WhIP

by footfungus

nederlands verhalen over mijn otp

68. SOUTHERN LIGHTS ZUTARA 1

Southern Lights

colourwhirled

Summary:

A world where the Avatar has disappeared from memory. Where Sozin's Conquest was successful. Where the unsteady order of the empire is threatened as members of the royal family are picked off one by one and lines are slowly drawn in the sand.

One last chance for peace forces an unlikely alliance between a homesick waterbender, a carefree Air Nomad, a runaway Earth Kingdom heiress, and the fire lord's inscrutable son. Together they must learn to shed old enmities and become the balance they seek to restore to the world.

OR:

The avatar has four heads.

x

[["Remember, Katara, you are the ocean made flesh. Kya's voice is a whisper now, echoing all around her, and all fires bow to the sea."]]

Notes:

(See the end of the work for other works inspired by this one.)

Chapter 1: at first glance

Chapter Text

disclaimer. ATLA & its denominations are all intellectual property of Bryke. I am just a sad fan trying to dish out the feels.

author's notes. my first attempt at a full-length zutara. a general warning that i have a horrible track record with finishing fanfics (not sure if anyone from the ccs fandom is still around here but if they were, they'd attest to that) and i'd sworn off writing them ever again but this muse drifted into my head almost fully-formed and it wouldn't leave me alone. i have most of it already mapped out and a bunch of the major plot points already written though, so fingers crossed.

i also love reviews. or kudos. or comments. or whatever they're called these days (new to ao3 here). they keep me motivated. they keep me happy. they keep me writing. i am a giant review whore. yes. (also if you like what you read, you are welcome to follow me on tumblr, my username is the same as my penname).

shameless plugs aside, i realize this is a rather confusing first chapter, with very little outright exposition. i enjoy character-driven stories and have attempted to make that the focus, but also have quite a bit of political drama going on in the background (which will make its way to the forefront in due course).

update: to those so inclined, you can also check out the unofficial spotify playlist for this fic here. it includes chaptered song prompts and general mood music used during the writing process.

anyway. i give you...

southern lights.

chapter i. at first glance

trying to find an answer in the wind
i keep feeling like i'm rushing to the end
looking for a good place to begin

"enough to believe"/ bob moses

They are out in the arena practicing when she arrives.

The day is like any other, the sun hanging heavy in the sky, the air sweltering hot and bearing a promise of rain, the earth dry and cracked and scorched as the firebenders leap and duck and twist through the air in their airy red uniforms, great plumes of flame drifting in their wake.

Most of them have stripped their shirts off by now. It is mid-afternoon, the hottest part of the day, and the young men of the Special Operations Division of the Fire Empire Army are taking advantage of their break from training in the most ineffective way. Or so he thinks to himself dismissively, running a hand through his thick, unkempt hair whilst perched atop one of the remaining columns bordering the arena.

Whatever goes on below him doesn't exactly concern him, as it is mainly a reinforcement of the social order of things. He refuses to participate in such petty displays, instead choosing to figuratively (and in this case, literally) remain above it all. The general, an old friend of his father's, has seen him grow up and has fostered his talents. He has nothing left to prove in this arena of children and sycophants - except maybe the one or two most important things of all.

The boys in the arena tussle with each other, wrestling and shoving, shooting fists and breaths of flame into the air and at each other, in a constant struggle for dominance over each other. Maybe the extra practice is good for the ones who didn't have the luxury of growing up in noble households, but in the end, no commoner with an ounce of sense will risk besting the son of an important man in the arena. In the end, he thinks with a small measure of bitterness, there is no point. They might as well have not have fought.

He briefly contemplates the futility of it all, wondering what the point of any of it is, as he closes his eyes and lets out a sigh.

His own great-grandfather had made the world bow down before his throne, and since then, every living person under the sun has been trying to consolidate that insurmountable power. But his share of the glory will be nominal. This, his father has all but promised him, and after so many years he is still coming to reluctant terms with the fact.

He opens his eyes and glances down at the antics below him.

Chan's been forced to the corner of the battle area by the fishmonger's son, Ryu. It makes for a remarkable duel: the smaller, slighter warrior compensating with quicker, more powerful kicks in the air, forcing the larger bender to give up ground in an impressive display of skill. But just as Ryu catches Chan off-balance and prepares for a roundhouse kick to finish things off for good, Ruon-Jian, who had previously been idly sitting by on the sidelines, jumps in and pushes Ryu to the ground.

"Hey!" Ryu's protest can be heard echoing through the air as he falls to the ground. "That's not –"

Ruon-Jian's snigger is also audible as he towers over the fallen bender.

"Not what, fisher boy?"

Ryu's indignant response is stifled in his mouth as Chan leaps back to his feet and delivers a stinging punch to the boy's face. Ruon-Jian grins and gives him a high-five before they both turn their gazes to the crumpled boy in the dirt.

"Yeah, what were you going to say to me?" Chan joins in on the egging, lumbering slowly up to the hapless figure struggling to get to its feet. He gives an unnecessarily vicious shove. "Because I didn't appreciate your tone of voice, fisher boy."

Ryu lets out a grunt as he falls back into the earth. It's exacerbated as Ruon-Jian's foot connects with the pit of his bare stomach.

"I said…" he wheezes at last, as Chan draws a fist back, "…that's not a good way to lose. Chan."

Chan, his fist still drawn back in the air, exchanges an impassive glance with Ruon-Jian, and shrugs.

"Good save, fisher boy," he says before punching Ryu in the face again.

Everyone in the vicinity has the good sense to cheer.

It is at this moment that she arrives.

He doesn't notice at first – he's preoccupied with noncommittally following the abashed retreat of the better bender. But the sound of a girl's quiet voice, punctuated with the sniggers of Chan and Ruon-Jian, eventually catches his attention, and he shifts his gaze back to the far end of the arena.

He discerns a slight, dark figure dressed in blue, with a pack slung over its shoulder, standing straight-backed and impassive as the two spoiled brats tower overhead.

"…be sure to tell the General that you stopped by!"

"Why, do you have a gift for him?"

"A gift that keeps on giving?"

"Haha, good one, Chan!"

At length, the stranger replies.

"I was told to speak with General Shinu, if you could direct me to him, please."

Her voice is flat and controlled, and though she is technically asking a question, her tone is without inflection. The two bullies bristle visibly and saunter up to her, crowding her space. She doesn't shrink away.

"You don't seem to show a lot of respect for a colonial peasant."

"Yeah, you're talking to two of the most important teenagers in the whole Fire Nation! You should be honoured." A pause. "I could think of a few ways you could honour us. Maybe tonight, after you're done with the General –"

He lets out an irritable exhale before somersaulting off his column and landing neatly in the middle of the arena. Walking toward where Chan and Ruon-Jian surround the stranger, he notices the small crowd of spectators forming around them.

"What's going on?" he demands, directing his irritation to the two spoiled sons of his father's peers. "Don't you two have anything better to do, besides bullying peasants and little girls?"

They glare at him mutinously, but at the same time, their faces turn red with embarrassment.

"Yeah, real threatening, the both of you. Maybe next time, I'll actually break a sweat fighting both of you with my hands behind my back."

They accept their dismissal and walk away, muttering thunderously and throwing acerbic glances back at him. He ignores them, instead pinching the bridge of his nose, shaking his head slowly, and then turning around to face the new arrival.

"Thanks," the girl – a Water tribe girl? – says to him in that same flat voice, meeting his curious gaze with the bluest eyes in the world, and to his surprise, she doesn't flinch at the scar on his face, not once. "I'm not a little girl, though. I was told to find General Shinu when I got here, do you know where –"

"Second row to the left," he replies automatically, pointing in the direction of the encampment, "it's the biggest pavilion so you won't miss it."

She nods shortly, straightens her pack over her shoulder, and walks off in the direction he's pointed out.

He'd heard General Shinu mention that they were recruiting their first waterbender. That there was one arriving from one of the colonial military schools who'd shown a lot of promise. Apart from that, he hadn't known what to expect, and he certainly hadn't expected her.

At any rate, it's early evening when he is summoned to the practice arena and sees her again, this time bereft of her large pack and traveling robe. She's dressed instead in hide leggings and an oversized blue tunic that looks like it belonged to a man twice her size. Two waterskins are strapped to her hip, and her long dark hair is braided away from her face.

The top five firebenders in the regiment are lined up in a row, himself included. The resident firebending master, Jeong-Jeong, explains both the test exercise and the logic behind it to her. In battle, he says, we must exercise a well-rounded strategy, else our offensive will quickly grow old and stale. Your specific role will be to counterbalance the attack of our firebenders.

It had been his uncle's idea, of course. Earth balances air, and water balances fire. Now that the damage to the Water Tribes was essentially done, it was high time to start integrating the waterbenders among their troops, which already boasted a healthy representation of firebenders and earthbenders, and more than a few airbenders, whenever the Air Nomads troubled to lift themselves out of isolation.

Jeong-Jeong calls her first opponent forward. Chan swaggers forward, his smirk betraying his eagerness to make up for his loss of face earlier in the day.

Her expression doesn't change. Instead, she merely uncorks her skins and leans into what looks like a defensive stance.

To be honest, he's never seen a waterbender before – only the grossly exaggerated illustrations in Fire Nation propaganda flyers and texts. So, he resolves to closely study her movements, all the better to learn and maybe anticipate. But the duel starts and then –

Where firebending is sharp and forceful and aggressive, the waterbender's movements are unlike anything he's ever seen before. She checks her opponent's strikes with a sinuous, flowing grace, bounding and leaping effortlessly - as though it's just a dance to her instead of a fight. The water moves as though it's another limb of hers. A dynamic, powerful limb with the power to expand, contract, quench flame. Even knock egotistical little firebenders off their feet and onto the flats of their rears where they belong.

There is a smattering of applause as Chan gets to his feet, rubbing his arse and shooting a vicious glare at the unperturbed waterbender. She bends her water back into her skins and assumes a neutral stance.

He's last in line and so has the added advantage of watching her cross the remaining three benders before him. But it doesn't take long before she's worked her way through the line of her opponents –

"And last but not least," Master Jeong-Jeong says finally, "our best firebender, now this should be quite a show..."

Jeong-Jeong beckons to him, and he steps forward, directly across from her.

Up close, the waterbender really does look like a little girl, despite her earlier protests to the contrary. With strong proud features protruding from an oval face, gangling thin limbs that make her look shorter than she is, and eyes that seem almost too large for her face. But she faces him with such fierce determination that he can't help but feel slightly intimidated in her presence.

She waits for him to take the offensive, bending her water out of her skins and into a shield around her. He starts with the basic techniques his uncle taught him. Breathing his fire and channeling it out through his fists, his feet, his mouth –

She counters each time, before swinging a long, heavy whip of water at him. By now, he recognizes this attack of hers from watching the previous bouts. He jumps out of the way, bending a hot blast toward her that causes her to take a step backward.

Landing on both feet, he takes advantage of her unsure footing by channeling a series of wide arcs of flame at her, driving her back inch by inch. She resists by throwing up a wall of water, drowning his fire. Reaches out with a thick tendril of water to grab him by the leg and pulls –

He falls, but braces his weight on his arms, jettisoning a blast of fire at her through his feet. She ducks and evades the blow, letting go of his foot. Both regain their balance, breathing slowly.

They may be fighting, but to him, it still feels like a dance.

How long they continue, he doesn't know. But at a certain point, he knows he's no longer using basic techniques and he's conjuring everything he knows, including some moves he made up. And he's seen the uncertainty in her eyes, seen her jump out of the way just in time. And just when it feels like they've been going at it for hours and his muscles are in agony and he's breathing sharply through his mouth...

He delivers what he's sure will be the final blow as he knocks her over -

Like a rolling wave she turns his energy against him, knocking his feet out from under him and pinning him to the ground in one decisive, liquid movement.

There's a stunned silence as they fight for breath, realizing the duel is over. Without a word, she releases him and he gasps for air, rolling over onto his stomach soaking wet and spread-eagled on the ground in exhaustion.

"That will be enough," commands Jeong-Jeong, approaching the young waterbender. There is an expression of fierce admiration on the master's hard, scarred face. "What I have seen of your abilities pleases me. Not that I would doubt Pakku's word, oh no…"

She presses her fist into the heel of her hand and dips shortly, giving a picture-perfect Fire Nation bow.

"…and yet, parts of his letter were incredibly difficult to believe! Especially – how long did it take you to master waterbending again?"

The girl shrugs. "Six months," she says impassively.

"Unheard of! A true prodigy, to be sure!"

"Yeah right," Chan whispers, next to him, as Jeong-Jeong continues to talk with the Water tribe girl. "There's no way that peasant mastered waterbending in six months."

"Maybe she mastered Pakku in six months instead," Ruon-Jian retorts with a snicker. "And he bumped her up a grade."

"Chan, Ruon-Jian," he says wearily, stretching his screaming muscles and wiping sweat out of his face, "you're both mediocre benders at best. You should at least try a bit harder to be clever."

They glare at him but know better than to talk back. They walk away slowly instead.

Jeong-Jeong's already left by the time the two of them approach the young waterbender. She's in the middle of stretching her right leg when Ruon-Jian deliberately and forcefully shoves her as he walks by. She teeters but regains balance quickly enough.

"Can I help you?" she asks. Her face and voice are still, somehow, incredibly, without emotion.

"The water tribe peasant girl just asked if she could help us!" Ruon-Jian crows at Chan. "Who does this – this pole girl think she is and just where does she get off thinking so highly of herself?"

"Yeah, who do you think you are, pole girl?"

He winces. Pole girl? Is that really the best they could think up?

"Katara."

Her quiet, solemn answer catches everyone off guard.

"What was that?" Chan asked, trying to sound threatening but only appearing confused.

"My name is Katara," the girl replies, before resuming her stretches.

Another confused silence ensues.

"Well…we didn't want to know your name!" Ruon-Jian protests hotly.

"Yeah, we just were going to say that next time, we won't go easy on you."

He knows he's eavesdropping on this conversation but he can't mask the loud snort that slips out of his mouth.

"That's okay," the girl – Katara – says evenly, now stretching her left leg. "Neither will I."

The indignation on both their faces rises, but it just makes them look constipated and ridiculous.

"Watch your back, peasant," mutters Ruon-Jian viciously, before he and Chan loftily stalk off, presumably toward their barracks.

The girl shakes her head slightly before resuming her stretches, this time of her arms and shoulders.

He glances around. The sun has sunk below the horizon by now, they'd dueled right into the sunset, and now the sky glows with bands of lavender and orange. The arena is deserted, now everyone is probably tidying their bunks or quickly washing off the day's sweat and dust.

No point dawdling. He gets to his feet and slowly crosses the arena, wondering if he should say anything to the girl, who seems more than a little taciturn. He can't help but admire her spirit, though. Maybe a little test of the waters…

"Thanks for the shower," he tries to joke, running a hand through his hair.

She freezes, turns her head to regard him curiously, probably sizing him up to figure out whether he's making fun of her or not.

"I was trying to make a joke," he points out, a little crestfallen now. "Uh…I guess I meant to say that you gave me a really hard time back there."

"I was just doing my job," replies the girl a little defensively. She straightens out of her stretches to meet his eyes directly.

"I know. I mean, that's good. You're a really good fighter, I was trying to give you a compliment." Talking with her is like treading barefoot on broken glass, apparently.

"Um…thanks…" she says slowly. "You gave me a tough time too, I guess."

"Thank you. I've never fought against a waterbender before."

"I guess I had an advantage, then," the girl replies. She raises her hands in front of her and before he realizes it, she's bending the water off him and back into her waterskins.

"Thanks," he says again.

"I didn't want to waste it," she answers, corking them. She looks up at him. "Well, I'd better get back to my quarters, so if you don't mind –"

"I can walk you there," he offers.

"No, that's fine, you don't have to –"

"I'm walking that way too. Please."

They stare at each other, before she finally shrugs and walks on. He falls in step with her easily.

"So, you've fought against firebenders before, you mean?" he asks, trying to get a conversation going. Maybe if she realized that not everyone here was going to be like Chan and Ruon-Jian…

She nods shortly.

"In combat?" he continues incredulously. Even if she isn't as young as she looks, there's no way she would have been old enough to fight during the polar invasions –

"No," she answers, somewhat bitterly. "Not exactly."

"Oh," is all he can say, and suddenly recognizing that he may have inadvertently raised a sensitive subject, he changes his line of questioning. "It must feel strange for you to be here."

There's a fleeting hint of surprise on her face following his words, before she quickly masks it.

"Yeah. Strange."

"So why are you here, then?" he asks, curiously.

She shrugs.

"There wasn't much of a choice. Master Pakku trained me until I was ready, and then I was ordered to come here, so I did."

"And before Pakku?"

She closes up instantly, an ill-concealed darkness evident in her eyes.

"I don't want to talk about that," she says in a low voice.

"I'm sorry," he offers tentatively.

She shrugs, but her arms are crossed in front of her as though they're armour.

They've entered the encampment and he can smell the food cooking in the mess hall. It's very close to dinnertime. His stomach rumbles in response. In front of them are three parallel rows of tents, mostly small but one or two are extravagantly large and bearing the large flag of the Fire Empire army, as well as smaller divisional insignia. Beside the encampment are the dorms, a large gated compound of brick and steel with a sloped red roof and small slitted windows.

There's a troubled expression on her face, the closer they get to the building. At first he thinks it's in his imagination but there's no mistaking the disquiet in her eyes. He wonders what it could be, and scans his mind for reasons, for a shred of empathy. Of course, the circumstances under which he joined the army were completely different – he had been driven and motivated and ready to prove himself, and to this day he still felt mostly the same way, if only a little more disillusioned – but still, what could be troubling the young waterbender so?

"Don't worry," he tries to reassure her, "everyone fits in eventually. Chan and Ruon-Jian are losers and nobody likes them anyway. You don't have to worry about them picking on you –"

She startles and gives him a confused look. "I'm fine," she insists, sounding a little annoyed.

"Okay." He backs off.

They reach the gates of the compound.

"By the way," he says, "Katara – was it?"

She glances at him and nods uncertainly.

He holds out a hand.

"I don't think I introduced myself. My name is Zuko."

There's a pause following his words.

"Zuko," Katara repeats, the syllables sounding lovely rolling off her tongue. Her brow furrows.

She doesn't return his handshake but surveys him from head to toe instead. She looks as though she is thinking hard, putting unexpected pieces together. She takes in the symmetrical planes of his face, the shock of untamed black hair, the ugly, disfiguring scar around his eye, before she meets his gaze piercingly.

"Son of Ozai," she spits. It sounds like an accusation – or a curse.

The bottom of his stomach drops out from under him. Or so it feels. "And Ursa," he recovers, his mouth dry.

Now she glares at him with all the fury she can muster, and he finds himself quailing under the might of it.

"I can find my own way from here," she says, her voice like ice. "Thanks for showing me around. But do me a favour, and stay away from me."

She spins on her heel and marches into the building, without sparing him a second glance.

Zuko stands frozen in place, bewildered.

What did I do wrong this time?

Chapter 2: letters in her head

Summary:

Katara recounts her first day at camp.

Chapter Text

disclaimer. ATLA may belong to Bryke, but Zutara belongs to us, the fans.

author's notes. thank you lovely folks for the kudos and comments! keep them coming, i love the encouragement!

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter ii. letters in her head

in soft embrace i now arise
and search for peace in hungering eyes
thy faces change; my love renames
our starlit world, the past remains

"vervain"/faith & the muse

She glides effortlessly along the banks of the river, bending the currents to propel her forward. The day is hot, as the weather in the Fire Nation is wont to be, but in the lap of the waves, surrounded by cool, flowing water, she doesn't feel it as much.

The bone flute is almost too small in her hands, but her fingers are dainty and move with a well-practiced precision as she lifts it to her lips and trills a song her mother used to sing while working. Hearing the familiar tune swell to a crescendo and echo over the water and the surrounding mountains, she feels comforted almost. This is as close to free as she has ever felt.

No matter that she's being sent to yet another prison. For the past six weeks, she has been traveling alone, surrounded by her element, with everything she owns stuffed into the pack on her back, and playing the flute her father had carved for her. She intends to savour it, for as long as it lasts.

It's lucky that the bulk of her travel has been riverside - walking in this heat would be punishing indeed. Despite being away from home for so many years, she still misses the cold and the dark. She misses the feel of sealskins and fur pelts against her skin. But she's long since stripped her weathered blue coat of its trimmings and linings. Now it's just an oversized robe of limp hide, frayed at the seams and hems. Though it does little to keep the heat out, she can't bring herself to throw it away. It's a memory of home after all - one of the few she has left.

Then she spots the encampment in the distance, further inland than she expected. She sighs at the prospect of having to double back and approach it by foot. But in her experience, the less she demonstrated her abilities, the better her reception among the Fire Nation people tended to be.

Not that she cares, one way or another. She knows how to take care of herself. By now, most things have lost their ability to hurt.

The clouds loom overhead, plump and threatening to spill, but as usual, offering naught but empty promises. Katara knows better. Besides, what could be more welcome to a waterbender in a strange land but more rain?

