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By the time I make it to the courtyard, the palace has finally gone quiet.
I have spent the entire day surrounded by people. Ministers wanting answers I don't have yet, soldiers awaiting orders, servants bowing every time I pass them, and strangers congratulating me as though becoming Fire Lord is something I've had time to understand.
I haven't.
Even now, sitting on the stone ledge beside the pond, the title doesn't feel like mine.
Fire Lord Zuko.
I look down at the water and watch the moon break apart beneath the ripples.
My father is defeated. Azula is defeated. The Avatar ended the war, and somehow the same person I spent years hunting is now one of the reasons I'm sitting here at all.
Zari is safe at her father's estate. Hopefully asleep by now. I miss her, but after everything she's survived, I like knowing that tonight she is somewhere familiar, somewhere nobody is asking her to be a commander or the Fire Scion or anything other than Piandao's daughter.
For the first time in years, there is no more chasing.
No Avatar disappearing over the horizon. No throne waiting for me to prove I deserve it. No father whose approval I have to earn.
The thought should make me feel lighter. Instead, I mostly feel tired.
I lean forward, resting my arms against my knees as a turtle duck cuts lazily across the pond.
The Hundred Year War is over.
I've heard those words so many times today that they should have started sounding real by now, but they haven't. A war that lasted a hundred years shouldn't be able to end in a single day. There should be some difference in the air, some great sound rolling across the world to tell everyone that something has changed.
Instead, the moon rises.
The water moves.
The palace sleeps.
Tomorrow, everything begins.
There will be treaties to negotiate and colonies to deal with, soldiers to bring home and cities that need rebuilding. I will have to stand in front of a nation that has been told for generations that we were bringing greatness to the world and somehow convince them to help repair what we destroyed instead. There are probably already stacks of documents waiting for me inside.
I grimace at that thought.
Maybe becoming Fire Lord was easier when I wasn't actually Fire Lord.
But all of that belongs to tomorrow. Tonight, nobody needs me to make a decision. Nobody needs me to fight. Nobody is waiting for me to become something else.
I let my shoulders relax and look out over the quiet pond.
For one night, I don't have to know what comes next.
The war is over.
For now, that can be enough, but I can't help thinking about it all.
Three years; it doesn't sound like very long when I think about it that way.
Three years ago, I left this palace burned, believing I knew exactly what I needed to do to come back. Capture the Avatar. Restore my honor. Reclaim my title.
Make my father love me again.
That last part is harder to admit.
At thirteen, I thought being sent across the world alone meant I had failed. Now I wonder why none of the adults around me thought thirteen was too young to be sent at all. I can still remember standing at the bow of my ship, staring at an empty horizon and believing the Avatar was somewhere beyond it, waiting to be found. I was thirteen years old with half my face still healing, and somehow I had convinced myself that the impossible task my father gave me was proof that he wanted me to come home.
I spent years chasing that hope.
It carried me through storms and across oceans. It followed me beneath the ice at the North Pole and into the Earth Kingdom after Uncle and I cut away our topknots and everything that remained of our old lives with them. I went hungry. I slept beneath trees. I served tea in Ba Sing Se and hated almost every second of it.
I had Uncle beside me through all of it.
Then I betrayed him.
My stomach still twists when I think about the catacombs beneath Ba Sing Se. Uncle had given me everything he could, and when Azula offered me the life I thought I wanted, I chose it over him.
And I got it.
That's the strange part.
I actually got everything I had spent three years chasing.
My title was restored. I came back to the palace. My father welcomed me home and called me his son again.
I had never been more miserable.
I stare down at my reflection in the pond.
Sometimes I wish I could go back and talk to the boy who sailed away from here. I'd tell him that honor isn't something Father can take from him or give back. I'd tell him that being loved shouldn't hurt that much.
Mostly, I'd tell him to listen to Uncle.
He wouldn't.
I almost smile.
He was an idiot.
But he was a kid still trying to figure things out. I still am.
For a long time, I've wanted to separate myself from him, as if becoming someone better means pretending I was never that angry, desperate boy in the first place. Tonight, I don't think I want to do that.
He made terrible choices. So did I.
But every wrong turn eventually brought me somewhere I needed to be, even if I only realized it after I'd already left.
Three years ago, I sailed away from home chasing the Avatar because I thought capturing him was the only way I could ever come back.
In the end, helping him is what finally brought me home.
I hear footsteps behind me and turn.
Uncle is crossing the courtyard with a teapot in one hand and two cups balanced in the other.
Of course he is.
“You should be asleep,” I tell him as he reaches the pond.
“So should you.”
“I'm Fire Lord. I can stay up as late as I want.”
Uncle raises an eyebrow as he lowers himself onto the stone beside me. “Ah. Your first abuse of power.”
I glare at him.
He smiles and pours the tea.
I take the cup he offers me, mostly because arguing would only make him look more pleased with himself. The warmth settles into my hands, and for a little while neither of us says anything.
It feels familiar.
Uncle has sat beside me like this more times than I can count. On our ship, in shabby rooms throughout the Earth Kingdom, behind the counter of a tea shop I insisted I hated. Somehow there was always tea between us, even when I was angry enough to wish there wasn't.
