A/N: I didn't leave any Author's Note last time, so here we are: Hello! And welcome. This is a rather slapdash attempt at mulling through some of the problems I think a post-war Katara would have had to deal with. There are conflicting feelings about home, about Aang, about her own power and legacy; and of course, there are expectations and politics and the desire to just run away. Those are the things I want to focus on. So while this is in some ways a Zuko/Katara romance, it is more fully about Katara and the ways in which she has to deal with things she's kept hidden since the end of the war.

Another note on timeline: I noticed in the last chapter that I bounced around with years. This takes place six years after the war, meaning that Katara is about twenty years old.

Please do review, and offer constructive criticism if you have it! These will be long, drabble-y chapters, and probably subject to many mistakes.

Disclaimer: This work is my own, but I do not own the characters or storyline of Avatar: The Last Airbender.


ii. born in you along with all this strife

Dad,

While visiting Toph (who is doing well, all things considered) I realized I should really visit the autonomous territories myself for a face-to-face meet. I'll be heading there straightaway after a visit to Caldera City. I'll meet with Koronok while I'm there and come back with a full report in about a month.

If you want me to do anything in particular, send a message. I'm writing Aang, too, but he might not get the letter by the time he returns from the North.

Love, Katara

Aang,

Hope your negotiations are going well. I'm heading to Caldera

Katara bit her lip, tapped her pen. If only she could simply tell him. Writing it out felt like avoiding the issue—it was delayed, it was over-wordy and inadequate. But.

and doing some negotiation in the Earth territories while I'm equatorial. I'll see you back home before too long. Keep me apprised of how things go. Toph is doing well. She'll be in Ba Sing Se for another couple of weeks while she gets her mother's affairs in order; then she might come to Caldera as well. Send her a message, if you have time.

Give Appa my love. My bag still smells like his mangy fur. Miss you both.

Katara

Toph cleared her throat. "All this paper-scratching. What are you writing, a novel?"

"Just explaining to Aang," Katara said absently, sealing the letters and folding them into a pouch for the hawk, who waited patiently at the window.

"Explaining what, exactly?" Toph's voice was shrewd.

"Why his bedroll was full of mud that one night in Jang Hui."

Toph laughed. "That was a good one! One of my best, I think. You ready to party in the Fire Nation?"

Katara grabbed her bag from the side of the bed and waved the hawk away; it squawked indignantly. "Not much partying to be done, I think. I still have to figure out this treaty business. But it'll be a good visit. You really have to stay for a couple of weeks?"

Toph scowled at nothing and led her out of the room. "Yeah, so they say. My father's pretty much useless at the moment."

He'd stumbled into the house this morning with fumes of something on his clothing, Katara had seen it. And collapsed into his bed with a retinue of clucking servants. "Don't let it worry you," she said softly as they crossed into the courtyard. "Let me know if I can do anything from afar."

Toph quirked her mouth in a kind-of smile. "Katara, I'm glad you came," she said with unusual feeling. "Just enjoy being away from Twinkletoes for a little while. Hey Sparky, come to take her away?"

Zuko was royally dressed now, with all the pointy accoutrements of Fire Nation armor. His hair was in a topknot and accompanied by the little gold crown, bright enough to hurt the eyes. "If only it had been this easy to get you on a Fire Nation ship six years ago," he joked wryly.

"I don't think we would have gotten the premium suites," she said lightly.

Zuko embraced Toph, whose head hit just below his shoulders now. "See you soon, Blind Bandit."

"Jerkbender." Toph extricated herself from his robes and punched Katara in the arm in farewell. "Have fun for me."

She watched them go for a very long while, Katara noticed, with a curious look on her face. When they were nearly out of sight, Katara raised her arm and, foolishly, waved; and even though Toph couldn't see them, she must have felt the change in movement, because she smiled a little and raised her hand in silent acknowledgement.


The ship was small and fast and decorated minimally in the red and gold that marked it as a royal's. Zuko introduced her to the officers of the crew, including the captain, Jee, a rather grizzled sailor who looked quite familiar. Indeed, Jee bowed to Katara with a smile and said, "It is good to see you again, Master Katara, and in friendlier circumstances."

Of course. He'd been an officer on Zuko's ship during his banishment. Zuko groaned as Katara bowed as well. "Don't listen to him," he advised. "I think he tried hard to inscribe every humiliating defeat you bestowed upon me in his memory."

"Then I will definitely listen to him," Katara said, grinning. "It's nice to see you again, too, Captain Jee. Let me know if you need help navigating troubled waters."

Jee looked delighted by this offer, but Zuko steered her away, taking her on a tour of the deck and the helm, the officer's cabin, his office, and finally her cabin, which had obviously been hastily arranged with blankets and a desk.

He looked happy—almost giddy—while he walked with her, moving his arms when he described their trip to Ba Sing Se and grinning reflectively during a story about Jee, back when the captain was a lieutenant, during music night.

Katara laughed to see him so obviously pleased. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you missed being on a ship."

Zuko chuckled. "I think I have missed it. I had this one retrofitted from a warship a couple of years ago." Her shoulder lightened as he took her bag from her without prompting, setting it down by the bed. "Do you want to go back on deck? Or do you have work to do?"

"I have work to do," she said, and was gratified by his crestfallen face, "but I want to go back on deck."

It was always colder on the water than on land, but Katara left her coat in the room and enjoyed the prick of the wind on her skin, watching Zuko confer with his sailors about some detail or another. It was nearly autumn in the Earth Kingdom, which meant that the late-summer rainy season was just about to end in Caldera City. The main squares would be draped with cloth between the buildings so that the outdoor markets could continue beneath, and the humid air would send heady scents of fruit and woodwork through the air.

Six years ago, it would have been impossible to think that she'd miss the Fire Nation. Back then all she'd wanted was to go home and build a fire and hug Gran-Gran and ice-fish with Sokka and pretend that the world hadn't irreversibly shifted. But when the war ended, home felt like a chore: staying in the foreign Fire Nation and growing, slowly, back into the full person that she had been before her fourteenth year.

