Disclaimer: This is a work of fan-fiction and therefore the author claims no rights to the recognized contents and characters.
Rating: T, as of now. If the rating for any chapter needs to be raised, there will be a notification at the beginning of said chapter(s).
This is a story that will explain (essentially) how Legend of Korra's events and characters came to be, from a Zutarian point of view. Though it will eventually be quasi-cannon with the Legend of Korra, the pairing will be Zuko/Katara (not Aang/Katara) so if anyone has their objections feel free to duck away before reading. For the years, I'm dropping the ASC label (or AG as they recently changed it to on the Avatar Wiki) and just using the numbers.
I can't think of anything else to warn you readers about preemptively. If anyone has questions or comments, I'd be very grateful to hear them. Now, without further ado...
Autumn, 118.
The last time he stood atop these steps, it had been a joyous occasion.
He remembered looking down at the vast crowd and being able to sense the pride and relief from those who gathered in the crowd. Warriors and veterans from every nation had stood side by side, every person proudly displaying the colours of their home as they welcomed him as the new Fire Lord, ready to change the world with the young Avatar beside him. He remembered their cheers being deafening and himself feeling his chest would burst with a feeling he had only been able to identify as hope. Hope for the future—hope for the world.
It had all seemed so bright then. It had all seemed so full of endless possibilities with thousands of roads waiting to be travelled.
This was one future he never had even imagined. But then, much had changed in the last eighteen years. While there was still hope, there was no longer any place for him to be naïve.
Below, row upon row of people dressed in their finest clothes of white and ivory waited in mute solemnity as the High Sage's deep voice carried throughout the Ceremonial Plaza. If Zuko had tried, he would have been able to pick out Aang and Toph from among those who watched the display with expressions of sadness and pity. Instead, he kept his gaze straight ahead and his façade a stoic, unreadable mask.
Beside him, Katara eyes were locked on the High Sage garbed in robes of red standing just in front of the small golden coffin and in her silent exterior, she revealed as little as her husband.
"Kya, princess of the Fire Nation. You were granddaughter of Ozai and Lady Ursa, now passed, daughter of Fire Lord Zuko and Lady Katara, elder sister to Ursa. We lay you to rest."
The High Sage turned away from the congregation. On his signal, a white-robed Fire Sage on either end of the casket bowed in reverence and from their low pose, they each sent forth a stream of fire into the tinder. The flames licked hungrily at the dry wood and before long, the casket had been completely engulfed. In that moment, Zuko reached out to the small waterbender next to him, resting his hand gently on her deceivingly delicate shoulder. At the touch, her eyes sought his out while she rocked the stirring infant in her arms and in the fleeting moment that their gazes locked, he saw pain that he knew reflected just as deeply in his own.
She turned from him. Still holding their daughter, Katara placed a cool hand over his where it rested against her white-clad shoulder.
The High Sage faced away from the pyre and closed his eyes, hands held out in front of him with his palms facing to the sun. "We pray for Agni to look upon this dearly departed child with favour as she begins her journey among the spirits and we ask that she pass from this world to the next blessed by the fire that carries her."
Her fingers wrapped softly around his and pulled their hands to their sides. Katara untangled her hand from his and pulled away abruptly. Zuko's empty hand felt cold.
The red-clad Sage's right hand made a fist that his left rested against, palm flat and fingers pointed to sun and he bowed at the waist. Remaining in that position, the man concluded, saying, "Go with Agni, Fire Princess Kya."
The gathered people mirrored his bow, their heads lowering as they offered each flame formed of fist and palm pointed up towards the sky in reverence.
As one voice they replied, "Agni bless."
With the flames from his daughter's funeral pyre reflecting in his eyes, Zuko bowed and in a low tone, whispered the prayer from his heart.
"Agni bless."
-/-/-
Four days passed without word from the Fire Lord and Fire Lady. The Fire Lord, wishing to allow himself and his wife to mourn privately, had ordered that under no circumstances were they to be disturbed. In those four days, of the few servants that passed by their rooms as they hurried down the hallways most knew better than to linger at the heavy double doors, no matter how their curiosity was spiked.
And given the commotion contained behind the doors, they were very curious indeed.
On the first day, the Fire Lord and his wife spoke in quiet whispers to one another. After the sun had sunk below the horizon and the moon was high in the sky, one lone guard passed during his nightly rounds. He paused on his way by the door, and his sympathy went out to the grieving couple as Lady Katara wept deeply, her husband's voice offering low, humming words of comfort. Thinking about his own young daughter sleeping soundly at home, when the guard continued on his rounds, he sent a silent prayer to Agni that the spirits help them through the darkness that had come into their lives.
