AN: Here is chapter five! It's a little shorter than the previous chapters, but it felt right to end where I did. Hope y'all enjoy it!
Fire Lilies, and You
Chapter Five
Ghosts
The Fire Nation Palace, while often bustling, is suddenly a cacophony of sound. There's people running to and from, gossip spreading like wildfire, and the occasional punctuation of a frustrated curse, courtesy of Fire Lord Zuko.
Katara, for her part, decides to keep a low profile after receiving one too many glares from servants when she gets in their way. She either keeps to her rooms, explores the library, or visits her most preferred spot, the gardens.
Zuko has hardly been around since their last sparring round, and Katara feels all the better for it. She knows he doesn't like her, but she doesn't need him taking his temper out on her just for the hell of it.
And so on a mild afternoon, Katara finds herself outside, feeding the turtle ducks and admiring the flowers she has discovered are called Fire Lilies. If there's one thing Katara has come to love in the Fire Nation, it is these resilient, resplendent flowers. It's so unlike anything she's ever seen, given that most flora does not thrive in the poles. The bright red and orange hues with a soft yellow center mimic the soft glow of a flame. It's strange, Katara thinks, to see something so soft and delicate flourish here in the mostly arid weather of the Fire Nation.
Leaning in to smell them, Katara notes their scent is soft and pleasant. And then, feeling somewhat like a thief, Katara plucks one and twirls the stem around her thumb and forefinger.
"Are you hell bent on ruining this garden?"
Katara jolts, her eyes having drifted shut in the pleasant summer breeze.
Immediately, her spine is rigid, and she feels her mood souring. Of course Fire Lord Zuko is here, to pick another fight it would seem.
"Sorry, Fire Lord," she snips, not bothering to turn and acknowledge him. It gives her more satisfaction than she cares to admit, taking part in all these little snubs.
Before she can blink, Zuko is sitting next to her on the bench overlooking the pond, and for once, he doesn't seem to be entirely fixated on antagonizing her. Katara does not like this proximity. It's jarring and she feels her walls slam into place. Luckily, she is close to a source of water should she need to defend herself.
"Don't you have...y'know," Katara scrunches her nose, "Fire Lord duties to attend to...or something or other?"
Zuko doesn't acknowledge her question for a moment, and Katara wonders if he's now graduated to ignoring her.
"I...need a break."
"A break..." Katara echoes.
"Look, nobody is giving me any space to breathe or even think. And you seem to repel people easily enough, so I figured I'd catch a break out here."
Katara gives him a flat look. "Thanks."
They share an uneasy silence, before Katara can't resist baiting him. "Tired of having women thrown at you?" There's a ghost of a smirk on her lips, and if Zuko is surprised she knows about his marriage woes, courtesy of his council, he hides it well. Besides, it's pretty easy to guess who the gossip is...a certain uncle with a fondness for tea and Pai Sho, no doubt.
"Shut up." It's half-hearted and carries less of the spite than Katara is used to, coming from him. "Here, hand me some." He stretches out his hand, and Katara belatedly realizes he wants the bread.
Mutely, Katara offers it, and she watches as his nimble fingers tear a chunk off, before ripping it into smaller pieces. He then easily tosses it to the quacking turtle ducks, and Katara feels a small smile spread on her face, helpless to stop it.
Fire Lord Zuko also seems to have a soft spot for the turtle ducks.
Zuko wordlessly offers the remaining bread to Katara, and they settle into an easy rhythm of ripping off chunks of the bread and throwing it to the pond. Katara wonders idly if the turtle ducks are getting a little too plump.
Katara is almost, shockingly enough, comfortable as they sit side by side in the garden, and so she is jolted once more when Zuko decides to speak.
"My mother loved the Fire Lilies."
The words take a moment to register, and Katara realizes with surprise that Zuko is actually offering something personal. He refuses to make eye contact with her, instead focusing on the task at hand of feeding the noisy turtle ducks. Katara takes this moment to unabashedly stare at his profile, marveling at the pale skin, sharp golden eye, and arch of his eyebrow. His black hair is unbound and falls in a sweep across his forehead, and Katara's mind treacherously wishes to have her fingers brush them aside.
Katara thinks she may be the first case of human combustion, the thoughts she just had mortifying her.
"My father didn't care much for the gardens, but my mother always made sure they were tended to. She planted a lot of the Fire Lilies herself."
Katara guiltily looks at the flower sitting between them.
"Anyways, she's gone and there's nothing else to say for it." His tone has an air of finality and carelessness, like he is trying to hide how much it pains him to say the words.
Katara's fingers gently grasp the necklace she religiously wears, and she remembers her mother with an intensity that threatens to upheave her. It is strange, Katara thinks, how often, with the passage of time, her mother begins to lose focus. She becomes less of a memory and more of an abstract feeling. Her mother is warm hugs and soft laughs, her voice rich and distinct to Katara's ears, but the words faded away.
And then there are these moments, where Katara acutely recalls her mother's face, eyes blue as oceans, just like Katara's, with her soft brown hair framing her oval face. She can remember her mother clapping with wonder and pride when Katara first showed skill of being a waterbender, and the memory makes her chest swell with both pride and mourning.
"My mother died too." The words push past the lump in her throat, and Katara finds that the memory of her mother she guards so well is now freely given.
Perhaps a small part of her wishes, hopes, even, that Zuko can at least connect with her on this.