She felt happier now, on deck of this former warship, than she had felt in a long while. At the bow, she felt like she was the only one on the sea. The sun accompanied them, warming her arms and cheeks despite the goosebumps. Her tunic, a light purple gift from the North, flapped pleasantly around her knees. She'd have to borrow or buy Fire Nation clothing for the damned heat. But for now she was alone on the water, and the wind slipped by the bareness at the back of her neck, reminding her of who she was.

Zuko's warmth forecast his approach. She tilted her head to show she knew he was there. "How often does your uncle visit?"

"Not often enough," Zuko said a little sadly, joining her at the bow. "But I can't begrudge him his shop. It's been his dream for years."

"He's a wonderful man," Katara said with feeling, thinking of the lacquered box in her bag.

Zuko smiled into the wind. "He is. And he's very fond of you."

That was good to hear. They were quiet for a while again, a pleasant quiet, until Zuko sighed, sounding plaintive. "About Aang."

This sounded like a potentially good mood ruined. Katara flicked her eyes up to him. "What?"

Her voice must have sounded dangerous. Zuko winced. "He told me you've been having, uh, bad dreams recently."

That was unexpected. Katara blinked. "I hadn't realized he'd noticed."

"He told me you didn't talk about them. But that you'd started sleepwalking, and waking up suddenly. And that you'd gotten quieter. Wanted to be alone more."

"That's all true, I suppose." So he'd noticed her strange-feeling. "He hasn't said anything about it. Why did he tell you?"

Zuko looked at her fully now. "He's worried about you."

"He hasn't said as much," she repeated, and her voice sounded nasty even to her own ears. "Is that why you wanted me to come to the Fire Nation? To talk to me about Aang?"

"Absolutely not," Zuko said, with such vehemence that Katara felt gratified. "But I have noticed that you seem…distracted, somehow. And after we talked at Toph's, I just thought maybe you needed a break. And I think you miss the Fire Nation a little." He sounded doubtful. "Or at least that you wanted to get away from home."

She exhaled in a whoosh. "I do. Don't tell my father." Zuko chuckled. "I've had vivid dreams before, Zuko. It's nothing unprecedented."

Zuko tapped his fingers on the deck. "In Ba Sing Se last time," he said, and somehow Katara knew he wasn't talking about the dozens of times they'd been in Ba Sing Se before but the first time, the time they'd been thrown into the catacombs, "I got really sick after freeing Appa. I thought I was going to die. And I kept having these dreams, incredibly vivid and awful dreams that felt like—like prophecies, or something. Of being an airbender, and of being Fire Lord, and of not having my scar. Crazy visions."

For some reason, Katara's chest felt heavy, expectant. Zuko was tugging at his breastplate.

"Uncle called it a 'metamorphosis.' He said that at the end, I would find who I was supposed to be. And it was soon after that that I—that you and I—that we were below Ba Sing Se."

Katara couldn't quite nod.

"And there, after he and Aang found us, he told me—" Zuko cleared his throat. "He said, 'this is the crossroads of your destiny.' The result of the metamorphosis: I could either accept that I had changed, or…or not." He smiled with so much pain Katara almost took a step back. "You know what happened. I rejected it. I hurt you, and I hurt Aang, and I hurt Uncle. Worse than I ever had before. I nearly killed the Avatar. You could have died if Azula'd gotten to you."

"She didn't. She couldn't."

"No," Zuko acquiesced, "she never could. You were exquisite." He looked at her. "But look, all I'm saying is—don't take dreams lightly."

"You never struck me as someone who believed in divination," Katara said.

Zuko shrugged. "Uncle likes to say that the Spirit World tries to reach us, and teach us, in dreams. That we see our futures just enough to understand the choices we have to make in waking life. I believe in Uncle."

Arrows all over her body. Lightning arching across the sea. Azula sobbing and Jet's fingers guiding Katara's waist closer.

Zuko was still watching her. "Why don't you tell me about them?" he coaxed. "You can rest in the Fire Nation. We can talk about it."

Katara snapped her eyes open. She had no words. She didn't feel like she was on the precipice of something, of some great change. And how many prophecies had she heard and followed and flaunted? The only spirit she had connection to was Yue, and even then—even now, she felt distant.

She worked away the lump in her throat. "I think I could be alone, now."

Zuko ducked his head and she saw frustration, regret. "Alright. Sure. I'll see you for dinner."

She didn't watch him leave, but watched the waves instead. You were exquisite.


She was shaving the back of her head carefully, with a mirror perched above the bowl, when Zuko knocked on her door after dinner. She grunted permission for his entry.

Zuko chuckled. "That looks hard to do by yourself."

She neatly cut the last column of hair to a short fuzz. "You had someone else arrange your baldy ponytail?"

Zuko did not blush when he said, "Of course. That's what servants are for."

Katara snorted. Royalty. "I guess it would make it easier." She scraped the knife with her thumb to get rid of the extra hairs and combed her fingers through the thick hair above the shave, twisting it into a knot. "Dinner was good. You have a talented cook."

"He came on Uncle's recommendation," Zuko said, rolling his eyes. "But anyway, I wanted to…apologize for pushing you earlier."

He looked angry at himself, and at her, as if she'd made him come in and say the words. Katara folded her arms. "You don't need to apologize. I'm angrier at Aang for just—for not asking me."

Zuko thinned his lips. "I don't want you to be angry at Aang, either. He told me only because I asked about you. But it sounded familiar to me—the dreams. I thought I might be able to help." He shrugged again.

Katara regarded him silently. What a strange figure he cut now, Fire Lord in looks and name until he was casting his eyes to the ground and apologizing for being a decent human being. She was so undeniably crueler than him. His anger flared; hers remained. "I don't really want to tell you about my dreams," she said, a little apologetically.

"Okay."

He'd said it instantly; he'd been expecting it. Always prepared to be denied. "But thank you, Zuko, for asking at all. For my side. Not just taking Aang's word for it."

"I don't want to get between you two in any kind of fight," he warned, the hint of a smile on his face. "That's not something I do, anymore—risk my life senselessly."

Katara snickered. "No, Fire Lord Zuko, that wouldn't do."

He seemed to wrestle with something for a moment. "Well. Good night."