I glance at him. “Did you come looking for me?”
“No.”
I wait.
Uncle takes a slow sip.
“You brought two cups.”
“I am a very prepared man.”
I roll my eyes, but I can't stop the smile that follows.
For the first time in years, sitting beside him doesn't feel borrowed.
We aren't fugitives hiding from the Fire Nation. We aren't living fake lives in Ba Sing Se. I'm not hunting the Avatar, and Uncle isn't trying to convince me to abandon something that is slowly destroying me.
We're just sitting beside a pond drinking tea.
I didn't realize how much I missed that until I had it again.
Uncle takes another sip of tea before glancing at me. “And how does it feel?”
I know exactly what he means. “Terrifying.”
His eyebrows lift. “That is a very honest answer.”
I stare into my cup. “I knew how to fight Azula. Well, sort of.”
Uncle gives me a questioning look. “Your victory was somewhat unconventional.”
I glare at him. “That's one way to put it.”
His mouth twitches behind his cup.
Fighting Azula was something I understood, at least. There was an enemy in front of me and something I had to protect behind me. I knew what to do with that.
This is different.
“I don't know how I'm supposed to fix all of this, Uncle.”
His amusement fades.
“For a hundred years, we've been telling our people that the war was right. Children grow up believing we're helping the rest of the world. Soldiers leave their families believing they're serving the Fire Nation.” I look toward the palace behind us. “Now I'm supposed to stand in front of everyone and tell them we were wrong.”
“Yes, you are.”
I frown at him before continuing.
“There are colonies that have existed longer than I've been alive. People who were born in them. There are cities we've destroyed and families who will never get back what we took from them.” I rub my thumb along the edge of my cup. “Everyone spent today bowing to me like becoming Fire Lord somehow means I know what to do about any of that.”
Uncle is quiet for a moment.
Then he says, “I would be far more worried if you believed you did.”
I look at him.
“A ruler who believes he already possesses every answer will eventually stop asking questions. He will stop listening to those who disagree with him, because he has convinced himself there is nothing left for them to teach him.” Uncle's expression softens. “You are afraid because you understand the weight of what has been placed in your hands. Do not mistake that fear for weakness.”
I let that settle for a moment.
“So your advice is that I should be glad I'm terrified. Because that's what it sounds like.”
Uncle smiles. “My advice is that you do not have to know how to repair a hundred years of damage on your first night.”
I sigh and look back toward the pond. “You somehow turned me having no idea what I'm doing into another lesson.”
“I have had many years of practice.”
He chuckles beside me, clearly far too pleased with himself.
I take another drink of tea.
I'm still terrified, but with Uncle sitting beside me, admitting that doesn't feel quite as much like failing.
I look over at Uncle. He's still smiling to himself, completely satisfied with turning my first night as Fire Lord into another opportunity to lecture me.
I should probably be annoyed.
Instead, something in my chest tightens.
For three years, he's been doing this.
Sitting beside me. Listening to me complain. Offering advice I didn't ask for and usually didn't want. Waiting while I stumbled around trying to figure out things he had understood long before I did.
“Uncle?”
He turns toward me. “Yes?”
I stare at the pond because looking at him suddenly feels impossible.
“I don't think I've ever actually thanked you.”
The words come out awkwardly, and immediately I wish I'd found a better way to say them.
Uncle's expression softens. “Zuko, you don't have to-”
“I know.”
I finally look at him.
“But I want to.”
That quiets him.
“You left everything to come with me when Father banished me. You stayed on that ship for years while I yelled at you and ignored almost everything you said.” I swallow. “Then when we lost even that, you stayed anyway.”
Uncle doesn't interrupt.
“You tried to help me in Ba Sing Se, and I...” My voice catches, and I look away again. “I chose Azula.”
The shame of it hasn't dulled much.
“I left you there.”
“Zuko-”
“And when I came back, you forgave me. I know we talked about it, but still.”
My throat burns now, which is irritating because I was doing fine a minute ago.
“I don't know why.”
Uncle's eyes shine in the moonlight, but he lets me continue.
“I spent so long trying to make Father love me that I didn't understand what I already had.” My fingers tighten around the cup. “I thought love was something I had to earn. If I captured the Avatar, if I restored my honor, if I became the son he wanted, then maybe I'd finally deserve it.”
I have to stop for a moment before I can force the rest out.
“You never made me earn yours.”
Uncle's face crumples just slightly.
I look back toward the water before mine can do the same.
“I should have understood that sooner.”
For once, Uncle doesn't have an answer waiting for me.
So I sit beside him with my tea cooling between my hands and hope he understands what I'm still not very good at saying.
“Thank you, Uncle.”
Uncle is quiet for so long that I start wondering if I've made this weird.
I'm good at that.
Then he sets his cup beside him and turns toward me.
“Zuko, you never owed me anything.”
I frown. “I know, but-”
“No.” His voice is gentle. “You are thanking me as though loving you was some great sacrifice I made.”
I don't know what to say to that.
