It started as soon as Zuko stopped talking.Toph had completely buried her feet in the ground by the time he was halfway done with the tale of his scar; the earth was crawling up to her knees, now. She could feel Katara trembling with rage, and Sokka's unnatural stillness, Suki's battle between softness and tension and Twinkletoes had stood up and then he'd lifted straight off the groundand suddenly Toph couldn't see.Or she was seeingeverything.It was like being in the middle of the most powerful earthquake to ever wrack the earth's crust. Or being in the center of an ocean, floating, with nothing to differentiate up from down from left from right. It was like burning in a volcanic eruption, or freezing to death in a block of ice, and it was nothing she could make sense of and it was thousands upon thousands of voices all crying in anguish.It was eerily similar to what she'd felt with Hama.Someone grabbed her. Suki; she felt the other girl's Kyoshi armor pressed against her back. She'd wrapped her arms around Toph's chest and was pulling her up, away from the earth, and for once Toph went with it. Her heart was hammering against the other girl's arms.Immediately the overwhelmingwhatever that waswent away, but she could still sense it. Like how in the few thunderstorms she'd ever lived through, she could tell when the lightning struck a little too close, even though she couldn't see it. But this time it was coming from the ground. The place she was supposed to be safe and independent and powerful, and she couldn't bear it.She hadn't felt this lost and scared since before the badger-moles.Suki was shaking against her, and Toph wriggled higher into her arms. "What's happening?" she gasped. "What—who?""Aang," Suki choked-whispered-breathed. "He's—"YOU WERE A CHILD.The voice was Aang's and not and not and not. It was like the Earth Rumble, hundreds of people chanting in unison.She recognized this now. She felt it once before, on a much smaller scale, back in the Si Wong Desert. Then, the sand had blocked most of it. Aang was in his Avatar state, because he just found out how Zuko got his scar, and his chakra was blocked but apparently this was powerful enough to override that.YOU WERE ACHILD,the voice repeated, and it was so full of grief that Toph sobbed without meaning to. Because it wastrue. Zuko was a child when he was burned. Only a year older than Toph and Aang. And he wasn't a master bender like he was now, and he didn't have friends like he did now, and he'd told them—how long it took for him to understand. He'd told them how he only recently accepted that his father, hisfamily, didn't want him back. How he'd never even entertained the thought of it being impossible, on his half-broken ship with a still-grieving uncle and a crew of rejects. How he'd still believed there was love to be found, if only he tried hard enough.It was only a fewweeksago that he'd finally accepted that his father was wrong to mutilate him and he'd been scarred foryears.Toph suddenly realized she could think clearly again. The thrum from the earth was in a long decrescendo, and she elbowed Suki to drop her. Her feet hit the earth and she grimaced at the proximity to what she now realized was something akin to the full force of the spirit world, but she pushed through it to look for Zuko.She still felt young and scared, and she needed to know he was okay.Oma and Shu how is his heart beating that fast—"Zuko!" she shrieked, too worried for nicknames, and sprinted over to him. He was crouched on the ground, leaned back against Sokka, who was the only thing keeping him upright, and his heart was going so fast even the most light-footed of the Gaoling dancing troupe wouldn't be able to keep up with it."Zuko," she repeated,sobbed, and grabbed at his chest. She felt her way outwards, to his shoulders, down his arms to his hands, and grabbed them tight. He flinched; she was relieved he moved at all.Think. Situational awareness; that was why she was the best. Her feet and bones and chi were no longer vibrating with spirit energy. She could feel Aang, heavier than he ever was on the earth, and Katara holding him up. Suki was where she'd left her. In front of her, Zuko, fully panicked, and behind him was Sokka, not much better."Sokka." She felt the warrior jerk at the sound of his name. "Breathe, Sokka, you need to calm down. For Sparky. Deep breaths." She did the same for herself, and once she felt both her and Sokka's heart rates drop to an acceptable level, she pressed Zuko's hands to her chest."Sparky. You feel that?" Her voice was loud, calm, clear. "Calm down, Sunshine. Feel my heart. Count the breaths. C'mon, I know you can get there." She breathed in, deep; out, loud, through her mouth, so he could hear it. "In and out, nice and strong. You know all about strong breathing, Fire Nation. Come on. Breathe.Deep.In. Out."It was working, slowly. She could hear rustling, like Sokka was rubbing Zuko's back or something. "Yeah, jerkbender, you need to calm down. You gotta—we need you here, to teach Aang, alright? So he can—" He cut himself off. "We need you back with us, man."In the background, she sensed Suki helping Katara take Aang somewhere else. Good; when Zuko was done freaking out he was going to be super embarrassed. Having only Sokka and Toph around was best.Zuko wheezed, a marginally less painful sound than when he hadn't been making any at all. "The ships—""No ships here, Sparky," Toph murmured. She petted the fingers on her chest, an instinctive soothing movement, and Sokka made a noise of realization. "We're in the Western Air Temple, on a cliff. You're safe. There's no ships. Wherever you think you are, we're not there. Come on, breathe."Sokka stepped in to fill the silence. "It's summer," he said. "We're near the Fire Nation, on an island, close to the equator. There's a jungle nearby that you camped in and a ravine just a few steps away. We're in the training area, where you've been showing Aang how to firebend. You helped me break my dad and Suki out of the worst prison in the nation; you kicked my ass this morning with your swordbending. It's—" He faltered, searching for more to help ground Zuko. "It's warm. We're nowhere near the ocean.""