Within fifteen minutes after leaving Hakoda's house, Zuko was lost.

He had run out the door after Katara, calling for her. She had not been there. Zuko had been so desperate to find her that he had not paid attention to where he was going. Hakoda's house was right on the edge of town; Zuko had unthinkingly gone toward the empty wastes beyond. Now as he stopped to rest, bracing his hands on his knees and panting in exhaustion, Zuko realized he had no idea where he was. He had completely lost Katara—he could not see any sign of her anywhere, not even her footprints. Worse than that, he had lost the town as well.

He straightened up, turning to look around him. Featureless snow hills surrounded him in all directions, low white-covered rises that all looked exactly the same. The cold in the air was chewing at him, and he was already tired from the hunt earlier; he was shivering. He had left the parka Hakoda had given him hanging in the entryway; he was only dressed in his thin Fire Nation clothing. I can't find Katara, and I can't stay out here any longer. How was he ever going to get back?

Even assuming they will take me back…

He pushed that thought roughly out of his head. It doesn't matter. I can't think of that right now. If…if Hakoda won't let me back in…I'll go back to my cabin in the ship. Just the thought of Hakoda standing in the entryway of his igloo and denying Zuko entrance was enough to make him tremble, but he pushed the image down. He had to get out of the cold.

He drew a breath, running through one of Iroh's meditation exercises. Focus. Center yourself. Don't panic, he told himself roughly. Think. He turned his eyes to the trail he had left behind him as he had crunched through the deep snow. You can follow your own footsteps back. Move. He gave himself a rough mental shake and began to retrace his tracks, one step to the next, always looking ahead in hopes of seeing the round snow houses of the Water Tribe reappear.

He had been walking for only a few moments when the tentative snowflakes that had been softly drifting down began to fall more heavily. The wind was picking up, whipping his new topknot about his head, lashing his shoulders and the back of his neck with the end of his ponytail. Zuko pressed on grimly, as the snow came thicker and thicker, hoping to walk out of it; the wind drove the flakes into his face, choking him and stinging his eyes. I have to keep going. The trail he had made was filling up before his eyes, the deep footprints being leveled out to minor depressions in the surface before him. As the snowfall grew heavier, his line of sight closed in, to fifty feet, then ten, then five; it was as if a curtain of snow was being drawn around him, closer and closer, caging him in. He couldn't believe how fast this flurry had come up. Snow caked thickly on his garments, melting through his clothing.

His foot caught in something and he almost fell, regaining his balance at the last moment; he stumbled to a standstill, and realized that if he extended his arm to its full length and held out his hand, he literally could not see his hand in front of his face. It was lost behind a whirling wall of white. He was never going to find his way back to the village through this.

Lost. He was lost in a blinding blizzard that for all he knew could last for days, in the bitter cold, far from Hakoda's village, and the trail that was his only means of finding his way back was being destroyed as he watched. The cold was unbelievable. He had no food, no water, no shelter, no warm clothing, no fuel, and he was already weakened physically and mentally from the strains of the day; raising his internal temperature would only deplete his energy further and hasten the inevitable end. Anyone who was looking for him would have to make it through this blizzard, and he couldn't imagine Hakoda would want to send people out to find him after what he had said earlier.

At that point, Zuko did something he had almost never done in his life: He gave up. He had hit a sensation of dead stop, of total paralysis; through the fatigue and despair clouding his mind, all he could think was that he had screwed up again and this time it would kill him. It was not even possible for him to consider alternatives; in his exhausted mind there were none, or if there were, he was not familiar enough with the environment to know what they were. After the whale hunt, after the argument and the confrontation earlier, he had no resources left to deal with this unfamiliar situation. As if in a dream, he sat down where he was, drew his legs up in front of him, wrapped his arms around himself and laid his head on his knees. He heated himself to a comfortable level, thought of Katara, and waited for the end.

He was still waiting ten minutes later, when the flurry died away to nothing and Hakoda came crunching over the snow dunes, carrying a heavy tiger-sealskin cloak over his shoulder.