"Good night." In the mirror, she could see him looking at her back. He held her gaze for a half-second; then disappeared, as he was so good at doing.

Then, impossibly, he reappeared, pushing the door open with a little more force than seemed necessary. "Sorry. Um. Do you want some tea?"

"Sure." Katara bent to rummage in her pack and held out the lacquer box to him. "Brew Iroh's." On second thought—she withdrew it. "Or have the cook brew it. I don't trust you."

Zuko sighed and held out his hand for the box. "I'll have him do it. Remember where my cabin is?" She nodded. "Okay. There, in fifteen minutes or so? I have to finish up a letter."

"Sure."

He nodded at her, distracted again—and this time, shut he door when he left.

Katara stared at it. Her back throbbed.


When Zuko poured the tea the steam curled fluidly to Katara's cheek, making her shiver. It smelled like earth and sweetness. His cabin was lit by many candles whose flames seemed to lengthen and shorten with his breath, and he'd divested of his armor, wearing simple robes like those he'd favored during his time as a traitor to his Nation. The crown rested on his desk and his hair was tied back simply again.

Katara felt like she had to hold her breath. "Iroh knows his teas," she said instead.

Zuko nodded and poured his cup. Katara warmed her hands with her own. He watched her, sitting adjacent to her. Close. "In the Fire Nation, the lady takes the first sip," he indicated, eyebrow raised.

"Oh, 'the lady' does?" Katara smiled. "Okay." It was a good temperature and texture; it swirled around the inside of her mouth. Not bitter, not too sweet; it tasted round and full and good, just very good. She closed her eyes when Zuko followed suit.

They drank in silence for a little while, while the flames grew and shrank. Zuko regarded her neutrally but steadily, smiling a little when she took a sip and hummed her appreciation.

She was struck when the flare and dim of the candles began to match her own breath, but of course she was really breathing in tandem with Zuko, not firebending; still, the effect was undeniably calming and strangely empowering. Synchronous like this, she could sense him again, the water within him: moving and shifting in pulses and waves. She could feel his blood; the rhythm of it tickled the back of her head.

It was not a full moon, she realized suddenly, and froze.

Zuko was looking at her differently now. "Does the breathing bother you?"

"No." She spoke in low tones to match his own. "No, it just—I like it."

"It's a meditation technique. Helps with control," he murmured.

"That's what my forms are for," she said. "With waterbending, you have to move to feel this kind of rhythm."

Zuko lifted his cup to his lips. "I remember you doing that in the mornings. In the gardens at the palace. When you and Aang stayed after the war."

"Those were good months." Katara inhaled deeply as he did. "Politicking. Looking for your mother." She shook her head. "I'm still sorry we never found anything."

Zuko raised a shoulder, as if warding off some small evil. "I feel her watching me, sometimes. As a spirit or, if she's alive—I don't know. But the not-knowing doesn't bother me as much as it used to."

"That's impressive," Katara said honestly. Even finding Yon Rha hadn't given her much closure. When someone is lost—missing or gone, but lost—the search is all that matters. "Azula still speaks to her?"

Zuko nodded. "Occasionally. She's getting better every year. Do you want to see her, when we're back?"

No. No, she did not. Azula made her think of bright light and ozone and fear. Katara had tried to help the princess regain a little bit of her mind after two months of refusing to go near her; some calming waterbending, a lot of healing. It had done some good—she began to recognize Zuko after two weeks of careful work. But it had left Katara weak and upset and dependent, and Azula's gains in sanity hadn't lasted. And above all—the thing that tormented Zuko the most—his sister did not bend.

It was a shocking thing: something in Azula had snapped, and the last bending she'd done was the fire-breathing that had left her sobbing, chained on the grate. Aang had taken Ozai's bending away, but Katara had never been sure of what had taken Azula's.

"Sure," she said at last. "If you think it'll help."

"She always seemed a little better after you worked on her," Zuko said quietly, and Katara could hear the hope in his voice. No, she didn't. "I never thanked you properly for those attempts. I know she hurt you."

"It's okay." Azula had lashed out often, especially during the healing sessions—rejecting help. The cup was hot on her fingertips and she wondered if Zuko was warming it, somehow. "I'm a big girl now."

The words slipped out unthinkingly, with no regard for circumstance or company. Zuko spluttered out a laugh. "I can't believe you just said that."

Katara poked at him gleefully. "I can't believe you remember saying that!"

Zuko groaned and tilted his head up to the ceiling. "Please don't remind me."

Katara laughed, breaking the spell of quiet solemnity that had cast over their little tea ceremony. "I beat you for it, anyway."

"I won out in the end," he protested.

"Yes, yes, 'I rise with the sun,' I remember." Katara grinned down at her teacup. "Trounced me."

"It'd be the last time," he said peacefully. "I'm glad you didn't know bloodbending then. You were probably angry enough to use it."

Katara shot a quick look upward and caught his careful glance. He seemed to know she'd been thinking about it. "Have you done any more of it?" he asked quietly.

Her fingers itched, thinking about it. Yes. In secret, in her more sleepless nights, on herself. And last year, when a corpsman had unwisely gone hunting alone and was mauled by a bear, she'd stopped him from bleeding out. She'd told the healers she'd used herbs to staunch the flow. None had questioned her. "No. I couldn't. They're not ready for it." Aang hates it. I hate it.

Still breathing with him, a bit faster now, Katara could feel Zuko shift before he actually did; and then his arm was around her shoulder. His hand was warm against the bones of her shoulder. He was hugging her like Sokka hugged her. "You don't have to be ashamed of it," he said.

And then, quieter, more hesitant: "You should have come to Caldera ages ago."

"Busy," she said, muffled into his robes. "And I didn't know Mai had left. I would have come if I had. That sounds hard."

"It was." Zuko tightened his grip. "How long can you stay?"

She broke free a little, moving to face him. His hand was still on her neck. "How long?" she repeated.

He immediately shifted away from her and made to fill her cup. "I mean—how long would you like to? I'm not traveling again anytime soon. And if you agree to look at Azula, I mean—it would be good to do a couple of sessions, don't you think?"

He was speaking too quickly. Katara got the sense that she was missing something. "Yes," she said carefully. "It depends on…on a couple of things, I guess. I should still be working while I'm in Caldera. Doing ambassadorial things."