...no ocean," Zuko muttered. Toph felt his heart rate drop so fast it was alarming."No ocean. Just land, all around us. Nice, solid earth. That's it." Whatever Sokka had figured, out, it was borderline magical. The fingers on her shirt twitched, then dropped. Zuko sagged like a marionette with its strings cut, curling forwards. Toph put a hand on his knee and made sure her grip was solid."You good, Sparky?""Yeah." He sounded muffled and distinctly not good. Whatever, she'd known it would be a lie. They'd both known she was really asking if he wasgoingto be okay."You wanna talk about it?" Sokka offered, and that took Toph by surprise."North Pole," was all Zuko said at first, and he sounded utterly exhausted. Then: "The Ocean… all those ships. Uncle and I were stranded for almost a month."Sokka sat down fully and scooted till he was plastered against Zuko, like he'dexpectedthe answer. Toph—Toph wanted to rage. She wanted to get furious all over again, because there was so much her friend had gone through, and all she could do was deal with the aftermath. But this was almost worse than hearing about the scar, because there was no one to get madat. Her friend had suffered at the unwitting hand of her other friend; where was the anger supposed to go?Back at Ozai, she supposed. He was the reason Zuko had been there in the first place.But Ozai wasn't here.For now, she sat down in front of Zuko, pushing insistently until she was leaned against his chest. She and Sokka stayed pressed against him for a long time, until she nearly fell asleep from the comfortable warmth and steady beat of his heart. Sokka did fall asleep, pillowed on Zuko's shoulder and snoring. Zuko had almost laughed when he realized.Later, she'd learn what had happened. The Avatar commanded all four elements; when he called upon the Avatar State, all four elements became supercharged, the chi within them flowing at unthinkable speeds. That was why the earth had been so unbearable, for the first time in six years. That was the terrifying power of the Avatar.Later, she'd learn the details of the North Pole: about the Moon, and the Ocean, and an invasion that had crumpled beneath a spirit's rage. And she'd learn Zuko's side, about the cave and the seal-leopards and the long, long days spent floating past the dead on a raft.Later than all that, she'd stand in a stone courtyard and feel the footsteps of a man in chains, and Zuko's heart would start to race, and when he was gone she would grab Zuko's hand and press it to her chest again. And in his wrist she'd feel the quickly-calming heartbeat of her best friend, and she would know that they had won.And she would feel her own heartbeat calm as some of that long-standing anger and fear she held disappear into the Earth beneath her, because it wasn't needed anymore.Mmmmmm... Mm... Mm.. Mm... M... M... Mm.. M.. M..
Zuko never noticed it back when he was—Zuko never noticed it before, but the Avatar's eyes are the clearest, purest grey. They are not the oily hue of factory smog, or the dark shade of the smoke that comes from fire. No, the Avatar's eyes are the color of the sky right as Agni begins to peek over the horizon; a pale, waiting grey. The color of hope.
They're locked onto Zuko now, bright with trust and wide with curiosity. The Avatar is looking at Zuko like he's someone worth respecting, like he's someone worth listening to. It's almost as bad as the way he calls Zuko Sifu.
(Zuko may only have one good eye, but he's not so unobservant that he'd miss the way Katara's lips twist every time he tells the Avatar to stop calling him that. She thinks that it's about the Avatar calling him Hotman; she thinks that he's ruining the Avatar's fun. Zuko lets her. After everything he's done, Aa—the Avatar deserves to be able to call Zuko whatever he wants, and Katara deserves her anger.)
Every time the Avatar looks up at him, patiently waiting for the choppy instructions that Zuko forces out past gritted teeth and tight throat, Zuko thinks of the bones in the Western Air Temple, their wind-worn ivory not so many shades different from the Avatar's grey eyes.How can you trust me?Zuko wants to scream.How can you look up at me like that after everything I've done to you?
It reminds Zuko of how once, when he was younger, one of the turtleducks from the palace pond led her children right into Zuko's lap. Zuko sat perfectly still, not moving even as his knees ached where the harsh ground dug into his flesh. He could feel the pressure of the ducklings' little webbed feet against his thighs as they waddled around exploring, could feel the heat radiating off their small bodies, could feel the soft puffs of air from their breaths on his bare skin.
Don't you know the danger you're in?he desperately wanted to tell them.You should curl into your shells, should flee from me, should never have come this close at all.
Instead, the turtleducks just pressed closer, nosing at his robes and rubbing their feathers on his sleeves. One of them even nuzzled a cool beak against Zuko's knuckles. Just an hour earlier, fire hot enough to turn the turtleducks' feathers to ash in seconds floated above that same palm. Now, soft feathers pressed against his sinner's hand. It felt like sacrilege.
Fa—the Fire Lord always hated those turtleducks. Whenever Zuko got into trouble—which was constantly—Azula would tell him that the Fire Lord was finally going to get around to killing them. Zuko can't count the number of dreams he had as a child where he saw the turtleduck pond black with ash, where bloodied feathers clogged the water, where he imagined what kind of noises burning ducklings might make.
Zuko thinks about those nightmares now, as he looks down at the Avatar. The Avatar, who trusts Zuko to teach him enough to survive F—to survive the Fire Lord. No, to not just survive him, butwinagainst him.
Zuko thinks of cold tile, of the prayer shawl falling from his shoulders as he turned to face his opponent. He thinks of the Day of the Black Sun, of the dao in each of his trembling hands, of how he thought that would be enough and it wasn't, of holding trembling sparking lightning in his chest—
He thinks of all of those things, and he thinks,there's no way to win against him. There is only trying not to lose.
He doesn't say that, of course. He knows what's expected of him. Zuko has never been the sort to turn away from duty.
They train. Zuko makes the Avatar wake up early, ignores his grumbling complaints. He demonstrates kicks and katas, makes him sit through the same breathing exercises Uncle pressed onto him. Later, they sit together, heads bent in close, discussing what they learned from the dragons in low voices.
Sometimes, the others come to watch—Sokka, interjecting here and there about "jerkbending"; Toph, with her feet planted firmly on the ground so she can feel their steps; Katara, her eyes narrowing every time she thinks Zuko is doing something suspicious. Haru and Teo and the Duke, watching with wide eyes and flinching back every time flame flares too large. All of them looking at Zuko with suspicion, and at the Avatar with hope.