Katara may be his "enemy" and unworthy of his notice, but surely he can understand the pain of losing a mother.
Zuko lets out a huff of caustic laughter, and Katara is perplexed to hear it.
"My mother isn't dead, or rather...I don't know where she is. I woke up one day, and it was like she had vanished."
Oh, Katara realizes with dim awareness what his words mean.
It was one thing to lose a mother, it was another to be left behind by one.
Katara decides, in a rare act of benevolence toward the Fire Lord, that she won't pry further. It's astounding he even let her in this much, and Katara somehow feels like she has been bestowed with a small treasure.
Suddenly, the Fire Lily that had laid forgotten between them is plucked by his fingers, and Katara watches him with bemusement.
Her eyes squint and then widen, her body nearly giving in to the instinct of jerking back when Zuko moves toward her.
As if it was something entirely normal and expected, Zuko leans in close to her, and Katara swears her heart is about to burst from how fast it's beating. The thought crosses her mind that, for whatever reason only Zuko could answer, he's about to kiss her. And she's a little nonplussed by the fact that she isn't exactly entirely against the idea. Traitor! her mind screeches with horror and shame.
But then, in the space of a few seconds, Zuko has delicately tucked the stem of the Fire Lily behind her left ear, and he leans back a comfortable distance away. Katara is dimly aware of the smell of sandalwood and musk, and her face reddens.
Zuko studies her quietly, and Katara turns away quickly, afraid of what she might see, or fool herself into seeing.
Without any warning, Zuko suddenly rises and walks away, leaving Katara in stunned silence.
Zuko doesn't know why he did what he did, and quite frankly, he isn't about to dwell on it.
But there is something, much to his dismay, that he finds peaceful about Katara.
Well, peaceful is probably the wrong word, because more often than not she is either howling at him like a banshee, scowling, or straight up snubbing him. Maybe rather than peaceful, it's refreshing.
Katara is clearly not a royal family member or part of upper nobility, and it shows. She doesn't hide behind duplicitous smiles, doublespeak, or eye him with a manipulative gaze. Katara doesn't wear the mask of polite restraint, and when she says something, she absolutely means it. Even if what she's usually saying is a demand for him to fuck off, more or less.
But in some ways, Katara feels like one of the only people he can trust, outside of his uncle. It's not that he would trust Katara with his life. God only knows she would be the first one to kick him off a cliff - but he knows that he can trust her to say what she means and mean what she says.
Everyone else is either too busy stepping on eggshells around him, by design of course, but then there are those like his sister, who's glittering golden eyes, so similar to his, hide malice and slyness with the intent to undermine him. His sister, who so awfully reminds him of his father. Zuko wanted so much to be like him, to earn his respect, but every time he catches sight of Azula, it is clear who was the favored child.
There is no doubt in his mind that his father had always wanted Azula to be next in line.
In any case, his thoughts are turning treacherous, because Katara is not even remotely his ally. Not even an acquaintance. She is a hostage, and he begrudges his uncle for intentionally blurring the lines.
He knows Iroh means well, but it does nothing to serve Zuko's cause. The Fire Nation was breached, and Katara was no small part in that. She is a threat, and Zuko believes his uncle would do well to remember that.
He probably thinks he would do well to remember that too.
As he meanders through the halls, ignoring the servants' flustered bows and murmurs of politeness, Zuko's mind idly drifts back to what occurred in the gardens. He's surprised that he even uttered a word about his mother - he never talks about her, not even with Iroh. Not anymore at least. It's been years since he's uttered a word about his mother.
Once upon a time, he used to ask about her, cry late at night and wonder why the only person who ever seemed to be in his corner would suddenly disappear. It was hardest and yet easiest to believe that he had somehow caused her to leave. It was hardly no secret that fights between his mother and father often involved him as the topic of discord.
'You coddle that boy too much! Look at how pathetic he is...you're damn near raising him to be a court lady!'
'Gentleness is not a weakness,' his mother's voice rejoined, soft but firm.
'He is to be next in line, Ursa. He needs to be raised the way a Fire Lord is raised!'
'A Fire Lord or a tyrant?'
Of course, his mother was wrong, Zuko thinks. Being gentle is a weakness. Being gentle does not make people respect you or listen to you. It only shows that you are vulnerable to being exploited, controlled, manipulated.
He regrets how he came into the role of Fire Lord, but there are times, as painful as it can be to admit it to the privacy of his own mind, that he doesn't always think it was the worst thing. Because as much as Zuko so desperately wanted his father's love and respect, he does think that a small part of him hates him.
Zuko thinks that even if the thoughts are despicable, it's not as though he could've sunk any lower in his father's opinion.
And Ozai is dead anyway, that much Zuko ensured.
Lost in his thoughts, Zuko arrives at the grand double doors to his rooms, relieved to have avoided any council members on the way. They mean well, he supposes, in the grand scheme of things, matchmaking woes aside, but they are pests all the same.
Pushing open the doors, Zuko has already decided that he is not leaving his rooms for the rest of the evening. His head is pounding due to a healthy mix of unwanted memories, conflicting encounters with a Water Tribe girl, and mounting irritation with his council.
He is surprised, to say the least, when his gaze lands on a young woman standing in the center of his room, her back to him.
But he knows that slim figure anywhere, tall and graceful with long obsidian hair, pin straight against her back.
Glancing over her shoulder, Mai regards him silently, the barest hint of an upturned lip.
"It's been a while, hasn't it, Zuko?"