Zuko heard him coming, but couldn't make himself look up; he sat there, staring at the ground between his feet. He was covered with snow, and it was melting; his hair was soaked and dripping into his eyes, and there was a bare patch of rock cleared from the snow around him. He listened to Hakoda's footsteps come closer and closer, until they halted right before him; he could see the Water Tribe man's fur-trimmed mukluks. The sun was out; it glittered off the fresh snow surface.

"Zuko."

It was a command, and Zuko dared not disobey. Slowly, trembling, he raised his scarred face to the Water Tribe man who stood looking down on him, towering over him. Again, he saw that Katara's father was as tall as his own father had been, and as massively built; with the sun behind him, Hakoda's face was thrown into shadow and for a confused, fearful moment Zuko could not remember whether it was Hakoda or Ozai before him. He felt like a tiny mouse cowering between the paws of a cave lion, and could not keep himself from flinching.

"Here."

Instead of lashing out at him with a blast of flame, Hakoda tossed him the cloak he was carrying over his shoulder. Zuko shied away instinctively instead of trying to catch it and it landed on his head, burying him beneath swaths of fur. He clumsily freed himself from its encumbering folds, pulling it around him as best he could. It was thick and warm, the fur luxuriant. His hands were stiff and sore and he could not work the unfamiliar bone clasp; he fumbled at it uselessly.

Hakoda saw that, and knelt beside him in the snow. Zuko tried to pull away, but all the other man did was fasten the cloak around him. Hakoda's face was utterly expressionless as he did this; Zuko watched him distrustfully. The older man pulled the cloak into place, then stood up. He gazed down at the young prince for a moment, then gave a tiny sigh.

"Come with me." He held out his hand. After a moment, Zuko took it and let himself be pulled to his feet. Hakoda turned and started off toward one of the featureless snow hills; Zuko gulped, then followed him. What choice did he have?

The walk back to town was largely a silent one. Katara's father strode ahead, his steps sure and determined; Zuko trailed at his heels like a cold and miserable shadow. The Water Tribe man glanced back once or twice to make sure he was still following; other than that, he said little, and Zuko was not inclined to try and make conversation. The sound of their footsteps were loud in the silent air.

Once Hakoda diverted toward a small, strangely-shaped pile of snow.

"If you get lost out here again, look for these stones." Hakoda brushed at the snow; it fell away to reveal a cairn of crudely-shaped rocks underneath, about shoulder high. "See the crosspiece here: the larger end points toward the village."

"I see." Zuko swallowed again. "Sir, about—about what I said—"

Hakoda waved him to silence. He started off again, and Zuko followed.

A short time later, Zuko saw the walls of the village come into sight, and the familiar low outline of Hakoda's igloo; he had not been that far from shelter after all, if only he had known how to find his way back. A few other Water Tribe men and women were out about their business, clearing the snow from their yards and igloos; Hakoda nodded to them and received nods back. He nudged Zuko, who bowed his head and mumbled a few words of greeting; the men and women nodded back to him also.

The front room was empty when Hakoda led him through the long entryway, and Zuko was wretchedly glad; he didn't want to see anyone else right then. Hakoda gestured him to stay put. "Wait here," he said, and then passed through the low arch to the kitchen. Zuko waited apprehensively as he heard Hakoda moving things around in the other room; he wondered when the Water Tribe man was going to let him have it. At least I have a chance to warm up again…. He wrapped his arms around himself, drawing the seal cloak tight, trying not to think about anything.

After a moment, Hakoda came back, carrying a small lidded bucket in one hand; in the other, he had a leather flask similar to the one Bato had given him after he had been pulled out of the ocean. He handed the flask to Zuko, then motioned him to follow. Zuko paused to take a swallow of the steaming, bitter liquid, marshalling his resources, and then did so. His heart felt like lead.

Hakoda led him outside and around to the back; the igloo and all the boats back there had been covered with a thick layer of snow. He set the bucket down, and Zuko stepped back uneasily, but Hakoda only took off the lid; the bucket was full of what looked like seal fat. Zuko looked uncertainly at the Water Tribe man.