He supposes that they want a warrior—or maybe just a miracle. But Aang is a child. The Avatar, yes, but achild. He talks to Appa like he's his best friend, and won't go on Sokka's hunting trips because he can't bear to kill even an animal, and looks up atZuko, his enemy, with trust in his eyes.
Zuko knows how the Fire Nation molds children into warriors. He remembers it every time he looks at the faint white lines on his palms. Back on theWani, he had remembered it, too, when he looked at the endless rolled death certificates he kept in his quarters. He thinks of Azula, how hard-shelled soft-centered teasing turned to sweetness-coated poison. He thinks of Lu Ten's body, hanging broken from the walls of Ba Sing Se. War has long chewed up and spat out the children of the Fire Nation. He won't see the same thing happen to Aang.
Aang learns quickly, but his fire is cool compared to the searing heat of the Fire Lord's flames, his steps slow compared to the Fire Lord's quick assured stride, his movements so much softer than the Fire Lord's slicing crisp ones. Worry twists up Zuko's stomach and wants to come out his mouth as anger.
He bites it back down. Zuko never raises a hand against Aang, no matter how cool-flamed or slow-stepped orsofthe seems.
Zuko's hands curl, white-knuckled, around the railing of the war balloon. Sokka is saying something about his girlfriend and the moon, but Zuko isn't listening. Instead, he's thinking about how he's going to be seeing his people (does he even have the right to call them his people anymore?) for the first time since he betrayed the Fire Nation.
He doesn't regret his decision—what the Fire Nation has done,is doing, to the rest of the world is reprehensible, and they must be stopped—but… he was their prince. He had a duty to them, a duty he ultimately failed to fulfill.
For years, he endured harsh words and long hours and blisters burbling up in the wake of fire's licking heat by reminding himself that it was all worth it, was allnecessarybecause only through suffering could he become the person he needed to be. Only through suffering could he become a prince worthy of his people—only through suffering could he become someone strong enough to be Fire Lord one day, someone strong enough to lead and protect his people as they deserved.
Even in the years following his banishment, he still thought of his people—of how he needed to gain back his honor not just for himself, but because it was clear by then what Azula had become.
It always felt like sacrilege to acknowledge it, even in his own thoughts, but Zuko would remember how she tormented the maids, how she used her bending to burn ants into smears of ash on the ground, how she sneered at Uncle when he spoke of the duties royalty has to their people—he would remember, and his resolve to find the Avatar would redouble.
Zuko huffs out a sigh, presses his face out into the wind. Who is he, if not the prince of the Fire Nation? For a little while, back in Ba Sing Se, it felt like he could almost grasp something beyond the Crown Prince—but even that was Lee and not Zuko. Lee, refugee and victim, not Zuko, soldier and victimizer. Now, in the wake of his time in the capital as Crown Prince Zuko again, Ba Sing Se feels like a half-remembered dream, burned away by his fathe—by the Fire Lord's cold lightning.
Under Sokka's plan, no one will see their faces—not guards or prisoners or even the prison cooks. Still, Zuko can't help but wonder what his—what the people of the Fire Nation would think, how they would act, if they saw him again.
For most of his banishment, the only Fire Nation people he interacted with were the crew of theWani, who all resented being commanded by someone so young and hot-tempered. Even when he returned to the capital, he didn't actually see that many other people. Those who he did see seemed to respect him—but that was when they believed he killed the Avatar. He's sure that if any of them had seen him during his banishment, they would have treated him with contempt.
And now that he's betrayed them all? Zuko can only imagine their disgust.
Calloused fingers curl around the bottom of the guard helmet. Zuko doesn't have time to brace himself—there's just the painful scrape of the helmet against his scar as the guard yanks the helmet upward, and then cool air against his skin.
The guard's eyes are wide behind her helmet, and Zuko can see that her mouth has fallen open. "Prince Zuko?" she whispers. The helmet dips down, the bottom lip falling just over Zuko's brow, and for a moment it almost seems like she's going to shove the helmet back on—and then her eyes flick over to Sokka.
"Traitor," Sokka snarls in a fake-deep voice. "Howdareyou show your face here?"
The guard's face shifts, twisting into a sneer. "The warden will want to be seeing this," she says coolly. She grabs Zuko's other elbow and pulls him to his feet. At his other side, Sokka gives Zuko's arm a reassuring squeeze.
They march Zuko to the nearest open cell in silence. The guard unlocks the door, and Sokka throws him inside, spitting out some sort of generic taunt as he does. The guard's eyes linger on Zuko, her face twitching as Zuko hits the ground. She almost seems to hesitate as she exits the cell—but then she glances in Sokka's direction and picks up her pace.
Zuko presses himself against the back wall, trying to use the solidity of it to ground him. He focuses on breathing, focuses on his inner flame, focuses on anything except how naked his face feels without his helmet.
Minutes later, the door slams open and Sokka drags him out, shoves him to his knees on the hallway's cold floor. The warden stares down at him, flanked by two guards on either side. "It really is the traitor prince," he says. The guards shift, armor creaking. If they were from any other nation, they would be whispering amongst themselves right now.
The warden's face twists into something cruel, and Zuko abruptly remembers that this is Mai's uncle. "I'm surprised," the warden says, each word chosen as carefully as Mai weighing her blades, "that you still have any skin on your face left unburnt." Fire dances between his fingers, like he's saying,I can fix that.
Zuko stares back at him, cold and calm. There is a long moment of pregnant silence, the moment crystallized—and then the guard from earlier shifts, shuffling on her feet. It's probably a coincidence, but the way she moves leaves her standing almost, but not quite, in front of Zuko.
The other guards exchange glances—Zuko thinks he sees one of them dipping the others a shallow nod—and fan out so they're standing against the walls instead of at the warden's back. Maybe they think standing there will make it easier to catch Zuko if he manages to wrest himself free?
The warden swallows, then deepens his sneer. "Put him back in his cell," he says.