She lands ashore and quickly dries off. Tucks her flute into its worn sealskin sachet and withdraws the map of her intended route from her pack. Even in the accursed heat of Fire Nation summer, the journey inland wouldn't take too long by foot. Through the lush forest lining the slopes of the riverbank, smoke is clearly visible, rising from the buildings of the encampment to swirl above the treetops. Thus, with one last rueful glance at the shining waters and open sky, she turns and makes for the winding path leading into the forest.

She wonders what Sokka would think, if he ever found out. She wonders how she might recount it all to him.

Dear Sokka,

A lot's changed since I last wrote. Once I got to Crescent Island, I found a waterbending Master who was willing to teach me – well, that took a bit of effort, since he's from the Northern Tribe. But he came around in the end. His name is Pakku and he was a real grouch at first, but I guess he grows on you after a while.

She smiles, mentally composing her letter as she walks.

Anyway. He said I was the best of his students, even though the others were all boys, and I got to kick their butts every day for six months. Which was fun.

Then Master Pakku said that I'd mastered waterbending, and after that he sent me away to join some division of the Fire Empire Army. Which was less fun?

Katara lets out a sigh. At the time, she'd secretly hoped that as a woman, she could go unnoticed and be able to stay on with Pakku, perhaps helping him train new waterbenders when they were sent to him. But no, Master Pakku had other ideas for his young protégé.

"You are still young and have much left to learn," he'd said, to silence her protests at his verdict. "But you have a knack for adaptability, which above all else, is the foundation of waterbending, and what they are looking for in a suitable candidate. Besides, for all that this Division is part of the Fire Empire army, you will be part of a special unit, directly under the supervision of some very old friends of mine. I have no doubt that you will thrive there."

Katara had snorted at that, but had eventually caved to Pakku's decision.

But in the end, I had to obey my orders. If they're sending me into a pit of firebenders to fight their wars and die for a country that's inflicted so much damage upon the world, then that's what I have to do. It's not like I have anywhere else to be.

And then there are some things that never stop hurting. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, her strategy over the years to dispel the ghost of tears.

Master Pakku vouches for some of them. I think it's because he's not from the Southern Tribe like us. Maybe he just doesn't know what they're capable of.

Katara frowns, kicking at a pebble on the pathway before her.

No, maybe that's not fair either. The ones on Crescent Island with him weren't awful. They weren't particularly nice or anything, but they weren't like, well…you know.

One foot in front of another, now. She chews at a cracked lip, lost in her thoughts.

I'm really nervous, Sokka. Master Pakku told me to think of this as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but I can't stop thinking of it as a death sentence. I'm already so far away from everything I know. Now I have to stay in the heart of the Empire, with the same people who destroyed our home. The thought of it makes me sick.

I thought about running away. I met a lady on my way here who –

No. Katara wouldn't think about that. It makes her stomach turn even more. She'd sooner take the firebenders over that.

And drawing some scant courage from that thought, she squares her shoulders, walks the last few steps out of the forest, and into the encampment of the Special Forces Division.

It sprawls before her, a larger space than she had expected, cleared out and paved in the heart of the woods. In front of her lies some sort of practice arena. It's flat and rectangular, surrounded by stone columns in varying states of disrepair. And, at the moment, full of shirtless guys laughing and throwing fire at each other.

She doesn't bat an eye. After all, she had been Pakku's lone female student, and she'd seen her fair share of shirtless, sweaty guys. Enough to not get worked up in a pretty young blush when two of them notice her and march up to her.

They both seem like spoiled, entitled idiots, and when they open their mouths, they don't do much to dispel her initial suspicions.

"Hey Chan, look at this!" one of them calls. With a pointy face and hair that falls all over his face in some weird Fire Nation style that passes for trendy these days, she wonders how he could see her at all.

The other boy that follows is taller, with well-muscled arms, smooth handsome features, and brown hair tied up in a topknot. Katara internally rolls her eyes, deciding that she probably wouldn't like him much, either.

"Well, you're a tall drink of water," he says with a wink and a smirk. "What can I do for you, sugarcakes?"

Yup. She definitely doesn't like him already.

"Good afternoon," she says, keeping her face devoid of expression and her voice toneless, lest her distaste bleed through and offend someone. She recalls the instructions Pakku had given her and recites them off the top of her hand. "I'm to report with General Shinu. Do either of you know where he is?"

Apparently, her indifference is cause for offence in and of itself. The two boys eye each other, exchanging some form of unspoken communication.

"Oh, you're looking for the General?" the handsome one asks. Chan, she'd gathered was his name.

"I believe I said that, yes." A hint of impatience makes it into Katara's voice, and from the way they snigger in response, she gathers that it doesn't escape their notice.

"I don't know. What would the General want with colony trash like her, Ruon-Jian?"

The one with the ridiculous hair shrugs suggestively. "Well. There might be a reason. After all, this one's pretty for a colonial. If you know what I mean."

By now, Katara has weathered Pakku's rages and much, much worse. These two boys with giant spaces in the place of their brains are just a momentary nuisance. She remains impassive.

"Pretty. Ri-ight…" Chan trails off, and she intercepts his stare as he gives her a lingering once-over. He smirks again. "Sorry, sugar. Old Shinu's a little busy right now. But we'll be sure to tell the General that you stopped by!"

Maybe some of her dismay makes its way onto her face, because suddenly the two of them are crowding her space, looking for her to give an inch. She doesn't cave.

"Why?" Ruon-Jian asks slyly, with a leer, "do you have a gift for him?"

She thinks that she would very much like to give him a gift in the form of a kick between the legs.

"Yeah, like…a gift that keeps on giving?" Chan continues.

"Haha, good one, Chan!" Ruon-Jian laughs. They high-five each other and snigger.

But it's pointless, Sokka. I don't fit in here and I never will. Firebenders are jerks. And even if I ran, where am I supposed to go? How am I going to find you?

Katara takes another deep breath, and when she speaks, her voice is just as steady as she wants it to be. "I was told to speak with General Shinu, if you could direct me to him, please."

She says it the way Master Pakku would have said it to a firebender that he didn't particularly like, but still outranked.

Both boys don't take well to this either. They bristle visibly in response, their body language becoming increasingly aggressive. And yet, Katara has never felt less afraid.

"You don't seem to show a lot of respect for a colonial peasant," Ruon-Jian warns her.

"Yeah, you're talking to two of the most important teenagers in the whole Fire Nation! You should be honoured." Chan pauses, before a sly grin crosses his face. She catches him looking at her again. "I could think of a few ways you could honour us." He reaches for her. "Maybe tonight, after you're done with the General –"

"What's going on?" Another voice, alien to her ears, cuts across Chan's words.

Katara expects the low, gravelly voice to belong to an irritated senior officer or the like. Instead, it's another one of the shirtless firebenders, and he looks just as amused by the situation as she does.

She opens her mouth to explain, expecting to bear the brunt of this surly stranger's ire. Instead, to her surprise, he whirls on the pair standing in front of her. "Don't you two have anything better to do, besides bullying peasants and little girls?" he asks witheringly.

Katara raises her eyebrows fractionally. Her surprise mounts as the two meatheads glare at the newcomer, but hold their tongues nonetheless.

Does he outrank them or something? Perhaps he was a senior officer, as she'd initially thought. Even if he seems awfully young for that, for the grumpy firebender didn't wear any badges of command (or much else, actually). In fact, he didn't even seem that much older than her.

"Yeah, real threatening, the both of you," the stranger continues sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Maybe next time, I'll actually break a sweat fighting both of you with my hands behind my back."

Chan and Ruon-Jian look thoroughly chastened now. They don't say a word again, they just…back off slowly with their tails between their legs. Katara certainly doesn't mind seeing the back of them.

She turns to the surly guy who seems, if not very friendly, at least a bit more helpful than his peers. "Thanks," she says briskly, and he meets her gaze with curious golden eyes, the left one smaller than the other because of the angry red scar surrounding it. "I'm not a little girl though." Not for a very long time. "I was told to find General Shinu when I got here, do you know where –"

He cuts her off before she can finish, anticipating her question and pointing to the pavilions beyond the arena. "Second row to the left," he says in that peculiar rough voice, "it's the biggest pavilion so you won't miss it."

She supposes that efficiency was the one trait she didn't mind in a firebender, so she nods her thanks. Then, she straightens her pack, sliding slowly off her shoulder, and heads off in the direction that the stern yet oddly gracious stranger had shown her.

She attracts a few curious stares as she walks through the encampment. But no one else approaches her, and she finds the General without further incident.

Shinu is a large-set, stocky man with sharply trimmed whiskers, shrewd brown eyes, and hair closely gathered in a military topknot. She forces out a deep bow. For, as a General, Shinu was the highest-ranking official she had the dubious privilege of encountering so far. And from him, she braces herself, preparing to meet anything from derision to indifference.

But to her continuing surprise, the General was brisk and efficient, and not impolite as he briefs her about her new duties, which in and of themselves were shocking.

"You want me to…train waterbenders?" she repeats slowly, trying to fathom it all.

"Once we have them. It is imperative that we incorporate an attack strategy that includes the waterbending form," General Shinu explains. "As our resident Master waterbender, you will contribute heavily to this endeavour. You will be expected to participate in our military strategy meetings, along with the other bending masters in the Division, as well as develop attack techniques and drill new recruits in them."

Katara swallows slowly, realising that it was finally happening. The Fire Nation had discovered her abilities and decided to weaponise them against her will. "Military strategy," she asks, confused. "For what? There're no wars going on or anything."

Shinu glances at her levelly but remains calm. "Your orders are not for you to question, Sifu Katara," he says gruffly. "You came highly recommended. Know that your actions defend this great empire and everything within her borders." Including your tribes. The unspoken words ring out louder in her ears than anything the General had said so far.

"My apologies," Katara says with another bow. "I didn't wish to give offense."

"And none was taken." Shinu rises to his feet. "Take some time to become familiar with our camp." He glances at her frayed, dusty traveling robe and frowns. "And you will need your uniform. You can't go around wearing that."

Katara fights to keep the scorn from her voice. "Of course not."

"Not in this weather, anyway." Katara blinks, expecting a much more contemptuous response to follow. But Shinu continues in earnest, "Go to the pavilion next door and ask for Ming. She will help you orient yourself. Afterward, you will present yourself at the practice arena at sundown, for a test exercise so that we can evaluate your skills. Dismissed."

Katara thanks him, bows again, and takes her leave. In the next tent, she finds Ming, a tall, strongly built woman with a surprisingly kind face.

"You're the new waterbender?" Ming asks incredulously after Katara introduces herself. She straightens her headband and squints as Katara nods.

"Sorry," the soldier apologizes, offering a furtive smile. "I – I just was under the impression that the tribes only trained their men to be fighting benders."

Katara lets out a sigh, remembering Pakku's reticence with her. That hadn't even been a year ago. How time had flown by..."It's like that in the Northern tribe," she explains. "But I'm not from there and – well, there aren't very many of us left, so it's no time to be picky."

Ming nods sympathetically. "Of course," she says, turning around to rummage through the shelves behind her. She pulls out a few cloth packs, but frowns at them.

"Unfortunately," she says apologetically, turning around to face Katara with a slightly bashful expression on her face, "because we thought all the waterbenders were men, we only have waterbender uniforms in men's sizes. I found the smallest size that I could, but it'll probably still be big for you –"

"That's fine," Katara says automatically, reaching for the pack in Ming's hand. "I don't really care if it looks ridiculous."

"Sorry," Ming smiles ruefully. "On the bright side, we do have a smith here so you can get your armour fitted properly at least!"

"Armour?" Katara echoes, scowling again. "The General never mentioned deploying us for active combat."

"Probably not," Ming admits with a shrug. "But you never know when you might need it. As always, it'll probably be sooner than you expect!"

Katara raises an eyebrow at the soldier's cryptic warning but doesn't prod further. There were a thousand catastrophes looming on the horizon at any given moment; being prepared to fight for the Fire Empire was the very last priority she could think of.

So, she keeps her mouth shut, following Ming on a quick tour around the site. The entire division is relatively small, and Katara learns that it's for a very select, skilled group of fighters trained for special operations.

"You'll be doing your training here." Ming points out a pathway leading away from the dorms, and toward a small, round, glassy lake.

Katara's eyes widen. "Well that's comfortable," she remarks.

Maybe this won't be so bad, Sokka. After all, I do get to practice bending all day. And once they find more waterbenders to join, I can train them too! Perhaps I'll even find someone to come along with me to the North Pole.

"Well, this is it," Ming says, after leading her through the officers' quarters and stopping in front of a door. "You're paired up with another of the resident bending masters. She's a bit of a character, but I'm sure you two will get along fine. Plus you still get a bit more privacy than in the general barracks!"

Katara thanks her for her help, before entering the room and taking stock of her new…she still can't bring herself to call it home.

The first thing she notices is that it was bigger than she expected. Closing the door behind her, she steps into the middle, surveying her surroundings.

Her new quarters were all stone and tile - which made sense considering it had been built to house firebenders. But in spite of that, it was warm and oddly inviting, with a bunk bed in one corner, two chests (one of which lay open, its contents strewn everywhere in complete chaos, as though its owner was blind), and two closets on separate ends of the room. Another door in the corner led to a private washroom, complete with an enclosure for bathing, and even a steam room.

To her, it's luxury.

She trudges over to the unoccupied side of the room, grateful for the privacy if nothing else. Opens the empty chest and sets down her personal pack with a groan. Its meagre content scatter on the ground in front of her: two front-clasped blue shirts, three loose-fitting trousers, softskin leggings, a long blue vest, rolls and rolls of bindings and underclothes, a single long dress in the style of her tribe, two corked waterskins, a bag of soaps and oils, and the worn sealskin sachet on top of it all, housing only the most precious of her possessions.

She plucks them out one by one, laying her treasures out in a line on the floor. Memories of home, small ones. Her father's flute. Her old master's pai sho tile. Her grandmother's comb. Her mother's necklace. Her brother's favourite boomerang that he'd accidentally left behind, buried in the snow, the day he went away…

Tears swim in her eyes as she presses the empty sachet to her cheek and breathes. Sokka, I miss them. I miss them so much. If there was anything, any way I could –

But that was a useless train of thought. They were all long gone, even Sokka himself. Leaving only her in a strange hostile land, all by herself. But she would carry their legacies in her heart. She was the last of them, and she wouldn't fail them. She would never forget them.

And with that conviction blazing new hope in her heart, she replaces her treasures back in their sachet, pulls the drawstrings shut with decisive fingers. It goes in the bottom of her chest, followed by her remaining, pitiful few belongings.

The last waterbender of the southern tribe, she thinks dryly, and all I've got to my name are some old trinkets and rags.

Then, with a deep breath and a scrub at her eyes, she turns her attention to the new pack Ming had given her.

The kit is quite generous - so much so that she wonders if it was standard issue or if being one of the resident bending masters came with some perks. She withdraws three sets of plain workwear: soft blue cotton with the wavy emblem of the Water Tribes sewn on the front in white thread, and a small red Fire Empire flame embroidered in bright red on the back. They'd also given her nicer sets of a higher-quality weave, perhaps to wear while drilling the new recruits, whenever they got here. And two formal sets in red and gold, one of silk and the other of velvet, to wear when meeting with the Generals perhaps.

She runs her fingers along the plain blue cotton set absently. At least it's not red. By now, she was sick of having to wear the Fire Empire's colours all the time. And even if it wasn't the linen and fur that it should have been, wearing the Water Tribe emblem made her feel a little more at home.

Stripping off her clothes, dusty and sweaty from traveling, she reaches for a new set of underclothes and bindings. The freedom to be able to change and not be seen and gawked at, now that was something she welcomed whole-heartedly.

She picks up one of the plain sets they've given her, and a wry smile tugs at her lips.

Ming wasn't wrong. Water Tribe men were built tall and strong, after all. And though Katara wasn't exactly petite, there was no way her new trousers would ever fit her. Even her new undershirt, when she holds it experimentally against her body, hits her just under the knee. The short sleeves skim the crook of her elbow, the shirt itself nearly four times wider than her.

But clothes were clothes, and these in particular were new, comfortable, and modest. A thankful departure from the usual cut of airy Fire Nation garb she'd been expecting. So, without much protest, she pulls on a pair of her old softskin leggings before trying to slide the undershirt over her head.

But its massive volume leaves her struggling to find the holes for her arms to go through. And then, to her alarm, the door to the room opens at that very moment.

"I'm changing!" she shrieks, panicking and pulling the hem of the shirt down as far as it will go.

Someone steps into the room behind her and closes the door. "Yeah, I know," replies a girl's unconcerned voice. "Don't worry about it."

Don't worry about it? Indignation rises to Katara's voice as she realises that she had put the shirt on backwards. "Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" she demands crossly, fumbling to right it.

"Doesn't really make a difference to me, to be honest."

Katara whirls around. "You could have seen –" she begins, shakes her head, and starts over, all while still tugging her arms through mismatched sleeve-holes, "You startled me. I – I don't like people watching me change."

"Like I said, you really don't have to worry about that," the new girl repeats, and a bite of sarcasm enters her voice.

Katara finally manages to get her arms in through the right sleeves before raising her eyes to glare at her new roommate. Who turns out to be a girl of about fifteen, wearing formal red silk robes similar to the ones Katara had received, except sporting a tiny symbol of the former Earth Kingdom in emerald green. Her arms were corded with muscle and there was a brisk sense of purpose in the way she moved. Her dark hair was swept up in a large bun and held in place by a gold headband. Long black bangs tumbled over her eyes, which when Katara looks closer, were bright green and clouded over, unfocused and unseeing -

"Oh," she breathes, belatedly understanding the implications of the girl's words. She lowers her head, blushing furiously. "Sorry, I didn't realise–"

"Don't worry about it. I get that all the time," the girl says, waving it off nonchalantly. "Name's Toph. I guess you're the Master waterbender everyone's been waiting for."

Katara's jaw drops as she remembers Ming's earlier words and finally makes the connection.

"You'll have to take the top bunk. I'm not very good with heights so you don't have much of a choice there –" Toph prattles on, blithely unaware of Katara's mounting astonishment.

"Wait, you're the bending master they told me about?" she bursts out in disbelief. Since the girl's uniform proudly displays the symbol of the former Earth Kingdom, she continues with the only logical conclusion: "The earthbending master?"

A small grin breaks out onto Toph's face. "Yup."

"But – but how?" And then, worried that she'd given offense again, she quickly adds, "I mean, that's incredible, but –"

"It's okay. Like I said, I get that reaction all the time. No one ever believes me…until I make them eat dirt." The grin on Toph's face widens mischievously, giving Katara a sense that she enjoyed proving herself to skeptics a little more than she should.

"I'll be sure to watch my step," she says uncertainly.

"Oh, you'd better. I can't wait for cross-training now. It'll be so much more fun with everyone there." Toph claps her hands together triumphantly.

"Cross-training?"

"Yup. Everyone's least favourite thing. Except mine."

How very strange. "Well...what's your least favourite thing, then?" Katara asks curiously.

"War meetings." Toph makes a face as she walks over to her chaotically-disorganised trunk and plucks out a plain set of green cotton without hesitation. "I just got back from one. Blegh. Not my thing."

Katara raises her eyebrows. "What are they like?"

"Boring." Toph emphasises her point by tearing off her fancy red silks unabashedly, standing only in her shift and breeches. She jams her hands on her hips and continues. "It's just a bunch of old gasbags yammering on over lines and arrows on maps. I don't even know why they want me there. What the heck am I supposed to contribute?"

She shakes her head while promptly redressing herself. Katara can only marvel as she effortlessly pulls her trousers up, slides on her undershirt and sleeveless overtunic, and then ties the sash at her waist firmly.

Her feet stay bare.

"That does seem a little inconsiderate of them," Katara comments eventually, feeling unusually small.

"Yeah well." Toph shrugs, and casts her sightless eyes on Katara's face. "Do you have a schedule yet?"

Katara shakes her head, before realizing that the girl couldn't see it. "General Shinu said I have a test exercise tonight at sundown," she says. "Apart from that…no."

"Shame," Toph retorts. "I have to go drill the yellow-bellied excuses for earthbenders they recruited for me. You're lucky you don't have any yet." She pauses. "Anyway, I've got to run. Find me after your test exercise is done. Although...if you're half as good as everyone said you'd be, you'll be done in no time."

Katara nods, before remembering once again that it was wasted on the blind girl. "Thanks," she says. "Where will you be?"

"Probably in here. The steam room is really handy after practice. Man, am I glad we get one. Anyway, you'll need me to show you the ropes around here, Sweetness."

Katara winces a little. "Sweetness?"

"I like it," Toph decides. She turns and walks away, waving a goodbye at Katara, while somehow still miraculously navigating her surroundings as effortlessly as though she was sighted.

"You forgot to put on your shoes," Katara calls after her.

The earthbender makes a dismissive gesture with her hands. "How the hell am I supposed to see with shoes on?" she counters before striding out the door and down the hallway with that same self-assured purpose.

Katara remains very confused.

My new roommate is a blind earthbending master. She reminds me a bit of you. She's brash and outspoken and I don't quite get her jokes yet.

At sunset she fills her skins and heads over to the arena. There, she finds a slight old man cloaked in red, with a severe face. Oddly enough, he reminds her of Master Pakku.