"The boats need to be greased and then put on top of the igloo," Hakoda explained. "Help me."

"Yes, sir."

Working together, first they brushed the snow from the line of boats. Hakoda pulled the first one down from the wall, a round coracle, and turned it upside down; he showed Zuko silently how to undo the special knots that held it tied to the frame in place. As they knelt side-by-side to apply the seal fat, working it into the hide with split lengths of bone, Hakoda said, "I owe you an apology."

"Wh—what?"

Startled, Zuko raised his head. Katara's father glanced at him, those blue eyes still distant; his expression was unreadable. Zuko was baffled. "I don't understand."

"I spoke to Bato and to Sokka," Hakoda told him, "about what happened out there."

"Out—you mean on the—"

"I made a serious error in judgement," Hakoda continued. "Among our people, the skills and knowledge necessary for the whale hunt are acquired by every Water Tribe man simply as a matter of course. There is not a boy born to our tribe who has not begun hearing about the great whale hunts by the time he can speak—who has not begun learning how to hunt by the time he can walk. I did not fully understand how little you knew." He faced Zuko solemnly. "I had no idea how unprepared you were for the hunt. If I had known, I would never have asked you to participate. However, that is not an excuse. It is the responsibility of the chief to look after the safety of all his hunters, and I should have made sure you were fully competent before you came anywhere near the ocean. It was an unforgiveable lapse on my part."

Zuko can't. His shoulders tightened. "I wanted to go on the hunt. Sir."

"I remember." Hakoda paused. "Nevertheless, I did you wrong, and placed you in a situation I had no right to. I can only offer my most profound apologies." He put his hands together and offered a small bow.

Zuko stared at him, taken aback. This was so far away from anything he had been expecting to hear that he was at a loss to deal with it. After a moment, he returned the bow, fumbling, "Thank you. I mean—I accept."

Hakoda only nodded. He bent over the boat again, smoothing the grease into the hide shell. Zuko imitated him. After a silence, the Water Tribe man spoke again. "To be honest, since Bato told me about the hunt, I have been curious as to why you agreed to go along."

Why, indeed. Zuko was surprised at Hakoda's question as well; he had not thought the Water Tribe man would care. He gave a heavy sigh. "It was a stupid reason," he found himself saying.

"Oh?" Hakoda glanced at him sidelong, then returned his gaze to the skin of the coracle.

Zuko stared down at his hands. "I wanted….I wanted to make Katara proud of me," he heard himself saying. "I wanted her to have a husband who didn't shame her in the eyes of her people. Who could…could do the things a Water Tribe man is supposed to do." He paused. "I guess I screwed that one up, huh?" he added bitterly.

Hakoda said nothing, but to Zuko's amazement, some of the distance faded from his eyes, to be replaced by an unaccustomed warmth. He reached out and gave Zuko a brief squeeze on the shoulder.

"Perhaps not as badly as you think."

Somehow, that made him feel worse. He drew a breath, taking his courage in his hands. "Sir, I—"

Hakoda looked at him.

"I'm sorry," he managed in a rush. "I'm sorry about what I said earlier. I can't ask you to forgive me. I acted like a jerk and—" He paused, trying to come up with something to add, then gave up. Anything else he said would only soften it; best to let it stand as it was. "I'm sorry."

Hakoda studied him. "You were very frightened on the whale hunt today, I think."

After a moment, Zuko nodded. "Yeah." He hung his head.

The Water Tribe man turned back to the boat, but continued to speak. "In many ways," he said, "the whale hunt draws upon the qualities that best represent Water Tribe culture: strength of community in the bonds among the hunters, courage in the face of immense danger, willingness to risk one's own life for the good of one's people, the ability to think very quickly and to react in the face of a rapidly changing situation, and the ability to survive in an incredibly harsh environment."

Zuko was silent, keeping his eyes on his work. The length of bone he was using was somewhat cracked and splintered; he had to be careful that the end didn't snag on the boat.