The guard from earlier elbows Sokka aside. Sokka tries to tighten his grip on Zuko's wrist, but the guard pries each finger off, one by one. The other guards cluster around Zuko; one of them grabs hold of Zuko, clasping his arm oddly loosely.
The warden watches as they put Zuko back in his cell. Oddly enough, his glare falls on the guards, and not Zuko himself.
Lieutenant Jee was always angry with Zuko. Once, he got so angry that he stormed into Zuko's quarters—evidently, he couldn't stand to wait to berate him for even a second longer.
Before he could begin to yell, however, his mouth fell open. Wide-eyed, he stared at the low table before Zuko, covered in stacks of rolled paper. Zuko held another scroll in his hands, stretched open so he could look at its contents.
"You read all of the death certificates?" he asked abruptly, voice rough and surprisingly quiet.
"Yes."
There was a moment of silence, and then Lieutenant Jee turned abruptly on his heel and left the room.
Zuko is pulled from his meditation by the sound of knocking on his door. He hurries to his feet just in time to see a guard enter, head bent and gaze down. Probably avoiding looking at his scar, Zuko figures. He got the same thing back in the Earth Kingdom—people turning their faces away in disgust, pretending they couldn't see the burn marring his face.
"It's time for your work shift," the guard says, in a voice that Zuko might have almost called apologetic, if it had been from someone else in different circumstances.
The guard refuses to touch Zuko, even through his roughspun prison uniform. Instead of holding onto his arm to prevent him from escaping like they're supposed to, the guard folds their hands behind their back and stares at the floor as they walk. Zuko's stomach roils.
"This is where you'll be working," the guard says when they arrive at last. "Someone will be here to walk you back in three hours." They twitch, shoulders and chin jerking down slightly before abruptly stopping, and then spins on their heel and marches out.
The other prisoners stare silently. Heat rises to Zuko's face, and he has to roll his shoulders back to keep himself from hunching down uncomfortably. He huffs out a harsh breath and grabs the nearest mop just a little bit too roughly. There's a ripple of movement as all the heads in the room turn to regard the floor.
"The other guards seem to hate me," Sokka whispers through the bars. "I don't know if they suspect I'm an imposter, or—"
"Hey! Get away from there!" a voice barks. Sokka squeaks (although Zuko is sure that he would insist that it was a very manly shout of surprise, if asked) and scurries away.
An unfamiliar guard approaches the cell door. "It's time for dinner, Prince Zu—it's time for dinner," he says. The corners of his lips lift slightly, and then abruptly tug back downwards into a stiff, neutral expression. He unlocks the door and waves Zuko out. Just like the guard from earlier, he refuses to touch him.
The mess hall falls quiet as Zuko enters. The guard sweeps a glare around and gazes skitter away quickly, whispered conversation starting up again at once.
"The food is served over here," the guard says gruffly. Still without touching Zuko, he leads him over to a long counter where cooks with their hair tied back behind kerchiefs and hair nets plop slightly different shades of mush into prisoners' bowls.
"Prince Zuko," one of them breathes, and then spots the guard and goes the color of gruel.
Another cook quickly presses a bowl into Zuko's hands. Zuko moves down the line, the other prisoners stepping out of his way as soon as they see him approach. The cooks pile his bowl until the food extends above the rim like a mountain peak.
"He's a firebender," one says, eyeing the guard warily. "You know how they burn through food." The guard doesn't speak, just hums in response.
Zuko turns away from the counter. It doesn't look like there are any free tables. He hesitates, trying to figure out where to go, and the prisoners at the nearest table suddenly grab their food and shuffle away, gazes trained on the ground. Zuko licks his lips uncertainly, then swallows and sits down to eat. The guard from earlier leans against the wall behind him, gaze sweeping over the room like he's watching for delinquency.
Back at the palace, the servants used to warn Zuko about Azula's schemes.
"The princess is angry today," the quiet girl who brushes out Zuko's hair every morning tells him. "Someone left the window to her office open during the storm last night, and some of her papers were ruined."
"...was anyone injured?" Zuko asks in a low voice. The way it's phrased, you might think he's asking if anyone was injured during the storm. They both know that's not what he means.
The servant's fingers pause in his hair. "No," she says after a long moment.
Zuko doesn't push, just bends his head a little so she can more easily access the hair at the nape of his neck.
It takes longer than expected—the other guards shoo Sokka away whenever he gets close to Zuko—but they finally manage to get a few minutes to talk, hidden away behind a staircase.
"—insulated perfectly against the heat of the lake," Sokka is saying when Zuko suddenly hears feet on the stairs. He glances up to see another prisoner looking down at them, eyes wide. After a long moment when they just stare at each other, the prisoner abruptly turns his face away and hurries down the stairs, whistling loudly as he goes.
"What on earth," Suki mutters quietly, but Sokka jumps back into explaining his plan before she can say anything else.
Sokka's just gotten to how they're going to leave the island when a muscle-bound man slips under the stairway's railing and lands lightly on his heels right in the middle of their little circle. "I hear you're planning an escape," he says. He glances around, eyes narrowing when they alight on Sokka and Suki. "I'm coming with."
There's a moment of silence, and then Sokka squeaks out, "right!" Zuko supposes it's hard to argue with the man when he declared his intent like it's a fact, like the whole thing's already decided and that's just how things are—and when he has the power to rat them out to the warden any time he likes.
Sokka starts back in on explaining the plan, and they all relax a bit—at least until Sokka suggests staging a fight between Zuko and Chit Sang, and Chit Sang shakes his head, grimacing. "A fight might work, but I'll need to make sure the other prisoners realize it's just for show, otherwise pretty much all of them will try to tear me to shreds," he says.
Sokka blinks. "What? Why?"
Chit Sang glances at Zuko. Zuko stares back, baffled. Something about Chit Sang's gaze makes him feel raw, flayed open. He turns away, curling into himself just a little.