"You are the waterbender?" the old man inquires, squinting at her with an unnerving intensity.

She bows in response. "Katara of the Southern Water Tribe."

"Welcome, Katara," he replies courteously, and dips his head in return. "I am Master Jeong-Jeong. Formally, I oversee the firebenders in this division, but I will have a hand in your training as well."

He gives her a curious once-over. "It may be strange for you to learn that your former master, Pakku, is an old friend of mine" he continues. The set of his mouth softens fractionally. "When he answered my summons with word of you, I was most intrigued by his claims."

"Oh?" Katara eyes the old man appraisingly, wondering if she could trust a character reference from Pakku.

"The needs of this division are very specific. This test exercise is meant to assess whether you can meet them. But if you are truly as skilled as Pakku has said, then you needn't worry."

Katara watches as a small group of firebenders gathers in the arena, lining up directly across from her. She recognizes the two bullies from this afternoon waiting among them, as well as the taciturn one with the scar. "I still don't get what you want me to do."

"It is enough that you be creative and resourceful and able to draw knowledge from multiple sources, wherever you find it," Jeong-Jeong says, rather vaguely. He raises his voice, so that everyone in the vicinity could hear him, and the firebenders straighten to attention. "In battle, we must exercise a well-rounded strategy, else our offensive will quickly grow old and stale." He turns to addresses her directly. "Your specific role will be to counterbalance the attack of our firebenders."

Yes, Sokka. The Fire Empire Army…hired me to kick firebender butt.

So I did.

With pleasure.

The first four go down with barely a fight. Only the last one to face her, the gruff boy with the scarred eye, manages to put up a decent fight.

Though he too had clearly never faced a waterbender before, his skills outclassed his peers, if lacking focus. What surprises her the most is that he manages to adapt quickly, reacting and even anticipating her blows, enough to make for a rather entertaining skirmish. And at last, when she finally pins him down to end the duel, it takes a lot more effort than she cares to admit. She backs away breathing heavily and covered with sweat.

"That will be enough," Jeong-Jeong commands at length. Admiration spreads across his flinty face. "What I have seen of your abilities pleases me. Not that I would doubt Pakku's word, oh no –"

Katara bows in acknowledgment of his praise, flattered despite herself.

"- and yet, parts of his letter were incredibly difficult to believe!" Jeong-Jeong continues on. "Especially – how long did it take you to master waterbending again?"

"Six months?" she answers with a shrug. From an outsider's perspective, she does suppose it would sound somewhat far-fetched.

"Unheard of!" Jeong-Jeong declares, his eyebrows disappearing into the strands of white hair that fall across his forehead. "A true prodigy, to be sure! Such discipline and raw talent will make an excellent addition to our –" he pauses delicately, "project."

"Project?" Katara frowns. "Does this have anything to do with the General's so-called, uh..." she searches her mind for the exact phrasing Shinu had used, "- attack development?"

Jeong-Jeong rewards her with a small smile. "It has everything to do with that," he tells her. "You will report back here at midmorning tomorrow for your first cross-elemental training session."

She bows and he takes his leave.

It's so weird, you wouldn't believe it. I would never have imagined that a high-ranking military firebender would ever respect my skills, but it almost felt like talking to Master Pakku again. I don't know, Sokka, every time I think I have these people figured out, they have to go and make me question everything.

Someone walks right into her and she almost loses her balance. Taking a deep breath to maintain her calm, she turns around to find the two arrogant benders from earlier today: the handsome one and the one with the ridiculous hair. Their names already escape her.

And then there are the idiots. Boy, I can't imagine what you would say if they treated you the way they treat me. Sometimes, I wish you were the bender. Not me.

Soon enough, the two of them leave her alone to her stretches and her thoughts. She wonders at their nerve. Though it had taken her under a minute combined to floor both of them, they still walked around as if they owned her. It would have infuriated her if she didn't already know any better.

But she does. And one day, she would teach the sons of fire to fear water.

"Thanks for the shower."

The stony voice cuts through her thoughts and she freezes, before casting a curious look at the speaker. The scarred bender waits a fair distance away, as though unsure of her.

Katara regards him blankly, wondering why he was talking with her and what he wanted.

"I was trying to make a joke," he continues, and the petulance in his voice startles her. "Uh…I guess I meant to say that you gave me a really hard time back there."

Oh great. Another sore loser. "I was just doing my job," she retorts, not trying very hard to mask her impatience.

"I know. I mean, that's good." He swallows, wrestling with his thoughts for a bit, before he adds, "You're a really good fighter, I was trying to give you a compliment."

To be quite honest, she rather preferred the firebenders when they were efficient and quiet. Earlier, she had been relieved to conclude that he was the surly type. Now, it dismays her to find him unable to fight whatever urge compels him to be awkwardly friendly with her.

Still, there was no need to be rude. "Um...thanks..." She fights a shrug, casting about for something to say. After all, he'd helped her out earlier when he didn't have to, and he had held his own surprisingly well against her. "You gave me a tough time too, I guess." I suppose I can respect that.

He inclines his head. "Thank you. I've never fought against a waterbender before."

She knows that already. She might have told him that it was obvious from the way he moved during their duel. But she neither knows him nor particularly wants to. She settles for something noncommittal instead.

They trade awkward pleasantries, all while Katara tries unsuccessfully to make an escape back to her room. After all, Toph was probably waiting for her and the appeal of checking out that steam room far outweighed being in the presence of the most overly-polite firebender in the entire forsaken Empire.

But before she could get another word in otherwise, he falls in step with her back to the camp. She keeps silent, hoping he clues in that she would rather have been alone. But alas, the hint goes straight over his head.

"So you've fought against firebenders before?" he queries. For some reason, he seems to find her fascinating - a far cry from the usual reaction she got from the firebenders.

She nods, wondering if that knowledge would compel him to back off.

"In combat?" he continues, aghast.

The memory overwhelms her without warning. Grey snow falling lazily from the sky, chaos and screams in the air, blood flowing red and warm on the ice. Her father's lips on her brow, Sokka's hand in hers as they run for their lives…

"No," she says finally, her voice heavy. "Not exactly."

"Oh."

That shuts him up for a bit and she presses on, grateful for the ensuing silence.

I wonder what you would do if you were here with me, Sokka.

"It must feel strange for you to be here."

She faces him sharply. Clearly, the scarred bender was far more perceptive than his appearance would suggest, and it unsettles her. His presence, while far from unkind, fills her with apprehension and she couldn't quite put a finger on why. "Yeah," she agrees, her voice distant. "Strange."

When she says nothing more, the scarred bender picks up his paces. "So why are you here, then?" he asks her, as though he thought she honestly had a say in the whole matter. As though anyone could just choose to refuse the empire's orders if they wanted.

"There wasn't much of a choice," she answers, shrugging. "Master Pakku trained me until I was ready, and then I was ordered to come here, so I did." Even if she would much rather have stayed where she was. Or been left free to roam the world, to make her way to the North Pole, for a start –

"And before Pakku?"

They close in on her before she could stop it. Grim stone walls, cold floors, dark rooms, all filled with the taste of fear and the stench of death and the agony of fire on her skin… "I don't want to talk about that," she forces out at last. It takes an inhuman level of effort to stop her voice from shaking.

"I'm sorry," the firebender apologises, probably recognising that he had upset her somehow.

Truth be told, it wasn't his fault, not entirely. But just because he hadn't been personally involved, it didn't erase what his kind had done to hers. And then it all comes flooding back to her, the buildings housing their dorms all identical to the ones haunting her memories.

And if she were to just close her eyes, she could hear the sobs and the screams and the pitiless laughter, more clear and real than the wind rushing past her ears. She could still feel their hands, fire on her skin, her breath freezing in her lungs, stolen away in an instant –

"Don't worry," the firebender's voice cuts across her thoughts. She snaps out of her reverie, staring at him as he continues, as remarkably clueless as ever, "everyone fits in eventually. Chan and Ruon-Jian are losers and nobody likes them anyway. You don't have to worry about them picking on you –"

"I'm fine," she interrupts him irritably. His blithely unaware commentary was so far off the mark that it makes her cross. "Really."

"Okay," he says and falls silent, finally chastened.

They reach the gates of the dorm compound when he speaks up again. "By the way – Katara, was it?"

She rolls her eyes, wondering how he had gotten her name. But nods slowly in weary resignation.

He sticks out his hand in apparent introduction. "I don't think I introduced myself," he says. "My name is Zuko."

Everything stops.

Because Katara realises that she'd heard that name before. It was a name for royalty, and they had made her memorise every last one of them.

But...but it couldn't be. This firebender, though grating on her last nerve by now, had stood up for her against his fellow peers. He had tried to be nice to her, in his own bizarre way.

She studies his face, trying to hide her distress. "Zuko," she echoes hoarsely, seeing him properly for the first time.

And once it becomes obvious, it astounds her how she could possibly have missed it. Because the resemblance is clear, despite all the misleading detractors. The unkempt hair, the disfiguring scar, the humble attire that didn't exactly scream Fire Empire royalty... And hadn't those two bullies leapt out of his way when he confronted them? She had thought their deference was due to a difference in rank, but had never expected...spirits, how could she have been so blind?

The same uncomfortably handsome facial features, the same dark hair, the same hard, unyielding mouth, even the strange gold eyes…

"Son of Ozai," she hisses, her voice a knife thrust.

He quails under her scrutiny, but holds firm. "And Ursa," he recovers, rather meekly.

Only at that moment does Katara finally acknowledge it. That a secret hope has been budding within her chest, that perhaps her presence here was a harbinger of changing times. That maybe better days lie in wait, that maybe in time, the firebenders could actually grow out of the monsters they'd always been. And then, maybe...maybe in time, she could finally let go of the leaden weight heavy in her heart and be free of it, once and for all.

But then she finds him standing in front of her and that dream withers to hopelessness in an instant.

It hits her then, why his presence had filled her with unease. Some part of her must have recognised him for who he really was, and the threat he represents...

"I can find my own way from here," she says coldly. "Thanks for showing me around." Derision laces her gratitude as she stares him right in the eyes and warns, "But do me a favour and stay away from me."

And then today I dueled a firebender and might have actually become friends with him, before I found out that he was actually the son of Prince Ozai.

…

I should have killed him when I had the chance. If I'd known who he was, I would have done it.

Maybe.

"You took your time," Toph remarks as Katara storms back into her room. "How many people did they make you fight?"

"Five," Katara answers absently, scarce able to focus on the earthbender instead of the Fire Empire prince she had abandoned at the gates in a blind fury. "Five firebenders."

"Oh," Toph says, swinging out of her bed and straightening onto her feet. "That must have been fun!"

"Only if you like firebenders," Katara retorts darkly.

"Ah, they're not so bad," Toph says dismissively, hands on her hips. "Yeah they play with fireballs, but they're hotheaded and kind of slow, so you can still knock them down. It's the airbenders you've got to watch out for, they're damn fast and light on their feet too."

Katara raises an eyebrow. "You have airbenders here too?"

"A couple. It's hard to get the Air Nomads to leave their temples."

"How did they get roped into fighting for the Empire?" Katara asks curiously, with a frown. "They don't take orders from the Emperor, last I heard."

Toph shrugs carelessly. "Beats me." And without another word, she grabs Katara's arm and steers her out the door.

Katara sighs but follows the plucky earthbender toward the mess hall. Along the way, Toph points out important people and shares little tidbits of gossip about them. Katara remains mystified about how Toph could perceive the world around her with such clarity.

But when they reach the canteen, a long lineup snakes around its perimeter. Toph remains unfazed, marching right up to the front of the line and dragging a very nervous Katara along for the ride.

"Hey, Toph -" she mutters, noting the glares of all the red-clad people waiting in line, "-aren't we supposed to be waiting at the back -?"

"Just follow my lead," Toph hisses to her, just as they reach the counter. Her facial expression changes in a flash - the devious intelligence disappearing to reveal a lost, innocent, helpless little girl. Like the blind teenager everyone expected her to be. "Good evening, Song," she greets, her voice high and sweet and polite. "What's for dinner tonight?"

The girl behind the counter handing out the cook's fare - Song, Katara surmises - flashes a warm smile in return. "Evening, Sifu Toph," she returns warmly. "Unfortunately, this week's shipment got mixed up and we got extra grains instead of meat...so there's really only jook on the menu tonight."

A grimace crosses Toph's face momentarily before she turns her expression into sincere disappointment. "Oh no!" she exclaims. "That's so awful to hear!"

Song nods sympathetically. "I hope this won't be too much of a problem for you," she continues, lowering her voice. "Especially given your health conditions…"

Katara's ears prick up. Health conditions? Like what - her blindness, maybe?

"Well," Toph says in a long-suffering voice, and her face turns mournful, "it isn't ideal, but if there really isn't anything else, I suppose I'll have to make do. I mean, you can't help that your supplies got mixed up!"

"Right…" Song falters, shifting her weight uneasily.

Toph senses an opening and pounces. "I suppose I'll just have to have a letter sent to my healer and get him to work in some accommodations," she sighs. "I don't know what effect this will have, he's always so strict about my diet…"

If Song had seemed uncomfortable before, now she appears genuinely distressed. After a moment's hesitation, she cups a hand around her mouth to whisper into Toph's ear before ducking out of sight.

A small grin flits over Toph's face.

"What are you doing?" Katara hisses, glancing anxiously at the angry lineup of people behind them.

"Getting some real food," Toph mutters back, her mouth barely moving. "Have you ever tried jook before? It's mushy garbage. Not my idea of fun, thanks."

Song returns and almost immediately, Toph trades her grin for an expression of unperturbed serenity. "It's the best I could do," the Earth colony girl whispers conspiratorially, pressing a covered tray into Toph's hands. "Komodo chicken. It's not your favourite, I know, but it's still better for your condition than jook –"

"Thank you so much!" Toph gushes. "You're the best, Song! A real angel." She pauses, casting her sightless eyes in Katara's direction thoughtfully. "Actually," she continues, "I don't mean to impose but – this is Sifu Katara, the new waterbending master. She just joined today and she was telling me that she has the exact same condition as me! Would you be able to –?"

Song's eyes widen as she glances quickly at Katara, who grows steadily more and more mortified by the whole ordeal. "Oh, of course!" Song exclaims. "I had no idea! Just a minute -"

She bobs her head at Katara and disappears again.

"Was that really necessary?" Katara grumbles through gritted teeth.

Toph closes her eyes and shrugs. "Hey. I was just trying to look out for you, Sweetness," she retorts nonchalantly, "but if you'd rather live off jook like the rest of these suckers, be my guest."

Katara opens her mouth to protest, but at that moment, Song returns with another covered tray. "Here you go, Sifu Katara," Song says, pressing it into her reluctant hands. "I hope you two enjoy your dinner!"

Toph flutters a grateful, sweet smile at her before turning away. "You're always so helpful, Song!"

Katara stomps along beside her, thoroughly unamused. Keenly aware of the people in the line behind them starting to grumble mutinously among themselves, and throwing nasty glares in their direction. "Well," she reproaches, "I'm glad to know you made everyone in that hall angry at us for no reason whatsoever!"

"You're welcome, Sugar Queen."

"Sugar Queen?!"

Did I ever mention that my new roommate is a complete sociopath? She reminds me of you. Oh, so I did mention it? That's good, then…

Toph leads her to the mess hall - a large airy tent lined with lots of long tables. Most were occupied by people in uniforms. People wearing similar colours tended to congregate together, Katara couldn't help but notice, along with the distinct lack of blue in their vicinity.

"Right," Toph says as they approach a small table near the far side of the room. "This is where all the important people sit."

Katara raises an eyebrow.

"Well, the fun ones, anyway," Toph concedes, and slams her tray down on the wooden surface. The other occupants of the table, a boy clad in yellow, a girl with a braid dressed in pink, and another girl wearing brown, turn their heads to face the newcomers.

"Toph! What took you so long?" the girl in brown asks.

Toph gestures to Katara, who tries to look capable and not as confused as she feels. "I was showing the new waterbender around," she answers noncommittally. "Everyone, this is Katara. Katara, everyone."

Three pairs of eyes settle on her curiously. She fidgets a little, but raises a hand in a halfhearted wave. "Hi?"

"Come on Toph, you can't leave her hanging like that," says the boy in yellow to Toph, before turning his eyes back to Katara. His face breaks into a wide, genial smile that Katara finds contagious. "Katara, right? I'm Aang. It's really nice to meet you!"

Katara blinks. No one had ever found it nice to meet her. But when the words come out of the young boy's mouth, with his sparkling grey eyes and sincere smile, she finds herself believing it. "Thanks, Aang," she says, melting despite her best efforts. "It's nice to meet you too."

She sits down next to him. And soon enough she finds herself chatting with everyone else seated at the table as though they were old friends, differing uniform colours notwithstanding. The girl in brown introduces herself as Suki, and the one in pink with the long braid as Ty Lee.

"Everybody else is too scared to sit with us because we're all masters of some kind," Toph explains.

Suki arches an eyebrow. "I think they're too scared to sit with us because they see you sitting here, Toph," she returns with a little smirk.

Katara privately agrees with Suki but decides not to comment.

"Whatever you say, Fancy Dancer," Toph snorts.

"Fancy Dancer?" Katara echoes.

"She's poking fun at my form," Suki explains wryly. "I fight using the form of my home island. It's very fluid and graceful. But Toph here just seems to think it's pointlessly fancy dancing."

"I wouldn't say pointless," Toph clarifies. "I mean, I don't know what it looks like, so it's hard to be sure."

"So, you're a bending master too?" Katara asks Suki, trying to place her origins. She had the look of someone who hailed from the former Earth kingdom, but it was difficult to tell.

"No, I'm not a bender," Suki explains, shaking her head. "But, there are plenty of people in this division who aren't. I employ a very traditional fighting technique that relies on speed and balance rather than brute strength. You'd be surprised how many firebenders get taken down by that."

"I'm a waterbender," Katara replies, with a wry twist of her lips. "Believe me, I know the value of speed and balance against the firebenders."

"Most of them rely on brute strength alone," Suki continues. "It makes them singularly easy to overpower once they tire out, or become too slow."

"I dunno," Toph shrugs. "I wouldn't underestimate the power of brute strength." She pulls back the cover on her tray and begins tucking into her plate of komodo chicken.

"How did you manage to get that?" Ty Lee asks, wide-eyed. She and Suki exchange a sideways glance at each other, their porridge dripping from their spoons.

"Easy. I didn't want to eat mush for the rest of the week," Toph says bluntly, making a face. "Plus I know for a fact that the command staff get better food, so I wanted in."

Katara wonders whether any of them knew about Toph's ongoing ruse to fool the poor serving girl into giving her better food. It certainly didn't seem like that was Toph's first time wheedling her way into a better meal…

"That's Toph for you. Always resourceful," Aang comments cheerfully. He turns his eyes to Katara's tray, from which she delicately transfers bites of the numbingly spicy dish to her mouth. "I see she let you in on her scheme. She must like you a lot."

Katara reaches for her glass of water and takes a sip. "Why? She's never snuck you in on a cut of meat before?"

Aang shrugs. "Even if she did, it'd be wasted on me. I'm a vegetarian. I love jook!" He plops a heaping spoonful of it into his mouth and chews happily to emphasize his point.

Katara rewards him with a small smile, and as a result he swallows the wrong way, breaking into a loud cough. Heads turn in their direction as he eases up, his face thoroughly red. "Sorry," he wheezes, smacking a fist into his sternum repeatedly. "That was silly of me."

"It's okay, Twinkletoes," Toph reassures him. "It can't get much worse than that."

"Twinkletoes?"

Aang catches her questioning gaze, and flushes a deeper shade of red. "She thinks I'm light on my feet," he offers as an explanation.

Katara takes a proper look at him, and for the first time, notices the boy's shaved head, and the strangest blue tattoos in the shape of arrows covering his skin. "You're an airbender?"

"From the Southern Air Temple," he says with a nod.

"Why on earth are you here?" The words slip out before she could put a bridle on her tongue.

To her relief, Aang didn't seem offended by her question. "I don't really know!" he pipes up, with a bashful shrug. "I mastered airbending when I was twelve, and the masters over there were really strict – except Gyatso, Gyatso's really great... but after a while, I got bored at the air temple, and I wanted to explore the world. One thing led to another and now, I'm here!"

Katara thinks of her own life and the circumstances that brought her here. The contrast between her and the happy young boy sitting next to her only confuses her even more. "But…" Katara tries again, trying to understand. "You're an airbender. An Air Nomad. A monk."

Aang nods slowly, wide-eyed. He slurps another spoonful of jook, and manages to swallow it properly this time.

"So…so what made you join the Fire Empire's army, of all things?" she presses. "Doesn't that go against everything you learned, being taught by nonviolent monks and all?"

Aang puts his bowl down and glances at her with his big grey eyes. "I don't really think of it like that," he says steadily. "I'm not here to fight. I'm here because Monk Gyatso owed Crown Prince Iroh a favour, and because I get to airbend all day and come up with new ways to do things that nobody's ever done before!"

I also met a really naïve young boy named Aang. I don't know if I can blame him though. He's still young, and not just in years. There's an innocence about him that's almost enchanting.

