A sharp rapping knock startled Azula out of her slumber. She snapped into a seated position, blue flames unfurling in her palms defensively as she fought to blink away the bleary sleep in her eyes.

It took several seconds for her to realize where she was. The room was pleasantly warm, the fire in the middle of the small hut still going strong. A glance out the window proved that night had fallen. The moon was high and bright tonight, reflecting off the frosty snow in an ethereal way. She couldn't deny the beauty of it, even through the haze of the small window.

The same sharp knock forced her attention to the door. She cleared her throat and put out her flames, smoothing down her wrinkled clothing and quickly running her hands through her cropped hair. She then realized she'd made a promise to have dinner with Kanna and had most likely slept through it. She squashed the guilt that bubbled in her grumbling belly. She didn't need to feel guilty—these weren't her friends or her family. Hell, she'd never felt guilty even when she did have friends and family. So why did she now feel so bent out of shape for breaking a stupid promise to have dinner with a perfect stranger?

She gritted her teeth and stood up, taking an even breath.

You're in the South Pole. Your name is Song. Play your part, she whispered to herself. She stepped towards the door, plastering a warm smile on her face.

"I'm so sorry—did I miss dinner?" she asked as she swung the door open. Her smile dropped immediately when the Chief of the Idiots stepped in casually holding a tray of warm food. She took a quick glance outside and quickly shut the door behind him to lock the cold out. It was an unpleasantly familiar chill that she wasn't interesting in experiencing anytime soon.

"What, no smiles for me, Song?" he asked smugly. His expression grew uneasy when met with Azula's icy glare.

"I see you've come to serve me, peasant," she replied impassively, wiping her expression clean of emotion. She couldn't get him get the best of her.

"Sokka," he corrected, placing the tray of food by the fire to keep it warm. "I'm the Chief of the Southern Water Tribe, Azula. You can at least call me by name."

Azula eyed the tray warily, taking a seat by the fire to warm back up.

"The leader of peasants is still a peasant."

"Is a fugitive princess still a princess?"

Azula shot him an irritated glare, but her hunger urged her to let this battle go. She was less tired now and more alert to his movements. She watched him with sharp eyes as he took a seat beside her. He scooted the tray of food between them and she eyed it suspiciously again. Had he poisoned it? It would be an easy way to dispose of her. No mess, no violence. He could bury her body out in the fucking snow and let Zuko find her, let him believe that she hadn't survived the bitter cold.

The whelp is not on your side, Ozai hissed.

"I didn't poison it," Sokka answered her unasked question. She looked away from the tray, beyond irritated that her stomach wouldn't stop gurgling and even more outraged that the peasant seemed to be in tune with her thoughts. She took pride in her ability to hide her sentiments, to lie, to deceive. For him to be able to seemingly read her mind and feel out her emotions… it was unnerving. Her stomach growled loudly again, and she glanced back at the tray.

There was a large pot of some strange looking stew and two large servings of steamed fish beside it. There was also a pot of fragrant rice and a small assortment of sides that she knew wasn't native to the South. She recognized the fire flakes immediately. The tray also held two small, empty bowls with utensils. Sokka picked a bowl up and ladled the stew into it, taking a long sip and sighing contentedly.

"It won't taste good if you let it go cold," he warned, already helping himself to rice and the variety of sides.

Azula's hunger won over as soon as she watched him take several large bites. She filled her bowl quietly and they ate in silence for several minutes. He was right about the soup not being good after it cooled. He said nothing when she placed her hand on the pot and had the stew bubbling again in seconds. It was surprisingly comfortable silence, neither of them finding the need to fill the gap with mindless chatter. Azula was thankful for it, though she'd never admit that she could barely hold a normal conversation without becoming hostile or manipulative.

She'd never shared a meal with anyone other than her family, either. She spent her childhood sharing meals with father, mother, and her brother. After Ursa's disappearance, Zuko spent less and less time with her. She couldn't blame him as she spent every waking moment ensuring his life was as miserable as she could make it. As she grew older, the meals with her father became few and far between. She ate most of her meals alone towards the end of Ozai's rule, with only fearful servants and advisors at her side.

It was a strange exchange now, digging into the same rice and fish with someone so unfamiliar to her. It was even more strange to know that this man didn't outwardly cower in her presence. If he had any fear of her, he was good at hiding it.

She cast a glance at the seasoned warrior, following the curve of his thick brows to his icy blue eyes, down his nose and across his defined, tanned jawline. In this moment, and this moment alone, Azula admitted to herself that the peasant was pleasing to the eye. But he was just that—a peasant. Not worth her time, nor her attention. But looking was harmless, wasn't it? She reasoned with herself while her eyes began trailing down his neck, where smooth tan skin hid beneath a thick layer of pelt and furs.

