So. I got this idea from a piece of fanart that I stumbled across by mere happenstance. I instantly fell in love with the idea of a Zutara swap, but I've done it a little differently than others I've seen. Instead of taking everything about the two and switching it, I've only exchanged some aspects of their personalities and backgrounds.
I have worked sohard on this story. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated, because figuring out which parts I should swap and which parts I should keep original kind of gave me a headache. But it's been gloriously fun so far, and it's really making me think outside the box as a writer. Which is a good thing. Boxes were made to be worked outside of, after all.
Anyway, I hope you like it, and please let me know about any ideas, suggestions, critiques, or comments you may have.
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One evening, seated around the fire at supper time, in the middle of the dark winter, Kanna looks at her oldest grandson and wonders.
He is different than his brother – Sokka is easy banter, self-assurance, charge-ahead-and-take-control, all jokes and lighthearted fun. His mind is never at rest, constantly thinking and planning, both for his own entertainment and for the betterment of their people. He is not malicious – far from it, Kanna thinks with a smile. In fact, if they had any young women his age in the village, he would probably be called sweet.
Zuko is different.
He is calm, he is rational, and his temper is not easily provoked. When it does make appearance, however, it sends most people of their tribe running for cover. He shows a tendency to hold a grudge – though, she admits sadly, he has more right to be bitter than most – yet he displays a quiet, almost shy kindness. She once saw him hurry across their village to help a young expectant mother carry a heavy roll of shark-seal skin inside her hut. He makes sure his boots are free of snow before he comes inside so as not to make more work for her to clean, he lets the elderly have the larger pieces of jerky when their food stores run low, and then he is the first to rise the next morning and go hunt.
He will make a fine chief. In Hakoda's absence, Zuko has assumed the unofficial mantle of leadership in their small community, and while he relies heavily on Sokka for advice and support, everyone looks to their chief's oldest son for guidance, including Sokka himself. It brings a sense of security during this time of war and uneasiness.
Kanna knows that Zuko worries for his father – Sokka does, too, but Zuko agonizes when he makes decisions for the tribe, wondering what Hakoda would do in his stead. He has not yet learned to rely on himself in matters of great importance.
But it is more than that, she thinks, whenever she spots Zuko standing on the outskirts of their village, gazing out towards the never-ending horizon where the sky and the sea touch. He has grown up hearing stories of ruthless soldiers in red and gold, of flames destroying entire towns, temples, (even, Kanna grimaces, entire races of people), and he knows also that his father is out trying to stem the ever rising tide of innocent blood that has been shed at the hands of the Fire Nation.
Deep in her heart, Kanna wonders if Hakoda's choice to try and keep his sons out of the war will be the very thing that drags them into it, and if his choice to leave the tribe in Zuko's care will be the one reason, she fears, the boy will seek a future beyond their world of ice and snow.
/
One morning, seated at the table in the private dining cabin, Iroh looks at his youngest niece and wonders.
Katara is sometimes little more than a walking pile of contradictions.
She is wise beyond her years, yet not even a Princess of the Fire Nation can always hide her emotions, and lately Iroh has seen a great deal of doubt in her golden eyes.
She is rough, jagged around the edges of her soul, yet the center of her being has remained untarnished, pure and smooth like a precious gem.
She is beautiful – she is Ursa reincarnated, Iroh thinks in bittersweet fondness – yet there is a pain she carries within her that causes her features to often twist with rage and anguish. He cannot remember the last time he saw her smile, and he does not think he has ever heard her laugh.
Even now she sits, stoically, with ramrod-straight posture, her legs crossed beneath her as she chews her food in meticulous silence. When the servants come forward to refill her glass of water, she does not thank them, but she does not snap at them either, the way her sister would.
Iroh stifles a sigh. He has never seen two people more different than Azula and Katara. The Crown Princess is poisoned, consumed with her thirst for power and the Fire Lord's approval, where Katara seems that she would be the same, were it not for her mother and, Iroh likes to think, himself.
Ozai has forged the successor of his dreams in Azula. Katara he cast aside from her first breath, declaring that she was lucky to even have been born. The sentiment was repeated throughout her childhood, and Iroh does not think he will ever be able to forgive his brother for the look those words put onto Katara's face.
Neither, he thinks in a moment of anger, will he be able to forgive Ozai for the mangled flesh that has just now begun to heal. It has been almost six months, and still the wound is bright pink, refusing to fade to a ghostly white that people associate with old battle scars. Even as he watches, Katara absentmindedly reaches one hand to ensure that her hair hangs correctly, shielding the worst of the scar from view.
Like the mark upon her skin, Katara comes across as callous and uncaring to almost everyone she meets. Yet he, her uncle and closest confidant, sees what she cannot hide, no matter how much she wants to:
Katara is kind.
Just as mountains have veins of gold or silver, buried beneath rock and invisible to the untrained eye, Katara has a thread of pure, untainted goodness woven into the very fabric of her being, and its presence is perhaps the main reason she is not made in her father's likeness.
Katara tries desperately to deny, even to herself, that she cares for others – some days, she snaps and growls at anyone and everyone. Yet the same day, she will have the captain rearrange the schedules for guard patrols, because one of the female guards is having her moon blood. The next day she will allow an extra half hour for the noonday meal, because it is the day letters arrive from home.
If asked, she will reply – coldly – that keeping her crew content is in her best interests, and she really just wanted them to stop whining about all and sundry. But what she does not realize is that the story of her mark has travelled all over the Fire Nation, and among her crew. They know the price she paid, and they also know that, in a way, she paid it for their sakes.
And so no one dares to thank her for the unexpected gestures of thoughtfulness. But no one dislikes her, either, and sometime Iroh almost thinks that if they were forced to choose between Ozai and Katara, they would opt to suffer the flames beside their princess.
Iroh almost wants to laugh when he recalls the day that the captain had informed him of the crew's surprising loyalty to Katara. He knows that if Katara had any idea of how many people knew about her "soft spot", she would be furious.
It only makes him wonder how she will react if, one day, the whole world will be able to witness the unrecognized potential for goodness in the Fire Nation.