"That's sort of why I'm here," Katara confesses. "Master Pakku said I'd learned all I could from him and that the next step on my journey was here."

"I'm sure you'll find it very enriching," Aang tells her with a smile. "You'll get to test yourself in ways you'd never imagined before."

"Try me," Katara replies darkly, and bites into another piece of komodo chicken in a very unladylike manner.

"I'm pretty sure you won't have seen an operation like this before," Aang continues blithely, oblivious to Katara's mounting hostility. "We have dedicated masters from every possible discipline who work together to create new bending forms! We even get to train with non-bending masters, like Suki and Ty Lee –"

"What do you do, anyway?" Katara interrupts, looking curiously at Ty Lee. With her perfectly colour-coordinated, midriff-baring pink ensemble, long brown hair, and innocent face, she certainly didn't look like anything intimidating.

"Yeah, tell her what you do, Circus Freak," Toph echoes with a bit of a grimace.

"You let her call you Circus Freak?"

Ty Lee shrugs. "Well, I did perform in a circus for a while, after I ran away from home. Circus Freak is a compliment!"

"So…you're an acrobat, then?" Katara raises an eyebrow.

"No. I block chi!" Ty Lee chirps. "Well, I'm also an acrobat, but I'm here because I can block chi."

"What does that even mean?" Katara queries in confusion.

"It means she can take your bending away," Toph says flatly, "just by poking you funny."

Katara's jaw drops; she unconsciously scuttles a few inches away from the unassuming girl in pink.

"I can show you whenever we're scheduled to fight together!" Ty Lee offers merrily. "It's really not that bad!"

Toph scoffs while Aang squirms uncomfortably in his seat. "Easy for you to say, Circus Freak. You've never had your bending taken away."

And then I met the scariest girl on the planet. She used to work in a circus and wears pink. You'd probably try to flirt with her if you saw her, and she'd probably flirt right back.

She learns that Ty Lee comes from a well-to-do Fire Nation family, that Suki hails from the island of the legendary earthbender Kyoshi, that Toph used to be a frequent champion of underground earthbending tournaments (which, once she thinks about it, really didn't surprise her all that much)…

"So fighting other earthbenders is a cinch for me," Toph explains breezily. "That's why I enjoy cross-training so much." She turns to face Aang, Suki, and Ty Lee. "Apparently Katara's already a pro at it. They made her fight five firebenders for her test exercise earlier this evening."

Suki whistles in appreciation as Aang looks at her with a new respect. "Five?" he repeats incredulously.

Katara nods.

"Who did you fight?" Ty Lee wants to know.

Katara shrugs. "A bunch of idiots." She didn't particularly want to talk about her brush with the prince after her duel. The rage in her was still too fresh.

"Sounds like Chan and Ruon-Jian, then!" Ty Lee remarks to Suki, who snickers.

"They're the worst," Toph comments baldly, finishing the last of her chicken. "They're slow, dumb, and arrogant. If I didn't have so much fun knocking them around, I'd have put them out of their misery by now."

"Their fathers are high-ranking military officers," Ty Lee informs Katara in a whisper. "Chan's dad is an admiral. That's why they throw their weight around even though they're mediocre benders at best."

"But Jeong-Jeong said I had to fight the top five benders in the division," Katara says slowly. "Why would he include those two if they're so bad?"

"He probably wanted to see you slap them around," Suki suggests. "He isn't that fond of them either."

"They told me they were some of the most important teenagers in the whole Fire Nation," Katara comments absently, recalling their taunts from earlier that day.

Ty Lee lets out a peal of high-pitched laughter. "They wish!" she crows. "They're important enough, but they're not royalty or anything. Speaking of –" she trails off and turns toward a girl approaching in the distance. She waves merrily. "Hi, Mai! Sitting with us tonight?"

"No," the girl called Mai answers in a dreary voice. She glances at them all briefly before her pale eyes meet Katara's. "Who's this?"

"Oh!" Ty Lee claps a hand to her face. "Katara, this is my old friend Mai. She's the resident blades master. Mai, this is Katara, the new waterbending master!"

A sudden smirk flickers across Mai's plaintive features. "Oh, so you're the waterbender, then?" she asks. "I should congratulate you. Zuko hasn't said a word since you trounced him earlier today."

Katara chokes on a bite of her chicken and spits it out, coughing furiously.

"Oh, you didn't mention you got to fight Zuko!" Aang chimes in warmly. "That must have been something! He's a really great bender! I wish I got to watch!"

"Yeah, apparently it was intense," Mai goes on, completely ignoring Katara's increasing distress. "He didn't say as much, but you know how he gets. Bit of a sore loser." Her smirk widens. "Plus he won't admit it, but he's in a world of pain right now, so I think we'll just have dinner in his room."

Good, Katara thinks to herself vehemently. Let the royal twit stay inside and whine.

"Sounds romantic," Ty Lee comments, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively, while Toph mimes a gag. "Have fun, you two! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

"Since when have you ever set a standard for anyone?" Mai returns witheringly. She regards Katara briefly. "Nice meeting you," she says blandly, then leaves with an imperious nod at everyone else. Her long black hair and deep red silks swish in her wake.

"I can never really get used to her," Suki mutters in a low voice.

"They are so cute together!" Ty Lee squeals, starry-eyed and not hearing Suki's words. "The next power couple of the Fire Nation, just you wait!"

"Who?" Katara asks blankly.

Ty Lee goggles at her. "You're an oblivious one!" she says. "Mai and Prince Zuko, of course!"

"Really? Her?" She squints at the departing girl. "How did that happen?"

"Oh, well, Sparky's clueless so he had no idea that she was into him," Toph hijacks the narrative in a bored voice, picking at the undersides of her nails, "so after a while I told him to go ask her out already and he did and they've been making me gag ever since."

"Your gift for storytelling is unparalleled," Suki says dryly.

"She seems way too good for him," Katara observes, her disdain obvious.

Ty Lee gasps so hard Katara fears she'll fall off her chair."But she's so lucky to have him!" she exclaims. "He's a catch! He's royalty!"

Katara's face involuntarily scrunches up in disgust.

"And kind of easy on the eyes," Suki adds, her mouth now quirking up at the corners. Katara gapes at the other girl with mounting distaste. "What with that hair –"

"And that face!"

"And those eyes!"

"He's just kind of all around gorgeous –"

"Well, he's a decent enough guy too, but –"

"And fit, when he takes his shirt off, it's like –"

"Right? I mean, even with the scar –"

"Oh, Mai doesn't even notice it anymore," Ty Lee gushes. "Plus she says he's an animal, you know, in the –"

"Oh-kay then," Katara decides that she's heard more than enough, and cuts them off before they can say anything more about Prince Zuko and whatever he got up to in his spare time with Mai. Already, her mind conjures up involuntarily disturbing images of him, and she needed it to stop.

"You really don't seem to like him, Sweetness." This from Toph, and suddenly, everyone at the table stares at her curiously.

Katara shrugs and takes a long gulp of her water. "What's there to like?" she retorts. "His family's responsible for the decimation of the Water Tribes, and his father is a monster. What makes him any better?"

A stunned silence follows her words.

"I don't really think that's fair, Katara…" Aang says hesitantly. "Blaming him for everything his dad did. He's his own person. Besides, not everyone in Zuko's family is bad."

"Aang, with all due respect," Katara bites back with a touch of impatience. "You really don't know what the firebenders are capable of. Not like I do."

Another tension-filled silence fills the air.

"Well, that may be all well and good, Sugar Queen," Toph says leisurely, "but even you've gotta admit. Sparky's one hell of a looker."

Katara slams her fists onto the surface of the table. Her face turns red. "You don't even know what he looks like!"

So, basically. Everyone here is crazy.

Not as crazy as you, though.

…In truth, maybe it isn't as bad as I'd imagined. The prince being here…really threw me off, I'll admit, but there are enough people around who aren't firebenders and they seem decent enough. Maybe it'll be enough to get by.

It'll have to be.

I hope that wherever you are, you're safe and hidden away from everyone who wants to find you. And even though you'll never read this, I want you to know that every day, I'm fighting my way back to your side. I don't care how long it takes me. One day I'll be strong enough to split the oceans apart and walk right back to you.

Until then, I hold you in my heart.

Your loving sister,

Katara.

Chapter 3: i don't stand a chance

Chapter Text

disclaimer: Bryke owns the ATLA playground, i'm just here to play.

author's notes: i'm sorry for how long this chapter took! the next few chapters in general were tricky for me to sketch out, as they are important in terms of setting the groundwork for everything to come afterward.

also, a quick heads-up about the maiko in this chapter...i'm not a huge fan of them, but their relationship as written is important to the characters and their eventual development, so if you are aggressively anti-maiko, i ask that you keep an open mind or just...skip ahead to the next parts?

on a sidenote, thank you so much for all the comments/kudos! they make me very squee and keep me motivated, especially when i get a bad case of the writer's block. (struggles of having written all the exciting parts of the story first, and then having to go back and write the in-betweens).

ANYWAY.

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter iii. i don't stand a chance

but i would rather be alone
than pretend i feel alright

"ready to start"/arcade fire

The sun's rays manage to peek through the cover of his curtains and tease the skin on his face. With a groan, he opens his eyes and winces at the bright light that blinds him. He raises his hand to block out the light, sitting up slowly, the covers sliding down his bare chest.

Mai slumbers next to him, a quiet warmth. She isn't as warm as a firebender would be, but her presence is reassuring all the same. He turns to look at her, her face more peaceful in sleep than it ever is when she's awake. Sometimes it's hard to reconcile the two sides of her. But he owes it to her to keep trying.

The sun's rays start to tickle her face too. Frowning, he gingerly gets out of bed and adjusts the curtain so that his room falls into a yellowish half-light.

It's barely dawn, but he's already awake. Long years at the division have made him accustomed to their early hours. And he knows that he has cross-elemental training at midmorning, so he might as well try to limber up before then, if he hopes to stand a chance today.

He hears Mai shifting on his bed and he looks over at her. She's awake now too, and her clear, grey eyes are fixed directly on his. His mouth goes dry as she shoots a small smile at him.

"Good morning," she says, in her low, husky voice. She sits up, the covers scarcely concealing her bare skin from his eyes. "Did you sleep well, my prince?"

She uses the title fondly, rather than as a formality.

His mouth quirks at the corner a little, and he climbs back onto the bed to sit across from her.

"Of course I did," he answers seriously. "I had a beautiful lady sleeping next to me all night long."

Mai rolls her eyes, but that small, almost imperceptible smile is still on her lips.

"And you just let her sleep? That's not very nice of you."

"Believe me," Zuko says in a low voice, leaning forward so that his lips are inches from hers, "I wanted to. I would have." He kisses her briefly, before breaking away. "All night, if you wanted."

She arches an eyebrow.

"That's a generous proposition," she murmurs back, her voice betraying just the hint of a shiver.

Zuko backs away and shrugs. "I'm a generous man."

"So why didn't you?" Mai challenges, with a mischievous glint in her eye. "I'm hearing a lot of promises, but not enjoying a lot of following through."

Zuko lets out a groan.

"Mai, I'm still in so much pain, I can't, I physically can't." To his credit, she thinks, he does look absolutely miserable as he says it. "But, but I promise to make it up to you."

She doesn't reply, just continues gazing at him evenly without a hitch in her expression.

"Soon," he promises.

"Good," she says, stretching with a sigh. "Would you care to walk me back to my room?"

"I doubt you're incapable of sneaking back on your own," Zuko retorts, raising an eyebrow.

"You're right. They'd probably catch you before they got to me," Mai agrees.

Zuko doesn't deny it. When it comes to matters of stealth, no one holds a candle to his girlfriend.

"In that case, I'd be happy to walk you back," he says eventually. "Someone has to take the fall in case we get caught. And you have a reputation to maintain."

"What about yours?" Mai teases, the smirk on her mouth widening as she gets out of bed and reaches for the robes she'd discarded unceremoniously the night before.

"What about mine?" Zuko shrugs it off, and she doesn't see the darkness that momentarily crosses his face.

He is a prince of nothing. What worth does such a reputation have?

They walk in shadow back to where the girls sleep. Strictly speaking, he's not allowed to be here. But strictly speaking, she's not allowed to sleep in his room, either, and that's never stopped her. The officers insist the policy is for maintaining order and discipline among the ranks, but none of them would line up to enforce it. All the same, he prefers his privacy and is relieved that Mai does too.

He kisses her at the door of her single room, and he enjoys the soft sighing sound she makes into his mouth as they break away.

"See you at cross-training," he says to her softly.

"I'll go easy on you today," she says simply in reply, before turning away and closing the door.

It's a courtesy and he knows it. Knowing that he has practice with the other firebenders soon, he wanders out of the building and along the winding path by the lake into the forest beyond the encampment. Nothing like a little morning walk to clear his head before the day coming up ahead.

Drills with the firebenders. Nothing exciting there, except perhaps perfecting a couple of new forms he's been working on. And he needs to brush up on his technique, his duel last night has made him realize how vulnerable his bending is against the waterbenders –

And there it is, again. Her angry face glaring at him in his mind's eye, wide eyes blue as the sky and hateful as sin, the shift from reluctant tolerance to barely restrained wrath so sudden, he hadn't even been able to sense it.

For what? He still has no clue. And it bothers him. He doesn't even begin to question why, for whatever reason, the opinion of a complete stranger matters to him, the son of royalty. But for some bizarre reason that eludes him, it does.

Maybe it's because he'd witnessed the other benders being complete and utter jerks to her, or because he respected her strength, or because she had such a stoic, long-suffering look about her and he just wanted to spare her, perhaps show her that not all firebenders were the same…

But instead she'd soundly rebuffed his feeble attempts and told him to stay away.

He wonders if she truly hates him. And if so, why?

It's because you're weak, you've always been weak, and you always will be, whispers the voice in his mind, the one that never stops talking no matter what he says or does. Even the peasant water tribe girl knows it. You're a son of Agni and you go around like a little child at play. If you want her respect, you should take it. Like your father would.

He closes his eyes and stops in his paces.

Prince Ozai is a monster. But he is still his father.

The waterbender had seemed well-acquainted with his father. She had known his name, reacted to it viciously. Zuko is not familiar with the history of the water tribes, and their relation with the empire has been…complicated at its best, abjectly horrifying at its worst. If his father had played any role in facilitating the relations, he is not surprised that the waterbender hates him. In fact, he would be very surprised that every waterbender in the empire hasn't sworn blood vengeance on his entire family line.

He would do no less in her shoes, he surmises dully.

Then he catches himself, and berates himself for spending so much of his precious time focusing on the animosity of one bloody peasant girl.

As he walks back to the encampment, he feels a little better. The cool morning air has lifted his spirits and calmed his racing mind. He thinks his day might shape up to be less frustrating than he'd previously thought. Maybe he'll even last through a bout in cross-training today…

"…what the heck are those?"

"They could be tattoos, I hear they have them everywhere."

"Why does she have handprints tattooed all over her –"

"They're not handprints, you idiot!"

"Yeah they are, look!"

Hushed whispers carry over the morning breeze and tickle his ears unremittingly. He frowns and turns to get a better look. Lying on their stomachs on the grass by the lake, hidden behind a giant rock, are three guys about his age. They're staring wide-eyed into the lake where the girls usually take their baths.

Zuko lets out an exasperated sigh, a hint of flame bursting forth from his mouth as he does. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together, and this isn't the first time he's caught them spying.

"What the hell are you doing back there?" he barks at them, moving to stand directly behind them, but out of sight of the lake, so that whoever's trying to wash up for the morning has her privacy. "And why are you staring at the water there?"

The ensuing yelp and splash in the distance suggests that more than his intended audience have heard his voice.

Chan, Ruon-Jian, and a third soldier, Hide, all jolt and face him in alarm.

He crosses his arms and rubs his forehead with a hand wearily.

"Why am I not surprised that it's you three again?" he says, but he isn't asking a question. "Don't you have any standards at all?"

Chan rolls his eyes and gets to his feet.

"And here comes the noble prince," he says scornfully. "Here to save all the baseborn and peasants from the scary noblemen."

"There's nothing noble about you right now, Chan," Zuko retorts coldly. "Right now, all I see are three pathetic little boys, pretending to be men by hiding behind rocks and peeping at girls while they bathe."

"So what?" Chan folds his arms defiantly too. Behind him, Ruon-Jian and Hide also get to their feet. "We didn't hurt anyone. We were just looking. No harm in that."

"Except maybe to my eyes," Ruon-Jian complains loudly, making a face. "She was not a looker."

Almost immediately following his words, the ground beneath the three boys ripples and rises up abruptly, sending them flying twelve feet into the air and landing one on top of the other in a giant crumpled heap.

Zuko doesn't hide his snort of disdain.

"If you thought you could spy on Sifu Toph and get away with it, then you really, really deserved that," he says evenly. "Just because she's blind doesn't mean she isn't aware of you. I would probably watch my step if I were you, because unlike myself, Toph can hold a grudge."

As he walks away, he reflects that at least he can look forward to pummeling Chan and Ruon-Jian into the ground during the morning drills.

"They're gone," Toph calls out, slowly moving out of her bending form. "You can go back to doing whatever you were doing over there."

Katara had dipped below the surface of the water the second she'd heard voices nearby, bending the water away from her face so that she could still breathe underwater while waiting for the boys to go away. Following Toph's words, she hesitantly pokes her head over the surface, but remains stubbornly submerged below the water.

"Are you sure?" she queries skeptically. Toph may be able to perceive the world around her with amazing clarity, but the girl is still blind. How is she supposed to know where the stupid boys are?

"Positive," Toph replies, stepping deeper into the shallows of the lake and stripping off her underclothes without a thought for modesty. There's a note of satisfaction in her voice as she adds, "I don't think I broke any of their bones because none of them limped out, but they're going to be hurting today."

"Thanks," Katara says darkly, and slowly rises. Scowling, she raises her hands, and four sheets of thick, opaque ice rise from the water, forming a makeshift enclosure to give her some privacy.

Perhaps she should have anticipated that her time here would quickly deteriorate into a sour experience. Aang's words be damned, with the son of Prince Ozai present, it would only be a matter of time before all the firebenders revealed their ugly colours. The naïve young airbender could preach all he wanted, but he was not of her world, so how could he possibly know?

He may be wise in the way of the monks, Katara thinks to herself, raising an imperfect sphere of water and bending it in slow, calming circles around herself, like an oddly-shaped, shining moon, but I have the wisdom of the Water Tribes.

Never trust a firebender is chief among that wisdom. And this morning's incident is only proof of that.

But the rest of the day lies ahead of her and she has a jam-packed schedule that isn't going away, regardless of her feelings about her new compatriots. So she scrubs her body with the bar of soap and washes her hair with the herbal oils that had been in her issued kit, and when all the dust and sweat and grime of her travels have been stripped away, she rinses herself one last time and wades into the shallows.

"You sure took your time," Toph remarks.

She removes the water collecting on her body and hair, and drops it carelessly to the ground.

"I haven't had a good bath in a long while," she replies briefly, winding her wrappings around herself and reaching for her oversized blue tunic. "No thanks to whoever those guys were."

She fights to keep the anger from her voice but Toph isn't so easily fooled.

"That's why I love cross-training," she announces, drying herself off and slipping back into her underclothes. "It's the only time you can get away with beating those idiots into the ground without getting in trouble from their noble fathers."

"You sound like you have personal experience on that front," Katara remarks, sliding on a pair of loose-fitting trousers.

Toph shrugs as she dresses herself in green cotton.

"I may or may not have beaten one of them up in an extremely humiliating manner in front of half the division," she confesses blithely as she ties her mane of black hair back into its nondescript, practical bun. "Who then very predictably went crying to his daddy about it, and then I got an angry letter warning me to watch myself or there would be consequences."

"That's awful," Katara says with a frown, slowly detangling her own hair with her fingers. The oil had been good, making it easer to separate the thick, heavy strands. "What did you do?"

"I told him to stuff it," Toph sings breezily, shoving a gold headband in her hair. "Otherwise I'd write to my dad."

Katara blinks.

"Who's your dad?" she asks curiously. The way Toph behaves, it's tough to believe that she hadn't just…sprung from the ground fully formed.

"Someone important," Toph replies dismissively, with another shrug. "Important and rich."

"Then why are you here?" Katara can't help but ask. "Is your father still around?"

"Yeah. Why?"

The casual tone of Toph's voice throws Katara off.

"Nothing," she stammers uncertainly. "Just – why would you be here if your father's still around?"

"Because I felt like it." Now Toph is growing defensive, and Katara eases up. "And I don't really talk to the old man anymore anyway, but the point is, Admiral Chan thinks I do, so he's stuck doing what I tell him."

She folds her arms across her chest triumphantly.

"Now that's power," Katara grudgingly admits, before dropping the subject altogether.

Cross-training, Katara learns, does not take place in the large arena where she'd fought yesterday. Instead, it's some distance away from the base, through a gravel path in the woods, not dissimilar to the one that had led her here. The ground of choice is a spacious, tamped down patch of earth, a good length away from the trees and situated right on the riverbank. Katara inhales deeply, feeling the rush of the water in the hollows of her mind, and she feels whole again.

