Water

Fragile Alliance: Part 1

Though he could hear Uncle clear as day, Zuko only understood every second or third word. He sat still on the edge of his bunk, shoulders hunched forward, and staring straight ahead. Facing Zhao had been bad enough. Listening to everything the waterbender had to say, letting her words echo through his mind where he couldn't escape them was worse. But this—the scroll lay half-curled between his hands, and he ran his thumb over the seal for what felt like the thousandth time.

Father's seal. Father's handwriting. Father's orders. All real, and all exactly as Zhao had said.

"I will speak to Zhao. I'm certain we can arrive at a more favorable arrangement very soon."

Zuko tried to shake his head. It didn't matter. Zhao was right. Father had given permission—had given orders—for Zhao to take Zuko's crew away. It was right there in front of him, all in Father's unmistakable hand. What could Uncle possibly do against that? Zhao wasn't just taking away Zuko's last chance to go home, he had Father's approval to do it.

It was all too much. By now, Zuko was almost convinced that there was nothing left in the world that could shock him, nothing that could possibly make him feel anything. Something inside him was broken, and he couldn't find it in himself to care.

As hard as he tried, he couldn't force his mouth to shape the words. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. He believed that Uncle thought there was still a chance. He believed that Uncle would try to fix this. He knew that it wouldn't make a difference. Zhao wouldn't be swayed if he had an opportunity to rip everything away from Zuko. Zhao had already won. The scroll was all the proof he needed.

Uncle clasped Zuko's shoulder. "Do not lose hope, Prince Zuko. Even the darkest nights come to an end with the light of a new day."

If he were able to feel anything at all, Zuko could have almost laughed. What light could there possibly be after this? What kind of future could he possibly have if Father was okay with this?

He tried to tell himself that it was a mistake. That Father hadn't meant for Zhao to take Zuko's crew away. That there was some carelessness in the wording of the orders, and that Father hadn't intended to rob Zuko of his only way home.

But he was hollow. What did the intentions matter when everything was crashing down around him anyway? Zuko couldn't stop any of it. There was nothing left for him to feel, nothing left for him to do.

"Just go, Uncle," he finally croaked when he managed to pry his tongue from the roof of his mouth. "Zhao is waiting for you."

The concerned creases in Uncle's forehead remained, but after a brief squeeze of Zuko's shoulder, he rose anyway.

"I won't be long," Uncle promised, straightening his robes as he backed toward the door. "If you need anything at all—"

All Zuko could manage was a single, mute nod. He should have felt angry, hurt, betrayed, something about Uncle leaving him alone at a time like this. He should have been yelling, fighting to keep Uncle here, to stop Zhao from dismantling his life piece by piece. But there was still nothing. Maybe part of him really was broken. Maybe he'd never feel anything again.

Maybe, if he was lucky, it would be easier this way. If he couldn't feel anything, then he couldn't be hurt.

Uncle's steps receded down the corridor, growing softer and more distant until Zuko was left alone in silence. Letting out a long, slow breath, he leaned forward and dropped his head into his hands.

He was tired, almost crushingly so, but the thought of lying down and trying to rest left him sick to his stomach. Zuko couldn't sleep now. The life he had known for three years was running out. Within a few hours, there would be nothing left. He could no more keep the time from slipping through his fingers than he could hold the pieces of his life together and keep them from crumbling, but at least he could watch it go. At least he could get a few more glimpses of the life he knew before it disappeared.

Not that there was much left to see. The crew had already gone, taking as many supplies and possessions as they could carry. Even the komodo rhinos were bound for Zhao's ship by now. Zuko had looked outside long enough to watch Jasmine charge at Zhao and chase him halfway down the dock, but even that couldn't force a smile out of him. Everything just kept vanishing around him.

Everything except the ship, apparently. Zhao was leaving that behind. Battered and days away from sinking, but Zhao was leaving the ship and telling everyone that it was a mercy, a kindness. Zuko wasn't stupid enough to believe that. Zhao was trying to take Uncle away too. If Zhao got his way, Zuko would be left with nothing but an empty husk of a ship that he could neither sail nor afford to repair.

And the Avatar. Zhao was leaving her too.

Some deep, buried part of him—a part he couldn't seem to reach anymore, almost thought it was funny. Of all the things Zhao could have left behind, he'd chosen her. The most powerful person in the world. One of the two, at least. The very person their whole nation had been searching for over the last century.