"...they really don't like to see adults beating up on kids," Chit Sang says at last. Zuko is too confused to even bristle at being called a kid.
Once, one of the palace guards stepped in during one of Fa—the Fire Lord's punishments.
Fath—the Fire Lord's hand was still raised, fire licking at his fingers as he glared down at the man standing between him and his son. "Think about what you're doing," he hissed out.
The palace guard hesitated for a long, weightless moment and then stepped back. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he bowed his head.
The Fire Lord's teeth gleamed white as he brought his hand down.
Zuko never saw the guard again.
Zuko has just finished prising the last bolt from the wall when the door opens. "You can go back to your cell now," the guard says, glancing over his shoulder almost like he's anxious.
His gaze falls on the bolt in Zuko's hand. There's a long moment where Zuko doesn't breathe, doesn't think his heart is even beating, and then—
"Oh. Uh. Wrong cooler. Sorry, Prince Zuko." He bows, and then winces, flushes bright red, and hurries out, slamming the door behind him as he goes.
Sokka opens the door a few seconds later. "What the hell was up with that last guy?" he asks. He huffs out a sigh. "This whole prison isweird."
Zuko nods in agreement.
It's one thing tointellectuallyrecognize that you're rescuing a fr—an ally's father, and it's another actually seeing him—tall and muscular andbig, intimidating even in a prison uniform with his hands bound. Anxiety twists low in Zuko's belly, and for a moment, selfishly, he's glad for those cuffs on Chief Hakoda's wrists.
Chit Sang shifts a little bit closer to Zuko. It's strange, because Chit Sang is just as muscular as Chief Hakoda, if not more, but Zuko isn't nearly as sc—nearly as intimidated by him as he is by Sokka's father.
Sokka's father lifts his head to skewer the warden with a steely-eyed glare, and Zuko flinches. That cold gaze reminds him of his own fa—of the Fire Lord's haughty glower.
Father had looked at Zuko like that right after he spoke out at the war meeting.
Zuko is pulled from his thoughts by the clang of iron hitting the floor. Sokka's face creases as he sees the warden taunting his father. "Dad," he whispers, voice soft and agonized.
Zuko shifts uncomfortably, turns aside. He can't stand to be here any longer.
Sokka and Suki don't seem to notice him leaving, but Chit Sang follows him. "Prince Zuko." His voice is low, serious.
"Are they holding you hostage?"
Zuko shakes his head mutely, too confused and overwhelmed to speak—not even to remind Chit Sang that he's no prince, not anymore.
Chit Sang bends over a little so he can look Zuko directly in the eye. "They aren't threatening you at all?"
Zuko's throat tightens, and his mouth feels as dry as the Si Wong Desert. He thinks of Katara striding into his room, eyes narrowed.I'll make sure your destiny ends. Permanently.
"...it's fine," he says at last. His voice sounds even raspier than usual.It doesn't matter,he thinks,After everything I've done, Katara's distrust is justified.Besides, he doesn't think Katara will hurt him unless he actually does step out of line, in which case, well, he deserves it.
"Right," Chit Sang says. He sounds skeptical, and… almost concerned? Probably because he's worried they might try to threatenhim, too. "Be sure to tell me if that changes." Some of Zuko's confusion must show on his face, because Chit Sang smiles crookedly and opens his mouth, about to speak—but Suki and Sokka are heading over, so he falls silent.
Zuko hangs over boiling water, prevented from falling to his death only by Sokka's grip on his wrist. Chit Sang's moving over as quickly as he can with his bulky body, but Chief Hakoda gets there first. He closes one broad hand (big, he's sobig) around Zuko's other arm and hauls him the rest of the way over the railing.
"Prince Zuko," he says. "I never would have imagined meeting you like this."
Zuko swallows, and Chit Sang shifts on his feet.
It's then that the warden spits out his gag. "Cut the line!" he hollers. They all scramble to shut him up, but it's too late. The call has already rung out across the water.
On the other side of the lake, the guards shift uncomfortably. "Prince Zuko is on the gondola," one of them whispers.
"Shut up," someone else hisses, and then, louder, "the warden is on the gondola. We can't do something that will kill our boss, obviously."
The other guards all nod.
On the gondola, defensive stances slowly grow loose with confusion. "Why aren't they cutting the line?" Chief Hakoda asks.
Chit Sang glances at Zuko, who stares back blankly.
"...maybe they aren't willing to kill the warden," he suggests. Behind them, the warden gnaws on his gag, snarling and spitting into the fabric angrily like he wants nothing more than to dispute that claim.
Chit Sang lingers at Zuko's side, never moving more than a few feet away. He keeps on glancing over and opening his mouth like there's something he wants to say—but then snapping it closed again.
Maybe it's just because Suki and Sokka and Chief Hakoda are all standing together in an impenetrable little triangle of girlfriend-boyfriend father-son ally-ally, or because they're from the same nation, but it still strikes Zuko as strange that he's so willing to be associated with a banished, traitor prince.
It was strange, too, that no one at Boiling Rock pulled Zuko aside to rough him up, or spat in his food, or made his life miserable in any of the myriad of little ways they could have.
Zuko's too tired to think about it, though. It's all he can do to stay upright, to keep the war balloon's fire burning. His hands are starting to tremble ever so slightly.
Chit Sang opens his mouth again, and this time hedoesspeak. "Do you want me to take over for you?"
Zuko nods and steps back, flexing his hands like he can get the cramps out that way. He's just starting to think vaguely about sleep when suddenly Chief Hakoda is approaching, cold blue eyes locked onto Zuko.
"Prince Zuko," he says slowly, head canted to one side thoughtfully. Zuko can feel his inner fire stuttering, spluttering and then growing into a wavering heat that flares fear-bright in his chest.
Chit Sang steps between them. "The Prince is tired," he says. "You can speak later." It's not a suggestion.
