Author's Note: I had to completely rewrite it to take into account the events of the finale. That said, this is not really intended to be a dead-serious foray into post-war possibilities, just an idea that was teasing me about the politics involved in establishing peace.

Over My Dignity

by Swiss

Chapter One

The prison stood out in the grey pre-dawn like a murky concrete ziggurat, spiraling upward toward streaks of black cloud. Entering it was like going underground; all claustrophobic tunnels studded with brackets of fire and the faceless masks of the Fire-Nation's most impassive guards standing at intervals.

Zuko hated it there. He had visited this place far too often, and every time it seemed as though the stone drew the very heat from his body. By some trick of the light, the hall seemed to stretch on and onward in its steady curve, interrupted only by the metal doors with their narrow apertures of barred teeth, the only access for the torchlight into the cells that lay beyond.

A particularly heavy door was pulled open, and a low moan escaped into the long corridor, a belly-deep, constant mewling that hovered around the edges of the walls like a lingering smoke.

With a heavy sigh, the former prince of the Fire Nation took a step inside. The hoarse voice halted momentarily at the clap of his boots on the stone, and he saw the shift of a darker blot against the field of shadow beyond the cage's wall. It huddled, slumped in a corner. They'd had to bind her arms behind her to keep her from harming herself.

"Good morning, Azula," Zuko spoke quietly, using a tone that he usually saved for abused animals. He sat down the tray he had brought, pressing it between the opening made for just that purpose. "I brought you some fruit. If you would come closer, I'll help you."

The figure shuddered, and if anything pressed even tighter into a fetal position. Then, rocking, she began murmuring nonsensically to the wall, hissing curses or tearfully humming.

Knowing that this would not be a good day for her, Zuko straightened painfully. In spite of everything between them, it still hurt him to see her like this. She had been ruthless and fragmented even from the beginning, but in an odd way he had also admired her absolute resolve and confident authority. She had been a brilliant young woman in many capacities, and she was his sister.

Multiple reports confirmed her steady descent into paranoia and mania following the betrayal of her companions. It saddened him. Like him, she had harbored festering wounds, but instead of a persistently loving uncle to challenge and change her, she had only had their father. Obviously, he had done more to foster her madness than to help her heal.

There wasn't much else that Zuko could do here. Soon, another would come to feed her and force her to swallow the infusion that was blocking much of her bending. Like their father, she would soon come to trial for crimes against the world, but until that time he intended to make sure she was cared for.

"Goodbye," he said as he turned to leave, but there was no response except a thick, choking sound like a sob.

There was someone waiting for him in the hall when he stepped out. Without bothering to acknowledge him, Zuko pressed his back into the metal door, exhaling. The tension played all over his body – shoulders, temples, the bridge between his nose. He pinched the spot with his fingers, eyes closed. "No better," he reported, almost to himself.

His companion nodded. "I don't know why you keep coming here."

"They're my family," Zuko growled, although he didn't have the energy to be angry. And besides, it wasn't Sokka who had made everything so broken.

"Are you going to see him now?"

Father. Zuko shook his head. "I don't think I have the strength for it today," he answered, a rare admission. "The ambassadors start arriving later this afternoon. There's a lot to get ready."

He was speaking of the gathering of nations that was to occur the following week, during which friends of the Fire Nation and the Avatar would come together to discuss restructuring the network of alliances in a time of peace. It would be a grueling series of audiences, conferences, pandering, and performances.

Sokka understood. Like Zuko, he'd been preparing for the event for months now, almost since the acknowledged defeat of Ozai and Zuko's coronation. Instead, he tilted his chin toward the exit, wordless supplication. Come on.

They left. As they walked, it didn't escape the fire-bender's notice that the Water tribesman matched his step, shoulder to shoulder with him, ready support if he should falter. Zuko appreciated the gesture, more than he could say.

He always left here feeling tired and cold, and today was no exception.

