The Mourning After
A/N: This is an idea that I've had for a long while. It was originally in one of my drabbles, but I thought I'd expand it into a full blown stand alone fic since I couldn't get the thought out of my head. Definitely one of my more tragic pieces.
Obligatory Disclaimer: It should be quite obvious, but I do not own Avatar. It is the property of its respective owners, Mike and Bryan.
Carry on, carry on
Keep on to the other side
Once the mourning after turns to day
Carry on, carry on
Keep on to the other side
The mourning after slowly fades
~Kamelot, The Mourning After
I.
It is supposed to be a time for joy and celebration. Now at long last comes the end of a nine month wait as Zuko paces anxiously outside his and Mai's shared bed chambers, her screams and curses echoing throughout a good portion of the palace.
Everyone seems to hold their collective breath. There is a tension in the air as the Fire Nation waits for the next heir to be born to them.
Hours pass, and Zuko's anxiety only worsens as he grows increasingly restless. He wishes he could be at Mai's side, but tradition dictates that men are forbidden in the delivery room during this time. Surely everything will be all right. Katara's one of the best, no, correction, the best healer he's ever known, as well as an experienced midwife. There's no one else he'd trust more, and he has faith that she won't let anything go wrong.
However, eventually, everything goes quiet as Mai's screams of pain cease. That must mean it's all over. They all wait for the sound of a newborn infant's wail to rent the air as it takes its first breath.
It never comes. There is only silence. A terrible, awful unbroken silence.
Minutes drag by like the passing of years, and Katara finally emerges exhausted and bedraggled, with her face frighteningly pale as she seems to use every ounce of willpower she has to keep her composure together. She is drenched in blood.
Too much blood.
Zuko looks at her in a mixture of shock and horror, a ball of fear tightening his gut.
"The baby?" His voice is scarcely above a whisper.
She forces herself to utter that single word. The word that no new parent ever wants to hear.
"It was a boy. Your son was...he...he was..."
Stillborn.
He sways, steadies himself against the wall as if he's been struck by the most crippling of blows.
"No..." he manages to choke out, screwing his eyes shut.
Words emerge from her in a rush as she speaks, imploringly. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I did everything I could, but it was breach, and the blood. There was just too much and I couldn't...oh Zuko, forgive me, please." She takes a step forward, reaching out to him, but then she thinks better of it and jerks away.
He takes a shuddering breath, steeling himself, and asks Katara the next inevitable question.
"And Mai?"
He meets her gaze, and her haunted eyes tell him all he needs to know. Both mother and child have been called back to the Spirit World.
In one fell swoop, his world has fallen apart, and all of his joy has been turned to despair.
He collapses to his knees and sobs brokenly, dimly aware of her arms around him, of murmured words of comfort, and he clings to her as if she's the only thing in the world that can keep him together.
He doesn't let go even when he falls asleep in her arms in an exhausted heap.
II.
The next few days afterward are a blessed, merciful blur as he goes through the motions.
As is tradtional, Zuko wears white for mourning, and the rest of his country mourns with him for their lost Fire Lady and their lost heir whose eyes never opened, who will never command fire under his father's tutelage nor feel the sun on his face.
The bodies are prepared, and anointed by the sages. Funeral rites are performed and observed. He takes one last look at Mai, who lies still and cold and silent. He places one final kiss to her forehead before her face is covered for the ceremony.
Zuko watches distantly, numbly, miraculously, he thinks, managing to hold himself together in public. His expression could be almost be called impassive were it not for the shadow of profound, indescribable grief that casts itself over his face.
Katara watches, her heart breaking for him. For Mai. For the little baby that she couldn't save. She closes her eyes, recalling the awful memory of the infant in her hands, gray and bloody, limp and lifeless as she frantically tried to coax breath into the tiny, fragile lungs, praying desperately to hear that first blessed cry that she as a healer failed to elicit from the child.
She wonders how the Spirits could be so cruel. But she knows deep down that the Spirits give as much as they take away, and they don't operate on perceptions of fairness. Or at least, not in the way mortals may view such things. But these facts are only cold comfort at best, and they do not temper her sorrow.
Nor, she is certain, any more than it does his.
She watches as the firelight from the funeral pyre glints off of his golden hair piece as the Fire Lord watches as his wife and child are eventually reduced to nothing but cold ashes.
They are both in the arms of Agni now.
III.
It is two weeks after the funeral, and Zuko remains largely in isolation in order to grieve. He orders that Mai's things be removed from his chambers and packed away, as well as the child's. He cannot bear to look at them and be reminded of his loss.