The area is nondescript, but its perimeter is bordered by low-lying stone walls. Their purpose is unclear to her, as they look like they can hardly stop a rolling boulder, let alone contain the forces of multiple powerful benders of different elements.

"Sifu Toph. Sifu Katara. Welcome."

Katara fights to contain her yelp, as Master Jeong-Jeong stands up from where he'd previously been sitting, out of her sight. But she collects herself and slides into a bow to acknowledge the senior man.

"Forgive me if I startled you," Jeong-Jeong says somewhat penitently, "I did not expect any of you here for another hour at least."

"I was just showing Katara around," Toph explains lightly, straightening from her bow. "Figured she could use the extra time to get her bearings straight before you put her through cross-training with us."

"How very considerate of you, Toph," Jeong-Jeong comments, his eyes widening.

"Not at all. I'm just itching for a good fight with someone other than the airbender," Toph explains. "And I heard Katara made short work of all your firebenders last night."

"Quite," replies the older man, still somewhat taken aback by Toph's candidness. "Well, it will be quite interesting to see how Sifu Katara will take to fighting against new opponents. This entire project is all about learning and adapting to constantly changing circumstances. After what I witnessed last night, I am quite eager to see how you will fare against our other bending masters."

He directs his words to Katara and she feels herself redden in response.

"Oh, well," she sputters, "I wasn't expecting to fight today, but – but I suppose I'll try then –"

Feeling distinctly like she's been led into a trap, she stands with her feet spread apart into a balanced stance and inhales deeply. Her hands move as though of their own accord. A stream of water from the nearby riverbank flows in a graceful arc through the air and hovers in the space between her palms.

Toph has taken up a space directly across from her in the makeshift arena. She runs the soles of each foot against the tamped earth briefly before she clenches her hands into fists and assumes the deepest, widest, most rooted stance Katara has ever seen in her life.

The blind girl stomps and makes a motion like she's lifting something very heavy. All of a sudden, the walls that border them grow fifty feet into the air. Almost instantly thereafter, they're in an enclosed battleground, one that allows them plenty of space to bend to their heart's content without risking too much damage to anything beyond the walls.

Without dropping her water, Katara cranes her neck to gaze around at the high rock walls surrounding her. If she'd felt trapped before…

"What's going on?" she asks nervously, her hands twisting the water into a multi-tailed whip nonetheless.

Toph smiles grimly.

"Cross-training, Sugar Queen," she announces jubilantly.

Before Katara even has time to react, Toph slams a foot into the earth and pushes an iron fist into the air in front of her.

The ground beneath Katara slides out from under her. She goes down before she even has a chance to process what's happening.

Toph stays true to her word. By the time Aang shows up, half an hour later, Katara has well and truly eaten dirt.

The morning passes by quickly and not unenjoyably for Zuko. After going through some basic drills, he'd been called upon to demonstrate some advanced bending forms to the others. Then when Chan gets called up to face him, he takes no small joy in taking him down a peg.

"If you keep that up, Prince Zuko, they'll be making you a bending master in no time," remarks the supervising officer as he witnesses Zuko pull off a flawlessly executed spiral kick and effortlessly knocks his adversary out of bounds.

A small part inside him glows with the praise, but Zuko knows there is a long way for him before he can truly be regarded as a master. He lacks the discipline and spiritual focus required to truly master his element, and to be frank, there are other things on which he would prefer to spend his time, rather than meditating and practicing forms nonstop. Like his lovely, perfect girlfriend, who even now remains an enigma to him, and he can't wait to figure her out.

A small smile crosses his face, as he begins to think of a plan for tonight. He needs to make it up to Mai for being completely out of commission last night. He'll have dinner brought to their room, he decides, he'll get the cooks to make her a whole platter of fruit tarts, because they're her favourite, and then after that, he'll lean in, and she'll make that little sighing noise that he likes, and he'll run his fingers along the seam of her dress and slip the little knots holding it together loose and then –

"Time's up, everyone," calls the officer, marking the end of practice. "Same time tomorrow, then. I expect some of you to spend a little less time on your arses and more time actually bending, you hear me?"

They are dismissed and Zuko almost feels cheerful as he slowly picks his way toward the distant grounds where cross-training occurs.

He can't deny that he's nervous to face the waterbender again. But at the same time, a bit of optimism remains inside him. Maybe, maybe if he apologizes for whatever his father's done, she'll forgive him and they can start off again on decidedly more civil terms. Yes, that sounds like a perfectly reasonable course of action, he thinks to himself. Why hadn't he thought of it sooner?

His inner voice snarks at him for even thinking of apologizing to a lowly peasant like her, and he rationalizes it in his head as making things easier for himself by not having one of the most powerful benders at the base hate him with every fibre of her being. He reasons that it is a simple gesture that will save a lot of tension and complication down the road. His uncle would agree, it is the responsible and honourable thing to do.

A new confidence spreads through him and he picks up his pace. It won't be so bad, he assures himself, even if he is still guaranteed a beating when it's his turn to step into the arena.

The ground trembles beneath his feet as he steps out of the forest and cross the last few steps toward the makeshift stadium. The walls are up and the earth is shaking, and there's a general sound of mayhem coming from inside.

He is not surprised. Oftentimes they start without him.

Pressing his hand against the door carved into the stone, he pushes his way into the ring and closes it behind him.

Then he drops to the ground and rolls out of the way just in time, as a boulder hurtles toward him and crashes into the wall behind.

"Always keeping me on my toes," he mumbles to himself, looking up at the chaos above.

The other three haven't even noticed his arrival. They're occupied within a colossal melee. Toph stomps and punches her fists out in her spot in the centre of the ring, and the ground all around her ripples and contorts and snaps like a living thing. Aang is whirling around on his glider, easily dodging her attacks from below and remaining above it all.

Katara…is not having an easy time of it. Unused to both new bending styles, she puts up a valiant effort but both Toph and Aang have her on the defensive, and it's only a matter of time before a well-placed boulder pulverizes her guards and she crashes to the ground.

"That will be enough for now," calls Master Jeong-Jeong, who had been watching with a grim expression on his face. "You may take a short breather before we continue."

Toph straightens up and pulls her fists in close to her sides. The ground flattens to a smooth surface and suddenly it's possible to walk again. She looks no worse for the wear, apart from a bit of sweat plastering her bangs to her forehead.

"Not bad, Sugar Queen!" she calls out to the fallen waterbender, now groaning and struggling to get up to her feet. "You made me sweat a bit!"

"Go to hell, Toph," gasps the waterbender thickly, through a mouthful of what sounds like dirt. With a colossal effort, she manages to get to her knees, and then stands up, wincing all the while. Her clothes used to be blue, but are now stained brown as her skin, and dust cakes her face and hair. A murderous expression rests on her face as she struggles to bend the water dissolved in the earth around her, lifting it up and washing the dirt off of herself.

"Here, let me help," says Aang, who's landed next to her. Before Katara can refuse, he swings his glider and a plume of wind blasts the dust off of her, making a dreadful mess of her hair.

"Thanks," Katara mutters through gritted teeth. Aang doesn't look particularly winded either. Both he and Toph look like they've come back from a light little jog in the woods.

She looks like she's been run over by a tank.

How could it even be possible? It wasn't like the two of them had teamed up against her or anything. It had just been a supremely infuriating ordeal, in which both of her opponents had always seemed to outdo her every action, and all her bending seemed useless against them, and they always seemed to know what she was going to do next – even Toph! Especially Toph! Toph, the blind bender who shouldn't even be able to see her, yet somehow always knew exactly where she was and never missed.

Every muscle in her body screams and she feels like she's cracked a rib or two, it hurts to breathe, and she is altogether not happy when she raises her eyes and spots the new arrival standing at the perimeter with Master Jeong-Jeong.

"Don't worry about it," Aang says kindly, misinterpreting Katara's growing ire. "It's always tough facing a different type of bender for the first time. You'll get used to it once you come up with a strategy."

"I'm sure," Katara grumps with a thunderous scowl.

She does not like losing.

And now, after being soundly defeated by two chirpy kids, just after having firebenders spy on her in the bath, Katara is in a foul mood as Prince Zuko walks up to her and Aang.

"Hi Zuko!" Aang pipes up cheerfully, his face splitting into a wide smile. "Ready to get your butt kicked today?"

"I've been waiting all morning," Zuko replies, the corners of his mouth lifting as he returns Aang's gaze.

Then he notices the forbidding expression gathering on Katara's face and his levity all but vanishes.

"Good. You don't stand a chance. I heard Katara buried you yesterday," Aang rattles on, apparently unaware of Katara's intensifying aggression.

Zuko lets out a small cough. He expects the waterbender to look somewhat triumphant at that, to hold her victory over him.

Instead, she gives him nothing. She is entirely unyielding.

"She did," Zuko admits, wondering if by acknowledging her superior ability in front of others, she'll feel kindlier toward him in spite of herself. "She definitely knows how to press an advantage against firebenders, at least."

Suddenly, she's glaring at him furiously and he flinches. He doesn't know why. He can't think of what he said that would cause that reaction in her.

"I'm sure she'll work out a strategy against the other kinds of benders too," Aang interjects diplomatically, starting to catch on to the hostile undercurrents of the conversation. "I was just telling her that. Right Katara? It's all about working out a strategy, and watching how the other bending forms are similar and different from your own, and adapting –"

"That's right, Aang," Katara says shortly. "Excuse me."

She stalks away from them, walking right past Zuko without another word.

An uncomfortable silence descends upon the two remaining boys.

Disappointment curls in the pit of Zuko's stomach, but he knows it's easier to face an unpleasant task head on rather than dance around its edges. So he braces himself for the onslaught ahead and nods at Aang briefly.

"Give me a minute," he mutters to Aang, and then hurries after the haughty waterbender, who's crossed half the enclosure by now.

"Wait!" he calls after her, breaking into a full-on run. "Sifu Katara!"

She stiffens at the sound of her name but doesn't slow down, so he races to overtake her and stands directly in front of her, halting her progress.

"Can you give me a moment?" he asks her quietly, scanning her face carefully.

She won't even look at him. Her jaw is set and her fists are clenched and she is positively shaking with fury.

"Get out of my way," she commands in a low voice.

He deflates a little as she sidesteps him and walks on, but he is not one to give up without a fight and so, doggedly, he pursues her.

"I just want to apologize," he says loudly, and he sees her freeze at that, "for whatever I've said or done that may have offended you."

She doesn't say a word or move a muscle. Taking that as encouragement, he takes a step closer.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot," he continues in measured tones, "and maybe if we could start again, if possible, I'd really like that –"

She slowly turns around to face him. At first he is relieved that she finally is willing to meet his eyes. Until he looks into hers and sees pure, unadulterated hatred swimming in them. She walks right up to him, until her enraged face is mere inches from his, and her narrowed eyes fill his vision.

"What part of leave me alone do you not understand, Prince Zuko?" she demands in a dangerously quiet voice that wobbles with barely suppressed rage.

His mouth goes dry again and he tries to say something, anything at all in his defense, but his tongue suddenly feels too big for his mouth and he struggles.

"I just want to know what I did wrong," he manages at last. "Can you tell me that, at least?"

But her ears are empty. She scoffs at him instead.

"Go to hell," she spits at him spitefully and turns away again.

He wrenches her wrist and stops her in her tracks. Her muscles go taut in his grip and he knows that she is moments away from unleashing the full extent of her wrath. But he needs to make her understand that he isn't the monster she thinks he is.

"Please," he says simply. "Please just tell me what I did to offend you, and what I can do to make it up to you. I'm a prince, I can give you anything you want –"

She jerks her arm out of his grasp as though he is something distinctly unclean.

"How dare you," the young waterbender seethes, her meticulously cultivated calm completely shattered. The look she gives him is both spiteful and contemptuous. "How could you think you could possibly make it better, when you don't even know what you're talking about?"

"You're right," he counters, and she's blinking back surprise, "I don't. But if you just told me, I could try harder to make things better. I know you don't like the firebenders, but we're not all the same. I'm not like them, I –"

"You're exactly like them," she says harshly, "Stop fooling yourself."

Her words cut through him with a keenness that blindsides him in its potency.

"But I've been nothing but kind to you since you've gotten here," he points out, somewhat petulantly. "Can't you give me a chance to make up for whatever I did?"

Her eyes flash angrily.

"If you don't even know why I'm offended, as you so delicately put it, then you don't deserve a chance," Katara hisses. She turns away from him one last time. "I'm warning you one last time. Stay the hell away from me."

He watches her march away furiously.

So this is what it feels like, to be hated so, he muses. He is surprised it has taken this long in life for him to experience the strangely hollow feeling of being overwhelming and underwhelming at the same time.

The brief spell of hope that had gripped him earlier is now gone, as Aang rolls up to him on a ball of whirling air.

"What was that all about?" he inquires, jumping to the ground next to him, his grey eyes not missing much in front of him.

Zuko watches the stormy waterbender recede back to the edge of the ring, where Toph engages her in a conversation about something or other.

"I don't have a clue," he confesses.

When Jeong-Jeong announces the end of the break and the start of another duel, he feels dread creeping over him slowly as he walks to one side of the newly-flattened turf and Katara walks to the other.

He assumes a neutral stance. His muscles, already sore from their previous duel, scream out at him in agony, and he is torn between giving his all again, or simply getting this over with. After all, the grim look on her face and murder in her eyes collectively indicate to him that this fight can only have one possible outcome –

Jeong-Jeong lowers his hand, signaling them to begin.

In a single fluid motion, Katara lunges forward, her hands moving in unison like the crests of angry tidal waves. She raises what looks like half the river over the high walls, and at once it all comes crashing down on him.

The water is merciless. It bears down on him with the weight of a thousand crushing pounds.

A blast of cold from her lips and the water turns to ice, freezing him in its grasp.

Their duel is over before it scarcely even began.

Katara glares at him with hatred in her eyes before she turns away. She doesn't let him down.

Zuko begins to understand that he never really stood a chance.

"What's wrong?"

It is later that evening, and Zuko has made some headway into the promise he'd made to Mai early in the morning. The platter of fruit tarts has long since been consumed, the rose petals on the covers are scattered everywhere haphazardly (it had been a last-minute, over-the-top gesture of his that had made her press a fist to her mouth in order to stifle the giggle welling up inside her), and their clothes are crumpled in a pile on the ground next to the bed. They are both covered in a sheen of sweat as they regain their breath, lying next to each other on top of the deep red covers, his arm around her narrow shoulders, her head tucked against his neck.

"What do you mean?" Zuko asks in reply, turning his face slightly to meet hers.

"You've been acting strangely all day," Mai observes, her pale grey eyes shrewd.

"I have?" Confusion is written on his features now as he struggles to sit upright. "How so?"

Mai shrugs.

"You've been out of yourself," she says without emphasis. "Like you have something on your mind."

"I always have something on my mind. That's nothing new."

Mai opens her mouth to argue, then thinks better of it and closes her mouth instead. She shrugs impassively.

"If you say so," she says, in that dreary voice she reserves for everyone else.

"Mai, don't –"

"I just thought I'd ask. Nothing's wrong. That's fine." Her lips twist ever so slightly, but the smile is not a happy one. "I don't know what I'd do if something was wrong, anyway."

"I'm sorry," Zuko apologizes, and by now the confusion has slipped off his face and been replaced with contrition. "You meant well. I shouldn't have pushed you away."

Mai shrugs again but doesn't say anything.

He sighs and turns away from her onto his side.

"So," she speaks suddenly, her voice casual, "you aren't still hung up over losing to that waterbender, then?"

She watches his shoulders stiffen marginally, before he realizes he's given himself away and relaxes again.

"Suit yourself," she says.

He doesn't say a word in reply. Instead, he raises a hand and extinguishes the candles lighting the room.

She shifts onto her back and stares resolutely at the ceiling.

Next to her, Zuko scowls into the darkness.

Chapter 4: when it rains

Summary:

katara adjusts to life in the training camp.

Chapter Text

disclaimer: ATLA & everything associated with it belongs to Bryke, nothing you recognize belongs to me.

author's notes: another chapter that took forever to write! apologies if this appears disjointed, i swear i'm not ignoring certain characters or rushing their development, i just want to get into the meat of the storyline already! but there's a lot of groundwork to lay, so...here we are. also, this ends on a bit of a cliffhanger so i apologize for that as well.

thank you so very much to everyone who's left kudos/comments/etc, y'all the best. xxx. please keep them coming, it keeps this fickle girl's muses faithful!

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter iv. when it rains

i get whatever i need while my blood's still flowing
and my heart's still beating like a hammer

"help i'm alive"/metric

She moves lightly, gracefully, on the balls of her feet as she has been taught. There is a terrible ache in the arches of her feet, but she can ignore it for now. She wears her armour but is barefoot, her long dark braid swinging behind her with every leap she takes.

"Very good!" chirps Ty Lee, who has been coaching her the whole time. "Now, let's work on some of those defensive moves. Arms up!"

Obediently, Katara raises her arms, tucking her upper arms close to her body as instructed. She uses her forearms to deflect Ty Lee's precisely aimed blows, and manages to block three successfully, before she is sharply jabbed in the elbow and lets out a shriek.

Her left forearm dangles uselessly in front of her, numb and inanimate.

"Oh, that's too bad!" Ty Lee exclaims, ceasing her swift onslaught and standing before Katara apologetically. "But you managed to block me a couple of times now! That's always an improvement!"

Katara grimaces. "If you say so."

Her lessons at the military training base have become more and more humiliating by the day. When she isn't being fed to Toph and Aang, she is being poked and prodded at by non-benders, of all people! How this is supposed to improve her own style of bending, she has no idea.

"Well, compared to when you first started, anyway," Ty Lee offers, grabbing Katara's immobilized limb and massaging some life back into it.

Katara can't disagree. Out of all the strange duels she's fought during cross-training sessions, her first one with Ty Lee was undoubtedly her worst episode by far. The bubbly girl in pink moved lightning-fast and knew the weak points of the body like the back of her hand. It hadn't taken her ten seconds to jab the waterbender in four of her major joints and completely block her chi for the rest of the day.

"It's not so bad," Ty Lee reassures her, letting go of her arm. "You took the blow well. I can already feel the pathways opening up. You should be fine after a bit of rest."

No news sounds more welcome to Katara at the moment, so she nods and mumbles a thanks before walking over to one of the low-lying stone walls and seating herself upon it. Idly, she massages her numb arm with one hand, trying to feel for the blockage and working it out.

On the training grounds, Ty Lee is now facing off against Suki, and it's a sight to behold. By now, Katara has learned that she had been a fool to underestimate the non-bending specialists at the base. Both girls squaring off before her are strong beyond reckoning, disciplined, and know how to press their advantage. Suki's fighting style is grounded and balanced, gaining power from the shifts in momentum that Katara recognizes from her own bending. Ty Lee, on the other hand, is quick as an arrow, and her acrobatic prowess makes it seem like she knows how to fly. Coupled with her knowledge of the human body, it is no wonder that she makes such a formidable opponent. Even Toph and Aang find it difficult to fight her.

But Suki, who has never relied on bending, who has always had to be quick and strong and precise, holds her own against the devil in pink with an easiness that Katara envies. Her fists are iron, her movements are sure, and when Ty Lee whirls in out of the air, Suki blocks her over, and over, and over again, until at last they are both satisfied and cease fighting in a certain draw.

Now that was cross-training worth watching, Katara thinks to herself, flexing her hand experimentally. To her delight, the fingers respond infinitesimally. At least it is taking less and less time to recover from Ty Lee's attacks.

Suki leaves and walks over to where Katara sits, before leaning against the wall next to her amicably.

"How's it going?"

Katara shrugs. "Oh, you know," she replies noncommittally, "I just can't use my arm. It'll pass, though."

"Hey, it's only one arm," Suki points out, sitting down next to Katara. There's a wry smile on her face as she wipes the sweat off her brow with her forearm.

"Still didn't do as well as you did," Katara points out, somewhat begrudgingly. "How did you get so good at fighting her?"

Suki shrugs. "I got really good at losing to her," she explains as Ty Lee faces down Mai in the arena, "and then after a certain point, I got really good at holding her off, and then after that, I just got good at fighting her." She flashes a quick smile at Katara. "You're just on the first step there, that's all."

The sounds of metal blades whirring through the air punctuate Katara's thoughts.

In front of them, Ty Lee takes a flying leap and somersaults five times in the air in rapid succession, dodging a salvo of flying knives. She lands on one hand directly behind Mai, and jabs her in the left shoulder with a pointed toe.

Mai exhales sharply in pain and lets her right palm fly. Two whirling shurikens catch the leg of Ty Lee's pink trousers, and pin it to the ground, effectively immobilizing her.

Both girls are down for the count and a draw is called.

"Could you teach me?" Katara asks Suki tentatively. In this pit of firebenders, if she cannot trust an Earth colony girl with no bending, then she can trust no one. And that leaves her more vulnerable than she wants to imagine.

"I could show you a few tricks," Suki agrees, the small smile on her face spreading. "It'll be fun." She pauses. "Besides, fighting Ty Lee is so much more satisfying when you're not paralyzed on the ground a minute in."

