Once a Dream Did Weave a Shade by Emachinescat

An Avatar: The Last Airbender Fan-Fiction

Summary: Shortly after Zuko joins the Gaang, Katara follows him when he wakes from a particularly bad nightmare. What she discovers is both terrible and beautiful, and it shows her that she has far more in common with her former enemy than she ever would have dreamed. A story about enemies, friends, and the blurry lines that separate us. And a story about mothers who love, and mothers who have been lost.


A/N: Sorry I'm a day late with this one; I've had a lot going on! This one is a pretty emotional ride, and I adored every second of writing it. You can definitely read it as Zutara or as friendship; I feel at this stage in their relationship, any bonding is going to have to be towards friendship first before romance can spark, but the seeds are definitely planted for a future relationship if you look for them. :)

Obviously, there will be spoilers, specifically for the end of season 2 and the first half of season 3. It takes place before The Boiling Rock and is an alternative way for Katara to get to know Zuko better, and for them to bond. For the purpose of this story, Zuko talks about his mom in the past tense, since he doesn't know if she's still alive or not, and because he's most likely thought of her as dead for years now. Also, I know it's not canon, but in my headcanon, Zuko can't cry out of his burned eye. And yes, that does come into play here.

Also, the title is taken from William Blake's poem "A Dream."

Anyway, here there be feels! I hope you enjoy!


Once a Dream Did Weave a Shade

Once a dream did weave a shade
O'er my angel-guarded bed,
That an emmet lost its way
Where on grass methought I lay.

Troubled, wildered, and forlorn,
Dark, benighted, travel-worn,
Over many a tangle spray,
All heart-broke, I heard her say:

'Oh my children! do they cry,
Do they hear their father sigh?
Now they look abroad to see,
Now return and weep for me.'

-From "A Dream" by William Blake

After Zuko joins the group, Katara refuses to fall asleep until he does. It isn't out of concern or solidarity – quite the opposite, in fact.

She simply does not trust him.

And why should she? Although she does want Aang to learn firebending, and though she will support him through whatever decision he makes, Katara cannot stop thinking about those few minutes with Zuko in the Ba Sing Se prison. Ever since that day, the green crystalline glow has followed her into her dreams, fed into her nightmares, and even when she's not dreaming about that cavern or lightning or Aang's lifeless body hurtling to the ground (in her dreams, she's never fast enough to catch him), that eerie emerald lurks along the edges of her vision.

It makes her angry, sometimes, if she thinks about it too much. The way that Aang was so quick to let Zuko join their group. The way he trusted the boy who had hunted him like an animal for so long, who had caused them nothing but pain. It made her angry that Toph had been so quick to come to Zuko's defense. And that Sokka had agreed so easily. And often, she is angry at herself for not being stronger, for going against her better judgment and giving her consent. Yes, she wants to support Aang. But she doesn't trust Zuko, for the simple reason that she was the first to trust him, and he had betrayed her.

Sometimes, she remembers the stricken look on his face, the way his fingers self-consciously reached for his scar. She recalls how vulnerable he seemed, how lost and confused, and sometimes his voice whispers in her ear when she's alone – That's something we have in common.

If Katara is honest with herself, that's the part of their short imprisonment together, their brief moment of connection, that makes her the angriest. The fact that he made up some lie about his mother just to… to… Well, she isn't entirely sure what his intentions had been. To lure her into a false sense of security? To try to get her on his side just so that he could betray her later? His motivations baffled Katara then, and they still do to this day. He had seemed so genuine, and she thought there had been real pain in his eyes as he spoke of his mother.

And then he'd turned around and betrayed the foundling, tentative trust they'd formed and the consequences had been devastating. It may have been his sister who had shot Aang out of the sky, but in Katara's mind, Zuko's part in the whole travesty was just as severe. She'd said then that every time she thought of him, she saw the face of the enemy. That is truer now than it has ever been, even after everyone else has accepted him into the group because of his sudden, convenient change of heart.

So no, Katara doesn't trust Zuko. And when everyone gathers around the fire in their sleeping bags at sundown, Katara keeps a secret, silent vigil. Though she lies down and sometimes even closes her eyes, listening to the low murmur of sleepy conversation, the steadying breaths, the chorus of snores, she never allows herself to fall asleep. Not until she peeks her eyes open and sees that Zuko is truly asleep, breath even, eyes closed. And then, she waits a bit longer to drift off, just in case.

This is how she learns of the nightmares.

