Disclaimer: All rights belong to Nickelodeon, Bryan Konietzko, Michael Dante DiMartino, and all the men and women that created the A:TLA show, books, and comics. I take no credit, and I do not mean to break any copyright rules. This is simply a work of fiction made for enjoyment. No money is being made.

Rating: T for violence, character death, some implied scenes

Author's Note: Thanks for your patience! This is a Cleopatra/Julius Caesar/Mark Antony AU. I couldn't decide on any one adaption of their story to base my AU on so I did a bunch of research and ended up deciding to just write my own. In this, I consolidated Julius Caesar and Mark Antony into one person, which is Zuko's character, and obviously Katara is Cleopatra. I had to also change around a few other real people and their relationships to fit, as well as some historical events. If you want to know the real history, you can look it up yourself. If you're a history geek and know a lot about this particular time, my apologies.

The next chapter is mostly written already, but it probably won't be out until after my exams, which are in three weeks. It's a Mulan AU and it's probably my favorite chapter - and it's really long - like 40k+ words long.


48 BC - Egypt

The last thing Zuko wants is to spend another day in Pelusium.

The dry winds sweep through the city, a welcome respite from the heat had they been any cooler. Sand kicks up with each step, lodging tiny grains between his foot and the leather of his sandals, slowly grinding away at his skin. Around him, merchants and farmers haggle over prices in a language he doesn't understand. His side still aches from the wound he'd received fighting Pompey's men.

He hadn't even been able to kill the man himself. Pompey had gotten lucky and escaped to Amphipolis, where he'd been promptly executed by Ptolemy's men. It was a fitting end for Pompey, but now it leaves Zuko in the position of having to decide how he's going to repay the Egyptian ruler. That's not a conflict he wanted to entrench himself in. Zuko wanted to go back to Rome, to his luxurious private baths and not needing a translator for every little thing.

Instead he's stuck here, in the easternmost part of Egypt, waiting for his advisor's report on Ptolemy. Zuko wasn't particularly well-versed in Egyptian politics, not since leadership has undergone several changes in the past three years due to the death of the senior Ptolemy and the in-fighting of his children. He's been busy with his military campaigns.

That's the problem with monarchical control. Once the king dies, his children and distant relatives fight each other until they're all dead or one comes out on top. Zuko much prefers the Roman Senate. It's much more civilized.

Although, in light of the recent Pharsalus battle against Pompey, Zuko isn't so sure anymore. He has a feeling the Senate is turning against him, although he doesn't know why. Sure, he made some impulsive decisions and defied them; but he won more territory and riches for the Empire, so they can't truly be mad at him. But in case anyone gives him any more trouble on behalf of Rome, it wouldn't be a bad idea to have the power of Egypt behind him.

Zuko is just returning to the shade of his lodgings when his advisor runs up, his face red and his mouth pinched in a tight scowl. Marcus is a curious man, exceedingly intelligent and crafty but with terrible social skills. He's about as average looking of a Roman man as one can find, which is precisely why he's so valuable. No one remembers him. No one recognizes him. He's always just another face in the crowd.

But his ears are always attuned to what's going on around him and he has a penchant for knowing exactly what information is important to relay to Zuko.

"What does Ptolemy want?" Zuko demands, taking a seat out of the searing sun.

Marcus catches his breath and stands up straight, his hands clasped behind his back. "He wants your favor and support for his throne."

"He already has the throne. He's the firstborn son - there's no question of his legitimacy. What more does he want?"

"Yes." Marcus hesitates.

"And?" Zuko motions with a wave of his hand. "Go on."

"He may be the eldest son, but he's not the eldest child. There's a sister."

Zuko scowls. Of course there's a sister. The last thing he wants to think about are sisters. "So?"

"She ruled alongside her father, before he died. And she meant to rule alongside her brother, as well, until he drove her out of Alexandria."

Zuko taps his foot, indicating his impatience. He knows this will all be important, but Marcus doesn't have to drag it out all day.

"She's popular with the people," the man continues. "And she's known to be...dominant."

"So Ptolemy is afraid of his older sister starting a coup. What does he want me to do, lend him Roman troops for protection? Swear that I'll support him if she challenges?"

"Something along those lines. I'm sure he's open for negotiations."

"She's a woman with no throne, no parents, and no husband. What real threat could she possibly pose, even if the people are fond of her?" Zuko shakes his head. "There must be something else. Something more."

Marcus trades his weight from one foot to another, an uneasy air about him. Zuko knows this look all too well. His advisor gets it whenever there's information that he knows will ignite Zuko's temper and doesn't want to be the one to deliver it.

"Out with it!" he barks. "I don't pay you to sit around and look pretty."

"She's here," Marcus says.

"What?"

"Ptolemy's older sister. She's here in the city now. And...she wants an audience with you."

Zuko leans back, his mind racing. If Ptolemy catches wind that Zuko is meeting with his sister, and his feared threat to the throne, it could cause major issues. But if she isn't actually the threat to the throne, as Zuko suspects, then perhaps she can shed light on what really is going on.

And he already has a feeling about what she wants to request of him.

"I'll meet with her," Zuko says. "Bring her here tomorrow night."

His advisor presses his lips together. "She said she will only meet on her terms."

Zuko narrows his eyes. "And those are?"

"You'll meet her tonight, at her house. You'll go alone."

A power play. That, or she's delusional and still thinks she has the authority granted to her while her father was alive. Either way, she's obviously arrogant and prideful. The worst of the fatal flaws, according to some. Zuko knows all too well.

But he also knows exactly how to counter them.

"Alright," he says, keeping his voice light. "I'll meet with her tonight."

Marcus bows tightly. "I'll send a message."

"Wait," Zuko calls as he turns to leave. "I never did catch her name."

"Katara."

It's a name Zuko's never heard before, but somehow it's familiar - and not in a good way. He feels his muscles lock up instinctively.

His body's reaction terrifies him. He's worked hard to train himself in composure. He's learned how to stamp down fear, how to shut out apprehension and nervousness. He doesn't even fear going into war, no matter the odds, or walking the streets of a foreign city alone. Shadows don't cause him to jump.

But that name immobilizes him, reaching past all his carefully curated walls and defenses as if they are nothing of substance.

It's just a name, he tries to tell himself, letting out a deep breath and forcing his muscles to relax. She's just a woman.

But his heart still pounds in anticipation of their meeting.


As the sun begins to set overhead, bringing some blessed coolness to the dry air, Zuko follows the route Marcus had instructed him on. It leads through the city to a house on the opposite side of the market, right on the banks of the Nile River.

The house is more of a small palace with a cobblestone path lined with palm trees shading his body from the descending sun. There's a fountain off to one side, and a set of white marble statues on the other side. He pauses long enough to identify them as a trio of goddesses: Diana, Minerva, and Vesta.

No, he realizes after another his eyes skim over the armor of the middle goddess. Minerva isn't a goddess of war, and Bellona wouldn't wear Greek armor or carry a shield with the imprint of a gorgon head. They're Greek goddesses - Artemis, Athena, and Hestia.

He feels like there's some symbolism there that he doesn't have time to analyze. He's already lingered in her front gardens too long. He hurries back to the path and then slows his steps. He's the Emperor of Rome; who is she to make him hurry?

As he hears the steps leading up to the door, his heart begins to pound in his chest again. He had finally managed to calm himself down earlier, but now that fear is resurfacing. He recalls the story a senator told him once about a Roman general who had gone to the Augur to get a glimpse of his future. The Augur had foretold his death, and the general predictably did everything he could to avoid it. In the end, his actions just led him straight to his death.

That's how Zuko feels now, climbing up the Greek-style steps. He has this feeling deep in his heart that tells him he's making a huge mistake. If he turns around now, he might survive; but once he enters this palace, he's sealing his fate.

It's ridiculous. Zuko shoves the feeling away, though he can't quite calm himself. He doesn't like being on-edge during a negotiation, but it appears he has no choice.

Curse this Egyptian woman.

The heavy doors open up as he approaches them. The marble building seems to attract the cool evening air, and the temperature lowers blessedly. Zuko adjusts his toga and squares his shoulders before stepping. Were he meeting any other military official or royalty, he would have worn his uniform; but he doesn't think it's necessary to show off his strength here.

An Egyptian serving woman steps out of the shadows and approaches him, her arms held up as she drops down on one knee. "Your weapons, please," she requests.

Zuko hesitates, then shrugs and unstraps his sword belt. He'd only brought his gladius and a concealed knife, anyway; despite his body's visceral reaction to the woman's name, showing up armed to the teeth would have given off the wrong impression. He doesn't want her to know that she's already infecting him. That gives her power over him.

No woman has power over him.

The servant doesn't frisk him, and he doesn't reveal his hidden weapon. The folds of his toga conceal its shape. It's both an advantage and a problem - Zuko is sure many of the other Roman officials have discovered how easy it is to hide weapons. He shudders to think of what might happen if there was a fight in the Senate. It could get bloody very quickly.

Once the attendant has taken his sheathed gladius, she directs him down the hall to a room with an open door. She bows once more before disappearing into the shadows again.

Zuko isn't afraid of the dark, but he's not a fan of this palace, either. There are lit torches along the walls to provide light, but without the sun streaming in through the openings high up in the wall, the marble palace feels more like a mausoleum. He allows one shudder to run through him and then he steps confidently through the door.

He isn't sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't the sight that is now before his eyes. A long table set low to the ground is spread out with decadent dishes, many of which are familiar to him; bowls overflowing with fat purple grapes; thick, soft bread; and jugs of dark wines. Cushions arrayed around the table provide seating. The entire room is lit up brightly, and tapestries of both Greek and Egyptian origin hang from the walls, the flickering firelight making the gold threads dance.

On the opposite end of the room is a balcony overlooking the Nile. A woman's figure stands at the railing, looking like a shadow in the final glow of the setting sun. Although she must have heard him enter, she remains unmoving for a few long minutes. Zuko is starting to wonder if she expects him to speak first when she pushes away and enters the room.

She steps into the light, and once again he feels paralyzed, just as he did the first time he heard her name. He's positive that he's never seen her before, and yet there's something innately familiar about her. It's the same feeling he has when he looks in the mirror.

She clasps her arms behind her back and smiles warmly at him. Her brown skin is darker than most Mediterranean's, but not so dark as some Egyptians he's encountered. She has long, brown hair that's too wavy to ever pull off the typical Egyptian style, but she has lined her bright blue eyes with dark kohl. She's wearing a draped blue dress that accentuates her slim waist and curved hips, and she's paired it with gaudy jewelry: a thick golden necklace that's more akin to a collar, dangling pearl earrings, golden arm cuffs around her biceps, and thick rings with fat gemstones that dwarf her thin fingers.

It's a statement, he realizes. She may have been driven out of her home by her own family, but she's still well-funded.

Everything she's done so far has been to drive home a point: making him come to her, taking away his weapons, forcing him to wait. She's proving that she's the one in power, that she's in control of these negotiations.

She's clever, Zuko will admit. Without saying a word she's driven home her power and importance.

Then she speaks, and a chill runs down his spine. If his nightmares had a voice, it would be hers. The warmth in her tone and smile don't quite reach her icy eyes.

"Welcome, Emperor Zuko." She spreads out her arm. "I had my servants prepare a small dinner. I wasn't sure how long it's been since you've had a proper Roman meal."

She speaks perfect Latin with only a hint of an accent. It's not a Egyptian accent, though.

Greek, he reminds himself. The Ptolemys are Greek. And then he mentally kicks himself because there've been references to her heritage everywhere he's looked since he turns down the street leading to her house.

He forces a diplomatic smile on his face. "It's been a few weeks," he admits. "I appreciate the gesture."

"It must be lonely." She gracefully picks up her skirts and sits down on a set of cushions. He follows suit on the opposite side of the low table. "I imagine there aren't many people around here who are familiar with your customs and language."

"None, actually."

He watches as she reaches for a jug of wine, the lean muscles in her arms flexing as she reaches over and pours him a goblet. This isn't a woman who has let herself go soft. Zuko has seen plenty of fat senators and governors and kings. He can't respect a leader who lets himself binge on the luxuries of life without restraint. How can someone like that truly lead?

She pours herself wine, and he takes the opportunity to examine her face. She's young - much younger than he would have thought. If he had to guess, he'd put her around twenty years of age, give or take a year. Many of the senators look at him in disdain for his own youth, but he's fought in the legion since he was fifteen and he's been studying the art of politics and warfare for much longer. His victories and successes paved the way for him to become an Emperor by his mid-twenties. His youth is a favorite topic among his critics, and that, combined with his temper, is one reason why Pompey thought he could challenge him and win. Hopefully his quick defeat and gruesome demise will serve as a message to everyone else in Rome: Zuko isn't to be messed with. He isn't just some spoiled heir who had everything handed to him on a platter. He fought his way through countless battles, trekked through deserts and forests and crossed oceans in the name of the Roman Empire.