Did that even matter anymore? She wouldn't be enough to change Father's mind. Zuko would still need the monk. And even if he could capture the boy, Zuko didn't have the means to travel on his own, much less with two prisoners.

And if Zuko couldn't take the Avatar home, what did it matter who she was? When everything else was lost, when he didn't have a way to fulfill his mission, she wouldn't be the Avatar to him anymore. She'd just be—a girl. One who fought with him, who hated him for all the things he'd done wrong. One who asked too many difficult questions and filled his head up with treasonous doubts. One who was almost too much trouble sometimes.

One who he still couldn't bring himself to hate. One who had the strangest way of making sense with nothing more than questions.

One who he still felt compelled to protect.

There was a small pang in the center of his chest. So he could feel something after all. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing.

It wasn't about her, he reminded himself. Zuko protected the girl because whatever else she may have been, she was his responsibility as long as she remained on his ship. That was where the feeling was coming from. That was why his heart had begun racing at the first sign of Zhao's anger at her, why it hadn't subsided for far too long after she was safe in her cell again.

That and her questions, he supposed. He still couldn't bear to examine them too closely. Too many of them struck too deep, too close to sore spots he'd been hiding for years.

How did she do that, anyway? How did she always seem to find his weaknesses, tear away all his defenses, and then just—leave them? Never striking the final blow, never going out of her way to watch him break. She could have done it. She could have taken all his vulnerabilities and cut him apart at the seams, but she hadn't tried. She didn't even seem like she wanted to.

Was that why he'd felt compelled to see her after he let the monk escape? Did some part of him want his defenses torn away?

No, that wasn't it. Not all of it, anyway. He'd wanted to hate her. He'd expected her to find his weak spots and then keep digging, ripping into old wounds just enough to leave him aching and angry. Just enough that he might be able to bury his softness, his cowardice, under a shell of rage. Just enough to get back to his mission.

But instead—instead, she'd asked questions. She'd been angry and relentless and honest. And it hurt, but not the way he expected. Confusion had moved in where he'd hoped for anger, and Zuko's softness, his weakness had only grown.

Still hunched over, Zuko rubbed his forehead with the heels of both hands. Why? Why had she left so many easy targets untouched? His scar especially. It was so close, so obvious. That could have been enough. If she'd just nudged at that particular sore spot, maybe he would have been angry enough to stop caring whether he caused harm.

But she hadn't, and Zuko was getting softer by the day, and now it didn't even matter. She wasn't the Avatar to him anymore. Just a girl. Just Katara. And Zuko was about to lose everything anyway.

What was he going to do when he did? What could he do? If Zhao got his way and Uncle didn't come back, then Zuko would have to scrape out a life from what little he had left. Without a crew, the ship would be worthless to him, which meant that repairs would be useless. Between that money, any valuables he could find left on board, and selling the ship for scrap, he could survive a while. Probably. If there was anywhere left for him to go. Money didn't mean much if he wasn't welcome anywhere in the world.

The skiff had still been operational the last time he checked. Maybe that would have to do. It would be shelter, he could still keep moving—except that the skiff needed two operators. If Uncle didn't come back, Zuko wasn't convinced that he'd ever find another person willing to travel with him. Even hiring a crew of one would be a strain without Uncle's help, and the skiff was too small to hold provisions for long voyages, too small to withstand storms at sea, and too small to even think of holding a prisoner.

He could ask Katara, he supposed. Regardless of what Uncle decided to do, she'd still be here. She could be the extra pair of hands he needed to keep the skiff moving. But even Zuko wasn't stupid enough to believe that she'd ever agree to that. Even if he had something to offer, even if he hadn't held her prisoner for weeks on end, she'd far sooner freeze him to the ground than travel with him.

Zuko rubbed his forehead again, trying to massage away the beginnings of a headache. Uncle had to come back. Even if it was just for a few minutes, just enough to leave Zuko with a few scraps of advice. On his own, Zuko was entirely lost.

He sat still like that, hunched over, head still resting in his hands for a few minutes longer, and listened to the muffled sounds of the sea and the docks. Listening for Uncle, mostly. Nothing else could make a difference to him. There were faint, lapping waves, and an annoyed-sounding seabird, and distant scraping, scuffling sounds of people working on the docks.