Sometimes they are subtle – twitching of eyelids, slight downward curve of the mouth, rapid, strained breaths and restless shifting. Others are much more pronounced, violent, even. A few times, he wakes himself up with a muffled shout. Somehow, no one else wakes at the commotion, though Sokka does roll over on his sleeping bag and lets out a feral snort that would put a boar-q-pine to shame. Katara watches through slitted eyes as Zuko disentangles himself from his sleeping bag and staggers to his feet. In the waning firelight, she can see beads of sweat on his forehead, collar bone, and chest. A couple of times, she is unsure of whether perspiration or tears streak his face.

She watches him cast around his eyes furtively, making sure everyone is still asleep, and then he staggers away, out of the courtyard, deeper into the temple. Sometimes, he comes back in a few minutes. Often, he stays away most of the night, and Katara finds herself drifting off against her will. When she wakes up, Zuko is back, and Aang is still here, and nobody's dead, so whatever he sneaks off to do after a bad dream, it must not be nefarious in nature.

He does this every time he has a really bad nightmare, and Katara is, despite herself, fascinated, so finally, the fourth time it happens in the two weeks since his "change of heart," she follows him, padding behind him like a cat. He leads her deeper into the temple, and then out the other side. It's a part of the temple she hasn't been to often; unlike the atrium that has become the central hub of their group, this landing is a narrow strip of stone that wraps around the far wall of the temple, with no fountain and no room to train. There's a small brazier that Zuko has lit with a pale flame, though its tendrils are good only for dim light and its warmth doesn't extend far past its confines. As with the rest of the temple, there's no guard rail or wall to keep you from falling; the Air Nomads, of course, would have needed no such precautions.

As she peers out at Zuko from the doorway, he makes his way to the edge of the landing and stands there, his bare feet kissing the edge. For one breathless moment, she thinks he's going to jump, but then he lowers himself carefully to the ground and dangles his legs. He stays like this, statue-still, for several minutes. His legs, hanging hundreds of feet above solid ground, don't even kick out. He's frozen in time, only the slight breeze touseling his unkempt black hair breaking the illusion.

Katara is about to turn back – this isn't nearly as interesting as she'd imagined – when he calls out, his voice soft but carrying easily through the chilly night air. "Feel free to join me, if you'd like."

Despite herself, Katara feels her cheeks heat up at being caught. She'd been so quiet – how had he known she'd been following him? For a moment, she seriously considers fleeing, going back to bed, and adamantly denying that she'd been anywhere near him if he asks in the morning.

But something in his voice arrests her attention, though what, exactly, she can't say, and she reluctantly eases herself out of the doorway and into the night. The breeze is stronger than it looks, and the fire does little to fight the chill, and she wraps her arms around herself as she pads closer to the firebender. She can't imagine that he isn't frozen sitting out here with no tunic and bare feet. She curls her own bare toes in response to the icy stone beneath them.

Zuko doesn't invite her to sit next to him, and Katara has no interest in dangling her feet into the inky expanse of night air, so she stands over him, glaring down at the top of his head, and he makes no move to face her. He seems perfectly content to marinate in the uncomfortable silence, so when she can't stand it anymore, she demands, "What are you doing out here?"

Zuko's broad shoulders surge up in a noncommittal shrug. After a moment, he mutters, "Couldn't sleep. Sorry if I woke you."

"You didn't."

"I know."

Katara has a feeling that he's not just talking about tonight – he's saying that he knows she's been staying awake to keep an eye on him. She wonders if he's offended by her obvious distrust. She decides she doesn't care either way.

Irritation swells inside of Katara anew as Zuko sits half-naked in the icy night, perched on the edge of the world, so still he could be carved from stone. Where was this quiet, contemplative Zuko when he'd chased them across the world? Where had this contentment with stillness and silence been when he'd stolen Aang from the Northern Water Tribe oasis? Where had this resolve been in the Ba Sing Se prison? How dare he cause her so much pain, so much fear and heartache and strife, and then crawl back to her, claiming enlightenment, when the last time she'd been prepared to see his humanity, he'd spat in her face?

And though Katara knows, deep down, that nightmares are no respecter of person, or power, or rank, that she too has terrors and memories that plague her sleep and creep down her spine and draw tears from the deepest, most secret parts of her, she lashes out, indignation and rage mingling on the edge of despair.

"What are you having nightmares about?"

This time, Zuko does react. His back muscles bunch as he stiffens, his fingers gripping the stone ledge he sits on. He doesn't turn to face her, but he does speak: "That's a pretty personal question."