If anyone's had it made in life, it's Katara. Her father was the leader of Egypt and as the firstborn, she inherited a position at his side after her mother's death. When her father died, she retained her position until her brother managed to exile her. She's never had to fight for anything. All she had to do was exist.

But somehow, watching the care she takes with every action, even one as simple as pouring wine, he has the feeling that's not entirely true.

"It can be hard," she says, setting the jug down and turning her eyes back to him. "Being strangers in a foreign land. Completely at the mercy of others."

He doesn't take the bait he suspects she's dangling. "You don't seem to be at the mercy of anyone."

Her lips curl up slightly. "No," she admits. "And you don't, either. I heard about what my brother did for you."

Zuko can't help his scowl. "I didn't ask him to."

"Of course not. My brother is in desperate straits. He needs the support of someone like you." Katara raises her goblet, tilts it back and forth slightly to stir the liquid inside. "Question is, do you want to support him?"

She lifts the rim to her lips, taking her time. Zuko knows what she's doing. She's trying to distract him. She's a beautiful woman who has no doubt been able to seduce most men to her will. Perhaps that's how she has such luxurious lodgings after being exiled from her home. Zuko would even admit that he finds her attractive, but that chill in his bones hasn't faded. If anything, it's only gotten stronger, demanding attention.

This woman is dangerous. She's crafty, rich, and influential - a combination that means trouble for anyone in her way.

Zuko suddenly understands why Ptolemy is so desperate for his support. He's scared of his sister - and for good reason.

"I'm not inclined towards your brother for any particular reason," he answers, resting his hands in his lap and fixing her with a steady gaze that he hopes communicates the failure of her attempts to flirt. "Neither am I inclined towards you."

Either she's oblivious to his underlying message or she's not so easily dissuaded. He has a feeling it's the latter. She smiles widely and folds her ringed fingers together at the edge of the table.

"You should try the mussels," Katara suggests. "They're better when they're warm."

She offers the plate to him, and Zuko doesn't refuse. Katara seems to drop the subject of politics for the moment, instead telling him about how her servants acquired the Roman recipes and ingredients and which ones can be hard to find in Egypt. Her casual shatter allows his muscles to relax and his heart to return to a normal rate - her goal, no doubt, but at least Zuko is well aware of what she's doing.

His apprehension fades. He wonders why he was so terrified when he first heard her name or laid eyes on her. Yes, she's still someone he wouldn't turn his back on, but he's not some naive foot soldier, either. She deserves his respect, not his fear.

As they eat together, commiserating about Pelusium and sharing about the grandeur of Rome and Alexandria - their respective homes - Zuko has another strange epiphany about her. This - eating together, holding a casual conversation, each a little wary of the other but finding safe topics to discuss - feels familiar, as if it's something they've done before.

Zuko even allows himself a few sips of the wine - not wine, but mulsum, wine mixed with honey. It tastes as good as he remembers it and it takes the edge off his worries. Everything seems a little warmer - the light of the torches, Katara's eyes, and even the chill in his bones fades.

It's only after they've eaten through about half the food on the table that Katara reigns in her smile once again and Zuko knows the conversation is turning back to business. Still, he can't help but notice that she'd also let herself go a little.

"I didn't just call you here for an entertaining dinner," she says, leaning back. "I came to present my case."

"For why I should support you."

She nods. "Egypt has a fine army, as I'm sure you've noticed. We're wealthy from our fertile farmland along the Nile, and Alexandria is a major trade center. We've withstood many Roman advances, only given up small portions of our lands when mightier empires have crumbled before your armies."

It's true. Zuko has headed many armies in his life, and he knows when one has merit.

"I am also aware that you are experiencing difficulty with the Senate," she continues. "Pelusium is the last place you'd find a willing Roman emperor, and that business with Pompey was nothing short of illuminating. You need a victory."

Zuko's temper flares up. He tries to tamp it down. "I have a victory. I defeated Pompey."

"My brother defeated Pompey," she gently corrects. "My brother, who isn't even old enough to reach manhood by Roman standards. Do you want to stand in front of your Senate and admit that a child did what you could not?"

He can't help but scowl. Katara doesn't seem fazed.

"We can help each other," she urges. "Help me dispose of my brother. When I'm back on the throne, I promise to swear my support for you. You'll return to Rome having both defeated Pompey and having a new military alliance secured."

Zuko raises an eyebrow. "And you can just hop back on the throne, just like that? As a woman?"

She presses her lips together. "Officially I'll be co-leading with my youngest brother, but he's just a child. Even Ptolemy was little more than a figurehead, which is why he allied with my enemies to exile me."

"Will your people accept that?"

"Of course. My father and I were exceedingly popular. Even now my people take care of me, waiting for me to return to Alexandria." She waves her arms around the room. "These are all gifts I received upon fleeing here."

It's a good offer. Zuko can't imagine Ptolemy could give him any better.

"The Senate will be upset that Pompey died," he says slowly.

Katara's eyes sparkle with understanding. "You didn't intend for him to die. You were just going to return him to Rome after putting down his ill-advised rebellion."

"It's improper for an Egyptian leader to interfere in Roman affairs. I couldn't just let him get away with killing my old friend and co-ruler."

"You were honor-bound to avenge his death and prove to the Egyptians that Rome doesn't take lightly to such interference."

"And really, it's in Roman interests to place a much more pliable leader on the throne."

Katara's eyes flare slightly at his insinuation, but she must understand that he's only referring to how he'll frame it when he gives his report to the Senate because it dies down quickly.

"So we have a deal?" she asks.

"We have an understanding," Zuko corrects. He won't be accused of coercion or bribery.

"Good." Katara stands, her dress swishing around her ankles. She makes her way to the balcony, and something about her motion that he can't quite identify compels him to follow.

The view from the balcony is stunning. The Nile River runs below, its water reflecting the silvery moon in the sky. The stars sparkle in her eyes, and Zuko has to force himself to look away.

"It's been a long time since I was home," Katara says, her tone wistful. "I should like to return with all possible haste."

Zuko laughs lowly. "Believe me, I have no intention of being in Egypt any longer than I have to."

She turns towards him, her eyes looking him up and down. He feels a shudder run through him again - the warmth has been leached from her face, and there's a strange look in her eyes, like she's measuring him up, deciding what he's worth.

She steps towards him, and he instinctively steps back. He remembers the statues in her garden - Artemis, Athena, Hestia. All virgin goddesses. One of them a huntress. One of them a goddess of war. One a goddess of home. He understands their symbolism now.

Katara is a woman who will stop at nothing to get her home back - and she's not afraid of the means it might entail.

Another step and his back is against the wall. Her eyes narrow and she presses closer yet.

"What are you - "

He feels her hand slipping into his toga and touching his belt. He's about to push her away when he feels warm steel press against his neck.

His hidden knife. Somehow she'd known.

"Finding a man as powerful as a Roman Emperor who is willing to support me is easy by no means," she says, her voice cold. "But if you lie to me, or even think about betraying me, I will not hesitate to send you straight to the gods. I am not a woman who is pliable."

There's something familiar about this, too - about her pressing against him, a knife in her hand. He has a flashback - not a flashback, but not a vision, either. A memory from another life, perhaps? They're in a dark room and she's kneeling over him, a knife poised in the air. Only then she couldn't do it. Then she brought the knife down slowly.

Now he has no doubt that she will.

"I understand," Zuko chokes out.

Katara remains there for another minute before slowly pushing away. She points with the knife to the door. "You may leave. Tomorrow we'll discuss strategy."

Zuko can't escape fast enough. Between her threat and that strange memory, he's rattled to his core. He manages to maintain a scrap of his dignity as he lifts his chin up and leaves, but he knows she's won a monumental victory.

He won't underestimate her again.


Katara doesn't quite breathe right until Zuko is gone.

She sags against the railing of the balcony, the facade of strength rushing out of her as she exhales. She's still clutching his knife in her hand, her knuckles white around the handle.

Her head spins as it tries to process all the emotions rushing through her, all of which she'd shoved into a corner and held back during his visit.

Only years of practiced outward fortitude had kept her from giving herself away the moment she saw him. There was something about him that screamed danger! from every fibre of her being. She wanted to grab the knife she keeps hidden underneath her cushion and stab it through his heart without a second thought.

Killer. Murderer. Beast.

Those were the words running through her mind when she saw him. They'd leapt unbidden from some hidden part of her consciousness. The same instincts that cause her to pull her hand away from a flame were shouting at her to run, to hide, to fight.

She'd forced herself to reason with them. Of course he was a killer - he was a soldier, a general. He'd killed his share of men in battle. Maybe even murdered some outside of the confines of battle. That didnt mean he'd hurt her.

Beast.

That one she wasn't able to rationalize away, except to think that it was ridiculous. He was no Emperor Nero. In fact, he'd spent most of his career on military campaigns - he didn't have time to persecute innocent subjects of his or anyone else's. She'd done her research on him when she heard he was coming to Pelusium, and there was nothing even remotely so horrid or dark as to call him that.

Katara has good instincts, especially about people. She can be wrong on occasion - like when she discounted her brother's ability to make allies to help drive her away. That was her biggest mistake to date. But it's not one she'll make again. That's why she's delved fully into this persona of a seductress and heartless queen. That's why she's more careful now than ever to leave herself room to maneuver.

In any case, it was too late to change her mind by the time Zuko came. Her plan is contingent on his cooperation. Like it or not, she needs him to overthrow Ptolemy. After that, he'll go back to Rome and she'll only ever have to correspond with him via letter or ambassadors. It won't stop him from turning on her, if that's what he wants, but she's pretty confident she scared him into submission. Most likely he'll forget about her completely when he returns to Rome, other than to gloat about his new alliance to the Senate.

She still can't shake the strange feelings taking her hostage. There had been the initial terror, yes, and of course she'd been terrified when she made for his knife and threatened her. If he had grabbed her wrist or shoved her away or reached for her throat, he might have ended her life then and there. It was a risky move on her part, but she had to do something dramatic to ensure his cooperation. After that errant comment about being pliable, she wanted to make sure he knew where they stood in relation to each other.

But beyond those two moments, there had been other feelings. Her initial conversation at dinner had just been babbling to fill up the space, to try and goad him into speaking so she could get a better feel for him. It had quickly turned from forced small talk into a genuinely enjoyable discussion. There was a sense of ease that settled in, as if talking over a meal was nothing new. She wasn't afraid of being in a room alone with him, despite him being "secretly" armed. Even though her instincts told her to run, once they sat down she had the deep sense that he wouldn't harm her.

And when she'd pinned him against the outer wall, holding the knife at his throat - there was a strange familiarity in that, as well. His golden eyes shone in the darkness and she had the innate feeling that she'd seen them like that before. He was calm and collected as a man of his standing ought to be, but there was a strange expression that crossed his face at that moment. He'd hurried out afterwards - not in fear, but urgency. As if something important had occurred to him and he needed to attend to it at once.

He is the leader of the Roman Republic, after all, she supposes. He must always have something pressing on his mind.

She returns to the room, sinking to the cushions and setting the knife on the table. It's only then she notices the ornate handle, studded with gems. It's not a serious knife - sure, the blade is sharp and sturdy enough to do harm, but it's not meant to be wielded. It's more of a status indicator.

Katara runs her fingers over the gems, stopping on a smooth blue one. It's a strange lightly colored blue, and it's not entirely gem-like. Not like a diamond or a sapphire or a ruby. It's unique and beautiful. It looks wrong in the hilt of the knife, though she can't quite identify why.

She lets it go and lies back against the cushions, closing her eyes. Her jewelry weighs heavily on her and she knows she should wipe the kohl off her face before going to sleep. She just needs a moment to collect herself.

She has to do this all over again tomorrow. She'll have to get up, dress herself up like she already has her throne back, and slip on the persona of a confident woman who will do whatever it takes to get back home.

Truth is, Katara isn't sure how much of it is fake and how much is true anymore. Being exiled by her brother had changed something within her. She was always a strong leader, but she would have never sacrificed her family for power. She isn't sure she could have ever killed anyone herself, either. Now she understands that there are limits to family and forgiveness. She also understands that she would do anything for her people - including kill a certain Roman dictator if she absolutely had to.

It's a chilling thought that she resigns herself to. The world is a cruel and hard place for a woman like her. She may have to rise to meet it on occasion.


For all her imaginations of returning home, it was never like this.

Katara's shoulder is jostled as a man rams past her without so much as a sorry or other form of polite excuse. She reaches up with a hand and rubs her shoulder with a scowl that causes other people passing the opposite direction to steer clear.

Maybe she's finally picking up something useful from Zuko. She's certainly never seen him get jostled aside. People part for him even when he's not dressed like in the white and purple robes of his true status - including now. Between their dark looks, they're given a wide berth as they pass through the city gates.