Frankly, Zuko didn't care what they were up to. Until Uncle came back, or until evening fell and brought something resembling confirmation that Uncle wasn't coming back, none of the noise had anything to do with him.

But the scraping and shuffling sounds seemed to come closer. Just off the end of the ramp, he guessed, but the noise wasn't any louder than before. It wasn't that he cared. It wasn't like anything happening outside his cabin mattered to him. But if the noise was closer than before and yet no louder, then it had to mean that someone was trying to be quiet. And that didn't make sense.

Zuko wasn't curious about it, not really. He barely had the energy or the interest to think about the noise, much less investigate it, but it just kept going. And then something thumped the side of the ship, and everything dropped away for an extended moment before the shuffling started back up. Just like someone outside was afraid of being caught in the midst of whatever they were doing.

Zuko didn't care to investigate, but he found himself pushing up off the edge of his bunk anyway and creeping toward the door. The noise was definitely coming from the docks, and as he came closer, he thought he could make out disjointed whispers over all the rustling. He edged down the hall, keeping as close to the wall as he could. As the sounds grew more distinct, Zuko's mind drew clearer pictures of the activity he couldn't see. Sneaking. Moving things. Furtive whispers between every movement.

Then there was the creaking, cracking sound of a barrel or a chest being opened, and a few moments later, the scent reached him. Harsh and bitter. Sulfuric.

Eyes wide, Zuko edged back the way he'd come. He couldn't be numb anymore. There wasn't time for that.


Katara could escape with the shackles dangling from one wrist. She could. It wouldn't even be hard, and she was proving it right now. The uppermost hinge was already cut through, and the bottom was only a sliver away. The middle still needed work, but she was close, so close, and the ship was quiet. Well, mostly quiet. Quiet except for her water zinging against the steel of the hinges, the chains hanging from her right wrist rattling, and the muffled sounds of activity on the docks outside. This was her chance. She'd changed back into the Earth Kingdom outfit in order to better blend in once she broke free of the cell, and she was working as fast as she could to bring down the door.

If everything was as quiet as it sounded, she might be able to do this. She might be able to escape, to run to safety in the village. She could find someone to get the chains off her wrist, then take refuge with a nice Earth Kingdom family until the boys found her. Or she could hide somewhere outside of town to stay out of the Fire Nation's sight.

Zhao was here, after all. And Zuko too. But Zuko was a considerably less crazy kind of firebender. One who would at least stop to think before burning down a village in search of a fugitive. Zhao would have no such qualms.

She didn't hear the door at the top of the stairs open. She was too busy focusing on her tendril of water slicing back and forth across the hinge to pay any attention to the noise outside the cell. It was loud work trying to cut through steel, especially with shackles hanging from one of her wrists, but she could do it.

"Katara?"

Her name sounded foreign in Zuko's voice, and she gave a small shriek, lost control of her water, and the shackles kept swinging in spite of her sudden halt, smacking her in the nose.

"Ow." She held her nose and blinked a few times until the stars cleared from her vision. "What? What do you want now?"

Zuko stared at her. "You're still wearing the shackles?"

"Yeah, I am. It's a little hard to stop when a certain idiot prince won't take them off." She scrunched her face a few times until the stinging around her nose subsided. "What do you want?"

And why was he using her name now? It wasn't like that was exactly new information for him. He'd known her name for ages now.

"Do you smell that?"

Katara gaped. He was the one who'd told her to change into her unwashed clothes. She couldn't help it that her dirty clothes were still lying across the bunk. She was planning to take them with her, but she couldn't help it if they smelled less than fresh.

"I don't smell, Zuko. That's just the dirty clothes that you brought back here!"

"Not you." His voice dropped lower, and his eyes were wide, like he was startled or even—scared? "Do you recognize that smell? From outside."

He sounded serious. The last thing she wanted was to humor him, but now that he mentioned it, there was something harsh on the air. It reminded her of Jet. Of the dam he'd blown up, and—

"Blasting jelly," she said under her breath.

Zuko nodded. "Out on the docks. I think they're moving some of it on board too." He fumbled until he managed to produce a ring of keys from his pocket. "There isn't much time. We have to get out."

We? He was going to let her out?

Sure enough, he found the key for the cell started for the lock.

Katara thrust her arm through the bars. "The shackles," she said in what she hoped sounded like an order. "Get these shackles off of me now."