Katara bristles, though his words hold no accusation, just a simple statement of fact. Though Katara knows he's right, and can even acknowledge the disdain that dripped perhaps unfairly from her question, she doesn't back down. Even as she fumes down at the back of his head, hating everything about him – how shaggy and out of control his hair has gotten; the way he, a firebender, sits perfectly comfortable in the cold while she, who grew up amongst ice and snow, shivers; the slightly defensive edge to his posture at her question; the way his feet hang over nothingness and he doesn't even seem nervous – she repeats, enough accusation in her tone for the both of them, "What in the world could a spoiled, pampered prince possibly have nightmares about?"

Zuko shifts his weight but does not rise. He simply turns his head, peering at her over his left shoulder, and in the fire light, the only part of his face she can see is leathery red and wrinkled, the scar wrapping, she knows, into his hairline and around his ear. She can see it in her mind's eye even though his hair covers it up, that disfigured, half-melted stump of an ear. Heat rises to her cheeks at Zuko's silent answer. Maybe she'd walked into that one.

Fists clenched at her sides, fingernails digging little smiles into her palm, she maintains eye contact with the prince until he turns back around to gaze into the abyss. Curiosity, shame, and anger vie for dominance as she glares down at him. Curiosity, because she's always wondered, vaguely, in the back of her mind, where that scar had come from. That curiosity had only increased after their time in prison together – the mark of the banished prince, cursed to chase the Avatar forever – but even after he'd joined them, she couldn't bring herself to ask. Part of her knows it is because she fears the answer. Shame, because she understands how deeply inappropriate and personal her accusing question is. Shame, because she doesn't regret asking it. Shame, because she should have known that a scar like that can only bring painful memories with it. Can only bring nightmares. And anger, because after all he has put them through, after she was vulnerable with him and trusted him and he betrayed her, he doesn't deserve her curiosity, or her shame.

And yet, here she is.

Once again, Katara contemplates leaving, but when she goes to move, she steps forward instead. Her mind swirls with a myriad of emotions and memories, all of them bad, and the discontent inside her swirls hot and fast and threatens to burst out in an uncontrollable wave. Instead, she takes a deep breath, stills the raging waters, and asks, "How did it happen?"

Zuko stiffens even more, his knuckles white as he grips the stone. He doesn't answer, and Katara doesn't blame him. She's very aware that she's crossed into the taboo. She sighs, shuffles to his side, and gently lowers herself next to him. She doesn't sit close, and she doesn't dangle her feet – it's far too cold for that – but she folds them under her and glances over. She's sitting on his left side. She glances away, not wanting him to think she's ogling his scar, and then chastising herself for caring what he thinks. After everything he's done to us…

That line of reasoning is starting to feel a bit trite. Hasn't Katara always believed that people are like water, sometimes calm and sometimes a raging, bellowing flood of chaos, and always capable of change? But this is Zuko. The face of the Fire Nation. The face of the enemy.

She grits her teeth and tolerates the thick, unnatural quiet.

To her surprise, Zuko speaks first. He doesn't answer her latest question, but he does address her first. "I was dreaming about my father."

Katara takes a moment to digest this. She's not exactly surprised; she's had plenty of nightmares about the Fire Lord herself, though he's always been a faceless, insurmountable enemy. In her dreams, he spits lightning from his mouth and Katara stands, frozen, as Aang falls. Sometimes the Fire Lord does have a face, one that blurs and morphs between those of his children. Cruel golden eyes, blood-red lips, and a scar.

Katara sneaks another glimpse of that scar now. Zuko isn't looking at her, so she takes a few moments to study it. The wrinkled, cooked flesh, ringed crimson around a squinted eye. It hits her for perhaps the first time that he has no left eyebrow. She finds herself wondering if he has full sight in that eye.

Zuko still doesn't face her, though she's sure he can feel her eyes on him. Finally, she tears her gaze away from the mangled eye and stares instead at her hands, folded in her lap. She blurts, "Do you love your father?"

Zuko does look at her now, fully, shifting his entire body so that he's staring her dead in the eyes, the expression on his face unreadable but intense enough to make her squirm. Katara can't help but think of how vulnerable she's made herself here, how easy it would be for him to send her plummeting to her death with one quick shove. But he just studies her, far too calmly, for a moment, then looks away again.

Katara opens her mouth, though whether to yell or apologize or provoke, she has no idea, but Zuko speaks first. "I dreamed that I was standing before my father." His voice is low and haunted; without noticing she's doing it, Katara holds her breath. "I stand before him during the eclipse, and I tell him that he was wrong and that I am leaving to join the Avatar, to try and fix some of the many wrongs that the Fire Nation has committed."