At her side, Zuko doesn't look like anyone special. He's wearing a plain tunic and his shaggy hair is recklessly tousled. He has straight black hair that could never match the curly hair of many of his Roman compatriots. Katara knows his ancestors aren't originally from Rome, at least not any of the central Roman territories. He's like her - a foreign leader, protecting people who aren't their own.

She shoves that thought away. She and Zuko aren't at all similar in any way. They're polar opposites, in fact. And she's glad for that, because Zuko seems like a miserable person most of the time. Sure, he has his charming moments, but they're few and far between.

Not that she can blame him. The past few weeks, as he's been preparing to help her retake Alexandria, have been full of bad news from Rome. He's never said it, but she can tell that he feels the need to go back immediately and put his empire back in order. It's weighing on him every second, a screaming burden that's pulling him downward.

It does speak volumes to his loyalty and character, though; he gave her his word he'd help her recover Alexandria, and he's not turning his back on her.

"This way," she says, darting into a side street as they delve deeper into the city. She can feel his eyes lingering on her. He's never shown particular interest in her, but ever since she put on peasant's clothing to sneak into the city he hasn't been able to keep his eyes off her. She can feel his gaze acutely without having to look.

She knows she looks different, but she wonders how he perceives her now. Does she look weak to him? Powerless? Does he think this is his opportunity to make her his pawn before he sails back to Rome?

Not if she has anything to say about it. She can feel the knife strapped to her waist, underneath her dress - his knife, which she stole from him the night they met. Normally she wears it in a leather sheath around her waist, a reminder of her warning to him. It was risky to bring it in the city with her now - if they're caught and frisked, the guards will know something's suspicious about them. But it serves as a reminder to her, too - a reminder of the lengths she's willing to go to regain her throne and deliver her people from her adolescent brother's puppet rule.

She wishes that were all, but she can't deny the strange pull she has to the knife. Even if she wanted to leave it behind or get rid of it, she's not sure she could. Something deep within her tells her that the knife is important.

That feeling only grows stronger whenever Zuko is around. It irritates her to no end.

"Here." She stops in front of a small house not far from the palace and knocks on the door with a particular rhythm. A moment later it opens and she and Zuko disappear inside.

Amira, the wife of one of her most trusted generals, stands in the house, a relieved smile on her face as she takes in Katara.

"I'm glad you made it safely, your Holiness," she says, dropping into a curtsy.

"Getting in was the easy part." Katara glances back at the door, even though she knows there was no reason for anyone to pay attention to two commoners entering a common house in the city. "Is the general in position?"

Amira nods. "He left early this morning. My son has been running messages back and forth, but he's staying with my brother for the night."

"Good." Katara glances over at Zuko. "Amira, this is Zuko, leader of Rome. Zuko, I mentioned Amira before."

Amira's eyes widen. Katara had been careful to send coded messages ahead that only detailed parts of their plan. In case any were intercepted or any of her allies betrayed her, she wanted to make sure no one knew the exact scope of the plan - the Romans' involvement, especially.

She quickly dips into another curtsy. "Your Highness."

Zuko acknowledges her without looking particularly offended. That's one thing Katara's noticed about him - he isn't too held up on titles or customs. He's a man who wants to get things done properly and efficiently.

Or maybe he just gets his fill of proper proceedings during Senate meetings. Katara has heard rumors about how meticulous Roman meetings can be. Zuko doesn't exactly strike her as the kind of person who enjoys that excessive decorum.

"Let me get some water for you," Amira tells Katara. Her eyes flicker over to Zuko. "I'm sure I can find some old armor of my husband's for you."

He nods once, looking distracted. Katara leaves him in the main room and follows Amira into the kitchen. Her stomach is too excited to fill with food, but she's eager for a report on the state of affairs in Alexandria from someone she trusts.


Zuko paces the main room of the small house. It's only large enough for him to take ten steps across. He wants back and forth, trying to dispel the nervous energy inside him.

It's not just nervous energy, it's also anger and irritation at the nervous energy. He's gone to war countless times before - why is now any different?

Because he's about to attempt a coup in a city neither he nor his men are familiar with. Because he's working with only a fraction of his men - his best men, handpicked for the task. Their loss would weigh heavy on him. Because he doesn't have the authority of the Senate for his actions, and he's on thin ice with them already. Because this plan relies a lot on people Katara claims are still loyal to her - people they're trusting who could easily turn them in to Ptolemy.

The Senate might actually be relieved to be rid of Zuko if it all goes wrong, he thinks wryly. They might prefer he fail than come back victorious from both a civil war and an Egyptian power turn-over.

Amira brings him a set of armor as the sun starts to go down. It's old and worn, but it will be sufficient. Their plan isn't outright war so much as sneaking into the palace grounds and taking control of the palace. Katara believes she has enough allies left in the court to come out in public support should her brother and his allies be thrown out, killed, or exiled.

Katara slips into a simple but elegant dress covered by a plain robe. He notices the knife that she straps around her waist, under her robe. He was upset when he first saw her wearing it around, a testament to his own carelessness and a shameful reminder that he was bested by a woman. Now he thinks it looks right on her - much better than it ever looked on him, and she's definitely making better use of it. If she ever offered it back to him, he'd return it to her as a gift.

She comes up to him as they stand by the window, the curtains swept aside a crack, waiting for the signal. Against his better instincts, he's grown to grudgingly like her. She reminds him of his own mother - strong and fierce and determined.

He definitely has a healthy respect for her, but he's not afraid of her anymore. That terror he felt upon first seeing her has long faded. He still has reservations - all's fair in politics, after all - but, barring a drastic change in circumstances, he doesn't see her as a threat.

In fact, he'd really enjoyed their last few days together as they traveled to Alexandria. She'd ditched her excessive gold and pearls and gems for a simpler, more organic look that brings out her natural beauty. He's started to realize that the Katara he met that night in Pelusium isn't the true her. It was an act, just like the one he puts on around the other Senators and powerful men in Rome. As her costume had come off, so had some of that act.

In case this coup goes wrong, there's no one else he'd rather die fighting beside, or for. Katara has more honor and perseverance than most of the men in Rome. She deserves her throne.

It occurs to Zuko then how little he cares about the fates of most of his acquaintances. Acquaintances is the right word - he doesn't count among all the Senators or politicians or generals a single friend. Marcus is the closest thing he has to a friend, but even he hardly counts as he's paid to tolerate Zuko.

His family is out of the question - his mother was the only one who ever truly cared about him, and she died a long time ago. His father always thought him weak and disowned him in favor of his sister, who married into an influential and powerful family. As much as Zuko hates to admit it, part of the reason he worked so hard to accomplish great feats was to prove to his father that he was worthy of love. Of course his father died before Zuko became one of the Triumvirate, but by then Zuko had gone too far to turn back. And he does care about Rome and the people of the city, even if they don't show him much love in return.

Katara gets that. Her family turned on her. She isn't ambitious for the sake of gaining power, she's ambitious because she knows she's the best-qualified to lead her people and she's willing to risk everything for them. She's not trying to prove anything to anyone.

"That's it," Katara says, spotting something he misses. She pushes away from the window and glances over at him. "Last chance to turn back."

"I didn't just spend several extra weeks slumming it in Egypt just to turn back now," Zuko replies. He sets his hand on the handle of the sword Amira had given him. It's no gladius, like he's used to, but it will do for tonight.

"It's really not such a bad place," Katara protests lightly. "You should come visit when I'm not trying to overthrow the government."

"Or when my government isn't trying to overthrow me?"

She grins, and Zuko allows the edge of his lip to curl up in response.

Then she turns and slips into the dark, empty streets.


Even though it's been months since she was last here, Katara remembers her way through the streets of Alexandria. It's not something she's apt to forget. This is her home and her birthright; this is where she was born, and this is where she will die, whether it be tonight or tomorrow or fifty years from today.

She leads Zuko towards the palace, taking alleys instead of the main streets where the guards are patrolling for thieves and other troublemakers. He follows behind, so quiet she wouldn't know he was there if she didn't glance back every so often. Although she's always felt safe in her home city, she's glad to have him watching her back tonight.

The palace comes up ahead of them in all its grandeur. There are dozens of lights lit around the grounds, making it difficult to sneak around in the dark. Katara knows exactly where all the guards are posted. A quick scan reveals that a few of them are already missing, Zuko's men and her allies right on time.

She makes a motion at the guard nearest to them and Zuko leaps into action. He throws a pebble into the bushes and when the guard turns, he wraps his arms around his neck from behind and squeezes, slowly letting the guard down as he strangles him. Then he drags the guard's body behind the bush and waves Katara through the opening.

She's startled by the ease in which Zuko killed the man. She knows it should make her fearful, but all it does is cement her faith in him. There's no one else she could have trusted to help her take her throne back. Zuko does what needs to be done, and he doesn't make a big deal about it.

It makes him a good leader, though not necessarily a popular one.

They advance through the courtyard, finding that most of the guards have already been taken care of by the time they reach the steps. Katara runs into Amira's husband, General Mosi, who is directing his and Zuko's men. He bows to her and gives Zuko a nod as they pass. Katara is glad he doesn't try to stop her.

They advance further into the palace. This is where things get complicated. If they miss a single guard he can raise the alarm and they don't have enough loyal soldiers in the palace to fend off all the soldiers in the city. The goal is to capture Ptolemy and secure the palace before announcing that Katara has returned. The rest of Zuko's army is a few hours' journey from the city; should all go well tonight, he'll send a message to have them come secure the city until the turn-over is complete. If they receive no message, they're to go back to Rome and report Zuko's death or capture.

Katara lets Zuko lead, following in his shadow and giving directions when he turns back to look at her. They only encounter a few more guards, all of which Zuko takes down quietly.

Then they stumble into a room where a half dozen guards are lounging. Zuko doesn't hesitate; he shoves her behind him, towards the open door they'd just come from, and draws his sword. He dispatches the first two guards easily enough, as they're foolish enough to attack him individually.

Katara stumbles backwards towards the doorway, but she can't take her eyes off the dead guards lying on the blood in pools of their own blood. For all her bravado, she's never actually been in the middle of a skirmish like this before. She's always been kept safe and protected by her guards. Even when Ptolemy drove her out of Egypt, there was no violence; she was simply bundled into the back of a carriage and literally driven out of the city with a threat to never return.

Zuko has killed another guard and is fending off the last two when Katara realizes there's one missing. She whirls around just in time to be grabbed from behind. The man's arms wrap around her throat in the same way Zuko's had wrapped around the other guards'.

So this is what it feels like, she thinks to herself.

"Stop or I'll kill her!" the guard shouts. Zuko backs himself against the wall before looking over - always the strategist.

She can see his mind racing as his eyes dart from her to the man holding her. She wonders what he's thinking: is he trying to figure out a way to rescue her or is he debating whether he should - if he manages to kill all the guards here, and their soldiers secure the palace, then Zuko could effectively claim Alexandria once his army arrives.

What a victory that would be to take back to Rome.

Katara isn't sure if he would do that or not, but she's not taking the chance. She slips her hand to her hidden knife, clutches it tightly with the blade angled towards her body, and then stabs backwards as hard as she can.

The guard holding her relaxes his grip instantly as he cries out in pain. She twists away from him, ripping out the knife as she dances away. Zuko doesn't hesitate before relaunching his attacks on his own guards. Katara ignores him and focuses on the guard clutching his bleeding thigh. He looks up with an expression of murder.

"You little bi - "

Katara's temper flares and she runs towards him, faking to the right. He falls for the trick, not expecting a woman to go into a fight with logic and strategy instead of pure passion and emotion. Instead she shifts to the left and takes advantage of the opening at his throat.

She doesn't both holding onto the knife this time. She releases it as she steps back. The guard brings his hands up to his throat in a vain attempt to stop the fountain of blood pouring out. He falls to his knees and then slumps on the floor unmoving.

She senses rather than sees Zuko come up behind her.

"You alright?" he asks.

Katara nods, hoping he doesn't notice the way her entire body is shaking. She just killed a man. She was almost killed. She doesn't know if Zuko would have saved her or not.

"You better grab your weapon. You may have further use of it." He nods towards the knife still embedded in the man's throat.

Katara is tempted to ask him to retrieve it. A strange feeling within her bubbles up to the surface and breaks, an overwhelmingly positive affirmation accompanying that thought: Do it! Do it! it seems to shout. Make him give you the knife!

She hesitates; then, remembering the calculating look in his eyes as he watched her struggle, she surges forward and snatches the knife up, ignoring the sound and feeling of it snagging on flesh. She wipes the blade off on the guard's tunic and then turns to Zuko. A strange look is spread across his face and his eyes are focused on the knife. For a strange moment she gets the sense that he had the same thoughts as her.

