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The Return

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A gazillion questions fought for dominance on Zuko's tongue. Where have you been? and How did you get here? fought equally with Have you eaten yet? and Do you want me to get you a drink? Here was the woman missing from his life, the woman who had abandoned him when he needed her most, leaving only an enigmatic whispered message in the hazy night to remember her by.

He stared silently at her, finally finding his voice.

"What… How…?" Zuko stuttered.

Ursa smilingly handed her makeshift club to a servant and smoothed her hands over her simple red and gold robes. Zuko regarded her warily. It was his mother, no doubt, unchanged but for a few sun lines on her face. And yet she seemed different somehow. Taller. Bigger.

Or perhaps it was he who had changed. Zuko had given up on finding Ursa so long ago that he had almost banished her from his dreams and nightmares entirely. And now here she stood, looking almost exactly as she had nearly nine years ago, like some specter from the past.

She stepped over her estranged husband's body, being none too careful about kicking him on the way over.

"I'm sorry I've been away so long, Zuko," she approached him and wrapped her arms around her grown son, now half a head taller than she. He smelled her perfume and was instantly filled with nostalgia, his mind flooding with unbidden memories of afternoons feeding turtleducks, nights of lullabies…

Something inside the young Fire Lord shattered. It didn't matter why she had left, or where she had gone to. His mother had come home.

"Mom…" he sobbed once, and clung tightly to her, letting his tears of joy and sadness flow freely down his face.

The wedding guests melted with an audible, "Aww."

When they broke apart, the ex-Fire Lady-cum-Fire Matron took in her surroundings. She looked about, smiling, and found the man she was looking for tottering toward her. Zuko was reluctant to let go of his mother's elbow, afraid that if he did, she might evaporate like a dream.

"Iroh," her eyes sparkled as she took the old general's calloused hands. "Thank you for watching over my son." She bowed low.

The old man kissed Zuko's mother's clasped hands reverently. "I did not know if the messenger hawks would find you in time for this day: we've been searching for you for a long time. I will have to order extra carrion as a reward for those magnificent birds."

"I don't understand...Mom, where have you been all this time?" Zuko managed numbly.

Ursa put a finger on his lips, a mischievous glint to her eye. "Shh. If I told you, it'd be non-canon."

"What?"

"Nothing. Let's just say I've been…traveling." She left it at that, and Zuko shook his head, trying to clear it of the haze that seemed cloud his mind any time someone said the word "canon."

Must be PTSD, he reasoned, shrugging the feeling away and hugging his mother once more for good measure.

Ursa beamed. Everyone did.

Except for Azula. She snorted and looked away in disgust, snatching up a martini and downing it, olives and all, in one long gulp.

"Momma's boy," she muttered, swiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Ursa pulled away from her son and turned her attention to her daughter.

"Azula," she stepped softly to her, and the princess glowered at her estranged mother. "My sweet little girl. Look at you… you…" she stopped. "Oh my. What on earth are you wearing?"

The princess snorted in disgust, not bothering to dignify that with an answer. Wasn't it obvious by now that something so horrifically fug-ugly could only be a bridesmaid's gown?

Ursa shook her head and smiled at her daughter. "You've grown so much."

"Can it, Mom." Azula snarled and stepped away from the woman's outstretched arms. "I know you're here for Zuzu. I don't need you, and I never did."

"Oh…sweety," Ursa's eyes softened, unshed tears makign them bright. "I love you so much. I didn't play favorites, you know, but you were always so strong, so fiercely independent. You didn't need me like Zuko did. You never seemed to want to. And now look at you," she reached out and caressed her daughter's cheek. Azula flinched, but could not pull away. "You made the right choice. You helped your brother defeat your father. You were loyal to your country and to your family, broken as it was."

"I did it for me," Azula muttered, though she didn't sound convinced by her own assertion.

The woman continued on, refusing to let her daughter push her away. "I love you, Azula. Your father knew it, tried to take you away from me, to make you more like him, but he didn't. He didn't…" Ursa gently wrapped her arms around the princess, who stiffened in her hold.

