The iron-colored waves lap against the side of the ship, a floating hunk of metal that suspends the crown prince, newly reunited with his evasive honor, from his polar opposite. And, just watching the water, darkened by the night, the memory hits him, hard.
"The separation of the four elements is an illusion. We are all one people, living as if divided. We-"
Prince Zuko cringes and shoves the memory of his father-no, his uncle, where did father come from?- away to rot in some dark corner of his buzzing mind, just like the man who said the words from far away and long ago. Didn't he, the prince whose banishment was sorely regretted as he became the conqueror of Ba Sing Se, know this better than anyone? The Great War had both ripped his life to shreds and given him the opportunity to seize it once more, glue together the pieces. Iroh was just not smart enough to have realized it was the chance at redemption Prince Zuko so often begged for, ever since the mark of his banishment and disgrace was burned so obviously and resolutely onto his face by the man he called both father and lord.
He squeezes his amber eyes shut to the night that encompasses him, pushing the ghosts of the person he used to be away, digging his fingers into his temples to chase off the voices. Spirits, why doesn't his brain understand? He is going home, this is what he's wanted- to be this revered hero, treated, at last, like the future ruler he has always been meant to be, despite what the scars of the past tried to convince him of.
He hears soft footsteps padding almost indiscernibly across the deck. Prince Zuko opens his tormented eyes to find Mai, so trained for stealth, gliding pale and beautiful, almost phantomlike, in her long elegant dress toward him. As a fire bender he is experienced with having flames at his fingertips and under his control, but no matter how hard he tries he cannot seem to dispel the heat from his cheeks in time for her approach. In his mind he thanks his sister Azula for what is probably the first time, if only for reuniting them without actually meaning to.
"Are you nervous?" she asks him, her dark eyes laced with worry, and Prince Zuko prides himself for being one of the few who can spark her deeply buried emotions. He loses himself in the steadiness of her voice, one he used to recognize by the slightest pretty syllable before three long years of estrangement and strife tore them apart. He finds comfort in her stability, which is something he has yet to get to know again.
"Yes," he answers simply, looking back out to sea, where, somewhere beyond the horizon, his kingdom awaited with open arms. "What if my father doesn't accept me? What if he doesn't restore my honor?"
"You already have," Mai replies, turning his face to her. "Stop worrying."
Then she kisses him, slowly lifting her lips to his as hesitantly as if he'd stop her- yeah, that'd happen,-lightly and sweetly and shyly and fifteen years in the making. He'd lived in the Fire Nation for thirteen years before he was banished, but only now does he think he can call it a home.
Dawn sneaks its way across the sky, spattering the black abyss with oranges and pinks and reds, just the way Prince Zuko, standing next to the captain at the helm, likes it. It takes all of his effort to banish the memories of standing at the helm a different ship beneath different sunrises; he has no time to be remembering his bruised and scarred past now, not with the reality of his future hurtling towards him. The sunrise provides just enough light for him to see the vague outline of the Fire Nation in the distance, the only world he ever wanted to belong in. His true element, so to speak.
"How long until we dock?" Prince Zuko asks the captain hoarsely, swallowing the fingers in his throat grappling with his words.
"Perhaps an hour or so, my Prince. I believe the tides will allow us to bring the ship in today." The captain's eyes widen in terror as he realizes what he's spoken, and he glances at the prince, wondering just how much he and the younger Azula have in common.
Prince Zuko only nods politely and goes inside without another word, panic closing in on him and revealing itself on his face. He slips quietly into his private quarters, thankful that not Mai, Azula, or, Spirits forbid, Ty Lee is around to see him in such a state.
An hour, his mind screams, and he crouches on the floor, barely rocking on the waves, with his head in the hands a bit callused by the fire he commands. An hour.
The minutes pass all too quickly, and his future pulls him in.
Prince Zuko thought he couldn't forget what his homeland was like, the way it smells, feels, sounds. Not with it playing center stage in most of his dreams and schemes.
But all the same, he's forgotten just how humid the land is, how vivid the colors of the Fire Lilies are. He's forgotten exactly what a hot bag of Fire Flakes tastes like, and what the outline of his name sound like on the lips of an adoring crowd. He's almost forgotten just how magnificent the esteemed palace is, ornate and sprawling and of stones colored blood-red, and what it's like to be introduced before a crowd as who he is, with no aliases or disguises, with no one expecting any different than what stands before them.
Then, when Lo and Li announce his and Azula's homecoming, proclaiming that the avatar fell, and the Earth Kingdom fell, the crowd falls as well…to its knees in adoration.
Prince Zuko, however, has not forgotten how to feel pain, pain that makes his heart, long ignored, fall too when his eyes notice the empty space on his left side, where his uncle Iroh should be standing.
There is a wall of flames between Prince Zuko and his father, and he fears it is a warning of what will happen should he say the wrong thing, for he still has nightmare's of his father's fire.
But then his father emerges from where he lounges on his throne, and Prince Zuko realizes with a jolt he is almost as tall as Ozai.
"But I am proud of you, Prince Zuko," the Firelord says, circling his son, assessing what the boy has become. "Proud that you proved yourself when your loyalties were tested by your treacherous uncle. Proud that when the moment came, you managed to slay the Avatar."
Prince Zuko bows his head and bites his lip to hide his shock. What has Azula done? And more importantly, why has she done it?
"But most importantly, Prince Zuko," Ozai says, and Prince Zuko forces himself to focus and listen. "I am proud you are my son."
Prince Zuko, surprised and grateful and almost overjoyed, looks into his father's face for the first time in years, and sees a resemblance he has never before.
"Alright," Prince Zuko demands, barging into the gloom of his sister's bed chambers. "Why'd you do it?"
Azula doesn't move, doesn't even open her cunning eyes. "You're going to have to be a bit more specific."
"Why'd you tell our father that I was the one who killed the Avatar?"
"Oh, Zuzu," Azula sighs, sitting up and slipping gracefully to the floor. Her long black hair is down and she is barefoot, but still Prince Zuko has never seen a person more dangerous as she circles him slowly. "You seemed so worried that Father wouldn't accept you, so I made it so you had nothing to worry about. You should be thanking me. I did you a great favor."
"But… why?" repeats the crown prince.
Azula rolls her eyes. "Come on, Zuko. What ulterior motive could I possibly have for giving you all the glory? Unless…" she pauses dramatically as if her next words are ridiculous, "the Avatar was somehow still alive. All that glory would suddenly turn to shame. But, you said it yourself." She lowers her voice and whispers into the back of his neck, "That's impossible."
Prince Zuko fights off the memory of the spirited young woman lit by the greenish glow in the Crystal Catacombs, holding up a vial of healing water and offering to heal his scars. It was impossible, but Prince Zuko, who came from riches to rags and now, somehow, back again, knows that even the impossible can happen.
All the same, he pays the assassin in the dead of that moonless night with both the gold he demands, and the secret he did not. For is it not better to be safe, than sorry?