Uncle smiles, although his eyes are still wet. “I could give you advice. I could point toward a road I thought might lead you somewhere better. Occasionally, I could annoy you until you became too exhausted to argue with me.”
“Occasionally?”
His smile widens.
“But I could never walk that road for you,” he continues. “You were the one who finally chose another path.”
I look down at my hands.
“You stood before your father and told him the truth. You chose to help the Avatar after spending years hunting him. You faced your sister knowing what it might cost you.” Uncle reaches over and rests his hand on my shoulder. “Those choices belong to you, Zuko.”
My throat tightens again.
“I am very proud of the man you have become, and I think of you as my own.”
I stare determinedly at the pond.
Uncle waits.
“Don't,” I manage to choke out.
“Don't what?”
“Say things like that while I'm trying not to cry.”
A laugh escapes him, warm and familiar, and I can't help laughing too, even as I wipe quickly at my eye with the heel of my hand.
“You could at least pretend you didn't see that.”
“Of course.”
“You're smiling.”
“I am pretending very poorly.”
I shake my head.
Our laughter fades slowly.
I take another drink of tea, expecting Uncle to make some comment about how cold it's getting or offer another piece of wisdom I didn't ask for.
He doesn't.
When I glance over, he's staring across the pond.
Something has changed in his face. The smile is gone, but he doesn't look unhappy exactly. He still looks peaceful.
Just sad.
I almost ask him what's wrong; the question reaches the back of my throat before I stop it.
There were so many nights when Uncle knew something was wrong with me and didn't ask. He would sit nearby, pour tea, talk about something completely pointless, and wait. Sometimes I told him eventually.
Most of the time, I didn't.
He never left.
So I don't ask.
I turn back toward the pond and stay where I am.
The silence stretches between us, but it isn't uncomfortable. A turtle duck disappears beneath the water and surfaces farther away. Somewhere beyond the courtyard walls, I hear the faint footsteps of a guard making his rounds.
Uncle's tea sits untouched in his hands.
Minutes pass. Long enough that I start to think he isn't going to tell me.
That's okay. I can stay.
Then Uncle draws in a slow breath.
“I wish my son could have seen the end of the war.”
My heart aches.
I remember Lu Ten, but not the way history will remember him. Not as a Fire Nation soldier who died at Ba Sing Se.
I remember my cousin.
I remember him letting me follow him around when I was little, even when I was probably annoying him. I remember him showing me things he already knew how to do and acting impressed when I managed them badly. He was older, which meant I thought he knew everything.
I haven't thought about him like that in a long time.
I look at Uncle and suddenly understand what today must have been for him.
While everyone celebrated the end of the war, Uncle was thinking about the son he lost to it.
“I found myself wondering what sort of man he might have become,” Uncle says quietly.
His gaze drops to his tea.
“Sometimes I wonder if he would understand the choices I made. We once fought for the same cause, and in the end, I helped tear it down.”
I don't know how to answer that, so I tell him something I do know.
“I believed it too.”
Uncle looks at me.
“Everything they taught us about the war. About the Fire Nation. I believed all of it.” I swallow. “So did you.”
“Yes.”
“We lived long enough to learn we were wrong.”
His face tightens.
I stare across the pond.
“Lu Ten would have too.”
Uncle doesn't answer. For a while, he only stares at the pond.
Then I hear him breathe in, and when he exhales, it shakes; a tear slips down his cheek.
I've seen Uncle angry. I've seen him exhausted, frightened, disappointed, even broken in ways I didn't understand at the time. But I've almost never seen him allow himself to fall apart.
He spent years holding me together instead.
So when another tear follows the first, I don't look away.
I set my tea down and move closer.
Uncle folds into me, and I wrap my arms around him.
For once, there is nothing I need him to teach me. There is no advice I need to hear and nothing either of us can fix. I just hold him while his shoulders shake beneath my hands.
After a while, his voice comes quietly against me.
“I spent so many years wishing I could have brought him home.”
I close my eyes.
Uncle's hand tightens against the back of my robes.
“Sometimes I still do.”
There is nothing I can say to that.
Then he pulls back just enough to look at me.
“But I am very grateful that you found your way back, Zuko.”
My throat closes.
He doesn't say anything else. He doesn't have to.
For years, Uncle watched me drift farther and farther away from him, a leaf carried wherever the wind pushed it, and somehow he never stopped waiting for me to find my way home.
I hug him again.
Eventually, we separate, but neither of us gets up. Our tea has gone cold beside us. The courtyard is silent except for the soft movement of water.
I don't know how long we sit there before I speak.
“Uncle?”
“Yes?”
“I think he knows.”
Uncle looks at me. “Knows what?”
I look at the moon reflected in the pond.
“That it's over.”
For a moment, Uncle doesn't move.
Then he lifts his eyes toward the sky.
“I would like to think so.”
I follow his gaze.
Somewhere beyond the palace walls, millions of people are sleeping without knowing what tomorrow will look like. There will still be grief when the sun rises. There will still be anger and rebuilding and wounds that peace cannot erase simply because we declared the fighting finished.
But tonight, Uncle sits beside me.
Lu Ten is remembered.
And for the first time in a hundred years, the world sleeps through a night of peace.