"Whale hunts are crucial to our people," he heard the Water Tribe man say. His voice was calm, oddly gentle; it reminded Zuko vaguely of Iroh's voice. "There is little that grows here naturally; we do not even have the great elk yak runs as our cousins do at the North Pole. Most of our diet—in fact, most of our subsistence—comes from the sea. We are, after all, Water Tribe. Without the whale hunts, and the meat and blubber they provide, we could not survive. Though many hunters feel fear, they hunt anyway, because they must." He paused. "It is their duty."

"Yeah." Zuko bit his lip. "The Fire Nation doesn't have anything like that. We…." He trailed off, drawing a breath and glancing carefully at the other man. Hakoda put down his bone tool and listened patiently. "We're taught to believe that….that fire is the superior element," Zuko managed. Hakoda's expression did not change; he only listened. "We're taught that the sons and daughters of fire should rule and that people of the other elements are weak by comparison. I learned from watching Katara and Aang and Toph that that wasn't true," he said quickly, "but…."

Hakoda did not seem angry. "But?" he prompted.

"But I guess I didn't really realize just how wrong it was until today." He drew a breath, staring down at his hands. "I don't think any one of the Fire Nation nobility could have done what I saw Bato or Sokka or Sangok do out there today. I sure couldn't. My firebending couldn't help me at all—it was completely useless." I was completely useless.

The Water Tribe man regarded him some more. "As I said," he mentioned, "Water Tribe men face their fear of the hunt because they have to and it is their duty to their community." He paused. "You did not have to. The Water Tribe is not your community and you have no duty towards us. You did anyway, because you chose to—you wished to follow our traditions and to honor the woman who is to be your wife. That shows a great deal of courage and integrity, as well as respect for us as a people. I am proud of you for it."

Proud of me? Zuko's eyes jerked up to meet Hakoda's. He's not serious—he's just saying that. Why is he saying that? He searched Hakoda's face closely, looking for some sign as to what Hakoda might really mean. The Water Tribe man watched him patiently, but there was a look in his eyes that Zuko could never remember seeing in his own father's.

"Do….do you really mean that?" he asked unsteadily.

"I do."

Proud of me. Katara's dad is proud of me. Zuko slowly turned that thought over in his mind, tasting it. An unfamiliar, prickling sensation was spreading through him, something like the warmth of fire; he felt light, buoyant. His face felt strange; it took him a moment to realize he was actually grinning. It had been a long time. The last time he could remember smiling like that was when Katara had first told him she loved him.

"Th—thank you," he managed after a moment. "Sir. Thank you."

Hakoda offered a small smile back. "Let's get these boats taken care of."

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The two of them worked together on the line of boats; besides the coracle, there was a canoe, an umiak and two kayaks. "The umiak is my mother's; Katara's is disassembled and in pieces hanging from the ceiling in her room," Hakoda told Zuko. "The plain kayak is mine; the painted one is Pakku's. He brought it down with him all the way from the North Pole and he is quite proud of it even though he never uses it, so we will be careful with that one."

"Yes, sir," Zuko told Hakoda, and the Water Tribe man smiled again. "Where—where is Sokka's?" he asked, greatly daring.

"Sokka never finished his kayak," Hakoda said, and Zuko was surprised to see a twinkle in his eyes. "Technically he was supposed to get Katara to sew the skins for it. Getting Katara to do anything like that is, however, like pulling teeth….or at least it was before I left." He paused, and Zuko saw a shadow fall across his face; Zuko tensed, but Hakoda squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and continued. "Of course, it would have been difficult for Katara to finish sewing the skins for it when, from what my mother told me, Sokka never got around to catching all the seals he needed. So perhaps he cannot entirely blame her for it. Though I'm sure it doesn't stop him from trying."

Zuko just nodded, listening in quiet wonder to the easy, affectionate way Katara's father spoke of his two children. He had known other families were like this, but experiencing it was another thing entirely.