Zuko still doesn't look at her. She wonders distantly if he is embarrassed to be so open with her. She recalls some of her nightmares and knows that there are those that she wouldn't feel comfortable sharing with anyone. She also can't help but wonder how much of his dream is based in reality. Is he replaying what actually happened when he left his home in his dreams? Or is even this just a clever ruse to lure her in, to make him seem more human? She brushes this thought away; even she can feel the sincerity, the raw vulnerability in Zuko's posture and voice. Whatever she thinks of him, he's not lying now. He's laying his nightmares out for her on a silver platter, even though she has done nothing to deserve this transparency.

Zuko continues. "In my dream, my father doesn't take it well. He's furious, and he tells me that the punishment for treason will be much steeper this time around. He summons lightning. He shoots it at me."

Surely this can't be what really happened, Katara finds herself reasoning. When Azula struck Aang down with lightning, he had died . If the Fire Lord had done the same to Zuko, he would be dead. And surely, she justifies, not even the Fire Lord would so callously strike down his own son. She thinks of her own father, and doesn't want to believe that anyone can be that cruel.

"In my dream," Zuko says yet again, and Katara can't help but notice how insistent he is on distinguishing his nightmare from reality, "right before the lightning strikes me, my mother appears." Katara blinks. She doesn't know much about Zuko's family, and next to nothing about his mother (and only what he'd deigned to tell her in the prison, and for so long she'd believed that too was a lie), but she has a feeling that this is indeed where the dream begins ripping at its seams of truth. "She … she throws herself between me and the lightning." Zuko's voice sounds choked, almost like he's crying, but Katara sees no tears, though his left eye has closed tightly. "It strikes her in the heart, and she screams."

Katara's own heart bashes frantically against her chest as Zuko's words conjure an image in her brain. But instead of Zuko, she sees herself, a child. And the mother who throws herself between her child and death is not Zuko's, but her own. Hot tears gather in her eyes and she squeezes her hands together tighter in her lap. The hollowness in Zuko's voice as he describes his dream echoes her own pain, pain that for so long she has associated with Zuko himself.

She doesn't trust herself to speak, and Zuko still sits in the same position, far too still. To her surprise, the dream isn't over, and after a few charged moments, he continues. "As she vanishes, the floor beneath me cracks. I fall through, screaming for her, but she's gone, and I land on the cold stone floor of an arena. I'm thirteen years old, and I'm kneeling before my father."

Katara doesn't even dare to breathe. Something tells her that what she is about to hear is something Zuko has never uttered to another soul, that she is about to hear something that could fundamentally change her understanding of the fire prince. Part of her wants nothing more than to bolt – she isn't ready to hear this, isn't ready to understand him in this way. But she stays where she is, she waits, and she listens. What she hears next shatters the floor beneath her feet and sends her hurtling into the abyss below.

"In my dream," Zuko repeats again, but Katara is more certain than she's ever been that what he is about to say is entirely true, "my father tells me that by speaking out of turn, I have disrespected him, and that by refusing to fight him in an Agni Kai – fire duel – I have dishonored him and myself." Zuko's breath catches in his throat and the tears slip silently down Katara's cheeks. She has a sudden, terrible premonition that Zuko is now answering her first question, the one that she should never have asked and wishes more than anything she can take back, because she doesn't want to know this . Not just because she isn't ready to have her view of the prince softened by this revelation. But because she doesn't want it to be true.

Heedless to her turmoil, Zuko plows on, and Katara thinks that he might have forgotten she's there. "My father tells me that I will learn respect, and that suffering will be my teacher. And he reaches down, and he grasps my face in his hand, and he–" Please stop, Katara pleads silently. She doesn't want to know. "He," Zuko falters again, then shifts, as if remembering where he is and who he is with and mumbles, "He gives me this scar."

Katara feels a chasm open inside of her and she falls into it, all of her assumptions and hatred and anger plummeting with her, leaving her confused and shaken. And furious. This time, though, the fury isn't directed at Zuko. It's on his behalf. Disgust at his father, at how deeply his cruelty runs, flares within her. There are so many things she could say, should say, needs to say.

Your own father gave you that scar? How could he? His own son?

But you were a child!

I'm sorry. I didn't know.

That still isn't an excuse for what you did.

Even the prospect of the last one tastes acrid on her tongue, even more so because she knows it's true. It isn't an excuse. He doesn't mean for it to be. It's an explanation. If Zuko's dream is a reflection of reality – and she fully believes it is; even the part about his mother taking the lightning for him has to be rooted in some kind of truth – then it explains so much. And she marvels at how much worse he could have turned out. She has a feeling that his uncle has a lot to do with that. And maybe his mother, too.

Katara swallows all of the things she wants to say and instead settles with, "That never should have happened to you. I'm sorry, Zuko."