Sometime in the early afternoon on the second day, a young girl that worked in the kitchens had been on her way back from General Iroh's rooms carrying a tray of empty tea cups (as she did every day at the same time). A loud crash had startled her so greatly that the tray she held in her hands clattered to the ground and as she knelt to pick up the mess of shattered and chipped cups, she found herself staring flat-out at the door, alarmed by the crashes and thuds coming from inside. So sure they were sounds of a struggle, she slowly rose to her feet with the dirty dishes in her grasp and crept closer to the door. As she stretched out her neck to hear better, she heard a low groan that froze her mid-movement. Not two seconds later, a sharp gasp followed with a long, keening moan had the young girl practically running back to the kitchens. The bright red stain on her cheeks stayed there for the rest of the day.
When she went by the former General's room later that evening to remove another tray of used teacups (how one man could drink so much tea within a single day, she would never understand), she hurried past the Fire Lord and Lady's door as quickly as she possibly could.
On the morning of the third day, the palace was peaceful. By noon, it was as though the calm had never existed.
A pair of guards and a few servants had dared to gather outside of the royal suite. When the guards had first heard the shattering of glass, the more experienced of the two had knocked timidly on the door. Before he even had a chance to ask if they were in danger, the Fire Lord ripped open the door. His hair was messy and hung about his bare shoulders, his face red with rage, neck bulging as he ordered they be left alone—immediately. He then slammed the doors shut and the walls trembled. Further down the hall, a priceless crystal vase shattered against the marble floor. One of the servants scurried to clean up the damage. The others, as well as the guards, still listening in lingered by for a few moments until the loud noises of furniture—and no doubt more precious royal artefacts—being destroyed became too loud and too intrusive to stand by witnessing. Despite its abrupt start, their fighting went on for hours after that—it wasn't until the sun had already begun to paint the sky with shades of pink and lavender on the fourth morning that there was finally silence.
Fire Lord Zuko opened the doors ten minutes after the silence fell. In stark contrast with the man who had last been seen in the midst of what had shaped up to be the longest night of his life, the man that stood in the doorway that morning looked as put together as any other day. His hair was sleek and pulled into the traditional topknot and his rust-coloured tunic was tied neatly around his waist. Behind him, what little was still recognizable of the room lay in shambles with evidence of charring on the walls. The furniture and floor were stained dark with water and steam had filled the room with a heavy haze. Fire Lady Katara sat rigidly on the massive ragged bed in the middle of the room, her feet tucked beneath her. With her face turned towards the floor and hair shielding her eyes from view in a curtain of dark, wet curls, the only sign of her misery was the tears that poured down onto her green silk dressing robe. Her hands shook as they wove into the hair at her temples, as though the fingers digging into her skin were the only things keeping her together.
The Fire Lord's inscrutable expression chilled to the bone the lone guard remaining in the hall, freezing her feet where she stood. He did not look at her—it seemed he wasn't looking at anything, really. But when he addressed her, the steel in his voice sent the young woman fleeing from her monarch as quickly as her armoured feet would allow.
"Bring me High Sage Somchai. Immediately."
-/-/-
The first seven days directly following her death, the Fire Lord and Fire Lady remained secluded in their mourning, seeking only the council of the Fire Lord's dear Uncle, General Iroh, and the High Sage of the Capitol.
On the eighth day, the Fire Lord emerged from the palace dressed to the nines with his crown immaculately placed atop his head. The word of his presence spread like a wildfire in the plains of the Earth Kingdom and by the time he reached the ceremonial plaza, citizens from all walks of life had crowded together to hear what he had come to say. The longer he stood before them in silence, the higher their anticipation mounted. Whispers turned into murmurs and the murmurs grew louder as each person tried to talk over the other. Soon enough, the voices all bled together into a dull roar.
Behind him, the pyre encompassing the Princess's gleaming casket blazed on as it would for the weeks following until the body within was reduced to nothing more than a pile of ash.
Despite the scar that set him apart, the Fire Lord rarely looked menacing. However, as he raised his hand to silence the assembled, the expression that settled on his characteristically stoic face could only be described in one word: dark.
Following the quieting of the crowd, the Fire Lord took a step forward.
"Eighteen years ago, my father's reign over this nation came to an end." His voice echoed across the plaza, no longer the unsure voice of a boy hunting for his honour, but now the confident, resounding boom of a man with honour enough to spare. "It has been brought to my attention that there are some who remain loyal to his tyranny." He raised a bone white fist into the air, in his grasp he held a half-face mask of gold with dark veiled eyes. "This mask was taken off the assassin responsible for the murder of my eldest daughter."