Together, they wrestled the boats up onto the igloo, one by one; Hakoda could lift them up with ease, but Zuko was not tall enough to reach comfortably, and had to strain to raise his end of the heavy umiak above his head. "Careful there," Hakoda chided, hearing his grunts. "Don't hurt yourself, lad."

"I can do it," he responded, somewhat breathless, and gave a heave, putting his aching shoulders into it.

Hakoda caught the other end, and maneuvered the boat into place. He clapped Zuko on the back again, and Zuko thought he saw respect in Hakoda's eyes. It felt very sweet. "Here," Hakoda said, gesturing him to the lashings that would secure the umiak in place. "The knots are a little complicated." Zuko watched as he threaded the leather cord in and out through rings on the umiak to ties set in the side of the building.

"Why does it have to be tied down so tightly?"

"So the winds don't catch the boat and blow it away," Hakoda explained. "You've noticed how strong they can be. Make sure it's even on your end."

"Right." Zuko tugged at the lines, evening them out where they looped from the ice ties frozen into the igloo up to the side of the umiak; he knotted it as tightly as he could. Hakoda looked over at his work.

"Not bad. Let's do the coracle next."

As they hoisted the coracle up onto the roof, Hakoda looked at him evaluatively. "I have been wondering," he said. "How is it, if you do not mind telling me, that my daughter caught the eye of the Fire Lord?"

Zuko almost dropped his side. "What?"

His eyes jerked up to Hakoda's face across the curving surface of the boat, but there was no disapproval there. If anything, Zuko almost thought he saw the same twinkle he had seen earlier in Hakoda's eyes.

"Katara is a fine young lady, to be sure—though perhaps as her father I'm a little biased," Hakoda admitted with a slight smile, "but I'm sure there are many fine young ladies of the Fire Nation as well. You have certainly demonstrated a deep devotion to my daughter, and I'm a little curious about it."

Zuko had no idea what his expression was; his mind was blank. What's he asking this for? What's the right answer? Hakoda studied him for a moment.

"If you would like me to mind my own business, just tell me," he said at last. "Katara would not hesitate to do so, and probably in less polite words than those."

Zuko bit his lip. He didn't know what to say; he had no words that could do justice to what was, hands-down, one of the best—if not the best—things that had ever happened to him. He couldn't even explain to himself how this had happened, so how could he….?

Hakoda was waiting for an answer, and Zuko knew he owed him one. After a moment, he drew a breath. "It….we….." He swallowed at a sudden rush of memory.

"It was when….we f-found out some news. About my mother."

It had been in the early days, shortly after they had joined Aang and his group—at Aang's request; the Avatar had approached Iroh to be his firebending teacher. Zuko had long since given up on the idea that capturing Aang would help by that time, but he had still hated the idea and been furious with Iroh for agreeing; it had not been until much later that he realized a big part of the reason he had hated it so much was because it had felt like Aang was trying to take his uncle away from him. He already has all those friends, and now he wants my uncle too? On top of everything else he's got? He had raged, shouted, and called Iroh every nasty name in the book, and none of it had done any good; Iroh had simply smiled and said, "Then it's agreed. We will join the Avatar."

"It was….right after we left Ba Sing Se—we were still in the Earth Kingdom."

They had left Ba Sing Se one step ahead of Azula, after the fiasco with that giant drill thing she had had; Aang had found Appa by that time, and they had flown away from the city under cover of darkness; then had tried to stick mostly to out of the way places, following the back roads, stopping only in small, nameless towns. Iroh had begun teaching Aang firebending right away, and Aang was incredibly quick to pick it up. Watching Aang drill with Iroh jerked Zuko back to his childhood, when he had watched Azula outclass him with ease; he felt the same helpless, frustrated anger. It didn't help that Aang and Iroh seemed to genuinely enjoy each other's company, either; the two of them drifted into the habit of playing a game of pai-sho every night after they made camp, despite Aang's frequent declarations that Iroh cheated "worse than Gyatso," whoever that had been.