Chief Hakoda looks at him for a moment; Chit Sang stares back, implacable and unmoving. Finally, Chief Hakoda nods. "Sleep well," he says, and Zuko's pretty sure it's not a threat but for some reason, it sure sounds like one.
He turns around, and Zuko lets out a slow, shaky sigh. "Thanks," he mutters.
Chit Sang nods curtly. "Go to sleep."
Zuko lays down right there, collapsing to the ground and curling up on his side. His eyes have just slid shut when he thinks he hears Chit Sang say, "Don't worry, I'll guard your rest"—but that was probably just a dream.
Katara damn nearlaunchesherself into her father's arms the second he steps off the war balloon. It's strange, seeing her smiling and cheerful instead of scowling and suspicious.
Chief Hakoda cradles his daughter in close, then reaches out and grabs Sokka's wrist with one hand. Zuko flinches back, hand leaping to rest sympathetically on his own wrist, but Chief Hakoda just pulls Sokka in too, tucking him under his other arm. Zuko lets out a slow breath, forcing himself to turn away even as his muscles ache with tension.
Aang bounces over to greet Suki and Chief Hakoda briefly, then turns to Zuko. "Sifu Hotman!" he chirps. "I did all of my hot squats, and I practiced my katas without actually bending just like you told me, and I made sure to meditate with the candle you gave me."
Zuko's too tired to bite back his smile like usual. Sue him, the kid's enthusiasm is infectious. "Good," he says, and smiles a little wider at the way the praise makes the kid light up. Maybe he should be more generous with his compliments if this is how the kid reacts.
"Appa almost ate a butterfly today," he tells Zuko, apropos of nothing. "I had to remind him of his vows!"
"Air bison have to make vows?" Zuko asks.
The kid's lips twitch downwards slightly. "No," he admits, "but it's the principle of the thing."
"Sure, kid," Zuko says, huffing out a hoarse laugh, and pats the kid's head before he can think about it—and them immediately freezes. He half-expects Katara's seeming sixth sense to kick in, for her to storm over to give him a thorough, icy-tongued scolding—one that even he has to admit he deserves. He just patted theAvatar'shead, what thefuck. The Fire Lord would cut off the hand of anyone who dared touch him, let alonepathishead.
But the Avatar…the Avatar is positivelybeamingup at him, eyes closing in little crescent moons of delight and body turning towards Zuko like a plant turning towards the sun. "I'm glad you're back," he says. "I know you haven't been gone long, but still."
Some of the joy leaves Aang's face as he looks at Zuko a little closer, though. "You look exhausted," he says, a note of worry threading itself through his voice. Zuko shifts on his feet, uncomfortable. The Avatar shouldn't be worrying abouthim, his enemy.
"You should go take a nap," Aang says, brow furrowed with worry. "I'll wake you in time for dinner."
Zuko should insist on staying up, but he really is so tired. He'd slept some on the war balloon, but between the continual shifting and swaying and the cold air, it'd been shallow and sparse. He and Aang exchange bows with the sign of the flame, and Zuko heads to bed. Through a haze of exhaustion, he's faintly aware of Chit Sang following him, leaning against the wall just outside his door like he's taking up a guard post.
Zuko's been having nightmares ever since he joined the Avatar. Zuko's not talking about the ones about his scar—those nightmares aren'tnews—but instead the ones Zuko keeps on having about Aang.
Nightmares where his air bison is killed in front of him; nightmares where he's brought before the Fire Lord in chains; nightmares wherehe'sthe one kneeling on cold tiles, Father's hand cradling his cheek with deceptive gentleness. Worst of all, however, is the nightmares that feature Zuko, too—the ones whereZukois the one killing Appa; where Zuko is the one hauling Aang's trembling, chain-covering body through the palace; where Zuko holds a palmful of fire to Aang's eye.
In the mornings, Zuko always sees Aang, cheerful and smooth-skinned and unblemished, and breathes a quiet sigh of relief.
True to his word, Aang does wake Zuko in time for dinner—in fact, a little bit early. Zuko takes advantage of that extra bit of spare time and brews some tea for everyone. It's easy handing the tea out to some people—Toph, who tells him,thanks, Sparky; Sokka, who grins his appreciation over the rim of his cups; and Aang, who is as bubbly as ever—but it's harder with others. Katara stops talking to her dad long enough to shoot him a glare when Zuko hands her a cup, and Chief Hakoda is—it's hard not to spill any tea, with how hard Zuko's hands are trembling. But worst of all is Chit Sang, because the man keeps onlookingat him as he serves the tea, this unreadable, utterly incomprehensible expression on his face.
He seems to realize that he's making Zuko uncomfortable, because he gives himself a shake and thanks Zuko quietly, moving to the side so Zuko can sit beside him. Zuko takes his unspoken offer. He doesn't understand Chit Sang, not really, but what he does know is enough.
Aang plops down on Chit Sang's other side. "Hi! I don't think I've met you before. I'm Aang! Who are you?"
Chit Sang blinks, looking as lost under Aang's onslaught as Zuko sometimes feels. "I'm Chit Sang," he says. "You're the Avatar, aren't you?"
Aang nods, but before he can elaborate, Chief Hakoda is leaning in towards Chit Sang, a keen look in his cold blue eyes. "I was wondering about you as well," he says. It's not a question, but it has the same inescapable pull as one.
"I was a palace guard," Chit Sang answers. His eyes flick over to Zuko. "I was sent to prison because I saw something I wasn't supposed to."
Zuko glances away. He doesn't want to think about all of the crimes the royal family committed. Not tonight.
Chief Hakoda hums. He looks like he wants to ask a few more questions, but Chit Sang turns to Aang before Chief Hakoda can get a chance. "How's your firebending going?"
Aang grins. "Pretty well!" He summons a lick of flame over the top of one palm and shows how it grows and shrinks with the rise and fall of his breath. "Sifu Zuko is a good teacher."
