Zuko woke up groaning. His scar ached dully. Instinctively, his fingers twitched, longing to rub the angry red flesh running down the side of his head. His hand stopped short, painfully short, his shoulders burning in protest. Frayed rope was digging into his skin. He realized that his wrists were bound behind his back, tightly.
As soon as he opened his eyes, a splitting headache forced him to release a sharp hiss from his clenched teeth. Black spots blotted his vision as he struggled to stay conscious. His skin was hot, beading with sweat. It was hard to breathe. Every deliberate breath he managed to suck in was accompanied by a low rattle and a sharp pain in his chest. He shivered beneath the pile of furs.
Cool, disembodied hands descended upon his burning forehead, and he savored the temporary respite they brought. His eyes slid shut. Off to the side, a feminine voice, the owner of the hands, muttered a curse. Suddenly, the warmth of the furs was ripped away, plunging him into a bone-chilling coldness. When he coughed, white-hot pain shot up and down his back. The same hands fidgeted with the laces of his shirt, opening it. His pale skin prickled, his teeth chattered.
Spirits, I'm cold…
He willed his eyes to open again. His vision was swimming, but he could eventually make out the shape of a woman, kneeling beside him. Her loose curls framed her face and hid it from his view. She was hovering her water-laced hands over his bare chest. A waterbender, a healer. As if sensing his gaze, she paused and glanced at him fleetingly before returning to her work. It was enough for him to catch a glimpse of her blue eyes.
He knew her. She was from the Southern Water Tribe… Her name was…
"Khh…" His voice refused to work, sounded strange and muffled.
His mouth was dry, lips chapped, throat raw. The waterbender, either not hearing him or totally ignoring him, continued her ministrations. He paused, trying to form the word in his mind first before attempting it again.
"K-a… Kat…" Her icy blue eyes suddenly snapped to his, taking the breath out of him.
"Don't. Speak," she growled, soon breaking her gaze with him to return to her work. Her brows knitted in concentration as she hovered her splayed fingers over him.
"Exhale."
He did as he was told. As she drew her fingers together, he felt the tightness release from his chest. Her hands gradually swept up his body, expertly drawing the water from his lungs and out of his mouth. Oxygen hungry, he coughed and gasped in the fresh air, feeling his head clear. Katara looked pleased. She replaced the furs over him.
He tugged against his restraints until he had finally settled into the newfound warmth. His inner fire was operating at barely a flicker. He'd felt a version of this before, at the Northern Water Tribe. But that felt like an eternity ago.
Katara sat back, gazing at him with as much sympathy as a cat would show an injured bird. Apparently, seeing him utterly incapacitated put her mind at ease.
She was the first to speak.
"Your fever should break in a few days."
"Thank you," Zuko replied hoarsely, finding his voice at last. Cold sweat clung to his brow. Staying conscious was a deliberate battle, one he was rapidly losing.
She ignored the sentiment, scoffing as she stood. He caught a glimpse of disappointment, disgust, before the billowing wind stirred her hair, casting itself across her face. They must have been on the Avatar's—no—Aang's flying bison, but there was no sign of the airbender or the rest of his group.
"Just rest." Her words lacked reassurance, sounding more like a veiled threat. "We're landing soon."
Zuko dropped to his knees when he saw his father on the other side of the palace's dueling arena. The arms that had been raised to fight moments ago were now limp at his sides, powerless. The crowd jeered and hissed, thrumming like a hornet's nest.
"Forgive me— please. I'm begging you!"
His father approached him slowly, his golden eyes filled with hatred.
"I will never speak out of turn again…"
His father towered over him, the abhorrence plain on his face.
"You will learn respect."
The flames roared as his face was engulfed by a column of fire. He screamed as he felt his melted skin carve scorching trails into his cheek. A thousand hot knives tore into his flesh. There was a loud hiss-pop as his ear sizzled away. The smell of burning flesh filled his nose, choking him, while the sweltering air singed his mouth and throat. Hot flames lapped at his eyelid, still squeezed shut.
He was going to die.
When the flames disappeared, he collapsed, writhing in agony on the ground. His fingers clawed at the dirt, desperate for purchase—on what, he didn't know. Laughter and applause tore through the hall, the terrible sound growing louder and angrier, as it buzzed in what remained of his ear.
He was conscious as they carried him to the palace's medical ward, fully awake as the doctors shaved off his hair, prodded at his face. If the agni kai was his sentencing, this was the ensuing torture. It took five of them to hold his arms and legs down as they drenched his face with a strong antiseptic, again as they smeared medicine and ointments onto the bleeding, raw flesh and wrapped his head in layers of bandages.
The day after it happened, he caught his reflection on the bottom of a petri dish as the orderlies were changing his bandages. He yelled at them to leave, shouting obscenities. They had to tie his hands down to his bed after he threw his tray of food at one of the nurses, his feet when he sent a royal physician flying into a table with a well-timed kick.
After that, his anger burned out quickly, yielding to a deep bout of despair that lasted weeks. He refused food, drank sparingly, resigning himself to wasting away on his sick bed. For days, his condition waned. One morning, he'd be fine, the next several, he'd be deathly ill. In his throes of wavering consciousness, he overheard one of the doctors saying that, although his body wanted to heal, his spirit was failing.
Let it, he thought to himself. Please let it.