Then she shoves them away as being ridiculous. He snaps out of his stupor and nods with his head, motioning for her to follow him again as they continue through the palace.


Zuko follows Katara's silent directions as they creep through the dark halls. He can't stop thinking about that strange moment after she killed the guard. They'd both hesitated, waiting for no real reason as the blood continued to pool on the floor.

A conflicted expression had bloomed across Katara's face as she stared at the man. It wasn't an expression of shock, as he's seen on many soldiers after a first or particularly brutal kill; it wasn't an expression of disgust, another common one he's seen. It was hesitation, pure and simple.

He had frozen, too, assailed by thoughts demanding that he pick up the knife and offer it to her. There was no real reason for it that he can fathom. It's not like part of being a gentleman is picking up a lady's knife and wiping the blood off it for her after she's just killed a man. If she can wield a blade, she can pick up her own blade. If anything, she'd probably take it as an insult.

Still, that strange, nearly overpowering desire had caught him off guard. He's still a little out of it as they move through the hallways, which he knows is a bad thing. He's in the middle of a mission. He can't afford to let anything cloud his mind. He's already made one mistake tonight that was almost fatal for Katara.

Katara suddenly reaches out and grabs his arm, pulling him to a stop. She points to a split in the hallway ahead.

"Ptolemy's room is to the right," she whispers. "He'll have at least four guards."

Zuko nods and flexes his hand. Four guards is nothing.

"Do you want to stay here?" he asks.

Her eyes flash in anger, which is answer enough for him. They creep forward, hugging the wall in case any of the guards decide to patrol.

Zuko counts down silently with his fingers and they burst around the corner. He lets his muscle memory take over as he stashes and stabs and ducks. The Egyptian blade he's using is balanced differently than his gladius and it's not designed for the type of fighting he's trained in, but he's familiar enough with the use of a sword to automatically adjust for those differences.

His consciousness fades out as he fights. He doesn't like to be mentally present as he kills people. He'd never admit it to anyone, but he has nightmares about the men he's killed. And not just men he's killed in the service of Rome; he has nightmares about fighting on the sands of a country he's sure he's never been to, and looting a city that looks nothing like any city he's ever visited. Worst of all is the recurring nightmare where he's fighting a duel with a man with dark, curly hair. He's an excellent swordsman, better than any that Zuko has ever encountered in real life. Zuko defeats him every time, only to return to a tent with the sound of loud weeping coming from inside. He never goes into the tent in his dreams. He doesn't want to face whoever cared about the man he killed.

He's almost positive by now that those dreams come from another life. That, or they're visions of the future. Either way, he carries the guilt of those deaths around him. He doesn't need to add any more to the revolving images.

When the last man falls, Zuko blinks back into the present. Katara is already slipping into the room, her knife in her hands. Zuko hurries to follow, worried there might be more guards in the room.

There isn't, only a chained beast of some sort whose growls die in its throat when it sees Katara. She tentatively reaches out a hand to scratch behind the beast's ears and it flops over, passive and obedient.

Then Katara turns to her peacefully sleeping brother, and Zuko sees her eyes harden.

She climbs softly on the bed and sets the blade of the knife a breadth from his skin. She reaches up with her other hand and strokes his hair in an almost motherly gesture.

His eyes blink open, slowly focusing on her. "Katara?" he asks, his voice thick with sleep and confusion. Zuko's heart skips a beat when he hears the youth of his tone. Not even a man. Just a kid.

"Yeah, Ptol. It's me." Katara smiles kindly down at him.

"What are you doing in the city?" He tries to sit up, but Katara pushes him down with her free hand. He hasn't noticed the knife yet.

"Here's the problem, kid. That throne is mine. Father always intended for it to be mine. And I didn't mind sharing it with you, but then you got too greedy. And I know it wasn't entirely your fault. Those generals and advisors were constantly whispering in your ear, turning your against me. And you did. You betrayed your own sister." Katara's voice hardens. "I didn't want this. I never wanted this. But you left me no choice. I have to prioritize the people."

Ptolemy's young voice is choked with fear. "What are you going to do to me?"

"I don't know yet." Katara's voice is carefully neutral. "I don't want to hurt you, but I need you to cooperate with me. Can you do that?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now, I have a knife, but I promise I won't touch you as long as you do exactly as I say."

Zuko watches in a mixture of shock and horror as she assists her brother in pulling on a robe and getting out of bed, all without removing the knife from his neck. Her movements are motherly, her voice soothing as she walks him through it.

She really loves the kid. She doesn't intend any harm to befall upon him. But she'll do what's necessary.

It's a whole different side to her that's just as terrifying as the side of her that shoved him against a wall with a snarling voice and steel pressing into his jugular.

Just as Zuko's starting to breathe easier, the alarm goes off.

Katara's head snaps towards him, but there's no panic in her eyes, only a quick question. Zuko analyzes their options.

"The throne room," he says. "How far?"

"Not far." Katara pushes her younger brother forward. "Move fast, or none of us are making it out of this alive."

Ptolemy doesn't argue. The three of them jog through the halls. They encounter a few of their own soldiers, who surround them as an escort. Zuko is making it up as he goes along now, but they've come too far to fail. They have the Egyptian ruler in their grasp; surely they can make it out of here alive.

The throne room is dark and empty, like most of the palace at night. Zuko motions for the soldiers to barricade all but one of the doors, which they guard. Katara leads her brother to the pair of thrones at the top of the raised dais. She sits down, pushing Ptolemy into a kneeled position between her legs, the knife at his throat in full view.

Zuko can't help but feel approval rush through him. She understand his plan exactly without him having to explain it.

A few more of their soldiers find them and are let in through the open door. There are two more children pushed into the room - a boy and a girl, both younger than Ptolemy but with similar features.

"Arsinoe and Ptolemy," Katara acknowledges when she lays her eyes on them. Zuko recognizes those names as belonging to her younger siblings. How she keeps her brothers straight with the same name, he doesn't know.

Arsinoe glares at her from the arms of a soldier. Zuko remembers Katara telling him that she suspected Arsinoe was working with the older Ptolemy. Her expression now confirms it.

"Ptolemy," Katara calls, looking to her youngest brother. "Come here."

The boy slowly climbs the dais, looking between his siblings with frightened eyes. Katara gives him a comforting smile.

"It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you - or anyone else, unless I have to." She nods with a tilt of her head at the empty throne beside hers. "Sit."

His eyes widen. "You mean - "

"Yes. Now that I have taken back my city, you will sit upon the throne with me."

The boy sits gingerly, as if doing something he's afraid he'll be in trouble for.

"You'll never get away with this," the older Ptolemy declares with all the haughtiness and naivety of youth.

"I already have." Katara searches the room, her gaze landing on Zuko. He nods once. Although things hadn't gone exactly as planned, they're exactly where they want to be.

General Mosi bursts in, the soldiers immediately leveling their swords and spears at the hallway. Over the tops of their heads, he can see more of Ptolemy's soldiers gathering outside. A few of the barricades rattle, but hold.

"Tell them to lay down their weapons," Katara orders, her voice firm. The general and his men relay the order. Zuko hears the sound of metal tingling against the marble floor. A few minutes later, there's a shrill shouting coming from outside.

General Mosi runs up to Katara's side and whispers in her ear. She nods to him and then turns back to Zuko, waving him forward. He takes up a position behind her right shoulder as the guards at the door part to allow a small group of nobles and priests through.

A few of them are looking around angry expressions. Some look downright pleased. Most are neutral as their gaze falls on the captured Ptolemy and Arsinoe.

"Kneel before me and swear your allegiance," Katara orders, her voice ringing out firm and clear. "I will start this new part of my reign with mercy and forgiveness for those willing to accept it. For those who work against me or curse me, I would show the strength and wrath I afford to any enemies of Egypt."

There's a few murmurs and more than a few dirty glances leveled at Zuko, but all of them eventually bend the knee. Katara nods in satisfaction.

"Rome's army will be in the city tomorrow, in case any of you think to betray me," she continues. She turns to General Mosi. "Spread the word of the events here tonight. I expect everyone in the city to know that I have returned by sundown tomorrow."

He bows, nods, and departs. The older Ptolemy twists in her arms to look up at her.

"What about me?" he asks, his lip trembling slightly.

"That remains to be seen," Katara replies, "whether you are a threat or not."

She hands him over to a soldier, and a small group escorts him and Arsinoe out of the throne room. The members of her court stand around in the middle of the room as another soldier brings out golden jewelry and headwear and drapes rich robes around Katara and the younger Ptolemy. Katara looks positively serene as she leans back into her throne. Her youngest brother still appears confused. Zuko almost pities the child.

Zuko remains behind her for the rest of the night. Soldiers come and go, bringing messages and escorting in more members of the court to swear fealty. As the sun rises, he can sense an exciting hum in the air as the city of Alexandria wakes up to drastic news.

Their beloved queen is back and more powerful than ever.


44 BC - Rome

She's coming.

The words echo in his mind for the thousandth time in the last month since he received her affirmative reply. He still isn't sure how he feels - excited, but not eager. Worried, but not anxious.

A little fearful, if he's being completely honest.

It's been almost four years since he last saw Katara. He wasn't able to stay long in Alexandria after she'd retaken her throne. One of the cons of being the leader of the largest republic in the world is that there are always important matters demanding his attention. Especially since Pompey was killed and he was left doing a job intended for three men.

And it's been no easy task, directing an empire as large and diverse as Rome. He's won some territory, lost some territory, earned some allies, been betrayed by others. It's part of the complex web of politics.

Except now things are getting even more complicated. He's been getting a strange feeling from the Senate that he can't quite put his finger on. Even some of the men he considers his friends, like Brutus, have been acting strange as of late.

He needs an ally in Rome, someone he can trust wholeheartedly. He needs someone as smart as him to help him figure out what's going on and why he feels like everyone in the room knows something he doesn't. Most of all, he needs someone that won't seem like a threat.

Katara was the perfect choice. Even before Marcus suggested it, he knew she was the one. They'd kept up correspondence since he returned to Rome, mostly discussing matters of their respective states, occasionally ironing out disputes between their territories. He'd never asked her for help, though. Letters could be too easily intercepted. He'd also never invited her to Rome - she was busy picking up the pieces of her brother's short but pitiful reign.

He wasn't expecting her to be able to come on such short notice, but a wave of relief had passed through him once her letter reached his office. The stars seemed to align just for them.

He tries not to think too hard about that metaphor. He has no ulterior motive for inviting Katara aside from being able to discuss political matters freely with her. Even if he wanted more from her, there's no way they could make it work living a sea and a country apart.

Zuko shakes his head, irritated that thoughts such as those are even coming to his mind. He's never thought about her in that way before, even though he's thought about her a lot.

It's not his fault, really, that he hasn't stopped thinking about her since that first night in Pelusium four years ago. That strange memory he'd had when she pinned him against the wall has flashed through his mind often in his dreams. There are other strange memories, too - hands that he somehow knows are hers, pushing him under the surface of the water until he wakes up, gasping for breath and clutching at his burning chest; the sway of her dark hair as she stands in front of him with a desperate, conflicted look in her eyes, fire and screams all around them; her hands beating at his chest, her blue eyes bright with anger and dark with grief all at the same time.

There are some good memories, as well, scattered amongst the violence. He sees her sitting cross-legged on a woven carpet, reaching for a bunch of grapes on the tray between them, a hesitant smile on her face.

Most of the good memories aren't from those times and places that he can't identify. Those are mostly bad. The good memories are from his time in Pelusium and Alexandria, long hours of huddling over maps and reports and plotting the coup that put her back on her throne. He remembers the few days he'd stayed in Alexandria after the take-over. He'd dined with Katara every night, both of them feeling lighter and freer now that their biggest challenge was behind them. Katara had revealed a softer side of herself, one of light teasing and dry humor that was worlds apart from the intimidation game she'd played during the early days of their partnership.

Those happy moments give rise to his excitement at the prospect of seeing her again. The nightmares of violence and death - whether they be memories from another life or prophecies of the future - fuel the fear that inhabits a small part of his heart.

"Sir," Marcus says, entering the room and bowing, breaking through Zuko's ruminations. "She's here."

She's here.

Zuko pulls himself up straight. This time, he's wearing his military uniform to meet her. He hasn't had his hair cut in a long time - his life has been far too crazy to fret over such insignificant matters - but he pushes it out of his face.

"Take me to her."

He'd arranged for her to stay in one of his villas outside the city limits. He's sure talk of her arrival will spread through all of Rome - at least the elite circles - by the end of the day. Katara is an enigma to them: a strong, powerful female ruler in charge of one of the oldest and most significant civilizations in history. She's also famed for her beauty and extravagance - she spares no expense for anything.