Since the funeral ceremony, rumours surrounding the Princess's death had circulated all throughout the Capitol. Whisperings of deep-rooted political corruption were among the most common with intricate plots fabricated that cast the grieving parents in both negative and positive lights, always with the scheming council of advisors at the heart of the chaos. Less common was the anecdote in which the infamously institutionalized Princess Azula had returned from beyond the grave to extract her revenge and regain her throne (some who were old enough to remember her short binge of power doubted that she had ever passed away at all).
On the rare instance when the word filicide was spoken aloud, a cold silence immediately followed as the acrid taste of the word forced to expel itself. The royal family was many things, but every person who had ever witnessed the couple with their daughter could see as clear as day the selfless and infinite love that the two benders felt for their child—and for each other.
For all the pain he must have felt, he hid it well.
"This mask," The Fire Lord continued over the drone of voices, "is the mark of an extremist faction that identifies their organization as the Hand of the Phoenix in reverence to a man who now sits rotting in a jail cell only because the Avatar took pity on his existence. This act of terrorism against my family was an attempt to intimidate me and to weaken my resolve. But I stand before you today to say that this attempt was in vain."
"In the eighteen years that I have been Fire Lord, it has been my primary goal to establish an era of peace among the citizens of the Fire Nation and to help my fellow world leaders unite our peoples so that we might all benefit from a world where we are not the enemy and fear is not the grout from which a new nation is built. And while this goal remains the same, I will not stand passively by as the safety of my people—and my family—is threatened by a group of rebels too afraid to show their faces!"
The golden mask shattered deafeningly against the stone steps when the Fire Lord violently hurled it away from him. The angry curl to his lips and the strained muscles rippling in his arm merely hinted at the fury the man concealed—but deep in his eyes, his unrestrained rage festered and boiled, begging to be unleashed.
"So let me make this clear—the Hand of the Phoenix is not only charged with the assassination of the late Fire Princess Kya, but any individual that is discovered having ties within this organization will be considered an enemy of the Fire Nation and will be arrested on sight. As the Fire Lord, I hope that a resolution will be reached before more innocent blood is spilt in this senseless exhibition of idolatry.
"But as a father, I send a warning to the Hand of the Phoenix—a warning that there is nowhere you can hide, nowhere you can run, that will keep you from facing the dire consequences of this personal attack on my family. There is nothing that will save you. For the sake of your spirits, I hope you have made peace with your actions because if my hand is forced, I promise it will have been your last mistake.
At those last words, the Fire Lord swiftly stormed from the plaza, leaving the people that had gathered in a collective state of shock.
-/-/-
The Fire Lord and his wife had divorced.
Manee had been an advisor to the Royal Family for many years. She had survived Azula's chaotic week-long rule. She had been there the night that Lady Ursa mysteriously vanished, the night Fire Lord Azulon died and his youngest son rose to power. She had been there for the wedding of Ozai and Lady Ursa as well as the short-lived marriage between General Iroh and his late wife, Princess An-yun.
The elderly woman had seen great joy come to the family, as well as great pain. She had been on the board of advisors the day An-yun gave birth to Lu Ten with her dying breath. She had seen Lady Ursa bring two beautiful children into the world and in turn had watched those children on their journeys down two very different paths. She prayed to Agni the day Zuko was banished, asking the spirit of the sun to see that the Prince heal, and she prayed to Raava to bless the princess with a touch of light on the night when Azula's mind could no longer bear the weight of her traumatic upbringing.
Manee had spent many hours praying to the spirits for guidance and hope. She had felt an array of emotions for the royals whose lives had been corrupted by power, greed, lust, and envy. She had been sad for them, angry for them, disappointed in them when their choices proved to warrant disastrous consequences, and she felt happy for them when all was going well.
But in her fifty-four years of service to the crown, shocked was the one emotion that Manee could honestly say she had never felt before.
Until that day.
The Fire Lord and his wife were divorced. Two weeks ago, before the death of the darling Princess Kya (only halfway into her fourth year), she would have sworn on her own swiftly-approaching grave that she had never seen two people more in love than the Fire Lord and his waterbender from the south.
"The death of our daughter was too much for Lady Katara to bear," Zuko had told his council earlier that morning.
The Fire Lady had not been seen for two days. Former Fire Lady, Manee corrected herself.
"Lady Katara has chosen to place the blame of our daughter's assassination with the people of the Fire Nation and with myself."
Lady Katara was many things—and while those things often did tend to be impulsive and emotional, she was not senseless and she knew when the time was to behave reasonably. Even her infamous temper could be calmed with the correct motivation.
"Lady Katara feels, because I dealt with my grief as every respectable Fire Nation Royal has before me, that I am following too closely in my father's footsteps and refuses to watch idly by as history repeats itself in our remaining daughter."