It was night when Zuko came to with a jolt. Like before, the first thing he perceived was pain. His head felt like it was being crushed by a vice. A sharp jolt radiated down his back, throughout his body, forcing a weak groan from his lips.
As he gathered his bearings, he realized that he was in a tent, on a cot, with his hands free and unbound at his sides. Restraining him would have been pointless—he was no threat, injured as he was. In this condition, he could hardly breathe much less fight.
"Ugh…"
Zuko squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of dizziness enveloped him. Explosive pain engulfed him when he attempted rolling onto his side, searing hot—
"AGH!"
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a voice rang from the entrance of the tent. He stopped, sinking into the cot as Katara let herself in.
She was holding a tray that held an old tea kettle. Steam plumed from its delicate spout, filling the tent with a pleasant aroma. Wordlessly, she came closer before placing the tray at the foot of his cot. When he had last been conscious, the events of the past two days had been clear. Now, they were a muddy haze: The eclipse, the south pole, and dark, cold water… She had been there. Jiang, too. And the airships…
"You have a concussion. As for your ribs, you've fractured at least four of them. And you're restless, coughing in your sleep. I might have removed the water, but the sickness in your lungs remains." Zuko watched her, his vision swimming, as shivers involuntarily wracked through his body.
"Infection," he concluded aloud, grimacing at the rawness of his voice.
She nodded her agreement, eyeing him carefully. That explained why his skull felt too small around his brain, why every breath was a wheezing gasp. His gaze followed her movements as she bent a mouthful of tea from the kettle, guiding it to his lips.
"Drink."
The tea was perfectly warm and did wonders for his throat. Taking another mouthful, Zuko couldn't help but wonder what kind of tea it was. The taste was a unique balance of floral and earthy. It couldn't be ginseng or oolong, definitely wasn't the typical green or black.
As he savored the tea, he observed his surroundings more carefully, all the while wondering when exactly he'd become so passionate about leaf water. A side effect of living with Uncle for so long. The thought amused him, but Katara didn't seem to notice.
He spotted a cluster of candles, squat and yellow—likely made of whale blubber—sitting in a shallow metal pan nearby. Their soft light filled the tent with an inviting glow. Near the mouth of the tent, in sight but out of reach, were his sheathed Dao swords and the small satchel he'd packed for his journey.
Outside, crickets chirped and frogs sang; a cacophonous backdrop for the other noises of the night. At the palace, these sounds were often accompanied by the occasional chittering of a squirrel toad or a lonely howl from a tiger monkey, projecting off the surrounding mountains. That place, home, was far away now. He blinked, realizing he had no idea where he was.
"We're at the Southern Air Temple," Katara said, as if reading his mind. She'd been watching him. That explained why it wasn't freezing.
"How…" —he licked his lips, tried again— "How did… you get me here?"
Katara raised an eyebrow.
"Shema"—who?—"and I had to practically drag you here. You passed out again in Appa's saddle. I couldn't wake you up. You were in bad shape."
Zuko's chuckle turned into a hoarse cough. He graciously took another drink when it was offered.
"Worse… than I am now?" he asked, wincing. There was no humor on her face; she was utterly serious.
"If I had chosen to leave you back there, you would've been dead."
"Then… I'm lucky you… didn't," Zuko rasped. The appreciative smile he cracked only seemed to irritate her more.
"Why did you follow me? Why were you down there?"
His smile disappeared. She was interrogating him.
"I didn't… know it was just you. I… thought I was following Aang—" She scoffed, nodded. "—and your brother…" He faltered.
"Sokka," she offered irritably.
"Sokka… right… And uh…" The earthbender came to mind, but he didn't know her name either.
Katara clicked her tongue disapprovingly as she stood, taking the tray with her. "Toph," she finished for him, with what was left of her patience.
He grimaced. Off to a great start.
"They're not here." This time she trailed off, deciding against telling him where the rest of her group was. He didn't blame her for being cautious. He watched her until she stepped out of view, somewhere behind him.
"We had to split up after the plan fell apart."
"I'm… surprised you… traveled alone."
"I can take care of myself," she retorted.
That much was obvious. She was a master of her element, an impressive and intimidating adversary. He meant more that he was surprised no one from her group was with her. In the times he'd encountered her, they were always together. Something more must have happened to separate them. Regardless, no matter how well she could handle herself, this had to be difficult for her. He could see it on her face, in her eyes. She was anxious, worried, and tried to hide it all behind a scowl directed at him.
He wanted to talk about what happened. What they did. He remembered, faintly, the sight of her broken expression as she watched the burning airship go down. It had shaken her, deeply.
She let out a frustrated scoff as she stood, preparing to leave.
"I'll be back soon," she muttered.
Before she could turn away, he found the word escaping him.
"Katara…"
She went rigid. Something about her name in his mouth affronted her. Zuko licked his dry lips, grunting as he shifted to see her better. There was no turning back now that he'd already started. Maybe now was as good a time as any.
"The reason I came, the reason I followed you… I thought Aang… I thought…" He stumbled on his words as her harsh gaze found his again, offering him little security. "I want to help you—ah... your group…" Stifling a pained yelp, he propped himself up on the furs, his wrists straining against the tight rope.
"If Aang wants to defeat my father and save the world… he needs a firebending teacher… I can help him learn."