That's a fact he witnesses firsthand when they reach the villa. He can smell Katara before he sees her - she's doused all of her belongings in a heavy perfume of the highest quality. He knows it's more for the benefit of the rest of Rome than himself, since he's already met her, but a part of him wonders if she has more than just one agenda.

Then his mind wanders into forbidden territory as he wonders if he wants her to have more than just one agenda.

He shakes those thoughts away as he waves Marcus away. The door to the room where Katara is staying is ajar. He enters without knocking, pushing it open all the way.

The first thing he notices is all the luggage. She has certainly spared no expense - nor her servants. Bags are spread out all over the bed and floor, all of them reeking of her rich perfume.

The second thing he notices is his knife. After all these years, she still has it. A sense of rightness fills him, although he still has the impression that something isn't quite right. It's laying on the vanity in front of the mirror in a sheath right now, the gleaming jewels seemingly calling out to him.

And standing in front of the mirror is the third thing he notices: Katara herself. She's wearing a cotton robe, tousling her wet hair with a towel. She turns around when she catches his reflection, a small smile on her face.

"You weren't lying about the baths," she says in lieu of a greeting. She drops the towel to the floor, the damp strands of her wavy hair falling freely around her shoulders and tumbling down her back. Zuko clasps his hands behind his back to fight the temptation to run his hands through the dark strands. "I'm going to order the construction of some just like them in Alexandria when I return."

"I'm glad you're enjoying the luxuries of Rome," he replies, fighting to keep his tone even. He knows she timed this perfectly - Katara does nothing by mistake. What exactly her motives are, he's not sure.

"And I'm glad you invited me." She slips behind the patterned divider on the other side of the room, tugging at the dress flung over the top. She continues talking as she changes. "Things have been going rather smoothly in Alexandria lately, in part thanks to your support. No one's challenged me since Ptolemy's death."

That's right. Zuko had forgotten that the older Ptolemy had attempted to escape shortly after the takeover and had drowned in the Nile. The fate of her sister, Arsinoe, is unknown, but there are rumors she'd been banished to the temple of Artemis in Ephesus, far out of sight and mind. Katara's remaining sibling, the younger Ptolemy, has been nothing short of pliant and submissive while Katara rules. In fact, Zuko has heard almost nothing about him, so quiet has he been.

Katara emerges from behind the divider, and Zuko sucks in a quick breath, completely involuntarily. She's wearing an embroidered gold and turquoise dress, the gem-toned thread shimmering as the light hits it. A slit along the side goes up past her knee, flashing hints of her long legs as she walks.

She definitely has an ulterior agenda, Zuko decides. He won't play into it, no matter how tempted he is. And he's very tempted.

She walks over to the vanity, opening up a small bag atop it. She leans over the mirror as she applies a thick line of kohl around her eyes, then pushes a pair of gold-inlaid pearl earrings through her ears. She goes easy on the jewelry this time, opting for a simple golden necklace that draws attention to her collarbones. Then she sweeps back her hair with an intricate golden comb.

Zuko's nearly positive she's catering specifically to his taste. He swallows past a lump in his throat as she approaches, a small smile dancing along her lips.

"Can I smell food, or am I just imagining it?" she asks.

"I'm surprised you can smell anything past the perfume," he replies, holding out his arm for her.

"Ever the gentleman," she replies dryly, taking up his offer. "I don't like doing anything half-hearted."

"I hadn't noticed."

Her smile turns wolfish. He shouldn't find it as attractive as he does.

"I have to be extra about everything," she explains. "It's not enough for me to be average. If I want to be taken seriously as a female ruler, I have to be extraordinary in every aspect of my life."

"I don't think that's going to be a problem."

Her eyes sparkle as they meet his. "I'm going to accept that as a compliment."

They enter into a room with several long couches and tables designed at a height to match. Servants are setting down platters of food. Large windows look out over a carefully kept garden.

"So why did you invite me all the way here?" Katara asks, laying down on one of the couches. She stretches out the leg that peeks out from the slit in her dress. Zuko tries not to stare. "I doubt it's for a purely social visit."

He takes the couch opposite her. "I don't have the luxury of such entertainment."

"Neither do I," she admits, and a serious expression passes over her face. She reaches out for a bright red apple, examining it closely. "But I knew you wouldn't summon me unless it was important."

"I need advice. I can't trust anyone in Rome."

"Have you done something to upset the Senate?"

Zuko shakes his head. "Not for years. At least, nothing that I'm aware of. That's one reason I'm suspicious. They're always upset at me for something. The last few months have been quiet. Too quiet."

"Like a canary in a mine."

"Exactly." He stares at the food arrayed on the table, hesitating. But the whole reason he asked for Katara to come was to help him, so there's no point in withholding any information. "There's something else. My sister…"

Katara looks surprised. "I didn't know you had a sister."

He can't quite keep from grimacing. "I do. She married into gens Octavia, to a man named Gaius Octavius. He's always been rich and influential, but he's gaining powerful allies in the Senate."

"You think he's plotting something."

"Plotting, or he knows something I don't and he's taking advantage of it."

Katara frowns. "I suppose you don't consider your sister an ally."

Zuko barks out a harsh laugh. "Let's just say that we have similar sibling experiences. Except I was never my father's favorite."

They turn the conversation to more neutral matters as they eat. Zuko appreciates that he can have a casual conversation with her just as easily as he can hold a political discussion. He listens as she tells him about her journey from Alexandria, waxing on about the sea. He's not particularly fond of sailing, but Katara's eyes light up as she speaks about the ocean waves and the open sky.

The next few weeks pass quickly. Zuko is kept busy with Senate meetings and managing the various territories of his empire, and Katara is likewise occupied with the torrent of reports she receives daily from Alexandria. Rulers never get to take vacations, it seems.

Still, they find spaces of time to wander the city or dine in the villa, sometimes talking politics and sometimes just chatting. Katara always dresses up extravagantly when they walk in the city, making them the center of turned heads and stares. Rumors have started spreading, too, which Zuko neither confirms nor denies. The less his opponents know about him, the better.

But many of them worry him. Marcus returns with reports of people thinking he's attempting to become king by courting a queen. He's already a dictator; becoming king would only threaten the already declining republic. Of course, Zuko has no intention of that, but the whispers still spread.

The day of Katara's departure arrives all too quickly. Zuko had to say goodbye the evening before, for the Senate scheduled a meeting at the Theater of Pompey early the next day. As he sits through boring procedures in his stuffy white toga, all he can think about is how long until he sees her again. It would be appropriate for him to wait at least a year, probably several; but somehow that prospect tastes bitter in his mouth.

He wonders if she's thinking the same. There was a strange feeling whenever they were together, as if fate had brought them to that specific place and time. The longer Zuko is away from her, and the farther, the worse he feels, as though he's missing something vital.

He tries to shove all those thoughts away and focus on the meeting. He's about to march to war in the east in just a few day's time, and this is his last meeting before he goes. Soon he'll be too busy fighting to think about her.

Somehow he can't quite convince himself of that.

At last the meeting draws to a close. Lucius Climber calls for Zuko to come to the center of the room, to wish him well on his upcoming journey. Zuko picks his way down the marble steps carefully. As zoned out as he'd been during the meeting, he'd noticed a strange energy humming throughout the theatre. The weather was warm for mid-March, but not so warm to warrant the sweat he sees on the brows of some senators.

For the first time in four years, Zuko wishes he had the knife Katara stole from him. He would have felt a little safer with it tucked underneath the robes of his toga.

The statue of Pompey looms over him as he comes to stand in the middle of the stage. He looks up, feeling as though it's a sign of some sort. In a way, Pompey's death started all of this, Zuko thinks. If he hadn't died, Zuko wouldn't be seen as such a dictator. If Ptolemy hadn't killed him, Zuko never would have been driven to ally himself with Katara. If he'd never become allies with Katara, the rumors of him wanting to be king wouldn't have spread. And if those hadn't spread, the senators wouldn't be looking at him with such derision in their eyes.

Especially Lucius Climber, Zuko realizes, as he nears. A half dozen other senators, including Cassius, Decimus, and Brutus. Brutus appears more troubled and upset than angry, an expression Zuko isn't used to seeing in his eyes. He's always liked Brutus more than any of the others, though they've grown apart since Pompey's death.

Lucius has a hand on his shoulder and is wishing him well on his campaign when Zuko sees the glint of silver behind Decimus' back.

He immediately knows what it is. Hadn't he himself thought about the possibility before?

"Excuse me," he tells Lucius, trying to move away from Decimus. His guards are outside the theatre. He just needs to reach them before Decimus has a chance to act -

Lucius' hand tightens around his shoulder. Zuko jerks away, but the man's grip is too tight.

"What violence is this?" Zuko demands. "Release me!"

His raised voice should attract the attention of all the present senators. His eyes skim over the men; most are watching with tense anticipation, as if waiting to see how things will go. To his horror, he realizes many of them have knives in their hands. Other senators have pressed themselves against the walls, their eyes falling to the ground as he catches them.

Cowards.

Zuko's eyes land on Brutus. He's holding the knife so tightly in his hand that his knuckles are white.

"Even you," Zuko says tightly, his chest constricting painfully. This is worse than anything he feared. He has no more allies - at least, none willing to publicly protect and support him.

He isn't leave this building alive, short of the gods interfering.

But why should they? They've never helped him before.

The first stab is the worst. He feels the blade sink into his side and he doubles over, both in pain and in a vain attempt to protect his vital organs. Hands are grabbing his shoulders from behind, jerking him back upright. He's stabbed again in the shoulder, and a glancing jab skims his ribs.

He lashes out, determined not to go out without a fight. He manages to disarm a particularly weak senator and stabs the knife wildly around him, trying to create a protective barrier in front of him as he backs up against the statue of Pompey. More senators are jumping in the frenzy, some of them stabbing each other or slipping on the blood starting to pool along the floor.

It's complete chaos. Zuko can't be sure if he's stabbed again or not, or if he actually succeeds in hurting any of his assassins. His vision is red and his body is functioning purely on adrenaline and the muscle memory of fighting.

Just as the knife is knocked out of his trembling hand, he hears a chorus of shouts rise up on the opposite side of the theatre. The writhing mass of senators in front of and around him stop and turn their back to him. Angry hissing and murmurs run through the theatre.

"By law, you're not allowed to be here!" one senator shouts above the tumult.

"And by law, you're not allowed to murder your elected and appointed leader," a smooth and measured voice replies. Zuko feels his heart jump. "But please, don't let my presence interfere with the senate proceedings."

Zuko sags in relief against Pompey's statue as the senators begin scrambling out of the theater. One slips in the blood in his haste and hits the ground hard, the knife flying out of his hand. He doesn't both to pick it up as he hauls himself to his feet and continues running.

About half the senators remain, standing warily on the stage or in the tiers of seats. The energy in the room is charged so tightly that Zuko is sure a single spark could create an explosion deadly enough to take out the entirety of downtown Rome. Above the low grumbling of whispers, there are shuffled footsteps. The senators in front of him part to either side, creating a pathway straight to where Katara stands in front of the doors, the sun shining behind her.

Maybe the gods did come for Zuko after all. Or just one goddess.

A group of guards, some his men and some hers, stand around her. When his men lay eyes on him, they hurry to his side. The last thing Zuko wants is to move, but his only other option is to stay in the theatre and bleed out. So he allows them to support his weight while he hobbles out, his head spinning and dark blotches in his vision.

Katara smiles at him when he reaches her, but it's weak and doesn't reach her eyes. Behind the blue the color of the ocean he can see that she's deeply shaken.

He's never seen that kind of fear in her eyes before - not even when that guard nearly killed her in Alexandria.

"Monarchs aren't allowed in downtown Rome," he chokes out, trying to break the tension.

"And the Senate isn't allowed to assassinate their leader," she replies. She looks over to their guards. "Let's go. The longer we stay here, the more danger we're in."

Outside of the theater, dozens of Zuko's men are waiting. Most of the fleeing Senators have been apprehended, he notices. He pities the man who has to deal with this mess.

Oh, wait, that man is me, he thinks without humor.

And then he passes out.


The streets of Rome are empty. Katara can see citizens peeking out behind cracked doors and curtains, but none dare leave or show their full faces. Word of what was happening in the Senate spread quickly.

She made it just in time, she thinks, glancing over at Zuko's unconscious body. A few soldiers had commandeered a stretcher and a hitched wagon after they realized he was in no shape to make it out of the city on his own two legs.

It's a good thing the streets are empty. Katara broke several laws by entering the center of the city, not to mention the temporary Senate housing. The fewer people to see her around, the better. Even now she's wearing a cloak over her golden headdress and expensive attire. She made her point with the senators; now is the time for discretion.

Katara's morning had started out normal enough. Her servants were packing her things so they'd be ready to depart after the mid-day meal. Zuko had excused himself the night before, knowing he had a meeting he couldn't miss. Even without the meeting, Katara would have left; Zuko himself was planning to leave just a few days after.