In fact, Iroh had seemed to get along with most everyone in Aang's group. Zuko had been startled to find that he and that blind earthbending prodigy (who had reminded him even more of Azula in those early days; he had left her severely alone, and watched her with suspicion) already knew each other. The two of them often sipped tea together and conversed about the earthbending tournament circuits; Zuko, who knew little of earthbending and cared less, could never follow their conversation. Iroh listened with enthusiasm to Sokka's tales of hunting exploits, and he and Katara held long, involved conversations about the nature and philosophy of the different bending arts; the two of them even attempted to swap techniques, though Zuko had no idea how that might work. Zuko watched all this sullenly. Who cares. I don't need them. Any of them. Not—not even Uncle. I can do just fine by myself. He told himself he was angry; at least it kept him from feeling how miserable he was.

Sometimes they had tried to make overtures to him: Aang invited him to a pai-sho game (Zuko didn't play pai-sho, at least not well), or Toph, grinning nastily, would offer to spar with him (as if Zuko was stupid enough to take her up on that; he had learned about sparring with Azula when he was eight), or Sokka would (grudgingly) ask Zuko if he wanted to help check his traplines (Zuko knew nothing about hunting or traplines, whatever those might be.) He had rebuffed them all. He knew why they were making nice with him; it was because of Iroh and for no other reason. Only Katara had held back. She had never pushed, never intruded, simply treated him with a distant, gentle graciousness that disconcerted him at first—after all, it had not been so long ago that the two of them had been beating the crap out of each other up at the North Pole—but that after a time, he came to find vaguely soothing. The two of them often ended up being the ones doing most of the cooking, him with his firebending and her with her waterbending. After a while, Zuko realized that he was looking forward to mealtimes more than he cared to admit. It was strange; when they had been fighting all the time, he had never noticed that she could also be gentle….

"We stopped in this one trading post. One of my uncle's friends was there. He had some information for us."

It had been one of Iroh's pai-sho buddies, a member of that secret White Lotus society of his, a short little skinny bald man who looked like a ferret. Iroh and the rest of the group had approached him at that trading post because they were trying to find out information about a possible way into the Fire Nation through some of the underground movements; during the pretense of playing a game, Iroh had asked him for anything he knew about the political situation.

There, as everyone stood huddled around the table, screening the conversation from any prying ears, the man had divulged what he knew. In the course of talking about the current situation of the Fire Nation, some information was revealed about Ursa that Zuko had not known before. He heard for the first time what had really happened the night she had disappeared, the whole story behind his father's bid for the crown and his grandfather Azulon's death, and just how deeply his mother had been involved in what was going on. Things came out about his family that were very hard for him to hear. As Zuko had stood there, numbly listening to the man talk on and on in a cool unemotional tone about events that had burned themselves into his memory, it was as if he were ten again, surrounded by vast, threatening, terrifying forces that he only half-understood and could not control. It was worse because he was fully aware that all of Aang's friends were hearing everything he heard, and watching (or so he imagined) for his reaction.

When the man had finished, "She died a hero. I don't know where we'd be now, if not for what she'd done," matter-of-factly destroying in two sentences Zuko's secret, long-cherished dream that one day his mother would come back to him, it had felt as if his heart had been ripped out of his chest. He had slowly raised his eyes to see Aang and his friends, all staring at him with deep, solemn eyes. Iroh did not look surprised at all, he saw, only sympathetic. For a brief flash, Zuko had wondered why, and then realization struck him in the ribs like a war rhino's kick, leaving him gasping for breath.

"You knew," he had whispered. "You knew all along and you never…."

"No. But I suspected." Iroh had sounded so sad.

Later, after Iroh had explained, Zuko would reluctantly agree with the old firebender that he had done the right thing: Iroh had had no proof, nothing more than hunches and guesswork, and if Iroh had confided in him, he would have been asking a ten-year-old Zuko to believe terrible and frightening allegations about his own family with not a shred of evidence to back him up. But at that moment he knew none of those things; all he saw was that the one person he trusted in all the world had known that his mother was dead and had said nothing.