Zuko glanced up at her for a second, mouth opened as if to argue, then apparently decided against it and motioned her closer. A quick twist, and the shackles fell to the floor with a clatter and a thump.

She watched in disbelief as he fumbled for the right key again and made for the lock on the door. He couldn't be serious about this, could he? It had to be a trap. A trick of some kind—maybe he'd spotted Aang and Sokka and was hoping that bringing her out into the open air would lure them in. Maybe he thought that he could win this once and for all.

But the ship was damaged and in need of fuel. If he was trying to capture Aang, they wouldn't be able to get very far. And Zhao was nearby. She'd seen how much the admiral hated Zuko. Even if Zhao wasn't looking for Aang anymore, he'd happily steal away Zuko's victory. And the ship had been quiet and Katara left alone for—what was it, an hour? More? Zuko wouldn't leave her unguarded for that long if everything was going well. And the smell of blasting jelly was becoming more distinct the longer she thought about it.

No, this couldn't be a trick. There were too many moving parts, too many things that seemed wrong. Zuko's traps were simpler than this. Not that she trusted him. Not that she believed he had good intentions. But this wasn't one of Zuko's traps. It felt too big for that.

The key turned in the lock, but the door wouldn't open. With a grunt of frustration, Zuko shook the door. "What's wrong with this thing?"

Katara's mouth pulled to the side, and she looked somewhere vaguely over his shoulder. "I—I don't know. Maybe the hinges are broken or something."

Zuko's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "What did you do?"

"You really think I didn't have an escape plan? How stupid do you think I am?" she shot back in a whisper.

He shook his head. "Unbelievable." Leaning to the side, he pressed his face as far through the bars as he could and strained to get a better look. With a huff, he pulled back, shaking his head like the hinges were a lost cause.

They ought to be a lost cause. She was less than an hour from breaking out on her own.

"Out of the way," Zuko hissed, motioning her to the side.

She looked to the left. It wasn't like there was much space for her to get out of the way. But things were weird enough anyway. She jumped onto the bunk and stood in the corner nearest the corridor. She caught an odd look from Zuko before he shook his head yet again and landed a ferocious kick on the lock mechanism. The jolt was enough to snap the last hinge, and the door fell inward, crashing to the floor with a clang.

"Hurry up." He extended a hand to her through the now-open doorway.

Katara didn't take it. She stared at him, at his hand, then hopped down from the bunk, bundled her Water Tribe clothes under her arm, and picked her way around the door. Nothing about this felt real. Zuko wouldn't let her out. And even if he was opening the cell, he certainly couldn't be planning to let her go. He probably wanted to take her somewhere else—maybe somewhere safe, maybe not. Maybe there was a new Fire Nation ship waiting in the harbor and he was just planning to move her there.

But he'd taken the shackles off of her. And the smell of the blasting jelly was unmistakable, and there still wasn't any sign that anyone else was even on the ship. This was all too weird to be one of Zuko's schemes. Then again, it seemed too weird to be anyone's scheme. Who on their right mind would load a ship up with blasting jelly when there was a prince on board?

Katara stepped out into the hall at last, and before she could speak, Zuko grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the far end of the corridor. Away from the staircase. Away from the fastest route into the daylight.

She jerked back, but her hand didn't quite escape from his. "Where are you trying to take me? That's not the way out."

Zuko turned back to her, his eyes still wide. Words spilled out in a rush. "Toward the crew's quarters. They're stacking blasting jelly all along the docks. We can't go that way, or—"

Or they'd walk right into the blasting jelly lining the docks. Or whoever was out there might see them trying to escape. Or they might walk straight into the blast.

"So—what, you're trying to get us off the ship the other way? Into the water?" she hissed, following as he dragged her along. "That's your plan? Get off the boat and swim?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

She didn't. She still wasn't sure what was going on. She was still half convinced that this was all a dream. How could she have a better plan?

She moved a little faster to keep up with his long stride, studying his face in profile. His usual scowl was missing. Without it, he was almost unrecognizable. He didn't look like an angry prince dead set on bringing her back to the Fire Nation. He didn't look like the same person who'd chased her and her friends halfway across the world. She'd seen glimpses of whoever he was underneath all of that before, but never quite like this. It had never lingered this long before.

"Why bother with me?" When he didn't answer, she yanked on his arm, forcing him to meet her gaze for a second. "You could be escaping on your own. Why did you come back for me?"