"Right." Zuko nodded at the table. "Koronok will be pleased to see you, I'm sure."

Doubtful; he knew she'd wanted his position, and always seemed frightful that she'd take it from him. "And I, him."

Zuko grinned at her tone. "Diplomatic answer."


Fire Lord.

He really looked it here, in his royal uniform of armor and crown, disembarking from this royal ship onto the private dock close the palace, grudgingly accepting a palanquin "for safety's sake, my Lord," holding his hand to Katara, handing her bag to one of his attendants, making her step inside first as she bent an umbrella above them all to shield them from one of the season's last storms.

The unyielding rain pattered pleasantly on the roof of the palanquin, and once they got moving it was a lullaby that could have rocked Katara to sleep; but she kept up the shield of ran around the palanquin, where the Fire Lord's retinue walked. Zuko sat across from her as courtesy dictated, but no closer. The thought made her smile—keeping up appearances, even as they'd left a boat undoubtedly full of awful gossip. They spent many evenings together, she could imagine Captain Jee saying over a fire and a drink, eyebrows waggling charmingly. 'Meditating,' allegedly, but I must say, they make a striking pair.

So he had told her, unbidden, one day on the deck, when she had brought her desk up to finish reading the treaty with the autonomous Earth territories. "I am glad to see the Fire Lord has found a worthy friend in you. He has been in need of one."

So, too, had she, but there hadn't been any Captain Jee around to notice her lack of companionship at the South Pole. The five days on the ship had seemed to be a month long: she and Zuko bended together in the morning and sometimes sparred with idle crewmembers; she enjoyed solitary afternoons, working separately and sending off letters and communiques; and dinners were with Captain Jee and the other high-ranking officers, whose stories had her in tears. True, she and Zuko had spent many evenings with each other, and with the candles that moved with their breath. Sometimes they did just meditate, their company enough. Other times, they talked.

Now, Zuko crooked a smile at her. "You don't have to keep up the shield. We're almost there."

"No point in letting it go now," she said, arms still moving. "It's worth a few extra points with your retinue. Your advisers still look at me like I'm a skinny kid covered in Appa's fur."

Zuko chuckled. "They're a tough bunch. But most of them know you by reputation already."

What her reputation meant in the Fire Nation now, Katara wasn't sure. But as the palanquin gently halted and lowered to the ground, and she stepped out into the undecided skies of the Fire Nation capital city, she decided she didn't much care. It was strangely cool, the sky gray and the air full of moisture. She shifted her shield so as to better feel the droplets plucking at the hairs on her arm, the exposed skin of her scalp.

"Honorable Lady Katara," a tall man in dark robes greeted her, bowing under a waxed paper umbrella. "I am Fire Lord Zuko's chief adviser, Shi Daolin. It is my pleasure to welcome you."

"Daolin," Katara said, returning the bow, "thank you for your welcome. I'm sorry to be a surprise visitor."

Daolin had an easy smile. "It was not so surprising, my Lady. The Fire Lord informed us of your presence on the ship before you left Ba Sing Se. We have your rooms ready, and Ambassador Koronok is waiting to welcome you in the palace."

From behind her, Zuko sighed. "Politics never waits. Daolin, you sent on that message to Chief Hakoda?"

"Of course, my Lord. The hawk left yesterday. If you'll follow me, Lady Katara, we'll enter the palace."

Zuko's retinue pouted a bit at the loss of their rain shield. Katara raised her eyebrows. "You sent a message to my father?"

"Asking if he'd like more corpsmen for rebuilding," Zuko said. "We've got an overabundance in the newest class, and too many are being sent to the Earth Kingdom. It's hard to convince them to go to the Poles." He sounded apologetic.

Katara lifted a shoulder in a sort of shrug. "I don't know how much help we need anymore," she said, "but it's good, in general, to have new blood around. Did you know that one of the corpsmen actually got married to a Northern Water Tribe girl last year?" One of the younger ones, who perhaps didn't know the kind of casual hatred that would likely be thrown his way for years to come. Many Fire Nation citizens had no earthly idea of the horrors their nation's armies had imposed.

"Strangely enough, I don't keep up with the life stories of individual corpsmen."

Katara scowled at him.


Her suite of rooms—plural, she thought, dumbfounded—was larger than her entire home in the South Pole. Daolin showed her through the 'entrance room' for guests, the office for which she was given the only key, and paused delicately at the entrance to the bedroom. "Please make yourself comfortable," he said. "I understand from Fire Lord Zuko that you have a general dislike of service, but there is a bell at the entrance hall by which you may contact the servant's quarters. There are several maidservants assigned to you for the duration of your stay."

"Thank you, Lord Daolin," Katara said, still a little amazed at the space. "Would you please tell Koronok that I'll be up to see him in an hour? We can meet in the gardens."

Daolin bowed and left her, leaving Katara to gleefully search the bedroom. An enormous bed, swathed with dark red curtains edged in gold, lay between two expensive-looking glass windows. A rug of polar-bear fur, which she remembered her father gifting to Zuko years ago, brightened the room; to its right was a discrete doorway that led to a bathroom of truly ridiculous size, made of marble and decorated with polished brass. She wondered if Mai had stayed in these rooms when she was the royal consort.

And to think she'd been overwhelmed by the changes to her village. The South Pole still wasn't remotely capable of such wealth. Her father's quarters as chief were hardly nicer than hers—they simply had more guards posted outside.

She wished suddenly for Aang's light humor. He would skip through the rooms and flop on the bed and grin lasciviously at her with a look to the giant marble bathtub. He wouldn't sit on the edge of the bed as she was doing and wail internally at the unfairness of a hundred years of conquest, at the disparities caused by a hundred years of poverty and withdrawal.

But still. Katara felt her lips tighten, remembering the lurching feeling of disappointment she'd felt at returning to her home after six months in Caldera after Ozai's death. It had been a desolate and tiny place, then—so different from the expansive and beautiful world she'd come to know through her travels and her fights. She'd stayed in Ba Sing Se's upper ring, and she'd slept on forest floors, but both seemed more adequate than the cold earthen floors of the village dwellings she'd once thought of as home.