She averted her gaze back to her bowl before he could catch her. The fire was dangerously low again. Sokka was quick to throw a few more logs on and she took the liberty of setting them ablaze. They continued their silent meal and her thoughts drifted again, wandering back to the past.

Life was easier before Zuko's banishment. She was Ozai's favorite, after all. Zuko would take all the berating from their father and Ozai praised her. She was a child prodigy. She was the master bender and martial artist that Ozai wished Zuko had become. She didn't need to be scolded, tutored, or punished for her shortcomings like her brother. But that also meant Zuko got all the attention from their mother that she craved. Ursa was always there, nursing Zuko's wounded pride, helping him back up on his feet after every beating. Ursa cared for him in ways that she'd never cared for Azula before. She struggled to recall even one moment where her mother held her close, or whispered how much she loved her like she had for Zuko. Azula didn't cry like Zuko had when Ursa disappeared. She wasn't even sad. She felt satisfied, in fact. Good riddance to the mother who thought of her as a monster.

After Zuko's exile, the relationship between Azula and her father changed. There was no one left for Ozai to punish, and suddenly there was so much pressure on her to be the best—to do more, to be better. So that's what she did. She clawed her way to the top, bended until her fingers bled and she could conjure lightning, trained until she had mastered every form of martial arts in the books, studied so hard she could recite books from memory. She led military fleets under ruthless dictatorships, was the right hand to her father, and was in line to be the next in power.

All that work… and for what?

To share a meal in the fucking South Pole with a man she barely knew, who had zero trust in her, and would most likely betray her to her own brother? All that work to become a fugitive and watch her weaker, idiot brother rule the Fire Nation from afar? Fuck. That.

She wanted to scream.

Getting sentimental, daughter? Ozai asked darkly. You were a gifted child. I didn't need to watch you constantly. You were exactly what I needed you to be. You were perfect. Until you weren't.

Right… perfect. The ideal child, who needed nothing because she could already do everything. I didn't need you, or mother, or Zuko. In fact, I don't need you now. So why are you still here? Azula asked. She was seething with unhinged rage, her hands itching to destroy something.

You do need me, Azula. Why else would I be here?

"Did you miss the fire flakes? They're my favorite," Sokka asked, breaking her tense internal monologue with Ozai. She responded with a fiery glare, still reeling with anger from her remembrance of the past and Ozai's jarring laughter in her ear.

"I see Zuzu has been openly trading our goods. I hope he didn't get this disgusting stew in return," she spat, slamming her bowl onto the tray and pushing it away.

"Hey, Gran Gran makes the best sea prune stew in the South!" Sokka argued, quickly gulping down the last of the soup before putting his own empty bowl down. He settled comfortably on the ground, his legs splayed out while he patted his full stomach. If he could sense her rage, he didn't make it known.

Azula paused, remembering her promise to Kanna and the strange guilt she felt. She turned her nose into the air and shifting her body away from Sokka so he couldn't see her face.

"Tell Kanna that Song said her stew was delicious. And that Song will have dinner with her tomorrow evening."

"You mean Song is going to have dinner with Gran Gran and me. 'Cause I eat with her every night," Sokka corrected, propping himself up on his elbows and flashing a pearly white grin. Did that mean the idiot had skipped dinner with his grandmother so that he could eat with her? Another wave of guilt washed over Azula and it was nauseating.

"Whatever, peasant. Just tell her that Song said she was sorry for missing dinner tonight, understood?!"

Sokka paused, tilting his head to the side. "Does Song feel guilty, or does Azula feel guilty?"

He hadn't realized he'd pushed too far until it was too late. He could feel the heat radiating off her, fueled by his triggering question. "Wait a minute now, Azula. I didn't mean—"

He narrowly dodged a small blue fireball that blazed by his head. "Hey!" he exclaimed, whipping his head around to watch it fizzle out before it hit the wall of the hut. He was agile enough to dodge two more fireballs, these ones aimed at his torso. The realization of her weakened state and his own skills brought a crooked grin to his lips. That only pissed her off more.

He was playing with fire and he knew it, but he'd done his own training in the last year as well. Azula didn't know that he'd spent several months training with Master Piandao, honing his sword mastery and hand to hand combat. She didn't know that Aang and Katara had continually sparred with him when they visited the South Pole, and when they had to leave for Aang's avatar duties he'd find a sparring partner in Master Pakku, or his father. Oh, it wasn't without moaning and groaning, sleepy mornings, and constantly aching muscles—but in this moment, he couldn't be more thankful that he'd mastered his craft.

"I thought we made a truce. No violence, remember?" he reminded while narrowing dodging another small blast of blue flames. He moved in slowly, using the fancy footwork that Piandao had taught him. Azula was tiring, her movements becoming sloppier with each lob of fire.