Zuko tugged his dark hood around his face as they walked the cobbled paths of Fire Nation's capital city. It wasn't really necessary. So early, only the street-sweepers and a few traders were out, just beginning to set up their stalls for the market-day crowd. Everything around them was still painted in shades of lightening blue, the silence disturbed only by the occasional creaking cart-wheel or the far off cry of an infant.

At this time of the morning, Zuko could get away with walking out in the open without a procession. No one expected the Fire Lord to be strolling around in the shadowy hours before daylight, much less alone.

Or almost alone. As he nearly always did, his self-appointed guardian trotted beside him. For weeks, Sokka had done it limping with a crutch under his arm, but now he moved more easily, matching Zuko's hurried pace.

"You look awful," Sokka murmured, almost too low to be heard. Only the echoing quiet made his statement audible.

Zuko grimaced. "Che, you should talk." Like most of his people, Sokka enjoyed the nighttime, but the early morning had never been something he appreciated. His eyes were sleepy even now, though the fire-bender knew his inattentiveness was deceptive. The hilt of Sokka's sword – a recently retrieved, much caressed weapon – was strapped firmly over his shoulder.

The first time the fire-bender had stepped out of the prison cell and found Sokka waiting for him, he had been surprised. Now it was almost a ritual. Zuko only partially understood his motives, but he did understand that Sokka felt he was watching out for him.

"You don't have to come," he stated, an often repeated half-command.

But he didn't really command Sokka, and the other teen just shrugged.

They were passing through the city's great central plaza, about to head up the slope towards the sprawling grounds of the royal family and the Fire Nation's noble houses. A dotting of people were beginning to gather in drowsy clumps, and as they passed, the two adolescents noticed a man scrubbing a low prominent wall. There on the white stone, a graffiti figure had been scrawled in charcoal. Its distorted face and prominent scar left little doubt as to who it was intended to represent in effigy.

Sokka read the caption: "'Lord Two-face, Fire Nation-traitor'. Not very creative, is it?"

"No." Though the giant slash that dissected the whole drawing was expressive. Zuko stared at the crude portrayal, unable to resist pressing his own eye. "And they always draw the burn on the right."

Sokka wasn't fooled by his attempted levity. "It will take time to regain their confidence," he encouraged. Another oft-repeated sentiment between them: wait, be patient, be steadfast. But it didn't make the long way before them seem less discouraging. Sometimes Zuko felt everything they he had attempted to build was tottering on the edge of failure.

Turning, Zuko forced his eyes away from the dark smear slandering his name. He had other things to worry about.

Almost as soon as Sokka set foot inside the walls of the capital's interior city, a plainly dressed courier gestured for his attention. He grinned at the distracted figure of his hooded companion, currently brooding over the tasks ahead. Gripping Zuko's shoulder to signal his departure, he peeled off toward a narrow lane.

The woman waiting for him was tall – taller than him – and possessed the strong, proud features of many of the Nation's women. Wordlessly, she passed a roll of parchment to him, which he skimmed quickly. "They're meeting so soon?" he asked afterward.

"Immediately following lunch," she confirmed, her gaze direct. She was only one set of his eyes in the palace, but he trusted her particularly for her unquestionable, if impersonal, faithfulness. She added, "And, unfortunately, it's been well established the man's feelings aren't disposed toward sympathy."

Sokka hummed, considering. "I'll be able to cover Aang this afternoon," he decided finally, shrugging.

"As though you'd be satisfied with anyone else," the woman deadpanned, though a slip of a smile negotiated with the edge of her firm mouth.

The tribesman accepted the ribbing good-naturedly. "Fair," he agreed. The truth was that he trusted his friend with no one else, and that was nonnegotiable. Head tilted jauntily, he teased, "Does my paranoia offend you?"

The courier was already turning to melt back into the remaining gloom. Over her shoulder, she said reasonably, "It's your job."

Job? Sokka wondered. It wasn't one to which he'd be appointed. But then, he didn't need a mandate to care for the wellbeing of his friends.