"…this leaves us room to assume, that, whenever they are ready, we will have in reserve a single battalion of troops waiting in line over here, ready to replenish our line over here if in combat it should fold back from this position here all the way back to here…"

The imperious captain drones on and on in the sweltering room, occasionally emphasizing his words by jabbing a long wooden pointer at various parts on a large map of the Fire Empire. Katara longs for fresh, open air, but inside the General's pavilion, their strategic discussions are guarded with utmost secrecy.

It takes all her energy to not simply fall asleep where she sits. Toph, who sits on her right side, is not faring particularly well, snoring a little as she dozes listlessly in her chair.

Aang, sitting on her other side, simply looks bored, his chin resting in one hand, as he absent-mindedly bends a small air current with his other. Even though it is slightly distracting, Katara does not tell him to stop as the tiny breeze is welcoming in the stifling heat.

"Excellent proposition, Captain Shu." General Shinu nods his approval. Katara notes that at least he had been paying attention, unlike everyone else in the room, who look like they would love to be elsewhere. Even the spoiled brat of a prince appears to be daydreaming across the table from her, his eyes far away and glazed over.

"Sifu Katara, what do you think?"

It takes Katara a second to realize that the General is looking at her expectantly, and so, apparently having decided to suddenly pay attention again, is everyone else in the room.

She swallows nervously. "Perhaps Captain Shu could explain his tactics again?" she asks tentatively, in a small voice. "I couldn't quite follow what he was trying to say."

The look the General gives her is not a pleasant one, and she fights to keep herself from wilting beneath it.

"That is a very prudent suggestion," Prince Zuko speaks up suddenly, and he's straight-backed, meeting the General's eyes in earnest. "Like Sifu Katara, I too, had difficulty understanding Captain Shu's proposed strategies."

Captain Shu opens and closes his mouth as everyone around the table nods their assent. "I…I was simply suggesting that…we keep a reserve in wait behind our main line, just in case…"

As he goes on to describe his plan in much simpler terms, Katara feels the characteristic swell of fury rise in her again.

Who does he think he is, she thinks heatedly to herself, that he can just barge in on a conversation between the General and I, and make it all okay, just because he's a prince and he says so?

It's probably the same instinct that drove him to seek her out, that first day of cross-training, she reflects, and magnanimously proclaim his penitence, when he hadn't the faintest idea what he was apologizing for. An angry flush rises to her cheeks as she contemplates the arrogance of it, the thought that she owed him her forgiveness just because he was a prince who deigned to care what the peasants thought of him.

Across from her, Prince Zuko shifts his eyes from the General's face, and she catches him watching her, intent on trying to meet her gaze.

She turns her head away instead.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him slump a little.

"The first step to mastering the blades," says Mai, "is to master yourself."

Katara cannot deny that she has dreaded going head-to-head with the gloomy Fire Nation noble. The prince's girlfriend has a gravitas about her that even the prince himself lacks, something forbidding and unapproachable, that gives reason for pause and caution before engaging. It has less to do with the dozens of concealed knives on her person that she can use expertly, within the blink of an eye, and more to do with the imperturbable set of her regal face and colourless eyes. She is altogether unsettling, and that admission in itself is the highest praise Katara can give anyone.

Nonetheless, she isn't about to back down from this girl. After all, if she's willingly chosen to date the Fire Prince, then there must be a part of her that's quite stupid.

She just needs to find it, draw it out during battle, and exploit it.

Mai pulls a stiletto from her sleeve and throws it carelessly. It buries itself into the middle of Chan's topknot, quivering slightly as it lands.

"Hey!" Katara hears him protest, as he claps a hand to his topknot and whirls around in fury. "What was that for?"

Mai shrugs impassively. "Because you're annoying and I don't like you," she answers coolly.

Chan realizes that it's Mai he's talking to, swallows whatever further gripe he was going to make, and instead, occupies himself with fishing the small blade out of his hair.

Katara swears there is a very small smile on Mai's lips.

"It didn't even cut his hair," she continues, her voice bored. "I don't know why he's so angry."

"It didn't?" Katara takes a closer look, only to see that Mai is right. Her eyes widen. "How did you do that?"

Mai shrugs again. "Balance and precision," she says, "are two things you have to learn before you can start throwing things around."

For the rest of their time together, she has Katara practicing how to stand on one foot properly.

Every day, she spars with Suki in the woods behind the encampment.

At first, the warrior from Kyoshi Island overpowers her easily. Katara may be a master of her element, but she now realizes that her prowess in hand-to-hand combat is lamentably limited. It makes her especially susceptible against the earthbenders, whose bending is characterized by their rooted stance and strength.

"I'll go slow," Suki says at last, holding out a hand to the fallen waterbender sprawled out on the ground before her. "That way, you can pick up the technique first. Speed can always come later."

Fighting Aang is a tricky ordeal, she has come to realize by her third or fourth duel with him. At least when she had fought him alongside Toph, he and Toph had been preoccupied with each other, turning the brunt of their strikes upon each other.

Now, there is no distraction and she finds herself subject to an onslaught of lightning-fast strikes.

She fights to dodge, to stay one step ahead. But her opponent is swift, like air itself.

Toph presents the most formidable foe, Katara concludes after her first month of regular cross-training sessions. Not only is she a flawless master of her own element, she is deceptively powerful physically and is keenly aware of the motions of the world around her – a fact belied by her slender frame and unseeing eyes. By now, Katara has deduced that Toph has some sort of seismic sense, an ability to perceive her surroundings by feeling the vibrations of the earth. It certainly explains why she has greater difficulty fighting opponents who are quicker and lighter on their feet, like Aang and Ty Lee.

Seeing with earthbending. Katara has never heard of bending being used in such a manner, but she cannot deny its obvious advantages. She wonders how such a technique could be applied to her own abilities.

The firebenders continue to be the greatest thorn in her side. The stupid ones who'd taunted her from the first day maintain their arrogant swagger in her presence. She is convinced that a couple of them were the ones who'd spied on her while bathing, and she catches them giving her significant, insolent stares.

Even worse is the prince, who seems to think that putting on a show of long-suffering penitence is the way back into her good graces. He doesn't talk to her anymore, perhaps finally respecting her demand for him to stay away, but he is subtly devious in other ways. He agrees with the others when they compliment her skills and how quickly she's had to learn in order to keep up with everyone. He tells off the other firebenders when they're giving her a headache. He quietly speaks in support of her whenever she says something controversial in war meetings.

And always, his eyes, cautiously watching her. Even when he thinks she isn't looking. It drives her mad.

At least she can count on repeatedly defeating him in their cross-training bouts. Her attacks have decreased in their savagery since, mainly because he's stopped trying to win.

It is a cool, dewy morning when Master Jeong-Jeong assembles them all, just before the crack of dawn. In the crisp morning air, Katara's breath fogs before her as she shivers and lets out a yawn. She is wearing her frayed old robe, hugging it as close to her body as she can to keep warm.

"Why did you do that? I'm not that cold," Mai, who is sitting in front of her, is complaining to Prince Zuko, who has conjured up a roaring yellow flame to light a torch for heat.

"Well, if you don't want it, give it to someone who does," he answers gruffly, shoving the handle of the torch into Mai's hand. He crosses his arms across his chest and looks straight ahead.

From where she sits, Katara thinks he looks somewhat put out.

With a roll of her eyes, Mai turns around and passes the torch to Ty Lee.

"Thanks! I'm freezing! How are you not cold, Mai?"

"Because I actually wear clothes," comes Mai's sardonic reply before she turns her back on them and crosses her arms too.

"Yikes! Everyone's in such a bad mood today!" Ty Lee exclaims, wide-eyed. She turns to Katara, who is sitting beside her, and offers the torch, which Katara reluctantly accepts. The warmth is welcoming in the chill air.

"Mornings," Suki, who is sitting on Katara's other side, explains wryly, putting a hand out by the flame. "No one is happy to be up at this hour."

"I'll say," Katara mutters. As a waterbender, she is most alive in the dead of the night, when the moon is full and tugs on the chi in her body. Running on Fire Nation hours, which maximize time spent under the sun, has been a long and exhausting adjustment for her.

At that moment, Jeong-Jeong clears his throat and raises his hand. Almost instantly, the lot of them go silent.

"Thank you," he says in his deep voice. "You may be wondering why you have been summoned here, all of you, so early in the morning."

Katara takes a quick peek at the group gathered with her. She notices that it's everyone who has been involved in the cross-training exercises, and that the commanding officers of the military, such as General Shinu, are conspicuously absent.

"What we are gathered here to discuss," Jeong-Jeong continues in measured tones, "is a matter of utmost secrecy. The observant among you have perhaps guessed as to its nature, and wondered to yourselves about the change in the Fire Empire that is to come. You are the select few that we have hand-picked to prepare for this, to be ready and lead us into a new era. But be warned. This is a test of the acutest kind. What you do is not for glory or reward, but for loyalty to your countrymen and to the Empire itself."

Oh great, Katara thinks darkly to herself.

"Where is General Shinu?" Prince Zuko asks, his voice raspy in the morning air. "Why is he not here with you, Master Jeong-Jeong?"

He receives a piercing look from the old Master in reply. "He is not here," Jeong-Jeong replies slowly, "because even he is not aware of the true purpose of this…exercise."

Suddenly, Katara remembers her briefing from the first day, so many weeks ago now. General Shinu had said their training was for attack development. She'd thought Master Jeong-Jeong had clarified as much, but…but…

Jeong-Jeong steeples his fingers together in front of him. In the rising sunlight, his old, scarred face appears carved from stone.

"Tell me," he says softly, "what do you know about the legend of the Avatar?"

Chapter 5: circles

Summary:

Jeong-Jeong tells a story. Katara and Zuko get into a fight.

Chapter Text

disclaimer: Bryke own all. I own nothing.

author's notes: this one's short, and takes off immediately where last chapter ended. the confrontation in the second half of this chapter is one that's been in the making since chapter 1, but i apologize for it all the same.

thank you very much to everyone who's been reviewing and following! you make my day and keep me going when things become difficult to write!

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter v. circles

that goddamn bitch of life she made me cry
so i'd like to poke her squarely in the eye
and it hurt so much i feel like i could die

"think twice"/groove armada

"The legend goes that eons ago, when the world was still young and spirits roamed the lands freely with us, there existed the Avatar. In a time when the bending of one element alone was a benediction of the great lion-turtles, the Avatar was gifted with mastery of all four. He – or she – was tasked with restoring balance to the world and acting as the bridge between our world and the spirit realm. Every generation, one of the four great nations – the Water Tribes, the Earth Kingdom, the Fire Nation, and the Air Nomads – would be born into the Avatar cycle. Thus the Avatar endured, and peace and balance remained in this world for an age."

"The Avatar had one weakness. He or she could enter a state of absolute power – and absolute vulnerability. For it came to pass that the Avatar was struck down while in this state, and was never reborn into the world again. And thus the line of Avatars was ended, the bridge between worlds broken, and the world fell into chaos."

"In the ages that followed, many awaited the return of this great spirit. Spiritual masters beyond count traveled to the spirit realms in hopes of finding the Avatar resting there. It has all been in vain. The Avatar has never returned and our world has never been the same."

"Certain individuals within our great empire do not see this as a great loss. Certain individuals would rather burn their enemies to the ground to consolidate their apparent power, and all the better without the interference of the Avatar. These individuals are misguided. There is no power to be gained by razing those who share this world with us, no more than there is by cutting off your own hand. These misguided decisions have driven us to the sorry place we stand today. And now it is time for us to reckon with them."

"No longer will we stand by waiting for a beacon of lost hope while the world crumbles around us. We will take the fate of the world into our own hands, and we will do it together. If the Avatar cannot come to us, then we shall have to make do with one of our own making."

Jeong-Jeong pauses to gaze levelly at the stunned audience seated before him.

"And thus, our objective. Creating the most powerful bending offensive in military history. Four separate benders, a master of every element, who fight together as though they are one."

"Sifu Aang. Sifu Toph. Sifu Katara," he says, meeting each of their eyes in turn as he announces their names. "And Prince Zuko. Welcome to Team Avatar."

"This is a joke!" Katara gripes to Toph as they make their way back to their shared room. "Team Avatar? That's what cross-training is all about? I almost liked it better when I thought we were just making up new moves for the army!"

Toph shrugs. "Makes no difference to me, Sugar Queen. What's the big deal?"

"The deal?" Katara struggles to contain herself. "The deal, Toph, is that now the Fire Empire wants to own us, and make us become the most dangerous power the world has ever seen since this Avatar person died! Doesn't that – I don't know – seem like a really bad idea?"

"They already own us," Toph retorts blithely. "I don't see the problem."

"Oh, of course. No problem at all," Katara scoffs. She twists the ends of her long braid through her fingers. "Let's just take the most aggressive, bloodthirsty nation in recent history, one that's successfully conquered every other nation out there in the most brutal ways imaginable, and give them a superbender that can single-handedly take out any enemy! I'm sure what the world needs for peace and balance right now is to give the all-powerful Fire Empire yet another unfair advantage!"

"I think you're exaggerating a little bit," Toph says calmly. "I know you don't like the firebenders, Katara, but we're part of the army too, whether you like it or not, so – "

"Of course I don't like them!" Katara bursts out angrily, balling her hands into fists. "But how could I expect you to understand? You're just a little rich girl from the Earth Kingdom territories, the Fire Empire never hurt you or your family, you couldn't possibly know –"

Toph's mouth presses into a thin line. "I can't deal with you right now," she says flatly. "You sound hysterical. When you're done with your sob story, you know where to find me."

And without another word, she walks away, her face dark.

Katara lets out a scream of frustration.

Nobody understands it, she thinks to herself despairingly. How can they be so accepting of everything the Empire has done? Even if they weren't as vicious as they were with us, doesn't anyone want to be free? Is it everyone but me who's happy to be a prisoner of the Empire? How come I'm the only one who sees it?

For the thousandth time, she longs for Sokka. He may have been light-hearted and sardonic by nature, but blood was blood and he would have taken her side.

She wishes he was here right now. Maybe more people would take her misgivings seriously if he'd been here to lend his voice to hers.

You mean you guys seriously think siding with the firebenders is a good idea? He'd say, in that skeptical voice of his. The freaky, fireball-flinging maniacs who invaded your lands, destroyed your homes, and killed your soldiers because they thought it'd be fun? Suuuure…sounds like a great way to stay alive!

She has no doubt that he'd be well liked if he was here. He was a strong fighter, perhaps lacking the formal training that the ones here had, but he had a strategic mind and a natural charisma that drew people to him. It was the reason they had survived the polar wars of their childhood, and everything after. It was the reason she was alive today.

It was also the reason he was no longer with her.

"Katara?"

She closes her eyes shut in frustration.

Not you, she despairs silently.

She hears him take an uncertain step forward.

"Look," he continues tentatively, "I know I'm the last person you want to hear from –"

That's right, Katara interjects heatedly in her mind.

" – and I've been trying to respect that, but – but I figure, since after what Master Jeong-Jeong said, we'll be working together a lot more because of this Avatar stuff –"

She clenches her fists at her sides.

" – so – can't we just try to get along? I said I was sorry, before, for whatever I've done to hurt you, and I meant it, and I've been trying to make it up to you, only it doesn't seem to be working, and if you could help me understand what I'm doing wrong…"

His voice trails off and she can hear him swallow as he gathers his thoughts.

"…I don't know what I did to make you hate me," he says at last. "I don't hate you."

Her eyes snap open and she whirls on him like the element she controls. Her fury from Jeong-Jeong's debrief only amplifies the usual fiery tumult of emotion that engulfs her whenever the fire prince is near her.

"Well, aren't I a lucky one!" she quips at him sarcastically, her face breaking into a sardonic smile laced with derision. "Fire Prince Zuko doesn't hate me! I suppose I can just go back to my room now and forget everything that's ever happened!"

"What has happened?" Zuko asks her, and he sounds like he's begging now, and it makes her even angrier at him – how dare he play the victim when it's him, him and his people, who are responsible? "That's all I want to know."

"Oh, you mean you don't know?" She knows she should try to calm herself but it's too much, rage and indignity and grief all pound in a frenzy inside her chest and she can't contain it anymore. "You don't know what the Empire did to my people? At all?"

She watches him startle, open and close his mouth in confusion. Whatever he expected, it probably wasn't that.

"You have no idea what this war has done to me, to me personally. But why don't you take a guess, Prince Zuko? Why don't you guess why I hate you, and everything to do with you and your kind?"

He just stands in front of her, stunned. At first he looks surprised, and then to her annoyance, he begins to look hurt.

"You're putting that on me?" he demands incredulously, and she hears his voice shake. "That's not fair. I'm – I was only a child during the polar wars –"

"So was I." Her voice is like a knife thrust. "If only that excused me from being affected."

" – I – I didn't have anything to do with the politics of that time!" he continues to protest. "Those decisions were all made by my father, against the Emperor's wishes!"

"Oh, so it was only Daddy that had it in for the waterbenders!" Katara crows mockingly, her lip curling with disgust. "That's great to know! Hey, you know what, I'll just march back to my village and tell them, hey everyone, guess what! Grandpa Azulon wanted to treat us nicely like he did with the earthbenders. Except not really because he didn't do a thing when little psychotic Ozai acted out of turn and – " she cocks her head to the side and stares at him insolently, her face deadly serious, " – except, well, I can't, because my home was destroyed, and my culture is dead, and most of my people are missing or gone and I'll probably never see them again. So thanks for that."

Her words hang in the air.

Zuko looks stricken. His mouth moves but he struggles to find the right thing to say.

"I'm so sor –"

"No," Katara barrels over his feeble apologies. "No, don't you dare. You're not entitled to my forgiveness. None of you are."

"But you're blaming me for something I had no control over!" Zuko protests, his voice rising as finally, his resolve begins to break. "Do you think I like what my father did? Do you think I want to be his son?"

"Well, why wouldn't you? I'd trade places with you if I could –"

"Stop it."

"- it must be nice being rich and powerful and –"

"Don't –"

" – oh, I don't know, having parents that are actually around –"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Zuko warns, his voice now as loud as hers. "Whatever my family did to you was horrible and wrong. But blaming me for it isn't fair, and it isn't going to help you!"

"How about you let me be the one who decides that?" Katara snaps.

"Fine!" Zuko marches right up to her, his temper flaring. "What do you want from me, then? How can I make it up to you?"

Katara doesn't even hide her bark of laughter. "Make it up?" she repeats savagely. Instead of shrinking from him, she steps forward so that her face is only inches away from his. "How about you go to the South Pole, rebuild my village, and bring my parents back? And if you can't do that, then maybe you can think of something just as good, because until then, Prince Zuko, I really have no use for empty apologies from the son of a monster!"

Zuko doesn't breathe for a moment. Maybe two.

Katara's glare makes it clear that she wishes him dead.

Then she turns on her heel and stalks away in a fury.

Twin flares of yellow fire erupt from his nostrils as he finally lets out a frustrated growl.

"I'm not like him!" he shouts angrily after her retreating figure. "I'm not like him at all!"

But his words fall upon deaf ears.

She doesn't know me, Zuko tells himself, trying not to let her words hurt more than they should. She doesn't know a thing about me.

"I'm done," he whispers to himself. "There's just no point, she - she's crazy, and I'm done with her."

author's notes: did i ever mention this fic was a slowburn? lol. so this is the end of sadpuppy!zuko, and the relationship between him and katara will be shifting in future chapters (though initially, probably not in the direction many of you dear readers would like..)

in my defense, katara and zuko did fight a lot in the show before they became friends, so this is not horribly ooc for her, given the shitty circumstances.

please review! they are like cookies and a glass of cold milk!

xoxox

Chapter 6: the cold in you

Chapter Text

disclaimer. ATLA & anything you recognize are property of bryke. imitation is just a sincere form of flattery.

author's notes. apologies for the long update time! things at work have been shitty and crazy, and makes it difficult to find time for amateur fanfic writing time! nonetheless, i've been churning this one out slowly, and i found it really difficult to write. mainly, i used to find it really easy to write angsty bits back int he day, but now, not so much... anyway...

thank you so much to everyone who's been commenting and kudosing and following the story so far! i promise, just because updates have slowed down a bit, doesn't mean i'm giving up on this story! i'm so excited for what's coming up, and so incredibly grateful for all of your support! please keep it up!

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter vi. the cold in you

there must be something terribly wrong with me
sometimes i feel like i haven't learned anything

"something's wrong"/pretty lights

"The first step in the training of Team Avatar," announces Jeong-Jeong, "is to familiarize yourselves with each other's bending styles."

It is mid-morning the very next day and the sun is already hanging high in the sky, beaming with a ferocity that gives Katara a pounding headache. She longs for the pull of the full moon, but the nights have been dark of late.

Master Jeong-Jeong has assembled the four unlikely members of Team Avatar before him, and it is unclear which among them appears the most uncertain about the success of their endeavour. Aang is fidgeting nervously on a wide, shallow boulder. Toph is lounging casually on the ground, seated cross-legged while her fingers trail in the sparse grass. Prince Zuko is stone-faced and impassive, his arms crossed in front of him as he leans against one of the destroyed pillars ringing the arena. Katara herself is seated on one of the stone steps, her hands clasped tightly in her lap and her lips pressed tightly together.