Now, she knew why her father had wanted her back. He doesn't need you. We do. They had. And Hakoda hadn't wanted her to become soft, corrupted, a daughter of the Fire Nation palaces. He'd wanted her to keep the hardness she'd worked hard to achieve in war. He'd ordered her to shave her head in the warrior's cut. He wanted her to remember her roots.

Aang had wanted her to stay, too. He'd said it would be good for her to be with her people again. But what people? she'd asked. Her true Tribesmen and Tribeswomen were few and far between, and mostly soldiers scarred by things worse than even she had seen, she who had fought her battles on a higher plane than swords and daggers and the blood they shed. Northern waterbenders came. Corps members soon followed. Katara stayed.

Now she'd escaped into glory and gold. Katara refused to let herself feel ashamed or guilty or wrong. Instead, she breathed deeply through her nose, imagining candles growing and shrinking, and unpacked her bags.


She'd forgotten that Koronok was a younger man, one of the Northern nobles—in her head, she'd always been old and bleary-eyed, formal with the mannerisms of a hundred years ago. But if he was formal, it was only in writing, for when he saw her cross the gardens he smiled brilliantly and sunk into an elegant bow. Half his dark hair was gathered in a ponytail that reminded her very much of her father. "Master Katara. It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

The gardens were misty with continued rain, so he led her to a patio covered completely by the canopies of trees high above them. He'd already ordered tea for them to drink, and though it wasn't Iroh-quality, it was good, and combated the light chill in the air. "I'm happy you've come to Caldera," Koronok said. "I admit that I miss the Poles. It's always good to see one of our people here in the tropics."

Katara hummed. "It was sort of a last-minute visit," she admitted. "I won't inconvenience you at all if you have business to attend to."

"No, I understand, it's a visit between friends," Koronok said. "The Fire Lord is happy to receive you, I'm sure. The Avatar was here recently—it seemed to be a weight off his chest, to see his old friend again."

"Did you get to speak with Aang?"

"Only at the formal dinner they held in his honor," Koronok sighed. "He was subject to all sorts of pageantry and ceremony. I'm sure you will be, too. They enjoy their pomp here."

Katara couldn't help but grin. "If Zuko knows me at all, he'll resist the pageants. I'm not here long, and I'll be doing some negotiating with the autonomous Earth territories soon."

Koronok raised an eyebrow. "Trade deal?"

"Yes. I'm having a hard time getting them to be straight about how they'll be wording this to the Earth Kingdom," Katara said, sighing. Of course her Tribe was already conferring with Kuei and the nobles about the treaty, assuring them that it meant no disrespect on their part, but if the autonomous territories decided to use the treaty to snub trading with the Earth Kingdom, well…all that hard work would be for nothing. "It's hard to tell exactly what they want. To actually be economically independent, or just to tell the Kingdom—" Unthinkingly, Katara made a rude hand gesture at the sky.

Koronok spluttered out a laugh. "Probably the latter, although not in so many words. But they still need the Earth Kingdom, despite their bravado. I think it's admirable that they took the opportunity to secede, but I don't think they were fully prepared for the consequences. The post-war world is a different one. Everyone tries so hard to be cooperative, but really all the conquered nations are trying to reestablish some kind of former glory. How 'former' the glory was," Koronok added dryly, "seems not to matter."

Katara frowned. The Northern Tribe always felt like their embarrassment of riches compared to the South was a matter of hard work and worth, not of luck—apparently that attitude spread as far as the Earth Kingdom, as well. "It's not surprising, or deplorable, that we should seek revitalization," she said, trying not to sound too much like a scold to a man who must have been ten years her elder—and failing. "Ambassadorship has made you cynical."

Koronok look startled, then laughed. "You are a delight. I have had the pleasure of meeting your father many times, and often he spoke of your wit. You wished for my place here in Caldera? You would have been worthy of it. But," he said, motioning for a servant to refill their cups, "there's no escaping cynicism in this job. Every citizen with the money to voice their opinion hates you. Everyone in your own country feels like you give too much up to the other. Everyone wonders what your game is, taking the place of one of the heroes of the war."

Katara flushed. "I hope that hasn't made trouble for you—that I wanted the job," she said. "I was much younger. It would have been a disaster." That much, at least, was true. She could barely rein in her tongue at fifteen. She would have started another war. "Dad was right to keep me in-country and learn politics there, first."

Koronok nodded. His eyes were paler than hers: chips of blue-gray ice. "I don't hold anything against you, Master Katara. As I said, I'm happy you're here now, and to meet you in person. It is not my first time being in the presence of legends, but most do not—" And he repeated her rude gesture with a grin— "seem as human as you."

Katara laughed. She'd been determined to dislike this man, who in his communications was so Northern in custom and wording that she couldn't read them without rolling her eyes. But she took a sip of her tea gratefully, smiling at him, and he seemed in turn gratified by her acceptance.

"I know you're here for business and pleasure both, and sure to have a full schedule," Koronok said. "But if you'd like, I'd welcome you to join me in any ambassadorial duties you please. This will likely be your post someday, unless your marriage to the Avatar takes you elsewhere," he said, and Katara's heart suddenly dropped dangerously low, "and I would welcome the chance to be your tutor and companion."

"I don't plan to marry anyone just yet," she said stridently, unthinkingly, ignoring Koronok's questioning look. "And I'd be happy to learn."


Koronok made good on his promise, and the next day Katara sat in on a meeting with Fire Nation nobles who looked wary of her presence. Mai's father was there—she recognized his snub nose—and looked particularly displeased. But the meeting, which concerned a slight change in the yearly reparations owed to the Northern and Southern Tribes, went surprisingly well, and her questions and comments were well-received.

Katara had puzzled for a little while over her conversation with Koronok, who seemed both welcoming of her presence and a little bitter for it. But his offer to have her sit in on his diplomatic conferences was a generous one, and she'd take it on face value for now. He was right: she still did want the ambassador position, despite the complex mix of shame and longing she felt whenever she entered the palace walls. The Fire Nation was a significant place for her, a reminder of her own growth and change, and of the legacy of justice she'd helped build—such as it was.