She didn't want to leave. Every part of her body was screaming out in protest. A rather dramatic reaction, in her opinion. Sure, she's fond of Zuko, and she considers him one of her best and most important allies. That's it, though. There's nothing more - and even if there was, it's still nothing that would warrant such a drastic reaction. Preparing to leave Zuko felt like swimming away from shore, like she was knowingly going to her own demise.

Although she would never admit, she was just waiting for an invitation to come to Rome to see him again. Every time she saw that knife - which was every day, since she wears it at all times - she thought about him. And writing impersonal, political letters back and forth did nothing to close the distance of the sea between them.

Somehow, though she's not sure why, she has the feeling that she was meant to be here now. She was meant to save him. She's just glad she made it in time.

It was that strange feeling, almost like fate, that had driven past all her reservations when Marcus ran into the villa. She was preparing to leave when he leapt off his horse and came shouting about an assassination plot in the Senate. Katara hadn't even hesitated. Marcus ran off to gather more of Zuko's allies and she summoned her own guards and made haste to the theatre.

Now she's kneeling by his side in the back of the cart. The blood from his stab wounds is seeping through the blanket they'd thrown on top of him. His pale skin is clammy and pasty, his lips drained of usual color. Katara may have made it in time to keep him from dying alone in the theatre, surrounded by traitors, but she may not have made it in time to spare his life.

If he dies, she may have made a huge mistake today. Her actions could cause the Senate and whoever they elect to leadership to declare war on Egypt. Her people may be at risk because she tried to save Zuko.

Katara doesn't regret rushing in - not yet, at least. But even as she brushes the sweat-dampened hair out of Zuko's face on a jostling cart speeding out of inner Rome, she swears to never let her strange feelings about Zuko dictate her actions again. Her people come first - always.

Marcus is waiting for them when the horses are pulled to a halt in front of the villa. Four soldiers lift Zuko's stretcher out of the cart and into the house. She follows at a distance, giving the doctors space as they examine his injuries.

Her own servants steer her out of the room and to the baths. She doesn't understand until she looks down at her blood-stained hands.

Hours pass before she's allowed to see him again. She paces back and forth across her half-packed room, unable to stand still. Her hair is a mess from running her hands through it. Marcus continues to deliver reports of what's going on in the city and with the Senate. Details of the attack are slowly being uncovered - some of the senators have broken down and confessed and witnesses have been questioned. The whole of the city is on edge, waiting, like her, to learn the fate of their dictator.

Dictator. It sounds like such a harsh title, so unlike the man she knows. Zuko cares about the little people - his policies favoring the plebeians are what put him in this situation in the first place. The elites, the rich, the powerful - they hated him for it.

They hated him for guarding the interests of the common folk, the largest class in his empire. But aren't they the very ones a republic is designed to serve?

Finally there's a knock on her door. Katara nearly runs to answer it. As her hand touches the knob, she reminds herself who she is. She's the queen of her own country, and she needs to act like it. She's not some lovesick girl.

She stands up straight, runs a hand through her hair, and takes a deep breath. Then she opens the door.

Zuko is lying on a couch in the room where they'd eaten the day of her arrival. The servants are still cleaning up his bloody robes as she crosses to kneel beside him. He looks peaceful as he sleeps, she thinks. Looking at him like this, she wonders how anyone could ever want to harm him.

She's hit with a sudden memory - Zuko sleeping in the dark, her leaning over him. There's a knife in her hand. She's going to kill him.

A chill runs down her spine and suddenly she's back in the villa. This room is nothing like the one from that twisted memory. This room is filled with light. She's kneeling beside him, not over him. And his hair is shorter now than it was in that strange vision.

Katara doesn't know where that came from. The worst part is, it's not the first time she's experienced one of those. She's never had that happen except when she's around Zuko - or except when it's about Zuko.

The room suddenly feels too warm, too small. Katara pushes to her feet and leaves. Zuko won't wake up for hours - if he ever wakes up. For now, Katara has to do damage control and prepare for a possible war.

She'll come back to him when her heart isn't pounding in her ears.


Zuko almost wishes he had died.

The pain is a dull, unrelenting throb. He can barely walk across the room without help, between the pain and the weakness caused by his loss of blood. He's in a truly pathetic state if there ever was one.

But there's no time to rest and recover. All of Rome is holding its breath, waiting to see what happens next. Waiting to see what he does next.

Going on his planned military campaign is out of the question. Even if Zuko was recovered, he'd never trust the Senate. If ever there was a time to be a true leader in Rome, now is it.

He can tell that Katara doesn't approve of him going back so soon, in such a weakened state. Her entire authority comes from the impression of power and strength. If she was in his position, she'd wait until she was strong before coming back out in the public eye. Zuko doesn't have that luxury. If he sits on the sidelines too long, they'll sideline him for good.

Going back to the Senate is his first act once he can stand alone. His second act is sending Katara back to Alexandria.

He doesn't want her to leave. Watching her go is more painful than when Brutus stabbed him. He feels like a part of him goes with her. But they both know that their relationship, as platonic as it may be, is seen as a threat to the Senate and the republic. And after Katara's stunt, the Senate is more suspicious of her than ever.

For both their sakes - his politically and her safety - she has to leave.

Zuko outlaws weapons in the Senate. All senators are frisked at the door by his own guards. He oversees it personally, leaning on a staff and glaring at each and every member as they're subjugated to the invasive search. None of them complain. Most of them refuse to look him in the eyes.

The theatre is quiet when he limps in. Every smack of his staff against the floor causes senators to jump or flinch in their seats. He takes his time making his way to his own seat, even though his entire body screams at him to rest. He has to make a point.

"There is nothing so cruel as to be betrayed by your own people, your own allies, your own brothers." He glares at Brutus as he says the last word. "It has become apparent to me that there is a disconnect between the policies I have promoted since the death of my fellow leader Pompey and the will of the Senate."

Zuko glances down at his notes. Marcus had led the investigation into the plot to assassinate him. The names of those who organized it are seared into his mind, but he still has to look to be sure.

Decimus Junius Brutus. Gaius Cassius Longinus. Marcus Junius Brutus.

Even you, Brutus.

"I have decided to interpret your actions as a sign of political disagreement instead of a personal attack. You were not trying to kill me because you wanted to replace me, you tried to kill me for the sake of Rome. I understand there were worries about me trying to become king and upset the fragile balance of the republic."

Some of the senators look relieved. Others look suspicious. If Zuko had it his way, he'd kill every single one of them. It's this feral part of himself driven by anger and rage and suffering.

It's the part of him that's most like his father.

Instead, he forces himself to remember his mother and her teachings. She believed in patience. She believed in compassion. She believed in forgiveness.

Zuko isn't sure he can forgive them, but he knows that slaughtering the Senate would only promote the idea that he's trying to upset the government for his own benefit. That's not his intention. It's never been his intention.

"I have examined my options. I hold in my hand a report of those who organized this assassination attempt. I hold on my body the proof of those who literally had a hand in the attempt. And I saw with my own eyes those who cheered them on and those who were complicit by standing by and doing nothing. I could prosecute and execute every one of you."

He lets the threat hang in the leaden air for a long minute. He wants them to feel fear. He wants them to fear him.

"Instead, I will do as I have always done and offer mercy. Obviously something needs to change, lest we go through this ordeal again. I am willing to compromise in order to restore balance and order to our republic. Killing each other in a frenzy on the floor of our seat of government like animals is a disgrace to our entire empire. We are the greatest republic in the world, yet the kings and queens of foreign countries laugh as we stab each other to death in the name of a fair and equal government. How can we defeat our enemies if we are at war with ourselves?"

A fair amount of grumbling from the senators ensues, most of grudgingly positive.

He continues. "I have decided to not punish those who took part. In exchange, all my appointments will remain. Any other policies and actions, I leave to you to decide how we move forward from here. How do we build back trust in each other to serve our country's interests?"

Another round of murmurs, this one definitely positive. Not all senators look pleased, however. Not Decimus or Cassius or Brutus.

Zuko sits back down, feeling his head spin.

He has done all he can. Now he has to see where fate leads.


"Sir."

Zuko looks up from the pile of reports on his desk. Marcus is standing in the doorway, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, his face pale.

"Are you sick?" Zuko asks.

"In a way," Marcus admits. Then he draws himself up. "I have bad news."

"Worse than reports of an assassination attempt in the Senate?" Zuko asks dryly.

"Much worse, sir."

Zuko's smile freezes on his face. "What is it?"

"Your sister is here."

He curses under his breath. That is much worse. His injuries from the stabbing still haven't completely healed, but he'd rather take round two than see Azula again.

"She's in the villa, with Octavian."

"Of course she is." Zuko holds his head in his hands. Then he shakes his head and stands. Maybe Azula is here to finish the job. At least he would be free.

As he makes his way out of his downtown office, he can't help but think that he wishes Katara were around. She's the only person he can imagine intimidating enough to put his sister in her place.

Azula is even more ostentatious than Katara. He can hear her yelling at her servants before he can even see the villa. When she does come into sight, she looks exactly as he expected: wearing a bright red dress with flashy gold jewelry. A golden laurel rests around her brow, as if she's declared herself queen of the whole world.

The Senate was worried about Zuko trying to become king, but really it's Azula they should be worried about.

Octavian is relaxed on the porch in a simple white toga. Zuko isn't sure how he feels about his brother-in-law. He's younger than Zuko by several years, he's intelligent and studious, and he's not unattractive. But none of those features are why Azula chose to marry him.

She chose him because he's rich, influential, and pliable. Despite his intelligence, he's arrogant enough to think that he's the smartest person in the room. Azula sits at his side, whispering lies and selective truths and ideas in his ear, steering him in all the directions she desires.

Zuko has a feeling he knows what many of those desires are. And he also has a feeling that she would have made for Rome regardless of whether he survived or not.

"Zuzu!" she calls when she sees him, a smile stretched across her face. As with all her smiles, there's a cruel edge to it.

"Hello, Azula," he grits out. He nods to husband. "Octavian."

"It's good to see you walking around on your own two feet. I heard you had to be carried out of the Senate."

Always trying to belittle him, just like she did when they were kids. It's an act Zuko is all too familiar with.

"I walked out of the Senate on my own two feet," he corrects. He doesn't bother to add that it wasn't until he reached his guards waiting outside that he collapsed.

"I'm a little disappointed," Azula says, glancing around. "I'd heard the famed Katara was in the city. I hoped to meet her, but it appears she's returned to Alexandria."

"You missed her by about two weeks." Zuko keeps a tight smile on his face. Maybe it's a good thing Katara isn't here, after all. He shudders to think what Azula would want with her. "You guys really didn't have to travel all the way from Apollonia."

"We came as soon as we heard," Octavian says. "We weren't yet sure if there would be a funeral."

"And we wanted to offer our help, in case you did pull through." Azula grins wickedly. "I heard over sixty senators were involved. I can't imagine you wield the same power you once did."

Azula gestures with a nod for him to follow her. They walk around the grounds of the villa, out of earshot of Octvaian.

"What do you want?" he asks wearily, already tired of trying to spar with her. Loath as he is to admit it, he isn't in the right headspace to outwit her. And he could use some help with the Senate.

"I want you to make Octavian your sole heir," she says.

"Why?"

She shrugs, keeping her voice purposefully light. "Why not? Who else do you have, now that even Brutus has betrayed you?"

"You don't know everything about my life," Zuko grumbles.

"No? Then tell me. Are the rumors about you and Katara true, then?" Azula's eyes widen. "Is she with your child?"

Zuko shoots her a glare. Azula rolls her eyes.

"Of course not. You wouldn't know what to do with power like hers, or with a woman like her if you had the chance. For a moment I thought you might have grown up. But you'll always be weak."

"What are you offering me in return?" Zuko asks, ignoring her last tirade. He isn't going to be riled up by her anymore. It's just another way she plans to manipulate him.

"There are rumors of a civil war brewing," Azula says. "Please tell me you know about that."

Zuko grits his teeth together and tries to keep his patience. "Yes. Decimus, Brutus, and Cassius are displeased that their plot failed. They still plan to usurp my authority."

"You're going to need wealth and support. Octavian can provide that to you." Azula glances back to where they left him. "He will, of course, need incentive."

"And what is keeping you from killing me yourself the moment I make him my sole heir?"

She pouts. "Why, Zuzu. You're my brother. I would never do such a thing." She twirls the edge of her hair. "Besides, you're useful where you are."

For now. She doesn't have to finish the sentence aloud for Zuko to know what she's implying.

"Fine," he snaps. "I'll do it."

"Good. I'm glad we could come to an agreement."

But Zuko is sure she has bigger plans - ones that will, eventually, not involve him.