Katara seeks him out and does her best to reach out to him. He asks her to stay with him, for awhile. She readily agrees. She fears what he would do if he were left alone. Perhaps stop eating, stop caring for himself, stop ruling the country, and perhaps eventually follow Mai and their lost child into the grave.
She would never forgive herself if she were to depart and something were to happen that would leave a country without a ruler, and her bereft of one of her most cherished friends.
The loss of her mother was enough of a blow. She does not think she could bear it if she lost someone else near and dear to her.
She can't afford to lose him.
She's not ready to lose him.
She writes a letter to Aang, explaining that she will be remaining in the Fire Nation for awhile yet. That Zuko needs her now, more than ever.
She hopes that he will understand, and hopes, somehow, she can help to repair Zuko's shattered heart.
IV.
He does not leave his rooms for three days. He sends servants and vassals away, refusing even food. Katara forces her way in, alarmed and worried.
She finds him slumped on the floor against his bed, disheveled, in a drunken stupor, a flagon of fire whiskey clutched in his large, pale hand. His golden eyes are red rimmed and bloodshot.
"I drink to forget," he rasps weakly as she bends down before him. "It helps me sleep. Keeps the nightmares at bay. It helps make me numb inside."
Katara merely shushes him, taking the whiskey from his weak hand and getting him back into bed. She stays by his side, stroking his hair until he falls into what she hopes is a dreamless sleep.
She bites back a sob.
It's killing her inside, seeing him like this, so broken.
She realizes that she can't see him through this alone.
She writes to Iroh and sends a dragon hawk to Ba Sing Se the next day.
V.
Iroh arrives at the palace having heard the sad tidings. The old general is no stranger to grief, having experienced this kind of loss before, he knows all too well the deep and terrible pain that comes from losing a wife to childbirth, and he knows the indescribable sorrow that comes with losing a child as well, even though Lu Ten did not join his mother in the Spirit World until many years later.
He does his best to comfort Zuko, but his nephew will hear none of it. Disconsolate, he lashes out, blinded by his anguish. He curses the Spirits and rails against the injustice of it all. He questions why. Why Mai? Why their child? Hadn't he been punished enough? Had he not redeemed himself in their eyes and the eyes of the world? Struggled, fought, sacrificed to bring balance back and ended the war? Had he not atoned for the sins of his forebears?
The old general simply looks at Zuko, throat constricted, paralyzed as he is rendered at a loss for words. In spite of all his wisdom and experience, he finds that he has no answer for Zuko; no answer that would make sense to him or ease his suffering.
He wishes more than anything that he did.
VI.
Months pass, and the seasons turn. With Iroh and Katara's support, he begins to slowly piece himself back together. Iroh takes over his duties and governs while his nephew struggles to emotionally stabilize; some days are better than others. In her own way, Katara does her best to help in seeing him through the worst of it: the guilt, the self doubt, the questions. Taking his hand in hers, she tells him that while there is a time for mourning, Mai would want him to move on and find happiness with someone else.
When Katara's relationship with Aang quietly disintegrates over exchanged letters, strangely, there are no tears. She feels an inexplicable sort of peace and acceptance. And secretly, a sense of relief that she no longer feels like it's some sort of betrayal to Aang to be at Zuko's side.
She feels her place is here now.
Like she's come home.
VII.
Two years pass, and life slowly but surely returns to Zuko as love blossoms between him and Katara. His strength and his spirits are back now that he's found joy once again, and reason to hope.
His advisors on his council tentatively bring up the idea of him remarrying, and make suggestions of young noblewomen who might be suitable matches. He turns each and every one of them down, telling them that he has the perfect candidate in mind.
During the turning of spring, in the royal gardens with the sakura trees in full bloom, Zuko drops down on bended knee and proposes to Katara.
Without a moment's hesitation, beaming from ear to ear, she says yes.
VIII.
It is a year later, and in a familiar scenario Zuko paces back and forth apprehensively outside his and Katara's shared bedchambers as she screams in agony, struggling to bring the next heir to the throne into the world.
His chest tightens anxiously, fearfully. If something goes wrong again, he knows that he wouldn't survive another loss of such magnitude. He knows he would not have survived, had Katara not been there the first time. He can't imagine life without her by his side.
He watches the old clock as the minutes, hours tick by.
Finally, there is silence, and he holds his breath...
...And this time he hears an infant's cry rent the air.
The relief is almost enough to make him swoon.
Some time later, a warmly smiling midwife emerges, telling him that all is well, and that the Lady Katara would like to introduce him to their new child.
FIN
A/N: I really don't know how I feel about this one. I guess I'm satisfied with how it turned out. I struggled with writing it because I wasn't quite sure how to put it all together. I tried to capture as much emotion as I could, and I'm not sure how well I succeeded. Tell me your thoughts in a review! I do love them so.