Azula looked distressed. "Mom, stop it… Mom…" she choked. "Stop it! Mom, please… please stop… let go of me… let go of me! I don't deserve…" the words died on her tongue and huge tears blackened with mascara overflowed from the princess's eyes. "Oh, Mom…"

And as though some horrible floodgate had opened within her, Azula began bawling like a little girl. Her mother hugged her tighter as the sobs shook the young woman who had always been bitter about the love and affection her big brother had received; love and affection she had never allowed herself to accept because she was "the strong one." Her father had always insisted she was the better of his two offspring, the one who would take the throne, and to ensure that legacy, he had turned her against the "weaker" half of the family. The half she yearned to be a part of, the half that had always been stronger than her because they were together, united by love…

Slowly, the venom of her early years slipped out of the princess through her long-held tears, soaking Ursa's simple but elegant robes.

All around, the wedding guests were moved, but distinctly uncomfortable with Azula's overloud lamenting for her poisoned, over-privileged childhood.

(Poor little misunderstood evil-bitch princess, they clucked in the sewing circles later that week. All she needed was a hug.)

After a while, Ursa held her daughter away and wiped her tears, kissing her sweetly on the forehead with promises of long mother-to-daughter talks later. The maid of honour's makeup was irrevocably ruined, her fugly dress entire unsalvageable now (thank the gods) but for once, Azula didn't seem to care how she looked. She smiled a disturbingly honest smile.

"Mom," Zuko said eagerly, touching Ursa's shoulder, "I want you to meet someone."

The Firebender drew the bride forward. "This is Katara of the Southern Water Tribe. My wife."

Katara stepped forward, feeling her entire body break into a cold sweat. She had faced Fire Nation invasion forces, angry mobs, giant unagi eels, twisting tunnels of doom, swamp monsters, and the mighty fury of the Avatar state, but nothing was as terrifying as meeting her mother-in-law, who Katara had assumed would not be a part of her life with Zuko at all.

Nuts.

Ursa tilted her head to one side, regarding her son's choice calmly. She smiled tightly as the girl awkwardly bowed at the waist to show her respect in Fire Nation tradition.

"Welcome to the family, Katara," she said a little wryly, and glanced down at her husband's body, "such as it is."

Ursa did not step forward to embrace her, her whole demeanor suddenly frigid as she looked over her son's wife. Katara took this non-gesture as evidence that she had yet to prove to this woman that she was good enough for her son. The Waterbender returned the tight smile and stepped silently back to Zuko's side.

Blissfully unaware of the underlying significance of his wife and mother's exchange, (Iroh felt that headache coming on again and chalked it up to the champagne), Zuko introduced the other members of the wedding party, and the key guests who were within sight. Most of the other partygoers had decided to head for the open bar, the drama of the night finally taking its toll on their nerves.

At that moment, Aang burst in, panic writ large over his face. "Guys! Ozai's on the loose and…oh." He spotted the ex-Fire Lord on the ground and deflated. "Never mind."

Zuko beckoned to the monk. "Mom, my best man, Avatar Aang."

Aang blinked owlishly. He looked at Zuko, then at Ursa, then at Azula's grinning face beneath the ruined makeup, then at Katara's thoughtful demureness, then at Zuko again. "Did I… miss something?"

It was only then that Ozai decided to return to the land of the conscious. He groaned and sat up. The congregation gasped and stepped back. The Avatar jumped, but held his ground, preparing for Aang & Co. vs. Ozai, II: the Royal Rumble.

But he didn't need to. Ursa removed herself from her son's protective grasp and stepped toward the ex-Fire Lord.

"Ozai," her voice was loud and cold, like a slap to the face. Ozai looked up at her and yelped in surprise.

"Ursa!" He sputtered, smoothing down his disheveled hair. "My…uh…wife! How I've…" he swallowed "…missed you."

"And I, you, my husband," Ursa said tersely, folding her arms over her chest, "So tell me, exactly, how it is my son ended up with that burn mark?"

Ozai dithered. "Well, it's a funny thing… you know kids, they get into everything, and Zuko wasn't looking where he was going…"

Outraged, Zuko could only splutter in indignation, but his mother stopped him.

"Don't you try to lie to me, Ozai. I know exactly what happened. And I know what happened the night after Lu Ten was killed, and about the conversation you had with Fire Lord Azulon." Her eyes flickered to Iroh.