Zuko looked back, and the difference in his expression struck her even harder. He didn't look angry. Aside from a tendril of fear and uncertainty in his eyes, she wasn't couldn't identify any of the expressions flashing across his face.

"I—" He shook his head and pulled her even faster down the hall. "Don't ask me that. If I have to find an answer, we'll never get out of here in time."


"I think that's it." Sokka put the telescope down again.

There was nothing as far as he could see in any direction. No sign of Zuko's ship or any Fire Nation ship, not even a plume of smoke. And by now, they'd gone far enough north that they should have caught up. Even at its top speed, Sokka was almost certain that the ship couldn't have made it any farther than this.

He hoped so. Of course, if the ship had turned west toward the Fire Nation, that was a whole other problem, but for now, he couldn't consider that possibility. Zuko's ship had been moving slowly for days. That probably meant that it couldn't go any faster. They probably needed something—supplies, repair, fuel—and had to slow down even further or stop somewhere along the way.

That made sense. That was logical. And if Sokka was right, it ought to be easy to find out for sure. All they had to do was backtrack along the coast and keep looking for the ship.

Leaning over the front of the saddle, he grabbed Aang by the shoulder. "Turn back. We must have overshot it."

Aang nodded and pulled the reins to the side. As Appa cut a great, broad arc through the sky, Sokka watched the sea twist beneath them until they faced south again.

"We'll find her, Sokka, I know it."

Sokka nodded and hung over the edge, bringing the telescope back up to his eye. They had to find her. He couldn't lose his sister over a stupid mistake like this, not when they'd been so close on the trail for so long.

"Let's make it fast, okay? I've got a weird feeling about today."


After winding through half-lit corridors, between cabins with doors hanging ajar—many of them, she noticed, were smaller than the cell she'd been kept in—Zuko finally opened a door into the daylight.

Fresh air hit her lungs for the first time in weeks, and for just a moment, Katara slowed to savor it. She was still on a Fire Nation ship, but she was outside. The afternoon sunlight blinded her for a moment, but when her eyes adjusted again, she saw the tall, sweeping hills all around the harbor, the water glistening in the hollow between them, and all the way out to sea. And, more importantly, the empty deck before her.

There was no one. No one to stop her, no one who could try to slow her down. Zuko's hand was the only thing holding her back, and he wouldn't be able to hold her for long.

But before she could take the final step out into the daylight, there was a sharp, roaring, rumbling sound behind her.

Zuko yanked her by the hand and started to run, but the rumbling was coming too fast, joined by great booming, cracking sounds. She didn't dare to look back, but she could feel the heat already reaching her, and a brilliant orange glow lit up everything around her.

She couldn't tell how fast the world was moving, but everything felt too slow, including Katara. She didn't have to look back, she didn't have to think to know that the blasting jelly had ignited, that the explosion and the flames were coming nearer. She was too far from the railing, too far from the ocean. And although time itself seemed slower, she knew that she would never make it to safety before the ship was engulfed.

Zuko looked back, and for the briefest instant, her eyes locked with his. And for that instant, she could read the same realization in his eyes. Though they were both running as fast as their legs could carry them, the explosion was faster.

She felt him yank her hand again, but this time, Zuko didn't surge forward too. This time, he planted his feet, and the yank threw her forward, closer to the railing while he stayed rooted in place.

Katara lost her balance and fell to her hands and knees on the deck, and the steel was searing under her hands. There was no time to stand, no time to run, no time to even try to escape.

But somehow, the flames didn't reach her, and when she looked back over her shoulder, she saw Zuko braced up, throwing flames back at the explosion, wielding reddish fire like a shield in front of him.

He was holding back the flames. He was keeping them both from being swallowed.

The shield could only hold for so long, though. Once the explosion reached them, the steel of the deck tore itself into pieces, and Zuko's shield of flames shattered as his section of the deck launched upward. Katara felt herself flying, falling—something as the flames and the air whipped past her. In a blur of bright yellows and oranges fogged over by black smoke, she lost track of Zuko in the midst of the smoke and the debris. Bits of steel whizzed past her, and flames licked at her arms, but before she could feel any pain at all, she plunged into the waves, so cold that they sucked the air from her lungs.

She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move, and yet the flames roared overhead, and the blasts kept coming, showering pieces of steel down over the water, over her, and one of them was bound to hit her sooner or later—and then she saw a dark figure below her in the water, drifting slowly downward.