"I promised not to hurt your people, I never promised not to roast you where you stand, you infuriating imbecile!" she screeched. He was closing in quickly, within arm's reach. She threw a fiery fist and he caught her by the wrist, pushing her arm above her head only to be surprised by her knee slamming into his gut. He grunted and caught her leg, gripping it tightly as he grappled her to the ground. He was quick to pin her other arm before she could let loose another fiery punch and straddled her waist. She was bucking violently below him and had she been at full strength he wouldn't have been able to hold her there. His sheer weight alone was pinning her tiny frame to the ground.

"Get the fuck off me!" she demanded.

"Not until you calm down," he grunted, trying not to crush her with his weight while keeping her pinned down. After a few moments of struggle, he felt her relax beneath him, her body going limp. She was breathing hard, her head to turned to the side, golden eyes glued to the wall.

"Look, I didn't mean to say that before. Well, I didn't mean to make you feel bad, I guess. Shit, I'm just trying to say I'm sorry—ack!" he gasped when realized that Azula had somehow managed to curl her bottom half upwards and grip his neck between her legs, violently pulling him backwards towards the ground. His legs instinctively wrapped around her middle to try and gain leverage, even as she tightened her thighs around his throat. She sat up, looking down on him with a satisfied smirk.

"Having a hard time breathing, savage?" she asked, her legs locked securely around his throat. She watched him struggle to break out of her grasp while trying to unhinge his thick legs from her waist. Her back was aching with the pressure of holding herself and his lower half up. "You're fucking heavy," she grunted.

"Truce," Sokka wheezed, holding his hands up in the air in submission. At this rate they were both going to pass out from the exertion. Azula relented, her aching back begging her for relief. She released her lock on his throat and felt his legs go slack around her. They both sagged back onto the ground, not bothering to untangle their limbs as they tried to slow their breathing. Azula found it oddly warm, and somehow not an unappealing feeling. She tried not to think too far into it. Ozai was already ranting about how she should have 'killed the whelp' and set the village on fire.

She was the first to push her knee into his ribs, rudely signaling him to get the fuck off her. Sokka grunted and rolled away, finally pushing up into a seated position on the floor. "I meant what I said. I didn't mean to make you feel guilty."

Azula rolled her eyes. She glued her eyes to the ceiling, listening to him climb to his feet and refusing to acknowledge his apology. "I'm tired. Get out."

She heard a soft sigh followed by the clinking of bowls and cups as he collected the food tray off the ground and headed to the door to make his departure. She was reminded of her broken promise to Kanna, her suddenly sickening guilt, and Sokka's triggering question.

Who was guilty—Song or Azula? Was her culpability just a manifestation of the girl she was impersonating, or was this guilt truly her own? The thin lines holding her frail mental health together were beginning to fray. How much longer could she keep up this ruse whilst entertaining the booming voice of her father in her head? How many days would it take before the lines snapped and she lost herself to her own mind?

It was too much. Azula couldn't stop the swelling of tears, nor the man who was suddenly kneeling at her side. She flinched when his hand gingerly brushed across her cheek. What the fuck was this? He had no reason to want to help her. In fact, if she were in his place, she would have jumped at the opportunity to slaughter a weakened opponent. The only explanation was that he was toying with her now, waiting to see how she would react so he could use it to his advantage later. That's what she would do.

"Don't," she choked out in a trembling voice. "Just get out."

"I don't think you want to be alone, Azula. Even if you say you do," he responded in a subdued tone. Before she could protest, she felt strong arms lifting her from the ground. Her body felt like rubber, so disgustingly weak and frail. Even worse was how fucking warm his body was, even through the thick furs of his clothing. She was leaning into him before she could stop herself, letting him cradle her like someone who actually cared about her well-being—like someone who gave a fuck about who she was. Even if this was all a ruse and he ended up betraying her later, she couldn't find it in her to push him away.

She felt her back sit the soft bed and watched silently as he pulled the covers over her, then reclaimed his place by the fire. "Sleep," he ordered. "I'll be here when you wake."

"I don't want you here."

She intended it to sound spiteful, but her voice was hoarse and trembling. There was no response.

Her eyes were already incredibly heavy. She blinked blearily at him, her mind right on the edge of sinking into unconsciousness. She shouldn't feel this comfortable. She shouldn't trust him. She shouldn't be able to fall asleep so quickly with this lowborn stranger watching over her. And yet…

"Sokka?"

"Hm?" he responded, his body laid out comfortably in front of the fire. He turned those too-fucking-blue eyes to meet hers. There was a faint smile on his lips and she almost wanted to return one of her own. How in Agni's name had she gone from nearly killing the idiot to calling him by name? How could he make her so infuriated in one instance and then turn around and give her a smile that warm? She couldn't understand it.

"I feel guilty."

"What?" he asked, brows knitted together in confusion.

"Song doesn't feel guilty—I do."

Sokka didn't respond immediately. She watched through lidded eyes as settled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. "Sleep, Princess."

She let the sound of his even breathing lull her into a deep, dreamless slumber.