Author's Note: Here's the story I wrote for Day 6 of Zutara Week 2012. The prompt was 'Faded', and it's pretty sad. Enjoy.
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White robes, grey clouds
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It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
It was raining. Swollen clouds moved sluggishly over their heads, leaving a light drizzle. Katara offered to stop the rain, to catch it in a great watery dome over their heads, but he refused. It somehow didn't feel right, and he wanted her there with him.
Zuko adjusted the sleeves to his white ceremonial robes and shut his eyes. He was supposed to be leading this processional, but it was hard enough to stay present in the moment. One step after another. It was hard enough to keep from falling over on the spot; he didn't even care if the hem of his clothing got muddy.
...it wasn't supposed to happen like this.
Even through his thick layers of clothing, Zuko still felt chilly, as though the weather passed right through the fabric. Of all things, he felt defeated. As though all his efforts had gone to waste. Perhaps they had, perhaps they hadn't. The fact remained that he had only himself to blame. He was sure of it.
It was only mid afternoon, but it may as well have been the dead of night. Yes, he had lost something. And to a firebender, losing something like this was like the sun going out. Creeping numbness. Endless nighttime.
And then he had arrived. There she was, her face like a pale, faded rose.
His mother.
He tried to think, tried to think coherently thoughts. He had last seen her when he was... eight, perhaps? He couldn't remember. She looked so much older, with grey lines in her hair and spiderweb wrinkles under her eyes. Thinner, too. Her robes were folded right over left, as was tradition.
That's right, just trace the edges of her skin with your eyes, with the eyes that she gave to you. Now hers were closed, leaving his as the only remnant of her kind spirit. Azula got her cheekbones and her neck and her legs, but Ursa's daughter ended up with the predatory look of her husband.
Perhaps that's why Zuko had been her favorite - because he alone could carry on her endless capacity for love.
Zuko felt Katara shift by his side. It wasn't supposed to happen like this; he wasn't supposed to let anyone see him like this. Especially someone like Katara, someone who he wanted to see him as strong. And yet here he was, crying. Or perhaps it was the rain. Or perhaps it didn't matter.
"She was beautiful," the waterbender said softly, reaching out a gentle hand to touch the faded cheek. Katara would've gotten along well with his mother, Zuko decided. They both had that kind spirit rising from their eyes, and they both had the ferocity that came with loving someone too much to give them up. Both were willing to give up everything to save the people they loved. His mother had, in the end.
He sincerely hoped that Katara would not follow in her footsteps.
"Yes," Zuko said slowly, "she was." He couldn't even explain to her what was going on in his mind, as much as he wanted to. He just felt cold, alone, broken... He just wanted someone to understand.
As she led by the arm away from the pyre, he didn't let himself look back. "When my mother died… There was no body to bury. The Fire Nation must taken her with them when they left." Katara looked up at the nearby ridge. "She... she gave up her life to save me."
They had discussed this before, when they had been traveling together in search of his mother, but he reassured him to hear it again. It meant he wasn't alone. And he never would be.
They stayed there a while, watching as the smoke from the funeral pyre rose and faded into the atmosphere. He was the Fire Lord, but he was also just a boy who had lost his mother. And so Katara kept ahold of Zuko's arm, her warmth keeping him present, keeping him from drowning in the memories.
She knew how lonely he must feel. But she wouldn't let him be alone. Not now, not ever.
It wasn't supposed to happen like this, but perhaps that was okay. Just this once.