Zuko ducks his chin, bashful.
Chit Sang hums. "I'm sure he is. I can tell you're a good student, too—no burns."
Aang's head tilts to the side like a curious otter-pup. "No burns? Zuko told me that firebenders have a level of instinctual control that means it's really unusual for them to burn themselves—sort of like how people rarely hit themselves by accident. Is that not…"
"No, that's right. I was talking about—"
"I don't teach that way," Zuko cuts in.
"Teachwhatway?" Katara asks sharply.
Chit Sang glances at Zuko, then turns back to Katara. "In the Fire Nation, firebending masters teach their students by whipping their palms with fire whenever they make mistakes." He opens his hand, tracing one finger along the fold of his palm where skin and flesh bends—where it hurts the most to have a half-healed wound.
"That's barbaric," she says, face twisted in disgust. Zuko suppresses a laugh. It's not that she's wrong—it's just that it's funny hearing her say that, after all of those years of hearing people from the Fire Nation talking about how savage the Water Tribes were, calling them barbaric.
"You must have been an excellent firebender, then," Aang says, obviously trying to lighten the mood. "You know, since you don't have any scars?"
Chit Sang shakes his head. "No, I was pretty average. It's just that firebenders don't scar easily—it takes repeated exposure to get a scar from something like that."
Zuko raises one hand and shows Aang the faint, almost invisible lines in the folds of his own hands—and immediately regrets it when he sees Aang's mouth turning down at the corners, eyes shining liquid-wet in the firelight.
"That's so cruel," he whispers. "They shouldn't have—they shouldn't have done that to you."
"Okay, but why I don't get," Haru interrupts, voice challenging, "is if firebenders don't burn easily, how did you get that scar,Prince Zuko?"
There's a long, loaded silence, and then Chit Sang says, "howdareyou—"
Zuko stops him with a single raised hand.
"That was in an A—" His voice fails him completely; he has to clear his throat before he can try again. He licks his lips nervously. "My—it was in an—with my—" his throat feels impossibly tight, and his hands are trembling so much that he can feel the tea sloshing against his knuckles. "—an Agn—with my—my—" he's starting to feel faint. The fire is stuttering before him, banking and flaring intermittently.
Chit Sang, stony and silent, pries the mug of tea from his grasp. Zuko clenches his empty, trembling hands into fists, trying to calm down.
"Hey," Aang says gently, "You don't have to tell us if you don't want to."
Zuko bows his head and takes a few slow, deep breaths until the fire, and his breathing, settle into a natural rhythm. "It's not that I don't want to, it's just that—" the words keep on getting stuck in his throat.
Aang pats Zuko on the shoulder and turns towards Sokka. "Hey, how did you guys even escape the Boiling Rock?" he asks. Zuko lets out a slow, shuddering breath of relief.
A little way down the circle, Toph elbows Haru in the side. "Why the fuck did you ask him about that?" she hisses. "He literally says that firebenders don't burn easily and you ask him about the origin of a burn scar? You didn't think that might be abit traumatic? His heartbeat was going crazy when you started pushing."
Zuko turns his head so his bad ear is facing towards Toph and focuses on sipping his tea—except facing that way isn't any better, since Chit Sang is still wearing that stony, silent mask of anger. Zuko tunes into Sokka's retelling of the prison break instead.
"—kind of weird, but the guards seemed to act differently around Zuko, almost nicer I guess? The prisoners too, now that I'm thinking about it. It's funny, since you would think they would all hate him, since he, y'know, turned traitor."
"Unless he didn'treallyturn traitor," Katara interrupts, turning her cold gaze onto Zuko. Zuko can't help the way he draws back a bit.
"Boiling Rock is for political prisoners," Chit Sang cuts in abruptly. "Obviously they would be sympathetic to the Prince."
Katara's face twists."Obviously?"
Not too far from her, Haru raises one eyebrow sharply. "That doesn't explain the guards."
Chit Sang shrugs his big shoulders. "Even the guards end up hearing the prison gossip eventually." That makes everyones' brows furrow in confusion, even Zuko's.What?
Chit Sang glances at Zuko, a questioning expression on his face. Zuko nods his head, even though he's not really sure what Chit Sang's asking.
"I told Chief Hakoda that I was a palace guard," he says. "That I saw something I wasn't supposed to."
Chief Hakoda nods, waving his hand in ago ongesture.
"The palace guards were rotated regularly, to help prevent any potential conspiracies. One of the posts that got rotated out the most was right in front of the entrance to the war room."
Zuko can't help but suck in a gasp. Suddenly, he knows exactly where this is going. He stands up to leave, but Katara snaps, "Sit back down." He falls back into a sitting position, folding his trembling hands together into a clenched little ball.
Chit Sang turns to look at him again, eyebrows raised in a question. This time, Zuko understands exactly what he's asking.
Zuko swallows. "It's fine. It's public knowledge anyway, isn't it?" He laughs a gravelly rasp. He was burnt in front of the whole court. It's strange, to even need this story to be told.
"I was stationed at that post the day that Prince Zuko came to the door. He wanted to enter. We refused him, of course—he was only thirteen. Too young for war meetings, too young for war."
Chief Hakoda leans forward, eyes intent.
"He managed to persuade his uncle to let him in," Chit Sang continues. "Something about wanting to be prepared to become Fire Lord."
Katara sneers, disgust twisting her face. "Of course," she mutters. Toph hushes her with a glare.
Chit Sang pauses, takes a sip of tea. "This part, I didn't see myself. It was told to me by another prisoner at Boiling Rock. A servant who had been there in the war room, serving tea." He looks up, eyes locking with Zuko's. "Kalama, elder sister to Kaji."
Zuko draws in a sharp gasp. He remembers Kaji's death certificate.
There's a frustrated growl from Sokka's direction. "Would the two of youget to the goddamn point?" He snaps.
