euphoria: [yoo-fawr-ee-uh] a state of intense happiness
The capital of the Fire Nation is transformed for Katara's birthday. Zuko personally sees to it.
Quiet houses with crimson rooftops and shuttered windows are changed. The streets, the buildings, the ground itself is adorned with beauty and light. Dancers and musicians and vendors patrol the streets, offering delights of every kind. The music is pierced by laughter, as children wave their hands, sticky from sugar glazed rice cakes, like trophies. Jewels glimmer at the throats of women as they let go of the arms of their partners, enchanted by a fire breather or the melancholy drone of a tsungi horn.
The city is alight, for the day of Katara's birth is a national holiday.
"Oh, Zuko." Katara clings to the edge of the city, hidden in an alleyway, still quiet and untouched by the festivities she can glimpse before her. "This is ridiculous."
Zuko would be discouraged, were it not for the undeniable pleased undertone in her voice. "Perhaps. But you like it."
"I do not," Katara insists, lifting her chin. "How… pretentious is it to make your own birthday a national holiday? To force others to celebrate it?"
Zuko shrugs, unconcerned. "Well, you didn't do any of that, so you're off the hook."
Katara's mouth is still curved in a frown. Zuko thumbs at the corner of it, drawing her gaze to his face.
"The Fire Nation people don't have many occasions to celebrate," Zuko says, by way of explanation or excuse.
"That's not true! What about the end of the war?"
Zuko barely keeps himself from rolling his eyes. "That's not exactly a pride point for us."
"Zuko-"
"Aang saved the world." His tone has gone rough. "All I did is… eventually stop standing in his way."
Katara reaches up so that her hands frame his face. Underneath one palm is the ruined and rough patch of skin, beneath the other unblemished skin.
"It was both of you," Katara says. "It was all of us."
When Zuko speaks, his voice is subdued. "I don't see a reason to deprive our people of celebrating. And what better to celebrate than the birth of their Fire Lady?"
"What about your birth?"
Zuko waves a hand noncommittally. "That wasn't a jolly affair."
"Zuko!"
"What?" Zuko looks at her, finds her expression caught between anger and tenderness. He reaches for her hand. "No, I meant- I was born midwinter, it wouldn't be suitable for anything like this anyway."
Katara rolls her eyes. "We're in the middle of a volcano, Zuko. It doesn't get cold."
Zuko drags his thumb across the back of her hand. "Ah. Can't get anything past you, 'Tara."
Katara's gaze doesn't move from his face; she's measuring him, and Zuko schools his expression into something that could pass for neutral.
"Alright," Katara finally concedes, earning herself one of Zuko's rare smiles. "I'll make a short appearance."
The festival involves honoring the Fire Lady as she passes with a small token, and there seems to be no standard for the objects involved.
As Katara passes, a wreath of fire lilies is draped over her neck, another wrapped around her head. Various objects are pushed into her hands, which she places in a basket on her arm; scraps of parchment, tiny jewels, more fire lilies, and the occasional pouch of fire flakes. Zuko carts the more heavy objects, like long bottles of what is undeniably firewhiskey, away.
Katara smiles when a group of children approach, pressing jellied candies into her hands. Their cheeks dimple at her words of praise and gratitude. They run off, leaving a trail of laughter behind them; and Katara looks at Zuko, eyes suddenly moist, wanting to express the tremulous smile curving her lips but unable to find the words.
She's distracted when a woman hands her an opal, the surface of the stone a stark contrast to the woman's bronzed, wrinkled hand.
"Euphoria," she tells Katara, with a genuine smile that's missing several teeth. "There is a legend that says, long ago, the first man who ever fell in love forged this stone for his woman. He carved it from a combination of all the elements, and gifted it to her moments after the birth of their child."
"Oh, that's lovely."
The woman places the jewel into Katara's hand, presses insistently when Katara's eyes go wide in surprise.
"The stone was blessed," the woman says. "And now the woman who wears it is blessed with all the combined happiness of the women who wore it before her. Take it."
"Euphoria?" Katara echoes, questioningly, already knowing she will accept the gracious gift. The woman nods enthusiastically.
"Alright." Katara presses it to her bosom, feels something swell there. "It's perfect."
"Katara?"
"Yes." Katara looks up at Zuko, several paces ahead, as though startled from a reverie. "Coming."
Euphoria was the way her heart stopped when Zuko proposed. Euphoria is stolen moments in the night, when she feels as though she'd burst, unable to contain the happiness bubbling beneath her tingling skin. Euphoria is Zuko's arms, always warm.
But euphoria is rare.
"Zuko?"
"Yes."
"Sometimes…" Sometimes I wonder if I belong here. Sometimes I wonder if I deserve this.
She looks into Zuko's face, eyes wide and expectant, and allows a smile to grace her own.
"Nothing," she says. "Let's keep going."
They continue their walk, and Katara allows herself to bask in the glow of being Fire Lady, of being appreciated, of feeling, for once, light as air. Yes; she would leave worry for another day.