43 BC - Rome

Zuko is shocked he still has teeth after all the grinding he's been doing lately.

He's standing in the Senate - the real senate building, not the theatre of Pompey where they tried to kill him - next to Octavian and one of his few true remaining allies, Lepidus. The Senate is voting to create a new Triumvirate composed of the three of them.

Zuko didn't want this. Not because he enjoys being the sole leader - dictator - of Rome, but because he knows that this is exactly what Azula wants. She's been planning this since at least his assassination, if not earlier.

A part of Zuko wonders if she had a hand in the formulation of his assassination plot, too.

The civil war between him and his assassins has had mixed results. He was able to defeat Decimus' forces by himself, but reports of an enormous army being built by Brutus and Cassius in Greece pushed him over the edge. He's run ragged - he's barely slept, he barely eats anymore, and he can't remember the last time he did something that he actually enjoys. The Roman Empire is simply too large for one many alone to oversee, and the Senate sure doesn't care to help.

Azula had laid the groundwork for a new Triumvirate. Although Zuko knew he was playing right into her hands, he was running out of options. Better to retain a third of his power than have his land overrun by the same men who tried to kill him in cold blood.

The Senate, of course, approves the new Triumvirate. Zuko is disappointed but not surprised to discover that he doesn't feel any less stressed. Azula, through Octavian, pushes him to reinstate proscription - a process which allows them to kill political opponents and confiscate their wealth to pay for the armies they're creating to fight Brutus and Cassius. Zuko feels dirty about it, but he's left with no choice. Rome's coffers are empty. His authority is dwindling. He himself is withering.

One night, as he's supposed to be reviewing accounts from a family they slaughtered, he finds himself reaching for a fresh sheet of paper instead. It's been over a year since he last wrote Katara - he hasn't had time to keep up a correspondence with her since his near-assassination, and he wanted to put distance between them after the rumors that fueled his opponents. Now he needs someone in his corner who he can trust.

The words flow out. He writes and writes and writes. Several pages. Before he can convince himself that this might be a bad idea, he sends them.

It takes a few weeks to get a response back. By this time, he's preparing to go to war with with Octavian and Lepidus. Katara's letter is short - just one sentence.

Come to Alexandria.

He doesn't feel weird that he wrote her several pages and she wrote him three words. All he feels is a crushing relief. The idea of seeing her again reinvigorates him.

He writes back a letter only slightly longer: I will. After the war.

He intends to keep that promise.


36 BC - Egypt

At Katara's invitation, Zuko moves permanently to Alexandria.

He had won the civil war against Cassius and Brutus, but that only brought a temporary relief. He still had a large section of empire to rule, and the Senate and foreign kings were as obnoxious as ever. His sister was still plotting and scheming.

He is nothing but a pawn to her. She needed him alive because of his position in the Roman government. Now that Octavian holds an identical title and their enemies are defeated, his use is waning. He knows it's only a matter of time before they reveal their true intentions.

Octavian and Lepidus have been fighting, and it's not going in Lepidus' favor at all. It won't be long before Octavian defeats him and takes over his territories, effectively ousting him from the Triumvirate and from Rome in all but name. Once Lepidus is out of the picture, Zuko is next.

So he takes up Katara's offer. He starts to build up his army, preparing for the inevitable war that is approaching. He tries to build up allies and treaties.

Both he and Katara are kept busy, but they find time to walk the halls and gardens of the palace, bouncing problems and solutions off each other. They've fallen into a casual relationship that feels safe and comfortable. Zuko still feels a strong pull towards her, but it's easier for him to push those feelings aside long enough to deal with his empire when he's this close to her.

Part of him wants more than this friendship. He can't deny the way he feels about her - she's always been the one he's been able to run to, ever since that first night in Pelusium. She's beautiful and powerful and smart and the only person in the entire world that he trusts completely.

Part of him still warns him that she's a threat, nagging in his ear about how she has been, and will always be, his downfall. There's nothing good to come from being close to her. She's dangerous.

That part of him is what keeps him from pursuing anything more, even though there are times when he thinks she might be feeling the same way about him. He wishes he could ignore it, but those strange memories rush back into his mind: her pushing him under the dark water; her standing in front of him as he sinks to the ground, arrows sticking out of his torso.

Is it fate? Destiny? Zuko doesn't know. No amount of trips to the temple or to the Augur clears up anything for him. So he continues dancing around her, indulging himself enough not to go crazy but denying a growing part of him that demands more.


31 BC - Greece

The world is in chaos.

Katara isn't sure which turmoil is the worst: the storm inside of her, or the war raging outside.

She paces across the length of her (admittedly luxurious) tent, her mind both entirely blank and spinning with an overload of concerns all at the same time. It's like hearing a cacophony of sounds all at once and being unable to pick any singular one out to identify.

The table shoved to one side of the tent is strewn with maps and reports. Her bed is unmade and unkept. She's barely slept in the last few months, only snatching a few hours here and there.

The war hasn't been going well. Zuko warned her years ago that his sister and her husband would eventually turn against them, but Katara thought they'd have more time. It was never a matter that she spent too much time worrying about. Zuko had never grown complacent - he'd built up a strong base in Egypt, trained his soldiers and hers. Katara supported him, but she never took an active interest in it herself.

She regrets that now. Almost as much as she regrets never acting upon her feelings for Zuko.

That's another one of her many issues, other than the recent battle that had set them back significantly. As her world is crashing down around her, she wants Zuko more than ever - and she realizes that she wasted too much time. There's no place in war for love, but she squandered times in peace - if "peace" is ever something either of them have truly known. They met through war, and they reunited in war, and once again they're in the midst of a war.

All those strange memories she has of herself and Zuko - those are all in war, too.

It must be their fate, to always be caught in conflict, to never have the opportunity for soft, summer times. Katara thinks of her days in Rome before Zuko's near-assassination and the years he spent in Alexandria before his sister and Octavian revealed the true nature of their schemes. Those were the times in which they had a chance.

But both Katara and Zuko are too self-sacrificing for their own good; they'd put their empires and their people before their own lives any day. And they both knew that opening themselves up for more than what they had would be to risk throwing it all away for their selfish desires.

Still, as Katara witnesses Octavian and Azula's forces beat hers and Zuko's back, and the end of everything they've ever worked towards nears, she wishes she hadn't had so much self-restraint. It's all for nothing, in the end, anyway.

She stops in front of the desk, at the papers covered in bad news and at the maps displaying exactly how many defeats they've had. Katara has never been one to give up. She's always held onto hope. When her brother drove her out of Alexandria, she bided her time and waited - and Zuko appeared. If she had given up, she would have missed that opportunity. When she heard that the Roman senators were plotting against Zuko, she dropped everything to go to the theatre in the hope that she would make it there in time - and she did.

Now, though, she can't see any miraculous way to salvage her kingdom - or Zuko's.

Katara won't give up. She'll see this war through its bitter end. But she no longer has hope of coming out on the winning end of it.

She sets her palms down on the table and lowers her head. She'd pray if she thought the gods were listening. Instead she tries to quiet the torment in her mind.

Behind her, she hears her tent opening. Zuko. Normally Katara enjoys seeing him, but right now she wants to be alone - partly because she's ashamed of herself for accepting defeat and can't bear him witnessing it, and partly because she's dangerously weak right now and she's not sure she could keep herself from doing something she would regret.

"I don't have the energy to talk tonight," she says without turning.

"Really? I came all this way."

Katara freezes. The voice isn't familiar to her, but somehow she knows exactly who it belongs to. Chills run down her spine as she slowly turns to face the other woman.

Azula. Standing in front of her, as if she isn't the enemy queen, as if she didn't somehow manage to sneak behind enemy lines and past Katara's guards.

"How did you get here?" Katara demands, clutching at the knife around her waist.

"Don't bother with that cute toy," Azula says, grinning. It has all the warmth of a void. "I just came to have a friendly chat."

"We're in the middle of a war."

"How observant. I was told you were smart."

Katara bristles, drawing herself up. "What do you want?"

"Direct. I appreciate that." Azula crosses her arms. "I admire you, Katara. It's not easy being in your position - especially as a woman. Even I have to hide behind my husband. But make no mistake - all his actions are under my direction. I am the architect of all of this. I am in control of this entire war."

"Then what do you want? Do you want my throne? My crown?"

"I want us to be allies. You can keep your throne - as long as you're subservient to me. You'll still have direct control over your people. I'll just borrow your army and parts of your land from time to time, maybe manipulate trade using tariffs, collect a small fee for my kindness."

"Just like that?" Katara asks flatly. This is too good to be true. A woman like Azula doesn't turn down complete domination easily.

"One condition, of course." Azula cocks her head. "You'll need to take my brother out of the picture."

"Take him out…" Katara's breath catches in her throat. "You want me to kill him?"

"He's proving quite difficult to assassinate - no thanks to you. Although, in hindsight, I'm glad the Senate attempt failed. I was able to twist that into quite the advantage. Now, though, this war is dragging on longer than I'd like. As long as he's alive, he's a threat. The people like him - not the elites, the plebeians. And while they're not powerful individually, as a group, as a movement, they threaten everything I'm building. So he needs to die."

She says it so matter-of-factly. It shakes Katara to the core. She won't claim to be innocent of crimes against her own family, but at least she felt bad about her actions. Azula is entirely indifferent.

No wonder Zuko was so afraid of her.

"I can't do that."

"Can't? Or won't?" Azula's golden eyes - the same color as Zuko's - bore into her. "You love him, don't you?"

Katara's fists clench at her sides. "I can't kill him," she repeats. "I would lose all credibility. No one would ever take me at my word again. As a leader, my word is even more important than my life."

"You won't need anyone else to trust your word. If you're my ally, no one will dare cross you or deny you."

Katara simply shakes her head.

Azula throws her hands up in the air. "Fine. I know this is a difficult decision, so I won't press you to make it now. Take your time, think it over, whatever. But my offer still stands." She pauses, then adds, "We could be great allies. The world's two most powerful women. Who could stand in our way?"

Then she's gone, disappearing as suddenly as she'd appeared. Katara's legs are unable to support her any longer. She stumbles to her bed, her hands fisting in the sheets. Zuko warned her about his sister. He told her she couldn't be trusted, that she was evil and manipulative.

He never warned her about just how cruel Azula was.

Katara never thought she'd be put in a position to choose her people or choose Zuko.

She's ashamed to admit that she doesn't know what she's going to do.


Zuko stands at the helm of his ship, looking out over the waters of the Ionian Sea. Ahead of him, the white sails of Octavian and Azula's fleet part through the morning mist rising off the waters. The sun's rays are slowly piercing through and dissipating them, serving only to make their enemy's fleet look larger and more formidable than ever.

Zuko has never been an optimist. He knows their chances of winning are barely existent.

But he'd rather die than give up.

Azula - and through her, Octavian - have taken everything from him. After all but threatening Zuko after exiling Lepidus and pushing him away to Egypt, the couple began to spread rumors throughout Rome. They accused Zuko of being seduced by Katara, of giving in to all her demands and allowing her to wield his influence for her own gain. The Senate, who has been against him for years, and was deeply insulted after Katara interfered with Zuko's would-be assassination, were easily convinced to declare war on Katara.

Zuko could have gone back to Rome, tried to make amends. He wouldn't have changed their minds about Katara and Egypt. All he would have done is ended up on the other side of this battle. The winning side, perhaps, but not the right side.

The Senate has no idea the depths of Azula and Octavian's ambition. They think they're saving the Republic from a foreign queen, when really they're enabling autocrats. Not that the Senate would care, either way - they're exactly the kind of people who would benefit from such a government, so long as they keep their heads down and play along.

So even if this is the losing side, it's the side Zuko proudly stands on.

The battle, though it hasn't yet started, is already going awry. Katara had suggested they move their fleet back to Alexandria a few weeks back, since many of their oarsmen and some of their fighters were dead or weakened by a recent malaria outbreak. She also thought that it would be better for them to go on the defensive. As Zuko gave out the order, Octavian had his ships start to pass Zuko's. Even now, as he watches them, he knows he'll have to give the order to attack. If he doesn't, he risks Octavian's fleet surrounding his - and that's not a risk he can take.

Octavian - rather, Azula, most likely - is forcing his hand.

Zuko wishes he could see Katara once more before the battle. She's here, though her ships are in a different position than his, so she has her own command and flagship. He knows there's a good chance one of them won't make it out alive. It would have been nice to talk with her one last time.

To say what? He doesn't know, exactly. At the very least, he'd thank her for being by his side and supporting him through the past almost twenty years now, even though they'd been a sea apart for most of that time. As it stands, she's the only one of his allies that haven't died or betrayed him.

The thought is bitter in his mouth. His whole life, and what has he done? He's fought and clawed his way to the top, and then fought the opposition and clawed his way back up after being betrayed, and then he spent years preparing to fight again and now he's here. One long war, and he's not even going to win it.

