A/N: This is part iii, the continuation of 'Mistake'.

Stranger

(n) a person whom one does not know or with whom one is not familiar.

۵

Most of the tribe is lined up at the border of the village. Children have climbed up the wall, peering down at the large ship docked on shore. It isn't a warship but it's large and distinctly Fire Nation.

Hakoda and his men are already on the beach, formally greeting the grey-haired man who jovially steps off-board. The older man is portly but looks solid and strong. He respectfully bows to Hakoda and his warriors before removing a small portrait from his robes and handing it over to chief. Hakoda looks it over carefully, small creases lining his forehead, and he lets out a laboured sigh.

"Yes, that's him."

The older man's face instantly lights up and he takes back the portrait, slipping it back into his robes for safe-keeping. "May I see him?"

Hakoda nods. "I'll bring him to you in the morning, General Iroh."

"Thank you, Chief Hakoda. Know that the Fire Nation and myself will personally honour our agreement to never set foot in the South Pole again—without your expressed permission, of course—and we open trading again, as well as pardon all Southern Water Tribe prisoners, including waterbenders."

The warriors murmur excitedly at the last bit of news, but Hakoda is still frowning.

"Chief, I deeply thank you for all the trouble you went through to take care of my nephew and reunite him with his family." General Iroh bows once more and Hakoda turns away, his frown deepening.

"Yeah, no trouble." He clears his throat and looks back up towards the village. Everyone is there, excluding his children and Miksa. "He was no trouble at all."

۵

Hakoda folds Miksa into a hug and the teenager closes his eyes, softly sighing into the older man's shoulder.

"Thank you for taking me in," he says, and Hakoda pulls back, a mixed look of sadness and pride in his eyes.

"Thank you for being such a good friend to my children."

They are standing on the shore, saying their goodbyes as General Iroh patiently waits on board his ship. Miksa eyes the boat with its symbol of the Fire Nation on the side with disdain. Everyone is talking softly now, like how they do at a funeral gathering, and Miksa tries his best to lighten the mood; something Sokka would normally do. But this time the normally joking boy looks downtrodden, as does his sister.

"Who knows," Miksa says, "maybe I'll learn how to firebend without hurting anyone."

Katara's eyes widen in shock for a moment and then she directs a withered glare his way. Everyone else is equally silent, though not nearly as unimpressed as Katara, and Miksa frowns. He has never been good with the jokes.

Gran-Gran is next to fold him into her embrace and the teenager sighs once more, trying hard to rein in his emotions. Though he will miss all of them dearly, right now he thinks he will miss Gran-Gran the most. Despite everything, despite who he is, she has always been there for him and known exactly what to say and do to make him feel better. He will miss that warmth of hers.

He turns to leave, thinking maybe it's best if he doesn't say goodbye to Sokka and Katara. They are his best friends, his only companions, and the thought of not seeing them every day makes him want to wretch. But before he can go Sokka is already reaching out to clutch his arm, pulling him back.

"Don't go!" he cries, his grip tightening. "We're bros, best friends for life." His voice breaks. "Even into ghost times."

Ghost times? Miksa can't help but smile. "We're still bros, Sokka," he says, his voice thick with emotion, "no matter where I go."

The two embrace briefly and Sokka is the first to pull away, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. He turns away, folding his arms across his chest as he sniffs loudly, and Miksa feels his heart clench.

"Miksa."

He turns to see Katara, tears shining in her eyes. She doesn't bother to hide them or wipe them away. She has always been so free with her words and her emotions, unlike him.

"Katara." He places a gloved hand on her shoulder. "Go to the North Pole and convince those idiots to train you. I just know you're gonna be the best waterbender ever." He offers her an encouraging smile. "Never give up."

She returns his smile, despite the tears in her eyes, and folds into his arms. "I won't. I'll become the best and I'll come visit you." When he finally pulls back she is sniffing, trying to control the emotions that so easily ebb and flow from her. "I'm not gonna say bye because that means I won't see you again. I'm just gonna say so long; we'll meet again soon."

"You can count on it."

He brushes his fingers along her chin and she laughs. Nodding once, he sucks in a breath and finally breaks away, waving to them all before he turns towards the boat. General Iroh is waiting for him; the entire Fire Nation is waiting for him. He looks down at the white snow beneath his feet and swallows painfully. He is going to miss all of this; he is going to miss all of them.

"Don't forget us!" Katara calls, and he glances over his shoulder. There is a smile on her face, despite her tears, and he is grateful for that. His last look of them should be of their smiling faces, not their tears.

"Never! You're my family."

"You better not turn into some preppy fire boy!" Sokka warns. There are tears in his eyes but he's smiling too. "Don't forget where you're from. You're Water Tribe!" His voice is fierce and proud, and Miksa feels that pride swelling in his chest.

"The South Pole is my home." He swallows hard and raises his hand in farewell. "It always will be."

They wave their goodbyes, never leaving the shore even as the boat lifts anchor and set sails. The general stands aside, giving the boy his space as he waves to the only family he has ever known.

۵

The long shadows of sunrise creep across the boat, lighting the deck a rusty orange. The wind has settled and Miksa can feel the heat from the sun soaking on his skin, filtering into his bones. He had always enjoyed the sun's warmth and now he knows why. He is a firebender. But this thought does not bring him any warmth.

"Zuko."

The young teenager spins around, shading his eyes with a free hand. "General Iroh, sir—"

"Uncle." The round man smiles. "Please call me Uncle." When Miksa frowns at this, the older man's gentle smile falters. "I know you go by Miksa now but I thought you should know that your real name is Zuko, and you are a prince of the Fire Nation."