Chit Sang takes a pointed sip of tea, haughty as any palace noble. "As part of his agreement to allow Prince Zuko inside, General Iroh made the Prince promise not to speak up during the war meeting. But, while Prince Zuko was there listening, one of the generals proposed a plan that he could not sit by and idly listen to. The general wanted to use a division of new recruits—most of them just sixteen—as bait. He knew they would die—heplannedon having them die—but he didn't care, because their death, theirmassacre, would be strategically useful."
A charged silence hangs in the air. Zuko can't look at any of them. He stares into the darkness at the heart of the fire, silent.
"The Prince spoke up. He said—" out of the corner of his eye, Zuko sees Chit Sang's lips quirk up, just slightly. "—'You can't sacrifice an entire division like that! Those soldiers love and defend our nation. How can you betray them?'"
Sokka whistles, chuckles a little shakily. "Damn, Zuko, I wouldn't have thought you had it in you."
Zuko laughs weakly. "I was a fool. I had no idea the kind of consequences my arrogance would bring."
Chit Sang slants a look over at him. "Would you have done it anyway? If you had known?"
"It didn't make a difference in the end, did it?" Zuko twists his fingers mindlessly. "They all died regardless."
Chit Sang just looks back at him quietly, waiting. Zuko sighs. He remembers how he kept silent when Father proposed burning the Earth Kingdom to the ground, how it had felt, biting back his conscience. "Yes," he finally admits. "I would have spoken up either way."
"What do you mean, consequences?" Sokka asks.
Zuko is the one who speaks up this time. It's only right that he should finish his own story. "Speaking up like I did was an act of disrespect—and there's only one way to deal with disrespect in the Fire Nation."
"You fought in an Agni Kai?" Aang's eyes are wide and horrified.
"Against a General? Atthirteen?" Chief Hakoda adds. He looks… Zuko had thought his eyes looked cold before, but that's nothing compared to how they look now. "Is this… is that sort of thingcommonin the Fire Nation?"
"No," Zuko says, "generally, firebenders are not legally allowed to participate in Agni Kai until they are sixteen. And…" he takes a deep breath. "It wasn't the General who I saw when I turned around on that stage. It was… it was my father. By speaking out in the Fire Lord's war room,hewas the one who I had disrespected."
"Youfought your father?" Toph demands.
"No," Zuko says. His lips twist sardonically as the entire circle breathes a sigh of relief. "I refused to fight."
Toph makes an unholy screeching noise. "That'sworse!You get how that's worse, right?"
Zuko doesn't answer; he's lost in his memories. "I begged for mercy instead, told him I was only trying to look out for the Fire Nation's best interests, that I was his loyal son—"
Zuko remembers the cold tile against his arms, his forehead. Remembers the slap of his father's bare feet as he approached.
"What happened then?" Haru asks, voice tight and quiet.
Rise and fight, Prince Zuko!He remembers looking up at his father, seeing him reach out with one hand, like he was going to cradle his son's face, like he was going to grant him mercy—
"You will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher," Zuko murmurs through numb lips. He looks up, smiles a humorless, bitter smile. "He burned off half of my face and banished me from the Fire Nation." His smile twitches wider. "I asked him,for how long—the pain had made me delirious by this point, obviously—and he told me,until you find the Avatar."
"He—"Aang looksangry. Zuko doesn't ever think he's seen Aang get angry before. "No." Aang shudders. "No." This time his voice is underlaid by a hundred other voices—and when he looks up, his eyes glow hollow-bright.
"I'm going to kill him,"the Avatar snarls. Zuko glances over to Katara, expecting her to be already getting up, getting ready to calm the Avatar down—but she looks just as angry, her hand on her water bag like she's ready for battle. Sokka's gothishand on his sword, Haru and Toph both have their feet spread like they're about to earthbend, and in the absence of weapons, Hakoda, Chit Sang, and Suki all have their hands fisted.
Zuko sighs and turns to the Avatar. "It's… it's fine," he says, knowing as soon as he speaks that the words are wrong.
The Avatar's head jerks over to stare at him with blind-bright eyes."Do you even understand that what he did was wrong?"The Avatar's face twists, and tears pour from their glowing eyes."A child—hisown son..."
"I know," Zuko says, voice cracking. "It was… it was cruel and it was wrong." He reaches out to the Avatar—hesitating just a moment—and then gently takes one fist in his own scarred, calloused hand. "Aang doesn't want to kill. You need to respect that."
"And you're alright with that? You don't want retribution after what he did to you?"
Zuko shrugs. "I'm not the only one he hurt." Almost against his will, Zuko's gaze turns to Chief Hakoda. Sokka's father stares back, face unreadable and eyes glinting with some strange emotion that Zuko doesn't recognize. "I'm not even the one who he's hurt the most. It's not up to me."
The Avatar peers deep into Zuko's eyes for a long moment, and then they blink, and Aang is back, grey eyes glassy with tears as hedivesinto Zuko's arms, sobbing into his chest and clutching desperately onto his clothes. Zuko cradles him close, awkwardly trying to soothe him, murmuring reassurances to him like Mom used to do for him when he had nightmares as a child.
"...so that's why all of the people at Boiling Rock helped Zuko," Sokka says weakly.
Chit Sang nods. "Everyone in the prison's heard the stories; Kalama and I, and everyone else who was imprisoned because we knew the truth—we weren't exactlyquiet. Everyone knows what Prince Zuko has sacrificed for us. Knowing that, how could wenothelp him?"
He pauses, then turns toward Zuko and sketches a deep bow, the sign of the flame raised proudly. "He is our Fire Lord."
Zuko wants to laugh, or maybe cry. He wants to protest, to remind Chit Sang that he's not even a real prince anymore, wants to point out all of the ways he isn't worthy—but instead, he shifts Aang around so he can bow back, flashing the sign of the flame.
And when they both raise their heads again, and Zuko turns his attention back to Aang, he finds himself thinking,Maybe I've found my honor after all.