She didn't see Zuko again until the afternoon of her fifth day in the Fire Nation. She'd spent the morning twisting through the markets, which were exactly as she remembered them, her favorite fruit vendor in the same spot. She'd bought a mango from him and ate it as she walked, rejecting as politely as possible her assigned handmaiden's offers to cut it and present it on a napkin. Some stopped and stared, faces twisting as if fighting to remember who she was, and some recognized her immediately; but mostly Katara passed in pleasant anonymity, just another Fire Nation woman, albeit one with an unseasonal tan.

On the way back, her handmaiden—whose name, rather unpleasantly for Zuko, was Mei—"written with a different character than that of the Lady Mai's name," she'd hastened to add—had directed her to a side gate of the palace, one close to the markets. Katara, lost in thought and trying to suck the mango juice from her fingers, hadn't been paying attention to where they were entering. And then, suddenly, she did.

She recognized the columns, the covered area for a noble audience. She recognized the lacquered tile roofs, gleaming a new black under the season's steady rainfall. And immediately she recognized the great empty space they framed, the tight dirt courtyard that was the stage for coronation, for royal procession, and for Agni Kai.

The mango pit dropped from her fingers, and a roaring sound filled her ears; Mei turned immediately, attuned to anything wrong with her charge, but Katara couldn't hear her quiet questions. They'd repaired the arena. Oh, I'll show you lightning.

Zuko stood at the far end of the courtyard. Or no, he wasn't standing—he was kneeling, not in front of the podium and stage where Azula had awaited her crown, but facing the other side, where rows of seats were empty.

No one else was in the dueling ring. And when Mei saw what Katara was staring at she instantly shut up, actually pressing a hand to her mouth, because the Fire Lord did not kneel to anyone, anyone, ever. It was an indictable offense, something that in the old days could have justified a coup. And though Zuko did not kneel in front of anyone in particular, he was clearly kneeling to something: in the rain, which made a fine mist around his armor, submissive to some higher thought, and all alone.

Katara wanted to cry out, but she had no breath. The last time she had seen him like this was in the crystal catacombs under Ba Sing Se, where he'd been forced to his knees by his sister and kept there by his own shame.

The rain must have blocked the sound of their breathing. Zuko placed his fists on the ground in front of him and, in a single, slow movement, used them to balance as he bowed low, his hair falling across the sides of his face in wet strips. His forehead touched the ground.

Who was he bowing to? To Azula, maybe—or to the memory of his Agni Kai against his father? To the pieces of himself that had been lost when lightning had coursed through his blood?

Something fought with the mango in her stomach—she might be sick, but she couldn't move. "Mei," she whispered, "please leave, would you?"

She felt rather than saw her handmaiden scurry away. Katara wanted to watch him a little longer, to see the graceful bend of his back in supplication and sorrow, but Mei's movement must have alerted Zuko to the presence of others—he jolted up from his position, one hand out as if to attack.

His eyes found hers almost immediately, from many meters away. If she'd been in his position she'd have been stuck there, dumbfounded by discovery—but Zuko raised himself with the kind of refinement that made him a Fire Lord, brushing the mud from his knees.

Katara's feet carried her to him before she was aware of having moved. He had a blotch of mud on his forehead from where his royal face had met the dirt. "You've got mud on your forehead."

Zuko didn't move when she directed the falling rain to clean it away. And then she was right in front of him. "I'm sorry," she said blandly, not quite understanding why she felt she had to apologize. "I didn't—that is—I just came in from the markets."

"Oh?" Zuko was a column of dark armor. "How were they?"

"Fine. Good." She was messing with her hair in a self-conscious kind of way. She stopped. "I bought a mango from that fruit vendor I liked years ago."

And then she saw it again: the unseeableness she'd last seen on Jet's face. The widening of Zuko's golden eyes and the twisting of his proud mouth, the fighting-with-self, the losing. She blinked; when her eyes locked onto his again, the moment was gone, and he was impenetrable. Zuko's mouth worked for a moment without opening. "I was—"

She shook her head. It doesn't matter. "It doesn't matter. But don't let people see you doing that."

He frowned at that. "I'm not my father. I don't care about the—" He stopped, scowled. "It's not always weakness to acknowledge—"

Katara couldn't help the smile. "Okay."

Zuko lifted a hand, and for an aching moment she saw her mother with the same motion, brushing hair from Katara's face with such tenderness—but Zuko's hand fell to his side, and she adjusted her hair herself.

She ignored the ache. "Come on," she said, and took his hand. "Let's go to the gardens."


Azula's eyes were amber, gold, yellow, gray. "You're back."

The room—cell—was plush and red, filled with soft things, no edges, no sharpness. Katara's heart jumped. "You noticed I was gone?"

Azula's lofty tone told her, of course. "I may be crazy, waterbender—I know what they whisper—" She shot a glare that could have killed at the guard by her door—"but I am still—" She tapped the side of her head with dignity—"smarter than you."

"I don't doubt it." Slowly, Katara brought the bowl of water in front of her, and set it on the oval table that kept her apart from the princess. Behind her, Zuko tensed. Years ago, Azula had detested the sight and feel of water so much that she nearly died of dehydration, refusing to drink it. Bathing her had been a life-threatening exercise. They'd had to bind her. Katara had had to heal some very nasty bruises, because even without fire or lightning to aid her, Azula was a formidable figher.

Six years later, Katara noted, Azula looked much more stable, and stared unflinchingly at the bowl of water. "Has anyone healed you with water since I've been gone?"

Azula snorted, going to look at her again. "A few have tried. You may be filthy, but you were better than them. I told Zuzu not to bother, but he never listens."

On edge, Katara nonetheless had to smile. "No, he never does." Carefully, she gathered palmfuls of water to her hands. "Would you mind if I tried again?"

Azula eyed her, then Zuko. Her arms were folded tightly against her chest. "Hasn't Mother told you I'm a lost cause? She tells me all the time, horrid woman. Be glad she doesn't talk to you."

Oh. Even half-lucid, Azula was cruel. Katara chanced a glance back at Zuko, whose face was closed absolutely. "Azula," he rasped, not unkindly, "you always were the favorite."

