no one will have to be ashamed of their scars, ever.”
Together on the mattress, they dreamed a world, one where a Fire Lord was kind and not cruel.
“Zuko,” Iroh had said, his mind racing at their request, “Master Katara is lovely. But you go to the homeland to take a throne.”
His nephew, as serious as ever, had only looked at him. “Yes. And now I won’t be doing it alone.”
So in the middle of war, the day before Sozin’s comet, General Iroh and the leaders of the White Lotus put together a royal wedding.
It is not too shabby, if Iroh says so himself. The floor is strewn with fine-woven rugs and pillows. Banners of all nations hang on the walls behind stacks of flickering candles.
A wedding between a royal and a bender of the Southern Water Tribe is a complicated affair. Still, they cobbled together what they could…remembered ceremonies from the betrothed, and the words of contract needed for any royal family.
Even on the verge of invasion, the black markets of Ba Sing Se are open. They had sent in their cleverest traders for a strange list of items - Water Tribe ivory, Fire Nation silks. There were no Water Tribe robes to be had but one of the men proudly came back with the shining satin shiromuku Katara was bundled in. A maid from Pakku’s army spent two hours braiding her hair.
Zuko’s is pulled back tight into a topknot, but it’s not quite long enough to hold. Nervously, he keeps brushing back the small hairs that hang on his brow, until Katara takes his other hand in hers.
“I pledge to you my hand, my honor, my name.”
“I swear to serve the children of the Fire Nation, with all that I possess.”
Zuko’s hands shake only for a moment as he threads Katara’s hair with beads of gold and silver. A silver sealskin sits on her lap as a pledge of plenty. They were quite proud of that find.
Because there is no ice, Katara shapes symbols in the air with her element - kin and wed and their family names. They promise the day soon after this where they will go to the great ice mountains and carve them there for all time.
“Does anyone here know any reason why these two should not be joined today?”
The room is quiet.
Iroh thinks of all the terrible things Ozai has visited upon his family. Of Azula, waiting on a stolen throne. All the terrible reasons to not let his nephew make an impulsive, permanent decision like this one.
But he cannot help but think of Lu Ten, taken by violence before he could see this day.
He believes he has never seen his nephew so happy. So centered. He has found the balance to his fire.
The silence stretches on. Impulsive, the prince pulls Katara to him with the leverage of their bound arms. He whispers something quick in her ear. She smiles, blushes, raises an arm as if to swat him away, but they’re locked together now.
“Then by the authority given me by the Fire Nation, I pronounce you husband and wife.”
Physical displays are not part of the Fire Nation ceremonies, but nevertheless Zuko tugs and pulls Katara to him in a kiss. There should be cheers from crowds loud enough to shake the mountains - a whole nation to witness. Instead there is a smattering of polite applause, the slip of fabric on pillows as the newlyweds' knees knock together in awkward balance. Iroh blows his nose, eyes blurring with tears.
When they break apart, he finally sees what he knew was there all along - the happy, hopeful smiles of children. Two who had grown up too quickly, scarred and broken. Ever-hopeful youth in love even under the shadow of war and death. Zuko wipes a tear from his wife’s face with his thumb. Behind them, Master Piandao pops a bottle of champagne they had been saving for the battle.
Tomorrow, they will travel to the heart of the war to take a crown from Azula, to right the wrongs of Ozai.
But tonight - tonight they are just a husband and a wife in love.