Each of them wears the same skeptical expression on their face.

"This we have been doing under the guise of cross-training," Jeong-Jeong continues, and to his credit he doesn't waver in the face of his unenthusiastic audience. "You will continue to fight against one other, until you have learned to anticipate each other's movements as though they are your own."

"Then what?" Toph queries, picking at the dirt lodged beneath her fingernails. "I already know how to fight these three. I'm bored."

Katara feels her face burn at the reminder of her constant humiliation when losing to the earthbender.

"That is unfortunate, Sifu Toph," Jeong-Jeong comments, his face hardening into its usual stern countenance. "The purpose of this exercise is not to entertain you, however, it is to test you in ways you have not yet discovered. Until the others have developed their skills to rival your own, it will not be safe to progress to the next phase of our plan." His mouth twists into a tiny, sardonic smile. "I suggest for your sake, you work with your teammates and help them as much as you can."

For once, Toph looks thunderstruck, and has nothing to say in return.

Katara can't help but smirk a little.

"What is the next phase of the plan?" Prince Zuko asks suddenly, and the smirk slips from Katara's face at the sound of his voice.

"That is strictly need-to-know information," Jeong-Jeong replies vaguely.

"Well, don't we need to know eventually?" Zuko persists, now beginning to sound slightly annoyed. "Why can't you tell us now so that at least we know what we're working toward?"

"What does it matter?" Katara shoots back witheringly. "The Fire Empire won't tell us their plans and they won't leave us alone until we do what they want, so we might as well turn our brains off and get on with it."

To her surprise, Zuko scowls at her before turning his head back to face the firebending master.

Her breath hitches in her chest and her heart begins to pound unexpectedly. She's never quite been frightened of the fire prince before, but there's no denying that with his father's features, long unkempt hair, and angry red scar, he can appear quite formidable sometimes.

"Respect and cooperation are two of the skills both of you may wish to consider improving," Jeong-Jeong says at length, and his tone is disapproving. "You will not progress far until you learn both."

Katara crosses her arms, but says nothing. The prince too remains broodingly silent.

Jeong-Jeong first calls on Toph and Aang to square off against each other on the arena, and they oblige without much fuss. Katara thinks they are a bit too evenly matched at times, with Aang's lightness and speed balancing neatly against Toph's supersensory perception and brute strength.

This time around, however, Jeong-Jeong has barely called for them to start before Toph plants her foot into the rocks beneath her.

Aang doesn't have a moment to react as she raises both fists in front of her and kicks a pillar of earth straight into his sternum. He flies back six feet and lands in the dirt, completely winded.

Toph wipes her hands against the front of her cotton tunic and walks away from her fallen adversary.

Jeong-Jeong sighs and shakes his head slightly, before motioning for the other two to take the floor. The set of his shoulders suggests that he has already resigned himself to the sheer futility of their exercise.

Why do they even bother making me fight him? Katara wonders to herself, making her way to where Toph had stood. He never even tries to win anymore. Pathetic.

Across from her, Zuko is exhaling slowly. A steady stream of flame trickles from his nostrils.

She uncorks her skins and settles into a neutral starting position, as she usually does.

He closes his eyes and clenches his fists at the ready.

She inhales and feels for the water available to her. In her waterskins, by the river, in the air, if she's desperate enough…

"Begin," commands Jeong-Jeong.

With a fluid motion of her wrist, Katara pulls the water from her skins into her grasp and forms it into a solid whip.

A roar greets her ears and she looks up just in time to see the giant plume of flame that Zuko's bent at her.

She jumps out of the way in time, unburned. But her water whip's disintegrated.

Shit.

She pulls at the tendrils of water, trying to reform her whip, but in front of her, Zuko is throwing fist after fist of furious flames at her with reckless abandon. He has her on the defensive soon enough, gaining ground as she retreats from him.

Think, Katara, think. Katara's water whip is now a sorry-looking puddle on the ground by her feet, and she is assuming defensive maneuvers, as the firebender before her channels all his fury through the fire emanating from his fists and his feet. Every time she tries to bend her water back at him, he shoots at her with a bigger blast, preventing her from retaliating.

She needs more water, and she needs it fast.

Pressing his advantage, Zuko clasps his hands together and channels a ferocious wave of fire at his opponent. Katara jumps backward once, twice, before somersaulting backward into the river to evade the swift ingress of the inferno.

The surface of the water envelops her as she lands, lightly surfing away from the riverbank, and in a trice, she has raised a colossal tidal wave in front of her. She pushes forward and douses Zuko's wall of fire with some effort.

He stumbles backward, and she leaps back from the river onto solid ground. Water twines around both her arms like giant unnatural sleeves, spanning the length of the shoreline, and it's all at her call.

This time when Zuko lets out another yell and claps a stream of fire at her, she is able to counter with a long, heavy sleeve of water. An almighty cloud of steam erupts from where their forces make contact and for a moment, both are blinded.

Seizing her chance, Katara bends the clouds of steam away from her, barreling toward her opponent with deadly purpose. A rotation of her wrists, and suddenly Zuko's entire body is coiled in water, pulling him off-balance, and she flexes her wrist, dragging him along the surface of the ground.

In response, he kicks both his legs up, struggling to break free of the watery prison. She lets out an icy breath of air and the water surrounding him freezes. He lets out a cry as the ice burns his skin.

She pulls harder, and the icy coil around him tightens, crushing his legs, his chest, his neck…

He knows she has him and that she's coming in for the kill, and he has to react fast. Throwing his head back and sucking in a sharp lungful of air through the vice grip on his throat, he lets out a colossal roar.

Flames erupt from his mouth, surrounding him, singeing his clothes, his skin, his hair, melting the waterbender's icy coils to clouds of vapour in an instant.

Katara swears loudly, and pulls the remaining water around her in a ring. She raises her hands and tongues of water dance before her like a strange, many-tentacled octopus.

Before she can strike, Zuko's legs slice upward in a spinning scissor kick. He braces himself on his hands, using the greater power in his legs to channel a ferocious blast toward his adversary.

She has no time to jump out of the way; instead she coats herself in her water, drops to the ground, and rolls out of the way. The heat from the fire, though somewhat dissipated by the water surrounding her, still burns to the touch, and she lets out a scream in turn.

As she lies facedown on the ground, panting for breath, the feeling of fire on her body sends her mind spiraling out of control, even as her heartbeat skyrockets and adrenaline races through her veins.

Run, her father had told her and Sokka, a hand clamped to the damp crimson spot on the side of his armour. Run and stay low and don't look back.

A burst of fire hurtles toward her head, and she only rolls out of the way in time before it explodes right above the spot where she had just been.

Never let them see your gift, Katara, her grandmother whispered to her, caressing her hair and face with strong, sure hands. Firebenders hate waterbenders, our kind are their natural enemies. They would kill you where you stand if they ever found out.

Another blast and Katara barely rolls out of the way in time. She avoids the worst of it, but even now, she feels hot embers smouldering away on her neck and shoulder and along the length of her arm.

She looks up and Zuko is lunging at her, his arms bent into an offensive stance, his face twisted and hard and completely devoid of anything human.

He wants to kill me, Katara thinks to herself numbly, and in that moment, she believes it.

"What, no comebacks today?" Zuko yells at her tauntingly. "Waiting for me to become the monster you think I am?"

He is a monster, Katara realizes, and it's as though she sees him in slow-motion. He is a monster, just like all the other firebenders before him, and if she doesn't stop him, end him, he will do exactly what the others did to her.

And I swore I'd never let another firebender touch me ever again.

Zuko is attacking her with everything he has, bending wave after wave of angry red fire in her direction, and it's all she can do to stay low and roll out of the way. The burn on her arm worsens, and the back of her tunic is charred to a crisp.

"Are you satisfied now?" Zuko roars at her, slicing at the air in front of him and setting the ground before him ablaze. "Is this what you want me to be?"

She feels the oncoming flames rushing toward her, and throws up a wall of water to counter it just in time. The resulting cloud of steam crackles loudly in the air, and she feels its tiny pellets of condensate prick at her skin as she slowly raises her head.

The Fire Prince walks through the flames licking the ground beneath his feet.

Get up, Katara. Get up, get up, get up.

She scrabbles at the ground, fighting for purchase, pulling handfuls of grass into her fists as she watches him approach her, a single fireball hovering by his right palm.

Katara struggles to her feet, grasps at whatever water is left to her, and snaps at him with the whip in her hand.

In a trice, the little ball of fire in his hand expands until it's huge, bigger than the both of them. The force of it knocks her back and she lands on her bottom, palms of her hands scraping along the ground.

Her eyes widen as she stares at the maelstrom swelling before her, and though every part of her desperately wants to get up and fight back, her body is stiff and aching and burned in about twelve places, and she has no water left, and her heart is positively humming, it's thudding so fast, and she's shaking as she knows she's going to die here, he's going to kill her –

His hands twitch and that's it, she knows it's over, and out of instinct, she covers her face with her forearms, because it's all she can bring herself to do and she hates that this is how she's going to go –

She can feel the change in the air as he lets go and the fire charges toward her, hungry for her.

But then –

"Enough," Jeong-Jeong's harsh voice cuts through her thoughts.

Startled, she tentatively raises her head. The ground beside her is scorched and smoking, Prince Zuko is turned away from her, and Jeong-Jeong is approaching them, his flinty features inscrutable.

"Well done, Prince Zuko," Jeong-Jeong commends her adversary. "You have demonstrated incredible improvement over the past months, and your victory today is proof of your skills. You should be very proud of yourself."

Despite the old master's praise, Zuko does not look proud in the slightest.

Victory.

Katara abruptly remembers, belatedly, the nature of her duel with the prince. The army, the cross-training, the Avatar project, all of it…

"Sifu Katara."

In the heat of battle, she'd allowed herself to lose her head, and handed the fire prince his first victory over her because of it.

"Get up."

Head bowed, limbs still shaking, and face now burning with humiliation, Katara forces herself to her feet. Her rise is unsteady and ungraceful.

"You will look at your commanding officer, Sifu Katara."

Hesitantly, Katara raises her gaze from the ground between her toes, slowly upward to meet Jeong-Jeong's narrowed eyes.

"Your performance today was shameful," Jeong-Jeong tells her flatly. "You appeared distracted, slow, and in short, you were simply outclassed by your opponent. What is worse, you showed considerable fear and weakness in the face of defeat. This is not the Fire Empire way."

Katara hangs her head. She wants to account for herself, but in truth, she doesn't know what to say.

Because as much as she hates to admit it, Jeong-Jeong was right. She had been scared of Zuko. A couple of fireballs in her direction and she had lost her nerve.

"In the Fire Empire, we do not shrink from battle," Jeong-Jeong continues, with a new edge in his voice. "We will have victory, or we will die fighting for it. We do not turn our tails at the first sign of trouble and hide in a corner like a little girl. I expect this sort of cowardice from a raw recruit, but from a waterbending master trained by Pakku himself?" He shakes his head slowly, closing his eyes. "You dishonour yourself."

Dishonour. The word rings like a knell, damning in its finality.

"I will give you one chance to explain yourself," he says at last, regarding Katara coldly, "one chance only, and then, I expect to never witness such a disgraceful scene from you ever again."

He folds his arms and looks at her expectantly.

Katara wants to explain herself. She can feel it on the tip of her tongue. How the uncontrolled rage in the prince's movements, the heat of the fire on her skin, had catapulted her back, back into the cold dark stone rooms, back with her brother and her parents' last words, and the guards who had worn the same red uniforms and bent fire carelessly, and the sickness and terror of the burnings afterward…

But what would another firebender understand of her fears?

"I see," Jeong-Jeong says at last, as Katara's silence draws out. He turns away from her, to face Zuko, and Toph and Aang, who had been following the fight silently on the sidelines. "This concludes today's sessions. You will resume your regularly scheduled activities for the rest of today, and we shall continue tomorrow, where I expect to see significant improvement in everyone's behaviour. Dismissed."

There is a strange lump growing in the back of Katara's throat. She has to clench her fists tightly together to stop herself from shuddering outwardly, at the strength she needs to hold herself together.

She is humiliated, and the burning in her cheeks somehow stings more than the dozen or so fresh wounds she sustained during her duel.

Jeong-Jeong has left the arena, and the awkward silence that ensues is almost deafening.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Prince Zuko turn to face her.

To her unending chagrin, he takes a hesitant step toward her.

She hears him take a deep breath, and cuts him off before he can get a word in.

"Don't," she forces out through clenched teeth, squeezing her eyes shut. "Just don't."

"What the hell is your problem, Sugar Queen?"

Katara's eyes fly open as, to her surprise, Toph of all people marches straight up toward her and sends an angry glare in her direction.

"You're being selfish and rude and impossible to work with! And it's even interfering with your bending now!"

Katara opens and closes her mouth wordlessly, temporarily subdued by the outspoken earthbender.

"Leave it, Toph," Zuko mutters, and Katara notices that his ears are red. He glances at her briefly with a strange, closed expression.

Then, he turns on his heel and walks back to the encampment.

He doesn't look back at her this time.

The lump in the back of her throat grows inexplicably larger.

It hurts to breathe.

Toph whirls on her. "Can't you see that Sparky's trying to be nice to you, and you're just shutting him down for no reason other than your stupid wounded ego!"

"My ego?" Katara repeats at last, finding her voice and feeling like she might fly apart into a million different pieces if she lets go of herself. "My ego has nothing to do with this! I didn't ask him to be nice, I asked him to leave me alone! It's his ego you should be worrying about!"

Toph lets out a harsh laugh. The sound of it is grating, like pebbles rolling against the ground.

"You should hear yourself, Sugar Queen," she says dryly. "You sound just as obnoxious as all those stupid firebenders you claim to hate. Maybe you have more in common with them than you realize."

Toph's words hurt more than a slap across the face.

"Get the hell out of my face, Toph," Katara spits back in a low voice. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, don't I?" Toph's hands rest on her hips, and she turns her head to face Aang where he sits uncomfortably on the sidelines. "Going to back me up on this one, Twinkletoes?"

"I'd rather not get involved, if you don't mind," Aang answers politely, raising his hands in uncertainty.

Toph rolls her sightless eyes. "I'm beginning to think I'm not the only one who's blind around here!" she quips sarcastically, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Maybe not," Katara replies, and to her dismay, even her eyes are beginning to burn, "but if you're going to take the firebender's side over mine, then you're not someone I can trust in the slightest."

"Well, that's up to you, Madam Fussybritches," Toph shoots back at her witheringly. "But you're being difficult and unreasonable and just as bad as the firebenders who took over your people, and it's going to get you into a lot of trouble."

Having said her piece, Toph too storms off.

The lump in the back of her throat is so large, her airways feel too small. She takes in a long, slow, unsteady breath and then, she falls apart.

Her body starts to shake, the tears burning in her eyes finally trickle down her face, and she lets out a single, treacherous sob.

"Katara?"

Oceans save her, she'd thought she was alone.

She covers her face with her hands, because of all people, she really doesn't want to cry in front of the naïve young monk.

"Katara, are you okay?"

A tentative hand touches her shoulder and it's too much.

She bursts into tears, great heaving sobbing tears.

"I can't," she gasps, "I can't, I can't – I miss them and I'm scared and I'm trying but I'm not strong enough, it's not enough, it's never enough for them…"

"Katara, listen to me." Aang's voice sounds different to her ears. He has always been calm and composed throughout her time of knowing him. But now his voice is a little deeper, a little more serious, and it makes him sound wise beyond his years. "I don't know you that well, but you're one of the strongest people I've ever met. I know that you must have gone through some terrible things in your past, and it must be incredibly difficult and isolating to be doing what you're doing now. But please don't lose hope."

Hope. It's been so long since she's had any of it.

Aang's goodness rankles in her gut and makes her feel ashamed of herself, for the way she's dismissed him all this time. She tries to clear her throat, to speak, to say thank you or something, anything. But she can't even manage that much, the lump in her throat is too big, too much to talk through, and so –

She lets out a shuddering breath, grabs at his shoulder, and cries into it.

Aang's arms wrap around her uncertainly, but she takes solace in the comforting gesture.

"It'll be okay," he tells her quietly. "Whatever it is you need to do, you'll be able to do it one day. You'll be okay, Katara. I know you will."

Chapter 7: our demons

Chapter Text

disclaimer. bryke owns ATLA & all affiliated property, i am just a cheap imitation who derives no tangible benefit from the writing of this work.

author's notes. what's this? another update? wow it's almost like i'm hitting my stride again as the plot starts to thicken! (key words = STARTS TO).. btw, the next couple chapters are going to be zuko's POV, mainly because he's fun too and we haven't heard from him in a while.

just a reminder that this fic is rated M/mature for very specific reasons and those become evident starting in this chapter, so if fairly explicit content bothers you, i suggest giving this one a miss. also fairly prominent maiko in this chapter again, so just a heads-up if they're a nOTP for you.

immense thanks of the highest order to everyone who's reading/following/leaving such great feedback for this story! you literally make my life complete and i am so excited to read your thoughts/reactions to what's going on, knowing what's in store! you guys make writing fun again! love you & please keep it up!

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter vii. our demons

and every time you vent your spleen
i seem to lose the power of speech
you're slipping slowly from my reach

"without you i'm nothing"/placebo

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to focus.

His teeth clench together, his breaths come out in ragged, harsh, uneven pants, and his fingers dig into her shoulders.

She makes a small sound, but he doesn't register whether it's approval or protest or a combination of the two as he thrusts into her, repeatedly, forcefully, urgently.

He wants to forget. He needs to forget.

But the tightening in his stomach has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with shame.

He'd lashed out from a place of rage so intense, he didn't even know he was capable of it. He lost control and fought without dignity or restraint or honour.

And she had fallen and he'd stood victorious over her, and for once, she had shut her mouth around him and he should have felt good because this time he'd won.

Only instead, he still feels like shit.

His grip on her shoulders tightens, and he knows there will be bruises later. She doesn't mind, though. Instead she lets out a soft moan and drags her fingernails down his back.

He lets out a hiss, sucking in air sharply through his clenched teeth, and he throws his head back as he quickens his pace. Her hands grab him by the hips, as though trying to pull him in deeper.

Except, he keeps on slipping away. In his mind, the duel constantly plays on repeat, and he remembers that nothing's changed and if he set out to teach her a lesson about himself, it had backfired horribly.

Most importantly, he remembers the way she looked when she lay breathless and crumpled on the ground before him, staring at him with fear dancing in her wide pretty blue eyes.

Her hands squeeze him, dragging him briefly back to the present. She's beginning to convulse, trembling around him, and for a moment, he's drawn back in, giving in to the white-hot liquid pleasure that engulfs him, that spurts out of him.

And when he opens his eyes, the skin beneath his hands is creamy white instead of nut-brown, and her bright dewy eyes are pale grey instead of blue, and the soft silky strands of hair cascading lazily over her body to cover her breasts and stomach is jet black.

He freezes on top of her, in her, wondering at his confusion.

After all, she feared him. And he deserved it.

Because she was right, wasn't she? He is a monster.

And worse, he's thinking about her, still thinking about her, while he's trying to fuck his girlfriend.

"Earth to Zuko," Mai says dryly, reaching out to cup his face with one hand. "Are you in there still, or did you wear yourself out again?"

He's breathing heavily, bracing his weight on his arms, planted on either side of her face now. "I'm here," he gasps. His own voice sounds distant to his ears. "Sorry."

And he collapses on top of her.

She runs her hands through his damp hair, a slight smirk playing about her lips. "What's up with you tonight? You've never been so…" she struggles to find the right word, "…so rough before."

"I'm sorry," Zuko says automatically. Half of their conversations either begin or end with him apologizing to her. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't," Mai retorts. "I liked it. It was…intense."

"Oh," he says. "Good."

And he lapses into silence.

Mai looks at him searchingly for a few moments before speaking again. "Are you sure you're okay? You're being awfully distant."

And the other half comprise of him trying to convince her that he's okay. Most of the time, he's unsuccessful.

"I'm just tired," he tells her, and it sounds unconvincing even to his ears. "That cross-training took a lot out of me."

"Right," Mai says skeptically. She struggles a bit, trying to judge whether to say what's on her mind, or leave it be. Sometimes, even she's not up for a fight.

But at length, she tries to tentatively strike a middle ground. "I heard you finally beat that waterbender."

She sees the change in him at the mere mention of her. She wonders if he is even aware of it. Unlikely, though. Zuko is a stranger to everyone, but none so much as to himself. Even now, she doesn't think he realizes, and she wonders what it spells for her and him.

All the same, she's fond of Zuko, and being the prince's girlfriend never hurt anyone. Even if he's been out of touch and away from court for many years now.

"I did," Zuko agrees at last. He isn't proud of his accomplishment though, and his shoulders slump following his admission.

"That must have been really tough," Mai observes cautiously, her grey eyes surveying him shrewdly.

"It was," Zuko acknowledges. His face is oddly blank, and Mai, who can usually read him like a book, finds him uncharacteristically inscrutable.