"She doesn't talk to be because she likes me," Azula spat. With frightening speed, she turned back to Katara. "You may touch me," she said regally.

Katara knelt across the table, ignoring the discomfort—distance was always better, when it came to Azula—and pressed her thumbs to Azula's temples, reminded again of Jet and Lake Laogai. You're a Freedom Fighter!

"I'm a princess," Azula murmured, correcting her, and Katara realized she'd whispered it out loud. "Don't forget my cherries."

Behind them, Zuko sighed.


The dreams were beginning to fall into a predictable pattern, and Katara—though she'd never gotten Sokka's knack for planning and mapping—was beginning to chart their course.

She'd gotten a letter from Aang a week after seeing Zuko kneel in the mud, and angry tears had blurred his words as she read. She'd wanted to tear it into pieces.

Katara,

I'm back at the South Pole. Negotiations went well across the board, which is good! but also unfortunate, because I think I'll be away for longer than two weeks the next time around. We're trying to settle on a plot of land near the Earth Kingdom—it might be those autonomous territories. I know you were working on a trade deal with them, and that might have to get postponed while we figure this out.

I wish you would have told me you wanted to go on vacation. I'll be here for another week and then head back to the Earth Kingdom after checking on the acolytes in the West. Maybe I'll stop in Caldera after that and visit you and Zuko.

I love you, even when you're away.

Aang

I love you, even when you're away. Even. Like she had to be forever present, constantly available. I'm sorry you've worked so hard on this trade deal, but I'm going to ignore that for now. Like her work was less important than his, like she was less capable—but that wasn't fair. Of course he hadn't meant it like that. But Aang had the most infuriating tendency to make it sound like inconveniences to him were inconveniences to the universe as a whole, and she—

It had made her angry, and she'd gone to bed angry, and she'd dreamed of a swollen belly again, and furious Avatar eyes and glowing spirits that tongued her cheek and cackled at her misery. It is destined, they said. Do not turn from what fate has delivered.

Destined. Destined. She'd cracked the ice and found him, and from then her life had been written, signed, sealed. That was unfair. That was frightening.

Then there were the dreams that truly scared her. These came after an evening with Zuko or Koronok or both, drinking tea or something stronger under the stars, talking politics and Water Tribe custom. Koronok had commented on her necklace once and misidentified the material of the band. "Seal leather is traditional in the Northern Tribe—I see that's what you have, too."

"It's dyed bearskin," Zuko had corrected suddenly.

She and Koronok had both stared at him. "How do you know that?" she'd demanded.

"I had that necklace for a long time," he'd said with a too-casual shrug. "I know what it feels like."

And that night she'd dreamed of his fingers on her neck, thumbing the leather, flipping up the engraved disc to press his lips to the tenderest part of her throat and then kneeling in the rain, back to her, bowed like an instrument's chord pulled taut. And Jet again, for whatever reason, his hands on her waist and the smell of woodsmoke.

Those frightened her the most, yes.

But the most beautiful—the ones after which she could not fall back asleep—were after she visited Azula. In her dreams, the princess was surrounded by lightning, which came from her fingertips and traveled across centuries to touch Katara's forehead with the precision and care of a mother's kiss. Zuzu, you don't look so good.

After one night of that dream, Katara woke slowly, blinking at the crimson trappings of her bed. She'd kept the drapes open so that the moon, close to full, could reach her skin. Now it gleamed like an eye, and she stared back at it owlishly.

She felt her blood thrum.

The corpsman she'd bloodbent had been in too much pain to understand what she'd done to keep him alive. But she too-well remembered the hitch in his breath and body when she'd taken control of his blood, the way the life of him had curled to her command. She'd done it out of desperation, because she was the one who had found him and because it had been a full moon and she knew, somewhere, that it was the only way to save his life.

Inside, she'd heard Hama cackling. But Yue's warm cool light had bathed her in something that felt awfully like approval.

Katara's feet hit the floorboards with night's quietness, and she dressed mechanically, pulling on a cloak, soft sandals, thumbing her necklace.

A year of stealth and secrecy came back to her quickly as she darted down the hallways of the palace. There was the royal wing, where Zuko slept alone in a sea of empty rooms. There was the hallway that led to Daolin's quarters. There were the kitchens, with a servant stumbling groggily out—she pressed herself against the wall, quiet and still, until he passed. There were the stairs to the wine cellar, where Zuko had called her young, where the air was laced with sweetness.

Here was the guarded room where Azula slept. Only one guard on duty tonight. Zuko must trust his sister not to leave—or maybe, after all this time, she'd forgotten that she could.

The guard swiveled to face her. "Master Katara. You're up late."

She ducked her head. "Waterbender with a near-full moon," she said, smiling tightly. "I wanted to visit the princess for a healing session."

The guard raised his eyebrows. "I don't think she'd be too keen on a nighttime visitor. She doesn't sleep much."

"Then she won't mind," Katara said brusquely, sounding much more confident than she felt. "You can stay outside."

The guard looked at her warily, but shrugged and fiddled with the lock. He'd doubtless tell Zuko tomorrow, but what of it? He'd asked her to help. She would help. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you," Katara said, and breezed through the door into darkness.

The door clicked shut behind her. The room was devoid of light except for a slim window from which the moon shone, making Azula's profile into a silhouette. She was sitting near the window, watching the outside like a cat. "Waterbender," the princess said from her perch. "What are you doing here?"

Katara stood at a loss for a moment. "I…came to try something new, if you'd let me."

Azula turned to regard her, though Katara couldn't see her gaze. Her heart seemed to beat loudly in the closed space.

"I've never tried it with you before," Katara continued, "but I think it could help. I've seen with the water…well, nothing I do with the water actually fixes you."

"What is there to fix?"

A trick question, almost. She couldn't exactly say, you're crazy and you need to stop being crazy. Katara took a breath. "Well. You lost your bending."

"You want to help me bend again?"

Azula sounded rightfully skeptical, and Katara couldn't help but laugh a little. "I know, I know. But I think it might help you in other ways, too."

The princess seemed to consider this. "I see," she said after a moment. "My head." A pause. "Does Zuzu know you're doing this?"

