vii. candles
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"Here, Mama."
Their oldest child, already a precocious four-year-old, turns to Katara and hands her a candle she must have culled from one of the baskets filled, ready and waiting, for the attending nonbenders by the pavilion entrance.
It is the day of the midsummer feast, the day of the solstice, and the Fire Nation takes the day off from their labors to soak in their element, to drown in its humid flares under too-bright sunlight.
Being the Fire Lord's wife has more unnecessary pomp than Katara had expected when she was seventeen and flush with new kisses and even then, more worried about the effect their marriage would have on the nations than about how it would impact her daily life, but she is largely used to it now. Now, she walks with the confidence that she always had but also with the practice that comes from years of navigating this nation's customs and court, alongside her family to the pavilion where Zuko will light the flame of Agni to honor the day. The ceremony is short, but the feast that follows is long.
And already, Katara is ready for sleep, for shade and shelter from the swelling heat.
Instead, she takes the candle from her daughter and says, "Thank you, sweetie," just as Zuko says, "Your mother is a waterbender; she doesn't need the flame."
The child's forehead crinkles; she must not remember last year, when Katara stood beside them in a respectful stance but did not light her own flame in the ceremony, being neither firebender nor nonbender. "But everyone needs a flame today," she protests. "You said so, Daddy."
"I did," Zuko says, smiling as they take their place behind the guards at the front of the crowd. "But your mother is an exception. Today isn't her day, although she still respects our ceremonies." He smiles at Katara, too, and reaches over to squeeze her hand.
She had participated the first few years that she'd been in the Fire Nation, holding up a candle to honor history not her own, but it had never felt right, and she wasn't sure of the line to draw between respect and discomfort. When she'd brought it up to Zuko, he'd said she didn't have to participate if she didn't want to—but she also didn't want to provide any fodder for critics who were already uncomfortable with the fact that the Fire Lord had married a Water Tribe wife. They'd had to foil too many assassination attempts already. But Zuko had insisted, and in the end, it seemed that most people understood. The ones who didn't were the ones who were looking for disruption anyway.
But now their daughter wants her to actively participate…and Katara can't say no to the hope welling in those golden eyes.
Minutes later, after a minor official has given a short speech and Zuko has given a slightly longer one, Katara raises her candle with the crowd—firebenders making small flames in their palms, nonbenders holding candles aloft—to welcome to the sun and its might.
The flames lower, and Katara breathes in, out, in, out, finding her inner balance again. The Fire Nation is not what it once was—it is recovering, as the world is, as she and Zuko are.
She blows out the candle she holds, Zuko snuffs the flame in his own hand after he's lit the ceremonial lantern, and she checks to make sure their daughters have appropriately snuffed their candles, too. The younger cries because some wax dribbled on her fingers, and Katara leans down to kiss the offended digits while her older sister tells her, "That's what happens when you play with fire but you have to be a big girl like me and not let it hurt you."
Zuko smiles at her over their heads, and she smiles back. As she straightens, she reaches for his hand, and they both take one child's hand, and walk to the palanquin that will take them to the festival together.
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fin.