"I don't want your pity," Zuko snaps. "And it was just a dream."

"Okay, it was a dream," Katara says. They both know she knows it wasn't.

A beat. "When we were in prison together in Ba Sing Se," she ventures, her own voice wet with tears, though she's swiped them from her eyes with the back of her hand, "you mentioned your mother."

Zuko dips his head slightly, still turned away from her. "I wasn't lying." His voice is hoarse, thick with emotion, but she still sees no trace of tears.

"I know that now. I… may have misjudged you, Zuko."

"No, you didn't. I've done plenty of terrible things. I forgot who I was, chasing something I was never supposed to have." She doesn't know if he's talking about his honor, the Avatar, or his father's love. Maybe all three.

"But I refused to believe that you'd changed. I was so… furious about what happened in that prison that I convinced myself if you didn't change then, you were incapable of change. But I see now that there's a lot more to you than what you have done." Her heart feels like it's being squeezed through a sieve. "And you are not responsible for the sins of your nation, or your father, or your sister."

Zuko does turn to face her now, and Katara understands why he's been hiding his face all this time. Tear streaks stain the right side of his face, his good eye ringed in red and puffy. She should have realized – he can't cry from his left eye. His father stole that from him, too.

"Thank you," he says simply. Then, he adds, "But it was just a nightmare."

Katara allows a tiny but sincere smile to curve her lips, a strange thing around Zuko. "I know," she says. "Just a nightmare."

They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes. Then, Katara ventures, "Zuko?"

"Hmm?"

"What was your mom like?"

A genuine smile spreads across Zuko's face – not just his lips, but into his eyes – and Katara grins back, amazed at how infectious it is. She hasn't even been convinced he knows what a smile is , let alone how to do it. It's a nice change. "She was kind," he says. "She cared about everyone, even the turtle ducks that lived in the palace gardens. She loved reading. She memorized stories by heart, and told them to Azula and I before bed every night. Even after Azula said she was too old for fairy tales, Mom always told me stories. And she loved the theater. It was kind of annoying, really, because every year, she'd drag us all to Ember Island to see Love Amongst Dragons , but the Ember Island Players butchered it every time. She had these masks on her wall, from the play – she never said, but I think if she hadn't married into royalty, she might have been an actor."

Zuko's smile settles into something more solemn. "She taught me right from wrong, even if I didn't realize it at the time. She protected me, fiercely, and she would do anything to keep me safe." Katara thinks back to the dream, his mother sacrificing her life for her son, and once again, she's sure that it means something, too, that even if it didn't happen quite the way it had in the nightmare, Zuko's mother had sacrificed herself to save him from something. Her heart flutters; even now, the only face she can imagine every time Zuko mentions his mother is her own mom's. Though their fathers are vastly different, Katara sees now that her mom and Zuko's were very much the same. In that moment, she loves Zuko's mother almost as much as she loves her own.

"She sounds amazing," Katara says, and before she even realizes what she's doing, she reaches over and squeezes Zuko's hand in her own. He stiffens, glances at her out of the corner of his eye, then relaxes, and to her surprise, he squeezes hers back, then lets go.

"She was," he agrees. "And what about your mom? What was she like?"

Katara gazes longingly into the slowly lightning sky, wondering how long they've been out here. She feels warmer than she did before. Maybe it's because daylight is approaching, or maybe Zuko as a firebender radiates a warmth she's never gotten close enough to notice. Either way, she wiggles her tingling legs out from under her and lets them hang over the edge, too, relishing the freedom it brings.

"My mom was the kindest person I've ever known," she begins, "and she made the best sea prune stew in the whole south pole. She wasn't a waterbender, but as soon as she learned that I was, she made protecting me from the Fire Nation her life. I never felt safer than when I was in her arms…" When she glances over, Zuko is watching her raptly, almost hungrily, and she knows that he recognizes glimpses of his own story in hers.

This is how the gang finds them an hour later, still in their sleep clothes, sitting on the edge of oblivion, feet kicking in the open air. The ghosts of smiles on their lips, mingling with dried tears.


A/N: I really hope you enjoyed this fic! Please let me know what you thought! (If you notice any typos, forgive me; I've not had time to do a third edit, but I wanted to post this anyway since it's already so late. I'll try to come back and fix anything I find later!)

I'll try to post day 10 today (it's a Psych story, if you're interested), and tomorrow I'll be posting another ATLA fic, a whumpy, angsty tag to Zuko Alone, so keep an eye out for that!

Thanks so much for reading! 3 Please review or leave a like if you enjoyed; I cherish any kind of feedback. :)

~Emachinescat ^..^