Zuko.


"It's a once in a lifetime opportunity, General Iroh. This is the best chance the Fire Nation has ever had to bring the Northern Water Tribe to its knees." Zhao folded his hands behind his back. "Your presence alone would be invaluable. Your expertise in siege warfare is unparalleled, and—"

"My expertise has faded over the years, Admiral. I am not convinced that there was ever anything remarkable about it in the first place."

"You are too modest."

"I am practical. The Northern Water Tribe is nothing like Ba Sing Se." Iroh kept his gaze fixed straight ahead as they walked. "And I fear that my nephew's crew will prove more of a hindrance than an asset to you."

"They're more than capable. I've seen them work before." Zhao, predictably, tried flattery again. "And with your presence alone, their morale would be higher than it has ever been on that pathetic little tub."

Iroh was beginning to understand why his brother had approved so many promotions for Zhao in such a short time. That was precisely the sort of talk that could reduce Ozai's spine to butter and blind him to his subordinates' ambitions. Iroh had been away from the Fire Nation for too long to know Zhao's exact motives, but the maneuvering was unmistakable.

"You would leave Prince Zuko without resources or support." Iroh shot a look at the admiral. "I will not. My duty now lies with my nephew."

Zhao's infamous temper flared in his eyes for just an instant before he smothered it. It was truly remarkable how much more restraint the admiral possessed with his elders and superiors than with anyone else. Young Avatar Katara did have an astoundingly clear idea of what sort of man Zhao was. 'A grown man who thinks threatening children makes him powerful.'

Were it not for the fact that the Fire Nation was so dangerous for the girl, Iroh would have very much liked to hear her opinion of Ozai. That sort of clarity could be nothing but beneficial to both Prince Zuko and to Iroh himself.

"I'm sorry to hear it, General," Zhao said, his tone a mockery of true remorse. "The glory when we take the North Pole at last will be a sight for the ages. There will be stories of this victory for decades to come."

"With respect, I believe I have had a place in far too many pages of history already."

Zhao started to say something in reply, but his words were drowned out by a blast so loud, so enormous and rattling that it shook the ground. Iroh turned back toward the harbor, and his eyes widened at the thick, billowing clouds of smoke and fire over the roofs of the village.

He didn't have to see the debris raining down to know that the explosion had come from one of the ships. He didn't have to see the shattered segment of the dock to know which ship it had been. And he didn't have to see the hint of a smirk on Zhao's face to know exactly who was responsible.

None of that mattered now.

Iroh began to run. He couldn't remember the last time he'd sprinted like this. It didn't occur to him that he was in less-than-ideal condition for running even after he was puffing like an engine and only a few strides from where he'd started. His nephew was in there somewhere. If there was even a chance that Zuko had survived, even the smallest chance that Iroh could still pull him from the wreckage, he had to try. He had to get there as fast as possible.

When Iroh finally reached the harbor again, out of breath and shaking, there was almost nothing left. The docks lay in splinters, and scraps of the hull stood up from the waves, still burning and letting off clouds of putrid black smoke. That didn't stop Iroh. He was waist-deep in the sea before Zhao caught up and grabbed him by the shoulder.

"General, stop. There's no use."

There had to be hope. He could not lose another child like this.

But the rubble was sinking before his very eyes, and Iroh knew that there was no way anyone could have survived such a blast without warning. If Zuko had seen the warning signs and made his escape, there could have been a chance, but the state he'd been in when Iroh left—stripped of all hope, of all stability, knowing that his father did not want him and that Zhao was doing his best to take away everything else—Iroh couldn't be certain that he would have tried.

There were no signs of life. No safe corner that might have sheltered Zuko from the blast. Nothing to indicate that he might have escaped.

"He was alone," was all Iroh could manage to choke out.

Zuko had been alone, a child already in pain, and now he was gone with no one to guide him into his next life.

Just like his cousin before him. The second son Iroh had failed to save.

"I don't know about that," Zhao said in what he might have intended as a comforting tone. "That waterbender was still on board, wasn't she?"

A fresh pain hit Iroh in the middle of the chest, and he had to look away from the wreckage. She had been. Not one child's bright, shining future snuffed out. Two of them.

Two children both gone in an instant.


Author's Note:

I... uh...

I'll see you next week!