Some part of him wants to jump ship, find Katara, and escape. Maybe they could go north to the parts of Europe that the Roman Republic hadn't been able to conquer. Maybe they could travel south, past Egypt and into the deep continent of Africa. They could go east, to Asia and India. Or they could just keep sailing west into the unknown.

As much as he desires to run away with her, he knows it's never going to happen. As long as he's a threat, his sister and Octavian will hunt him down. And as long as she's alive, Katara won't give up her throne. She's worked too hard, sacrificed too much to just give it up on a whim. She cares about her people too much to abandon them, especially to the likes of Azula and Octavian who would no doubt claim Egypt without her there to protect it.

Zuko knows he's just delaying the inevitable now, and every second counts. He turns to the ship's captain and flashes him the signal.

Within a minute, the attack blast goes out, notifying the rest of the fleet that the battle has begun.


Horns blare out. Drums pound, the vibrations travelling through the wooden decks of the ships and relaying commands. Arrows whistle through the air, thudding solidly into the mast or sinking softly into flesh. Ballistae fire, shredding through sails and rigging and soldiers. Fire rages, jumping from one ship to another.

Through the smoke comes the cries of men in pain and triumph and effort. Swords clash against each other in a ring of steel. The planks of the ships are soaked through with blood and cluttered with bodies.

This is war.


It was over before it even began.

After barely slipping past Octavian and Azula's forces with a small entourage of small ships, Zuko learns that one of his generals defected the morning of the battle, relaying Zuko's battle plans to his enemies. Yet another betrayal - though one that would ultimately prove to be deadly. Maybe not physically, but in all other meanings of the word.

Zuko's land armies have dispersed, either fleeing to Macedonia or surrendering. His fleet is decimated, only the ships around his having escaped from the navy battle. He's out of allies, out of an army, out of power.

He has nothing left.

The journey back to Alexandria lasts an eternity and passes all too quickly at the same time. Zuko rests in his cabin most of the trip, nursing a few injuries from the battle. He doesn't know what happens next, and for once he doesn't care.

Azula and Octavian won. They'll come for him soon enough. Egypt's army and navy are crippled and vulnerable to attack. Katara doesn't stand a chance, either - if she's still alive. Her ship had been among those that had fled the gulf of Ionia, but rough seas and inconsistent winds had separated them early on in the journey. Even if her ship makes it, he has no guarantee she survived.

She's always been smarter than him. Surely she has a plan. She still has a kingdom, at least. Zuko has nothing but the ship he's on and the people around him. He's at her mercy now.

He ends up arriving at the city two days before she does. He's still recovering when she bursts through the door, dressed in a simple dress and wearing only simple jewelry. The edge of her kohl is smudged under one eye. Her wavy hair is down, flowing around her shoulders, frizzy and knotted in some places.

She's never looked more beautiful.

Zuko stands up, ignoring the pain in his leg from an arrow, and rushes over to her. He ignores all standards of propriety and reaches for her, unable to speak his relief at her well-being in any other way.

The same desperation is reflected in her eyes. She presses her cheek into the hollow of his throat even as he clutches her close to him, his fingers tangling in her hair. He can feel her body shaking, smell the faint salt lingering around her from being at sea. The knife hanging from her belt - his old knife, the one with the ornate hilt with that curious blue stone - presses into his side.

He's not sure how long he holds her for. It's not long enough. He buries his face in her shoulder, wishing he had more of her and knowing that if he had any more he wouldn't be able to stop himself. This seems a fair compromise, even if it makes his heart ache in ways he didn't know possible.

When they finally release each other, Katara is crying.

He's so shocked by the expression that for a moment he isn't sure what to do. He's never seen her show weakness of any kind. Even as she grew comfortable with him over the years, she still kept some walls up. Now they all seem to have come crashing down.

He reaches out, wipes them away with a sweep of his thumb. He doesn't try to tell her that it's going to be okay, because he can't guarantee that. He doesn't try to tell her that at least they still have each other, because they won't. Not for long.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice ragged.

"For what?" Zuko's brows pull together. He takes a step towards her, closing some of the distance between them. "You have nothing to apologize for. You're the only one who has nothing to apologize for. If anything, I should say sorry to you. I'm the one who dragged you into this mess."

She shakes her head, fresh tears dripping down her cheeks. "You didn't drag me into anything. I'm the one who asked for your help first. Anything beyond that was my own decision."

He smiles slightly, a twisted expression. "Even with it ending this way, I wouldn't change anything."

He doesn't say the exact words, but the meaning is clear. Katara presses her lips together tightly, her eyes betraying an excruciating look.

"I would," she whispers. He almost doesn't hear it. He wishes he didn't.

His heart drops in his chest. Somehow, hearing her say that is more painful than when he saw Brutus approaching him with a knife that day in the theatre of Pompey, more painful than seeing his sister grin wickedly at him, even more painful than his father calling him a failure and a disgrace.

Those were all people he thought loved him. Katara is the one he was sure cared about him - and the only one who he truly loved in return.

"Not because I regret knowing you," she continues, sniffing. "Nor because I regret all the time we spent together. Because I don't. You're the only person I consider a true friend and ally. The only person I've ever - "

She stops herself suddenly. Zuko watches helplessly as she wipes furiously at her eyes and forces herself to stand tall. Her kohl is smeared all over her face, giving her a ghastly appearance.

"In another life," she says, "we could have a happy ending. We could choose each other. Neither of us have that luxury in this life."

Zuko nods once. He understands. It's gutting, but he always knew that this was the way things would go. It's why he's kept his distance all these years, pushing away all the extra thoughts of her.

"That's why I'm sorry," she says, swallowing and lifting her chin up. "I could have been your queen, and together we could have ruled the mightiest empire in the world."

This is goodbye, then. He can hear it in her voice, see it in her expression. He hates how they speak without ever saying what they mean - and yet they understand each other. Without him in the picture, Katara has a chance to pull together the pieces of her kingdom. Perhaps she can make a treaty with Azula and Octavian.

As long as Zuko is around, he's a threat to her and her people.

"I'll go east," he tells her, even though he has no reason to. "I don't know what I'll do yet. I'll never forget you, Katara."

She looks at a spot over his shoulder, her face twitching as though she's trying desperately to hold herself together. He waits a moment, but she doesn't say anything. He understands.

He starts for the door. As he passes her, she reaches out and puts her left palm against his chest, stopping him in his tracks. She looks over at him from the side. Her bright blue eyes betray an excruciating pain within her. It tugs at Zuko's heart.

"Wait," she says.

He waits, staring into her eyes the entire time, willing her to ask him to stay or to offer to go with him. He'll take a future with her no matter what form it takes.

She's the only one.

He's so preoccupied with thoughts of her that he doesn't feel the knife at first.

All he feels is a strange coldness in his side, under his ribs. Then the pain comes. He stumbles a few steps back, his hands pressing to his side. Katara stands in place, that tortured look still spread across her face as she watches.

He looks down at the blood spilling over his fingers and dripping onto the floor, sees the glint of jewels on the hilt of the knife sticking out of him.

There's blood smeared across the blue stone. A strange feeling that he only gets around Katara flares up, stronger than it's ever been aside from the very first time they met. Some strange voice in his mind shouts at him to give her the knife back. It's insistent and irresistible; were he in any other state of mind, he'd be unable to resist it.

Now, as the betrayal sinks in, he wants nothing more to do with Katara.

She takes a step towards him, her eyes brimming over with fresh tears. Zuko stumbles back a few more steps, holding out one hand to ward her off, his other hand still pressed vainly to his side.

How could you? he wants to scream. You were the one person who has never betrayed me! You were the only person I trusted completely!

But he already knows the answer. She told him. That's what she was apologizing for. Somewhere along the line, she must have made a deal with Azula and Octavian. His life for her kingdom.

How long has she been plotting to betray him? Did she know about his general that defected? Did she betray the plans herself?

Thinking about those possibilities is too much. Zuko's already dying painfully; he doesn't need that added suffering.

That feeling of fate rises back up in his mind. There are no specific memories for him to draw from, but somehow he knows that if he gives her back the knife, this will all end. Their intertwined fates will end.

He remembers his nightmares of her holding him underwater until he stops moving, of her running into the arms of the man that shot him full of arrows. He died trying to give her back the stone. He remembers now.

If he keeps the knife with the stone in it, this cycle will continue. He'll see her again and they'll go through this cycle again. He'll start developing feelings for her and she'll betray him, just as she always does.

She's destined to be his death. And he's destined to die for her.

He doesn't want to die for her anymore. Not after what she's done to him.

Katara reaches out for him. "Zuko," she starts.

"No." He shakes his head from side to side, reaches for the hilt with his hand. "I'm done. Take it. I don't want it. I don't want you."

He wrenches it out of his side, feels blood rushes out in a fresh gush. He throws the bloody knife at her feet with the last of his strength.

She stares at it, then brings her eyes up to his.

Then he collapses.


Katara rushes to him, catching him as he falls and slowly lowering his body to the ground. He's already gone by the time she holds his head in her lap, his eyes closed like the night of his almost-assassination.

It's not a fair comparison to make, but her heart is clenched so tightly in her chest that it feels as though she's the one who has been stabbed. It's such a physical hurt that she double overs, eyes squeezed tightly and breath held as she tries to ride it through.

But this isn't a pain that's going to go away so easily. Sobs build up in her throat and burst out. She holds Zuko's lifeless body in her arm, not fully understanding how she was capable of such a terrible deed.

I did it for my people, she tries to tell herself. I could never do this for my own gain.

Somehow, that doesn't make things any easier.

Through her blurry tears, she can see the discarded knife across the room, the one he'd thrown at her. His words echo in her mind. It's her own personal hell. She'll never get to hear Zuko tell her how he really felt about her, but she'll always hear him reject her vehemently.

I don't want you.

She knows if she picks up that knife it will all be over. The original wrong will be righted. When they die this time, they won't come back. They'll finally pass on to whatever afterlife awaits them.

It would be so easy. A part of her is straining for it, trying to take control of her body. All she has to do is pick it up, to accept it.

Katara meant what she said. In another life, she and Zuko could be happy. They could be selfish and tell each other how they truly feel instead of dancing around each other, repressing the depth of their emotions and building walls between them.

She doesn't know if he can ever forgive her for this betrayal, in this life or the next. She does know that she'll never find peace in the afterlife if she picks up that knife. One wrong may have been righted, but it was achieved at the cost of a new wrong.

"I'm sorry," she repeats to Zuko, though she knows he's too far to hear. "I can't give up on us. There has to be something more. After all we've sacrificed for each other - it can't end like this. I won't let it."

She can still feel the ghost of his touch on her face, wiping away her tears. She can still feel the warmth of his body as he held her tight. She has to believe that this isn't the end. They never even had a true beginning. It wouldn't be fair.

"Huh. You really did love him."

Katara whips her head up as Azula steps out of the shadows. She has no idea how the other woman got here, but somehow she's not surprised. Azula has been the mastermind behind all of this, a menace in the darkness.

"What do you want?" Katara demands, fire rising up in her chest. Azula is the reason she had to kill Zuko. She wasn't able to save him, but maybe she can avenge him.

"First, I wanted to see if you'd actually go through on our deal. I must admit, I am surprised." Azula strides across the room casually, as if she owns it. She might as well. "You've proven to be quite formidable. It's a shame, really."

Katara sets Zuko down gently and stands, her hand going to the knife at her belt - only to remember that it's no longer there. A cold feeling rushes through her veins.

"A shame to see your brother die?" Katara asks.

"No. That's a relief. He was just an embarrassment." Azula waves her hand dismissively. "See, I was hoping you wouldn't come through on your end, because it means you've got steel. I admire that. I admire you. Which makes this all the harder."

Azula stops beside the bloody knife and picks it up, spinning it between her fingers and examining it the way one might inspect a piece of jewelry. Katara backs away, glancing around the room for anything that might be useful as a weapon.

"If you were any less committed, killing you would be easy. Instead, it's a tragedy. The gods know there aren't enough women like us in the world. But the problem is that I can't let you live, either. You're too big of a threat." Azula tilts her head and smiles tightly. "You see the paradox?"

"I see someone with no honor," Katara shoots back, keeping her voice level despite the way her heart is racing.

"I don't care about honor. I care about power. That's something my brother never learned, or else he might still be alive." Azula looks down at his body and sighs deeply. "Oh, well. It's over for him now. And you'll be right behind him."

With a shocking speed, Azula launches herself at Katara. She half-turns, grabbing a vase from the side table and swinging it in defense. Azula ducks underneath and sweeps her leg under Katara's. Katara hits the ground hard.

The last thing she sees before she dies is Azula's eyes - the same golden color of Zuko's.