"Zuko." He tastes the name in his mouth like sour milk. It doesn't quite seem right, but he figures it's the name he'll have to go by from now on so he'd better get used to it. He must say goodbye to Miksa for he is not just some Fire Nation citizen; he is a prince. The thought doesn't give him much comfort.

"I know this is a lot to take in at once—"

"Yeah, it is." The sun, which previously revitalised him, is now making him sick. "I'm sorry but could you tell me more later? I'm not feeling very well right now. I think I'm going to take a nap."

"Of course, Nephew." The older man's smile is now a frown, but his amber eyes are full of concern, and Zuko suddenly feels sorry for his attitude. "I'll wake you for dinner."

"T-thank you . . . Uncle."

۵

The blazing sun climbs high in the sky and Zuko squints against the harsh glare. Noon is yet to come and already the day feels like he is walking through an oven. He has left his coat on the ship but he is still dressed in Water Tribe clothing with his sword strapped to his back.

He didn't know there could be this kind of heat in the Fire Nation. He is so used to the dry cold of the South Pole that the humidity of the capital makes him sweat. General—Uncle Iroh told him he will quickly adjust, and while Zuko is troubled by the heat, it seems to make the energy in his body swell.

The two weeks he spent on the sea hadn't made him any less homesick. Though the food his Uncle prepared was delicious and spicy, he found himself missing Gran-Gran's homemade biscuits and stewed sea prunes. But the trip was informative. Iroh gave him the backstory of his history and the Fire Nation's, filling in the blanks as they went. Intimate details Iroh skimmed over, like the death of Zuko's mother, Azulon's failing health and even the death of his own son, Lu Ten.

Zuko listened with interest, but none of this meant anything to him. He supposed he should have felt bad about his mother's death, as well as his cousin's, but he only felt the sympathetic sadness that a stranger would feel for another; empathy.

Now that they are finally docked and standing on solid ground, Zuko suddenly wants to get back on the ship and steer a course south. Though the capital is beautiful with its colourful foliage and smiling, well-fed citizens, this is not want he wants. He misses the snow and ice.

"You look like a peasant," says a snide female. Her words are directed at him, but Zuko barely bats an eyelash. He's heard worse.

"Azula!"

Iroh's voice is more of a warning than a sound of shock and Zuko regards the girl with critical eyes. She looks close to his age, with pale skin and amber eyes. He knows because of her name and her facial features that she is his sister but he feels no spark, no connection. She might as well be a stranger on the street.

"Well, he does," Azula argues, ignoring her uncle as she slowly circles her brother. "Look at his hair and how he dresses." She points to his blue tunic and his dark hair that is tied in a short ponytail with the sides of his head shaven. "Give him blue eyes and he could pass as a Water Tribe peasant."

There is a smirk on her lips but her eyes are cold and dangerous. Zuko compares them to a predator stalking its prey, and he is suddenly very wary. What sort of snake pit has he been thrown into?

"Your brother has been through difficult times," Iroh says, and Zuko turns sharply.

"No, I haven't! The Water Tribe has been good to me."

"Of course they have." Azula sneers, scraping her sharp fingernails along her arm. "Your street urchin ways have elicited sympathy from even the poor, wretched folk."

There is a growl low in his throat, and Zuko suddenly lunges forward. "Take that back!"

"Or what?" Azula easily sidesteps the lunge and lets out a tinkly laugh, which sounds oddly grotesque coming from her. "You probably can't even produce a flame." She sighs, bored. "Your affinity for those people has made you soft. You'll never be a master firebender."

"I don't care to be a firebender," Zuko says, and finds he means it.

"You can't mean that."

Zuko turns to see a tall man in red robes. His hair is long and black and set on his topknot is a golden crown set in a flame. He looks to be in his forties and though quite handsome he has an ugly look about him, like a man who has spent his life constantly scowling.

"Father." Azula steps towards the tall man and smirks. "It looks like your son has returned an even bigger loser than when he left."

"Azula." Ozai's voice is sharp and warning, and though his sister doesn't seem like the type to back down from anyone, including adults, she briefly shies away. "Zuko, is this true? Do you not wish to be a firebender?"

Zuko looks from Ozai to Azula and then back to Ozai, weighing his words carefully. "Not like her."

"Oh, you mean the best there is?"

Ozai gives his daughter another sharp look and the girl turns away in a pout. Ozai then returns his gaze to Zuko. It is a penetrating gaze that makes Zuko feel very uncomfortable, like he is being judged and catalogued.

"You have much to learn, Zuko, much to catch up on since your absence. You may never reach your sister's prodigal level of skill—" Azula smirks triumphantly at this "—but you will not disgrace this family."

Something in Ozai's voice makes Zuko scowl; something makes him think he isn't the only one who has disgraced this royal family. His eyes follow Ozai's gaze, which is fixed on his older brother, Iroh, before returning to Zuko. Suddenly he snaps his fingers and a team of attendants rush over, awaiting orders.

"Do something about his hair and burn his clothes," Ozai says snidely. "And bring me the best firebending instructors."

"If you would permit it, Brother," Iroh interrupts smoothly, placing a hand on Zuko's shoulder, "I would like to see to his education personally."

Ozai eyes his brother with a slight frown but nods approvingly. "Good. Thank you." He then turns to leave and Azula steps back towards Zuko, the nasty sneer still lingering on her face.

"Already back less than a day and you're being babied." She rolls her eyes. "Pathetic Zu-Zu."

Zuko watches them go and turns around to face his uncle. "So that's my father and sister?"

"Yes."

"Why did you bring me here?" Zuko's voice pitches in anger; he wants to scream at the world. "I was happy where I was. At least I wasn't a stranger there!"

He spins on his heel and storms back to the ship to gather his belongings while his uncle reluctantly watches him go.

"I am sorry, Nephew."

۵