How odd of the tenacious Lady Katara to dredge up such dark history in her grief after so many years without mention of the Royal Family's taboo past.
"Lady Katara's ignorance of our great nation's culture has made it apparent that I must shelter my daughter from the foreign beliefs of her maternal heritage if she is to become a proper Fire Nation Princess and one day ascend to the throne."
Manee remembered frowning deeply at his words then—she could recall quite vividly the months in his youth during which the Fire Lord had abandoned his duties to his nation in order to travel south and immerse himself in the culture of Lady Katara's people, returning only when he had completed carving a necklace in the traditional style of the Water Tribes which he had intended to present to her upon their betrothal.
"Despite our irreconcilable differences, Lady Katara and I wish only to do what is best for our remaining daughter. In this case, the clearest path was the dissolution of our marriage and Lady Katara's departure from our nation which she finds so vile."
In the twelve years since Lady Katara had come to the Fire Nation, there had never been a single difference that the couple found irreconcilable.
Nor had she ever backed down from such a conflict.
Overcast skies bearing heavy, rumbling clouds ready to burst with rain greeted the tenth day marking the death of the Crown Princess Kya. Manee stood among hundreds of citizens that had gathered on the docks to witness one last glimpse of the infamous waterbender as she prepared to leave the Capitol.
The former Fire Lady emerged from the palace at dawn. Flanked on both sides by guards in full armour, she made her way through the city of Caldera clothed in the simple blue fashion of her home; her chin high with resolve as thunder accompanied her procession in a deep crescendo.
Despite the animosity between the two, Fire Lord Zuko had commissioned a small ship of his personal fleet to escort Lady Katara to her brother's home on Kyoshi Island. Earlier that morning, a select crew had made all necessary preparations for their short voyage. The ship was loaded with all of Lady Katara's personal belongings and now all that remained was for the woman to board so that they could set off.
The waterbending master came upon the docks where a single ship floated in the harbour with its boarding ramp lowered in wait. Upon her approach, the Fire Lord stepped from his place within the shadows of the bulking metal vessel, effectively obstructing the only way on or off the ship. Katara's footsteps slowed as she came to realize this. She looked back—the guards behind her had hung back, creating a blockade where before there had been the only path not blocked by civilians.
She paused, seeming to weigh her displeasure with both options, but ultimately chose the path of less immediate resistance. Katara squared her shoulders and walked up to the man she had once called her husband, stopping far enough away that they could be heard, but not so far that their voices would carry far.
Manee was not nosy by nature, but she was glad she had managed to beat the crowd to the docks. From where she stood, she could read the pair's every expression and hear their every word.
"Lady Katara." With all the cordiality expected from his station, the Fire Lord bowed in respect to the woman before him. Her eyes appraised his humbled stance, fire and ice equalling one another behind her seething glare. Her mouth was set in a displeased grimace and as the Fire Lord returned to his full, towering height, she made it more than apparent that she had no intentions of returning the pleasantry.
"Fire Lord."
At his sides, the Fire Lord's hands clenched into two ashen fists. He was a reasonable man (even if the waterbender drove him to his wits ends and back in the course of a day); to blatantly scorn such a politeness as she had was insulting to a man half his rank. To him, it was offensive both personally and diplomatically.
He cleared his throat. "I believe you will find the ship to your comfort."
"Whether or not I am comfortable for the next four days is of little concern, least of all to you."
The Fire Lord's jaw tensed, biting back the words he would have cut her down to size with were they alone. His fingers flexed at his side, and Manee knew she hadn't imagined the smoke coming off his hands in clouds.
"Regardless," he continued, taking pause to whet his lips, "My hope is that although the animosity between us may persist, you will find happiness for yourself that you were so incapable of finding here."
Her blue eyes darted quickly past him before pinning him once more with her lethal glower. "And I hope that you are able to recognize the poison your father left in you before you're too far gone to care. Not only for our daughter, but for your nation as well."
His golden eyes flashed—Manee knew that look. It was the look the two-headed rat vipers had after her father had thrust his spear into the first head when she was a young girl on the small, tail-end island of Ankō. It was a look that promised a pain rivalling that which it was being dealt—a look that swore such an insult would not stand without retribution.
Manee held her breath.
Almost miraculously, the Fire Lord unclenched his fists without a single spark of flame. He spoke slowly, clearly. "Safe voyage, Lady Katara." He bowed his head. "May Agni guide you through your travels and the seas be forgiving."
The miniscule tremor of her lower lip was a secret between Lady Katara and the rising sun.
Lady Katara swallowed back what emotion fought for its chance to surface. "Farewell, Zuko."
The Fire Lord's former wife turned away and boarded the ship without a single glance back at the life she was leaving behind.
-/-/-