Ozai paled. "You… knew?"

"Why else did you think I left?" Her frown deepened.

"You told me you were going out to get cigarettes," Ozai mumbled, "I thought it was kinda funny at the time, since you don't smoke…"

But Ursa was smoking now. Thin trails of dark grey vapour rose from her fists, and she snorted a very unladylike gout of flame through her flaring nostrils and clenched teeth.

Like mother, like son.

"Ozai, you have disgraced our family, scarred my son, wronged my daughter, committed treason against the Fire Nation, against your own brother, against the crown, and against the sacred memory of your own father and the generations before him!" She pointed a finger accusingly at the man kneeling before her. "To undo the damage you have done, to restore the honour our family has lost, I challenge you… AGNI KAI! AT SUNRISE!"

(Insert collective gasp here.)

Ozai went even paler. "No!"

But Ursa didn't wait for a response. She spun on her heel and was making her way out, chin held high, a slight smirk worming into her lips. Zuko, Azula, and Iroh watched her make her way to the bar, where she ordered a glass of champagne and proceeded to flirt with the pirates gathering around her.

"No! Please!" Ozai blithered again. His eyes were wide and wild, as if this were the worst thing that could happen to him.

Iroh snickered. "Ooh, you're in BIG trouble now, little brother."

The Fire siblings looked over at their uncle for an explanation, which he happily provided. "Ursa was a great Firebender, better than your father. She even gave me a run for my money," the old general sighed wistfully. "He forbade her to practice, though, because she kept defeating him in the sparring arena, embarrassing him in front of everyone. That was just a little before Zuko was born. I imagine all this time away from home has given her a chance to practice again."

The siblings gaped. They had no idea their mother was a Firebender. Iroh looked at Azula archly. "What? You didn't think you inherited your prodigious skills from your father, did you?"

"Zuko!" Ozai practically crawled to his son's side. "My son, my beautiful, powerful son…"

Zuko extracted his sleeve from his father's desperate clutch in disgust. "Ew, Dad, stop it!"

"You're the Fire Lord now—only you have the authority to revoke Ursa's challenge," he said quickly, his face plastered with a plastic simper. "Show your poor father some mercy…"

Zuko went still. "Mercy?" he whispered. He flushed with rage. "MERCY?"

"Wrong thing to say, Daddy," Azula had found another martini and was sipping it leisurely.

"I didn't execute you at the end of the war. I invited you to my wedding, only to have you ruin it by threatening to hurt my wife. I have shown you more mercy than you have ever shown anyone in your entire life!" There weren't enough words to describe Zuko's fury.

"My son—"

Zuko cut him off. "Shut up, Dad. You will face Ursa in Agni Kai, as she has decreed. You will be given the chance to reclaim your honour. That is as much mercy as I will dispense."

Ozai's smile vanished, his face twisting into a snarl more suited to his features. "Ungrateful boy. Obviously you have learned nothing about showing your father some respect!"

But instead of rising to the bait, Zuko turned coolly, confidently, gently taking his worried wife by the arm and caressing her cheek in reassurance. "You will fight, Ozai," he said simply, not looking at him. "It is not I who needs to learn the lessons of respect, but you." He took one step away from his father, back turned, before adding, over his shoulder, "You will learn respect. And suffering will be your teacher."

Iroh hooted. "Aw, SNAP!"

Zuko gestured grandly for the guards to "take him away!" A quickly deflating Ozai was ferried off by a dozen guards to be sequestered in some remote room in the palace to prepare for the Agni Kai he would inevitably lose to his estranged wife.

The young Fire Lord, standing with his beaming wife, inebriated sister, and proud uncle, felt lighter and taller and more complete than ever. He took a deep, cleansing breath in, held it, and relaxed. He gazed at his mother across the way, her presence as warm and reassuring as it had always been…even if she was being eyed by a group of salty seamen, rogue benders, and an eclectic audience of male admirers. After all, in a few short hours, she'd be a widow.

"Zuko?" Katara tugged on his sleeve, reminding him of where he was, why he was here, who she was. He smiled down at her and playfully kissed her on the tip of her nose.

"C'mon, Katara. I haven't had a dance with you yet." And he led her onto the dance floor.