Now, Zuko swallowed, aware of Hakoda's eyes on him. "He—the man—told me how my mother died. I hadn't known. Hearing it was….rough."

That was an understatement. Zuko had stood there, staring at the Avatar's friends staring back at him and waiting for his reaction; at Iroh, who was looking at him with eyes filled with sad knowledge. As he had stood there, suddenly something had begun welling up inside Zuko's chest; he had no idea what it was, only that he could not be there anymore, could not. Every muscle in his body had felt stiff and trembling; rigidly, Zuko had swung around and headed for the door, walking very fast. He had heard Iroh and Aang both calling for him, but he had paid them no heed; he had flung himself out the door as if he were struggling up out of quicksand.

"Katara….she was there…."

He had thrown himself into the forest around the trading post with no idea where he was going, paying no attention to his surroundings; he had plunged through bushes, raspberry vines, over small saplings, clearing his way with blows and kicks and fire. He had no idea how long he'd been out there when he heard her behind him. "Zuko, wait!" It was Katara. She had followed him, and was coming up fast; later, he would learn that she had been using the plant-bending technique Hue had taught her to clear her way.

He had twisted his ankle on a stone, and while he could still walk on it, it was hurting badly; he could not escape her. She was moving faster through the undergrowth than he was anyway; he could not have outrun her even if he had been fit. So he wheeled on her instead, like a trapped animal being brought to bay.

"Go away!"

"Zuko—"

He had been desperate to drive her off, for he could feel that thing in his chest; it was growing stronger, a rush of heat that was rising up his throat, making him swallow; his face was flushed, his eyelids prickling, and he was horrified to realize that he was very close to tears. He snarled at her, furious—she must not see him weep.

"Leave me alone!"

She had not left him. Assuming a nonthreatening stance and speaking quickly, she said, "Zuko, my mom died when I was little. I know it's not the same, but I do know how you feel," and had fallen silent.

Zuko had stared at her, panting. She said nothing more, did nothing more, simply stood there, her blue tunic bright amid the greens and browns of the forest wall behind her, her waterbending skin at her side. He saw that she had uncorked it, but that fact had no meaning for him. Her eyes were filled with sympathy, he saw, and thought about throwing a fireburst at her; but as he drew in a breath to do that, his chest hitched, his breath caught in his throat, and he realized it was going to happen and that he could not stop it. Another breath, another, and he heard himself give a choked sob.

Katara had come and taken him in her arms. She had buried his scarred face against her shoulder, held him, and said nothing at all while he wept—huge, racking, painful cries that felt as if they were tearing their way out of his throat. Somehow they had lowered to forest floor and he was holding her so tightly that he must have been hurting her, but she had made no sound of complaint. She ran one hand down his injured ankle and he felt for the first time her healing ability, but he didn't know what it was and barely registered it anyway. It had felt like he was going to weep forever; he had wept until he hadn't even known why he was crying anymore—for his mother, for himself, for all the things he hadn't known and couldn't have stopped. When at last his tears had abated, he felt drained and empty inside. He could not look at her; he'd stared at the grass, pulling blades up by the roots and fiddling with them.

Katara had pushed him away gently and risen to her feet. "I'll go back first," she had said. "Then you. Take some time." She had turned and he had heard her footsteps retreating; raising his head to watch her go, he saw her hold out her hands and simply part the vegetation, bending it out of the way on either side of her to reveal a thin line through the forest. As she stepped onto the path, it closed up behind her, leaving him alone.

That had been all. She had said nothing about it to any of the others; some time later, after he had collected himself, gathered his courage, and returned to the trading post, while pausing at the threshold trying to get up his nerve to step inside, he overheard Aang saying, "Are you sure you couldn't find him, Katara?" and Katara's response, "I told you. I looked everywhere. He's probably off setting something on fire." She hadn't mentioned it to him either, until a few days later, when he had muttered awkwardly over a boiling pot of stew, "Thank you."