"No," Katara said firmly. "Not yet. But not because he wouldn't say yes, just because it's easier at night—"

Azula shot up from the window with such speed and force that Katara almost took a step back. "It is not his decision," she spat. "It is mine."

"It won't be comfortable."

In the moonlight, Azula might have smirked. "You cannot hurt me."

Not anymore than I am already hurt. Katara sighed. Shucked off her cloak. From the window, Yue seemed to nod at her. This is right, this is right, this is right.

Azula's blood was surprisingly steady, but then, her body wasn't the trouble. Without warning, Katara placed her hands in front of her, fingers pointing at the princess. She could feel the steady thump of life and red and fire at her fingertips, which sparked with feeling and connection. Threads of understanding linked her fingers with Azula's blood—twined inside the veins—fought past gravity and pressure and love and twisting despair and a thousand other otherworldly forces, and Katara felt sweat bead at her hairline as she pushed forth to reach the crown of Azula's head, where the water in her body sludged, stagnant, pillowy-thick, full.

Azula gasped an "oh." Katara pulled and pulled and pulled, fingers plucking.

Hot and alien: the smell of ozone. A comet streaking across the sky, granting immeasurable power, taking the life from half the earth. Katara imagined it arcing over the horizon with horror in its wake. Imagined Azula's blue fire, bluer lightning, the white of her eyes. Sobbing—Azula was sobbing. Or maybe she was. Or maybe both.


She woke up to Zuko.

He was disheveled, long hair mussed, dressed only in short pants and a robe that he hadn't bothered to tie securely. The scar his sister had given him was a star on his stomach, puckered over with years of shedding old skin. He was sitting on the edge of her bed, sipping tea and staring out the window like Azula had done during the night. Early sun was turning the sky at the bottom of her window a light purple. He'd circled her bed with clumps of candles which were moving steadily up and down, in time with his breath.

Her hands ached. She moved to sit up and Zuko turned his attention to her immediately. His gaze was forbidding, but not angry; he looked at her like she had rearranged her face, and he had to work to understand the pieces. "How long have you been here?" she asked hoarsely.

He handed her a cup of tea. "Four hours. Since the guard found you and Azula collapsed on the floor."

Katara winced. "Is Azula okay?"

Zuko considered her carefully, and Katara felt the bed drop away from underneath her. "She's fine," he said after a moment. "Great, actually. She woke up as soon as I got to her room and told me that my hair looked like an ostrich-horse's feathers."

Katara didn't smile. "Is she…can she…"

"She can't bend." Zuko took a sip. "She told me you'd tried. Did you bloodbend?"

She pressed her lips together. "Yes," she blurted. "I'm sorry, I should have told you, but it came to me so suddenly—I dreamed of her, and I just—I understood." Katara forced herself to breathe slowly. "There's nothing to heal in her; the physical stuff will have to come naturally. But there's this swelling and blockage that I can feel with the blood, like somehow her body is keeping itself from circulating chi properly, I don't know, I…It felt, when I was in there, like a stronger hit from Ty Lee, like something just shut down. And I think I can fix it."

Zuko watched her mouth with uncommon attention.

"Are you angry?" Her voice sounded plaintive.

"No," Zuko said, "but you should have told me. I don't know—I don't know."

There was much there. I don't know if she can be trusted. I don't know if she should have her bending back. I don't know why you did it. I don't know why you didn't tell me. I don't know what to do.

Katara licked her lips. Dry. "I don't know what will make her happier," she said earnestly. "But she can't be happy like this. And if she wants me to continue, I—I will. The rest of it—the trust—that's you."

Zuko's grip on his cup seemed to tighten, but he leaned over and looked at her fully for the first time. "Thank you. Thank you. You can—you can stay as long as you like, you know." He paused, looking at her as if for response, but she had nothing. "I know you don't have that trade deal stuff right now. You can stay and work with Koronok and live here. If you want."

Katara felt herself blink at him. "Zuko, it's—"

"The gardens are beautiful right now," he spat, sounding furious. "The rains. Everything is green. Plenty of water. And you can help Azula. And it's—it'll be my birthday soon. I know you like polar winters, so—maybe—until the summer ends. You could stay until then. The end of the summer."

The flames climbed and receded. Katara felt struck dumb. She sat stiller than she thought she could. Zuko looked like he could gladly pitch himself into the sea.

Katara swallowed. "I'll have to go home at some point."

"Why?"

"Well—because—" She frowned at him. "I have a job there. I help my people. And Aang." Aang, what? "Aang comes back to the South Pole. He…I can't stay here, not when—I have a house there." She was making no sense, but Zuko was hanging on her every word. "I know I need a break, but the end of the summer is—is months away, still. I told my dad I'd be home in a month." She spread her fingers on the coverlet with what she hoped was an air of finality. She'd been in the Fire Nation for four weeks already. "I should go home soon. After I help with Azula."

Inexplicably, Zuko laughed. Hollowly. This time, when his hand moved to her face, he did sweep a strand of hair from her eyes. His fingers were warm. "I'm not being clear," he said, frustrated. "It's not just Azula. Katara." He paused. "I would like it if you stayed."

And there, again: his eyes glimmering with dawnlight and candlelight and his thumb on her mother's necklace. Katara felt her face heat and her hands shake. Bloodbending Azula had been like being struck by lightning a thousand times over. But this was not a dream. Fire Lord Zuko had his fingers in the soft fuzz of her shaved neck and a terrible two inches lay between them.

Katara opened her eyes—she hadn't realized she'd closed them. "Zuko." She swallowed. "Aang."

And she wished she hadn't said it, because pain shot across his eyes in quick strikes. "I've betrayed the Avatar before," he said roughly. A bad joke. A horrible joke. But he left the inches between them, and the pain in his face only increased when she didn't move, didn't pull away or come closer, left him still in his own warmth.

I haven't. But she came to Caldera. She dreamed of his hands on her lips. She was the one, now, closing the terrible gap, skirting her lips on his once, twice, three times, four, as if the more she kissed him the less she would think of Aang, the boy in the ice, the boy with a hand on her belly, the boy who would paint arrows on her arms.

The fifth kiss was Zuko's.