Katara had raised her head and regarded him appraisingly. "Next time," she had replied quietly, "come to me first." She had suddenly reached out and tugged at his hair; it had been long enough by then that he had begun pulling it back and tying it at the base of his neck to keep it out of the way. "Ponytail boy." He had never seen an expression quite like the smile she had given him then; despite everything, he had been startled into smiling back.

It was that smile, he sometimes thought, that had really been the beginning.

"She was there," he repeated lamely, and looked down at his hands.

Hakoda said nothing for a moment, but merely watched him; Zuko, glancing up at his pale blue eyes, had a sense that perhaps he guessed all that Zuko had not said. "Katara was always a very compassionate girl," he said finally. "She is….very much like her mother was in that respect. Neither of them could ever stand to see anyone hurting without trying to help them."

"I know." He nodded, pensive.

The Water Tribe man looked down at his soon-to-be son-in-law. "Her mother and I were very happy together." Hakoda's words were simple, but Zuko could hear the real depth of feeling behind them. "I'm sure that you and Katara will be just as happy."

"I hope so." Zuko bit his lip.

"You hope so?"

He shifted uneasily, feeling the words he had scarcely dared to admit to himself trembling in his throat. "This marriage…it scares me," he confessed in a rush, then winced, wondering if Hakoda would shout at him or demand to know what he thought he was doing, saying that about his daughter.

"Oh?" The Water Tribe man did not seem angry. "It scares you?" At Zuko's shamefaced nod, Hakoda smiled. "I think it is natural to be a little scared. After all, neither of you have ever been married before, and it's a big step. What scares you?" he asked.

Zuko hesitated, wondering in some part of his mind about the Water Tribe man's kindness—whether it was real, and why. He turned away from Hakoda, staring at the ice wall of the igloo, thinking the dismal thoughts that had been swirling around his head for the past few weeks. "What if….What if I can't make Katara happy? I've never been able to make anyone happy my whole life, why should it be any different with her?" He kicked at the snow a bit, not seeing Hakoda's thoughtful look. "What if it doesn't work out? What if she changes her mind, or what if she decides that she doesn't want to be with me anymore? What if I disappoint her? What if—"

"Perhaps you need to stop thinking so much of the 'what ifs,'" he heard Hakoda suggest gently, "and concentrate more on what you have now."

He gave a long, frustrated sigh. "That's what Uncle says. But it's easy for him to say. What does he have to deal with?" he said harshly. The snowy igloo glittered in the sunlight, the light shining directly into his eyes; he blinked and looked away. "I haven't even been confirmed as Fire Lord yet," he found himself admitting in a low voice. "They were going to do the coronation when we got back to the Fire Nation. Most of the fire nobility hate me anyway because I helped the Avatar to overthrow my father. And if they hate me….Katara…." He clenched his fists, staring into the face of the fear that had been haunting him for weeks. "What are we going to do if they don't accept me?" Or even if they do, he thought to himself grimly. Even if they did accept him, it would be tough going and he knew it. And for Katara….

He had been talking to himself; he was surprised to feel Hakoda's warm, comforting hand on his shoulder. Startled, he turned and looked up at the Water Tribe man.

"If they do not accept you as Fire Lord, then you will have to return to your home among your wife's people at the South Pole."

What…? Zuko searched his face closely, hardly daring to believe what he thought he had heard. "My—home?"

Hakoda nodded. "This is your home now."

"You…you mean that?"

"I do." Hakoda smiled. "To the Water Tribe, nothing is more important than family. And you are family now, son."

It was as if a tightly-tied knot had been buried in his chest, and now it suddenly loosed. A huge wave of relief washed over him; he felt himself relax in ways that he hadn't even realized he had been tense. He said 'home.' And Hakoda had called him son. That buoyant feeling was back, even stronger; he felt light-headed, giddy. He had to look down at his feet to be sure they were touching the ground. I have a place to go if the Fire Nation throws me out. I have people on my side. I have family. I'm not alone….not alone…

He could not speak, but Katara's father seemed to see some of his thoughts in his eyes; he reached out and gave Zuko a rough, one-armed embrace. "Come on, son," he said, repeating it. "The boats aren't going to store themselves."