"But you did it," Mai points out, opting for praise. She watches him carefully, for a change in his expression. "You finally defeated her. All your training paid off. I'm proud of you, Zuko."

I'm not, he thinks to himself sullenly. And for the life of him, he can't figure out why.

After all, Katara had rebuffed him over and over and over again. She had beaten him countless times. She had insisted that they could never wipe the slate clean. For Agni's sake, she had even blamed him for what had happened to her people, and he hadn't been a part of it!

The girl had no clue about what his views on Fire Empire militarism had cost him. What it still costs him, to this day.

He knows perfectly well that he owes her nothing. That he has no reason to concern himself over what this complete stranger thinks of him. None whatsoever.

But then she'd looked at him with fear in her eyes, and he still can't bring himself not to care, and he doesn't know why.

"You proved your skills today. You've shown your worth. Who knows, they might even make you a master now."

Maybe because after everything, he doesn't want to be his father. More than anything else in this world, more than glory or prowess or inheritance of the throne, he wants that.

"I wouldn't hold my breath for that," Zuko mutters, trailing a finger through Mai's long, smooth hair. "Really, it – it wasn't that big of a deal."

Mai patiently smiles at him.

"You're just being humble. I like that about you, but you don't have to be – you're the prince of the Fire Empire, Zuko, you can take what you want –"

"I'm not being humble about anything," Zuko mumbles. There's a cramping feeling in his chest, and he's not entirely sure what it is or why it's there, only that it seems to feel better when he speaks, so he does, and he knows it isn't what Mai wants to hear, but he says it anyway, "she didn't fight the way she usually does, I could tell, something was off about her, if she'd given it her all, she would have won again, I didn't deserve it…"

What he has to say is never what Mai seems to want to hear.

"Who cares about what you deserve, Zuko?" she snaps at him irritably. "Nobody in this world ever gets what they deserve. You only take what you get, and you'll get nothing if you continue following in your uncle's footsteps!"

The change in Zuko is immediate. He closes up immediately, his jaw tightening as he fights to keep himself in check. "I think you should go," he says to her, his voice hollow.

"Zuko, don't be like that –"

"Don't be like what, exactly?" Zuko fires back. "Like my uncle, you mean?"

Her silence following his words only ignites his anger further.

"My uncle is still the Crown Prince of the Fire Empire. Perhaps you've forgotten to show him the respect he deserves."

"Maybe he should earn it first," Mai returns, not about to back down from Zuko without a fight. She pushes him off of her and sits up, crossing her arms over her chest. "Otherwise, with the way he behaves, he won't remain the Crown Prince for long. Not when your father is still by Fire Lord Azulon's side."

Zuko lands on his back, but he sits up quickly as well.

"For your information, Fire Lord Azulon has had my father by his side for years," he says scathingly. "And guess what? Uncle Iroh is still his heir, not my father, which means my cousin Lu Ten is next in line, not me. So if you're only hanging around me because you want to be the next Fire Lady, you can stop wasting your time and leave."

Mai rolls her eyes, throws back the cover, and jumps out of bed, fishing for her clothes strewn around on the ground by Zuko's bed.

"You're an idiot, Zuko," she spits at him, the apathy in her voice masking the bitterness she feels. "You know that? A naïve little idiot. That's something you and your uncle have in common."

"My uncle is more a father to me than mine ever was," Zuko replies coldly, crossing his arms as well. "I would rather be an idiot like him than a monster like my father."

"Suit yourself," Mai says sardonically, tying the sash around her tunic securely. She eyes him dispassionately. "The sex was fun, but you're kind of a bummer today, Zuko. Hope you sleep off whatever it is that's bugging you. Good night."

And with a swish of her silks, she's gone.

He lets out an exasperated groan and lies back down on his bed, covering his face with his hands.

It never used to be this hard before. Mai is one of his sister's friends, he knows, and she comes from a power-hungry family, but it had never been this difficult to appease her before.

Even though he knows deep down that he isn't what she wants him to be.

But she is strong and beautiful and comes from a good, noble family, and no one can disapprove of his choice, even if she does try to groom him to her preferences every now and then. And really, for a disgraced prince far from home, he doubts that he could do any better than her.

He's lucky to have her. He really is.

But sometimes, and it's becoming more and more often now, it's just so hard to please her. She wants so much from him, and he wants to give her everything, but he can't, he just can't give up on the things that matter to him.

He can't be what she needs him to be.

But he thinks he loves her anyway.

He's called to face off against Toph the following day. Thanking his lucky stars that Jeong-Jeong had finally gained enough sense to avoid a repeat of the previous day's drama, Zuko drags his feet as he steps into the practice arena.

Toph is cracking her knuckles opposite him, rolling her neck and shoulders in an effort to loosen up. The sound of joints cracking fills the air threateningly.

Zuko isn't stupid. He doesn't let his fluke victory from the day before get to his head. He knows that Toph is easily the strongest bender out of the four of them – powerful, precise, and completely without scruples. Sometimes she reminds him of his sister, except that she isn't a complete sociopath.

But Jeong-Jeong had said that in order for this gopherbear-brained scheme to work, they would have to rival each other in skill. So he resigns himself to getting his backside thoroughly dusted by the small earthbending master.

To his pleasant surprise, Toph seems willing to work with him. She doesn't go easy on him, exactly, which he appreciates, but she doesn't try to take him out in one punch either. When she hits him, it's jarring but not exactly painful, and she gives him time to get back to his feet and counter. On the whole, their sparring is almost fun as he learns to maneuver his bending in ways that most effectively match hers, and when she finally blasts through his defenses and knocks him to the ground, he is not displeased with his performance.

"Excellent work," Jeong-Jeong commends them, and though his face is stern and impassive as usual, Zuko doesn't think he's imagining the faint hint of pride suffused throughout his features. "This is the type of cooperation and patience I want to see from you, Sifu Toph. And Prince Zuko – I am very pleased with your efforts today. It is clear that you have learned much from your opponent."

Zuko has learned a lot, he realizes with a small glow of pride. Even though he's perfectly aware that Toph could have had him eating the dirt under her feet in less than a second, he is amazed that he lasted a good ten minutes against her this time, and had held his own respectably against her.

"Good job, Sparky," Toph comments, holding a hand out to him, ostensibly to help pull him up from where he lies sprawled on the ground.

"Thanks, Toph," Zuko replies, taking her hand and feeling her pull him effortlessly to his feet. "I enjoyed our fight. Thank you for working with me."

She lets go of his hand and shrugs nonchalantly.

"Hey, it was no problem," she says offhandedly. A small smirk crosses her mouth. "Besides, it was getting boring creaming all of you guys, and I wanted to have some fun."

Classic Toph, Zuko thinks to himself, but he doesn't comment. After sessions and sessions of fighting with the angry waterbender, he is relieved at a lighthearted skirmish with the no-fuss Toph.

They sit together and watch Aang take on Katara. It is a much more drawn-out fight than the one between Zuko and Toph. Where the fire and earthbenders are decisive and aggressive in their fighting styles, both the air nomad and water tribeswoman are much more defensive and cautious. Aang favours evasive maneuvers while Katara bides her time and lashes out with ferocity only when her opponent draws near, which is not often.

At length, Katara's patience pays off when Aang hesitates to follow through on his advantage. She leaps to her feet and knocks him off his air scooter with one powerful snap of her water whip. He goes down and stays down.

"Well done, Sifu Katara," Jeong-Jeong says warmly. If he had looked proud earlier, Zuko thinks, he is almost positively beaming at the stoic waterbender now. "Now this is a performance that befits your station. Well done."

He turns to face Aang, who is getting to his feet and panting a little. "Sifu Aang," Jeong-Jeong continues, and he isn't beaming anymore. "Your predilection for evasion and defense is starting to become a hindrance to you. Your loss to Sifu Katara is as much due to her own talents as it is to your unwillingness to attack someone you would consider a friend. Do you agree?"

Aang's grey eyes go wide and Zuko winces inwardly. Jeong-Jeong does not pull his punches, which is what makes him such an effective teacher. All the same…

"Well," Aang replies evenly, "this is just cross-training, right? We're not actually trying to hurt each other, so I don't see why you have a problem with me when I show restraint."

He's struck a nerve. Jeong-Jeong's eyes flash and he whirls on Katara, who looks surprised at the attention.

"Extend your left arm, Sifu Katara," Jeong-Jeong commands brusquely.

"Sir?"

"I told you to extend your left arm, and you will do so."

Confused, Katara obliges. In the distance, her arm appears deceptively slim, for something that harnesses such powerful bending.

"Please remove your bindings."

She obeys, unwinding the clean white linen strips that wrap her arm from palm to elbow.

"What are those?" Jeong-Jeong asks, pointing to a series of shiny red welts traversing the length of the waterbender's forearm.

Something that feels horribly close to guilt pools in Zuko's stomach as Katara's face darkens.

"Burns, Master Jeong-Jeong."

"And how did you sustain those burns, Sifu Katara?"

Katara's lips press into a thin line, but when she answers, her voice is perfectly steady.

"From cross-training yesterday."

"And were they acquired accidentally?" Jeong-Jeong presses.

"No," Katara answers flatly. She doesn't face Zuko, doesn't even search for him out of the corner of her eye. "No, they weren't accidental."

"How do you know that?"

"Because," Katara pauses, straightening her back and squaring her shoulders, "because I fought with everything I had, and so did he."

He feels like the bottom of his stomach has dropped out. It would have sounded like praise if the look on her face hadn't resembled murder.

"Thank you," Jeong-Jeong acknowledges her words with a short nod. "You may rebind your bandages now. I would also recommend stopping by the medic's tent afterward. They will have several salves to help heal those burns properly."

Katara nods her head and quietly winds the linen cloth around her arm. Her face is impassive.

"Cross-training is not meant to be a comfortable experience, Sifu Aang," Jeong-Jeong says, his voice cold. "It is meant to test you, to challenge you, to prevent you from falling into the predictable habits of your learned bending style. You will only derive from it what you put into it. Katara, for all that she is a waterbender, has learned to fight with fire in her heart. You need only look at her burns to understand that despite the calm and soothing nature of the element she controls, she does not fight gently. She will abandon caution and surrender herself to pure instinct if it is necessary to finish her opponent. She will fight to the death, if she wishes. It is this drive of hers, one very rare to waterbending, that will lead her to victory."

"Sorry," Aang says quietly, head lowered in deference, "but I disagree."

Everyone looks at him as though he's gone insane.

"I beg your pardon?" Jeong-Jeong demands incredulously.

"I disagree," Aang repeats, more firmly this time. "Katara is a great fighter, I'm not denying that. But everything you said about her is wrong. Katara can be aggressive and strong when she needs to be, but it doesn't make her a better bender. Everything you just said sounds like weaknesses to me. You're – you're telling her to fight without caution or any regard to her own safety – how is that supposed to make her better? Won't it just encourage her to take unnecessary risks until she becomes a danger to herself and those around her?"

"You misunderstand me, Sifu Aang," Jeong-Jeong says in measured, ringing tones. "I am saying that in everything, there must be balance. Fire is the element of power, earth the element of substance. Water is the element of change, air the element of freedom." The familiar adage rolls off his tongue and for an instant, Zuko is reminded of his uncle. "Like Katara, you bend an element that is inherently calm and gentle. Unlike Zuko and Toph, who control elements that are treacherous and unyielding, you and Katara must go against the very nature of the element you bend in order to develop a more balanced bending style. In this same manner, I will never ask Toph or Zuko to fight with more aggression, because I do not have to. That sort of bending comes naturally to them; they do not need to work at it. To them, I may, in time, suggest exercising restraint and discipline as needed. But until you start to fight less like a predictable airbender, you will only progress so far in our training, for all that you are an exceptional master of your craft. Do you understand?"

Aang does not look happy. "I understand," he says, "but I don't like it. This goes against everything the monks taught me –"

"You are no longer with the monks," Jeong-Jeong interrupts with damning finality. He turns to leave. "Dismissed."

"Boy, he's in one rough mood today, huh?" Toph whispers to him.

Zuko shrugs. In truth, he privately agrees with the earthbender, but has been around long enough to know not to question Jeong-Jeong by now. "Whatever he said is going to be for Aang's benefit," he answers tersely. "Though," he adds as an afterthought, "he probably won't appreciate it at the moment."

"That's for sure," Toph remarks sarcastically. "Take yesterday, when he was all over Miss Fussybritches over there. Today, he couldn't stop singing her praises. Maybe you should try getting on his nerves tomorrow, if you're feeling starved for attention."

Zuko goes quiet. He figures the less he has to say about her, the better it will go for everyone. "I don't need any more attention," he says quietly, getting to his feet. Aang and Katara are leaving together and he figures he can squeeze in a quick bath before suppertime.

Toph snorts. "Oh right. I forgot you're a prince, Sparky."

She falls in step with him. She's usually a brisk walker, but Zuko has his reasons for ambling along at a slow pace – specifically, remaining a respectable distance away from the waterbender and her new companion.

"That would make you the first," Zuko says glumly, thinking of Mai and his current fight with her. Except it's not a fight so much as they're not speaking to each other at the moment. He contemplates the merits of forgiving her, but wonders why she can't find it in her to forgive him once in a while.

Even Katara's wrath at him is tied directly to his status as a member of the royal family.

He touches a hand to the scar on his face, briefly, gently.

"Is that supposed to make me feel special or something?" Toph retorts dryly, jamming her hands into her pockets. "Because I promise you I'm not returning the favour."

"Don't worry," Zuko says darkly, "no special treatment that's come out of me being a prince has ever been worth it."

His hand drops from his face to his side.

Up ahead, he sees that Katara and Aang have halted in their progress. Three figures stand in front of them.

"Oh what do they want now?" Toph mutters to herself, rolling her sightless eyes.

"Who?"

Toph nods ahead of them.

"It's Chan, Ruon-Jian, and Hide. She could take on the three of them combined with her eyes closed, why are they bothering with her?"

"It's a power thing," Zuko tells her, his mouth curling into the smallest of frowns.

Up ahead, he can see the tallest of the three – Chan, he assumes – saunter right up to Katara and place a hand on her shoulder. He's saying something, inaudible to Zuko's ears, but it makes Katara's shoulders stiffen and her fists clench. The other two laugh heartily at her expense.

"Leave it, Katara," he hears Aang say, who is slowly taking Katara by the hand and attempting to steer her away. "They're not worth it."

"Bad call, Twinkletoes," Toph says in a quiet voice. "Violence is always the answer."

Zuko wants to say something, but he doesn't have the right. Katara's repeated outbursts have made that abundantly clear to him.

So when he closes the distance between himself and the party ahead of him, and Chan looks up and meets his eyes, he keeps his face impassive and doesn't say a word.

"Hey look, it's her knight in shining armour!" Chan crows, pointing at Zuko and smirking. "What're you going to do now, Your Highness? Stand there and lecture me on the wickedness of my ways?"

Zuko itches to reply, but he is tired, so tired of having to endure Katara's unending rage while he tries to do the right thing. He doesn't want to make that mistake again.

"Evening, Chan," is all he says instead, in a voice so indifferent he may have been commenting on the weather. He doesn't even bother addressing any of the others, or looking at her reaction, because he doesn't care, he can't care, not now, there's no point to any of it.

As he walks away, he hears Chan's exclamation of amazed delight.

"Wow pole girl, even the bleeding-heart prince won't stick up for you anymore, you really are on your own now, how does it feel…"

He shouldn't care. He shouldn't feel guilty. He shouldn't feel a thing.

The pit of his stomach twists sharply all the same.

But he thinks he can get used to it.

Chapter 8: (pt. i) matters of honour

Summary:

zuko receives a letter bearing surprising news.

Chapter Text

disclaimer. bryke owns atla & all associated content. i am writing this for no financial gain whatsoever.

author's notes. another chapter! this is a bit on the short side, but is also the first half of a two-parter (the next chapter can be considered as the second "half" of this chapter). i decided to split them because there is a lot of world-building/behind-the-scenes rising action here and it was getting quite hefty. i would have loved to just post it all as one giant super-chapter, but it was getting clumsy, and it seemed more natural to just divide them. there is just a bit more exposition required before the plot can truly start to move again, so thank you patient readers for bearing with me!

thank you so much to everyone who's following along and supporting the story! reading your feedback and watching you start to pick up on the tiny details in recent chapters makes this girl's heart SO happy! please keep it up, it truly makes all the difference when churning out new chapters.

love you all!

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter viii. (pt i) matters of honour

there's no reason to get hurt
you finally found your place
you know it always works

"devil's work"/ miike snow

The messenger hawk screeches loudly at his window.

Zuko jolts awake at the sound. It is the dead of the night, and it takes him a moment to locate the source of the noise.

Confused, he stumbles out of his bed and reaches for the scroll attached to the bird's leg.

It is sealed shut with the red wax flame insignia of the Imperial Royal Family.

His heart pounds as, with steady fingers, he pries the hard wax from the paper surface.

He turns away from the hawk, which caws and preens its feathers restlessly, shifting its weight from one talon to the other, before seating himself at the pristine, barely-used desk in the corner of his room.

Lighting a candle quickly with a point of his finger, he unrolls the scroll, nervousness and dread mounting within him.

"My dear nephew", he reads at the top, and suddenly, relief washes over him instead.

He reads on.

"It has been far too long since we've last spoken. I am sorry for that. My tour of the colony outposts took far longer than I had originally anticipated. The Empire is becoming a restless place, and diplomacy is not as effective as it once was among our subjects.

I could regale you with stories of my time in the Earth territories, but there is news, far more pressing than the foiling of half a dozen rebellions, that I must relay to you immediately.

As I write this, I am at home, in Caldera City. I have been here for the last four weeks, and I again apologize for not writing to you sooner. But I must let you know that the reason for my visit has not been a happy one."

Dread, eased at first by his uncle's steady handwriting on thick paper, mounts back into Zuko's chest. He doesn't dare to stop reading, though his eyes rove over the following words multiple times before he is able to understand them, fully.

"There is no easy way to tell you this, Zuko. Your grandfather is very unwell. He has lost almost all movement of his body, and he cannot speak anymore. Though I am told his mind is fine, he is not the powerful man he used to be. He cannot speak for himself. He cannot walk, or move unassisted. He will never bend again."

The paper drops from his fingers and flutters slowly onto the polished wooden surface of the desk.

Though it is still the middle of the night and everything is silent, a strange humming sound seems to have filled Zuko's ears.

He sits, stunned, trying to process his uncle's words.

His grandfather. Fire Lord Azulon. Emperor of the Fire Nation and its ever-expanding empire. The most powerful man under the sun.

Was now a cripple?

It beggars belief.

"They tell me that this did not happen accidentally. They are saying that it was poison. A very specific poison, only capable of being brewed by someone with the greatest knowledge of herblore. They apprehended the chief royal healer, who they say was allegedly behind the poisoning. Apparently, he had connections to that upstart rebel group in New Ozai – a cousin of his wife, if the tales are to be believed."

Zuko is unaware of any specific rebel group in New Ozai, and what power such a ragtag group of individuals could wield. But his knowledge of such matters is limited to whatever his uncle tells him, and lately, he has seen less and less of the man.

"I witnessed the man's trial, where he was found guilty of treason and attempted regicide, and sentenced to death. He burned that night."

Zuko blinks. He has been away from court for the majority of his adolescence, and barely remembers the chief healer. Perhaps they have gone through multiple people since his time, but the healer he remembers from his early teens had been kind and compassionate, with gentle hands and a calming voice.

He cannot believe that such a man would be capable of murdering an emperor.

"Since then, things have slowly begun to change at court. Your lord father now sits at Fire Lord Azulon's right hand side, at all moments, and speaks with his voice. He claims that he alone can understand our father's thoughts, that they are of the same minds regarding matters of state. Such a thing sounds unlikely to me, but deep wounds can change people. You, of all people, must understand this."

Zuko does. His hand grazes the ridged, scarred skin on his cheek, a habit of his by now.

"At the same time, I cannot deny that having Ozai by our father's side has kept affairs at court stable for the time being. Neither the Fire Nation nobles, nor the ambassadors from the colonies, dare speak out of turn in his presence. His proclamations are much harsher than anything Fire Lord Azulon would have allowed…however I doubt my lord father is in any position to voice his displeasure."

"I'll bet," Zuko murmurs to himself, unsettled.

Fire Lord Azulon, for all of his faults and flaws, was not a bad ruler, Zuko thinks. His methods were stern but fair, and he generally ensured that subjects dwelling in the empire's colonies were treated well. Under his rule, an uneasy peace had reigned throughout the empire.

Now, by the sounds of it, the beginnings of civil unrest had begun to rear its head – apparently starting with that rebel group in New Ozai, according to his uncle. And the last person Zuko wants in charge of handling such strife is his father.

Not that he had been particularly close with his grandfather – far from it, in fact.

However, Ozai is not a patient man. This Zuko has had to learn the hard way.

"Your lady mother sends her love," his uncle continues to write. "She looks well enough, though she hasn't been sleeping well of late. Ever since Lord Azulon was poisoned, the tension around the palace has skyrocketed. Perhaps it is getting to her. Though the culprit has been dealt with, Ozai has declared that no member of the royal family can be too safe. He has put your mother under the strictest guard, moved her quarters to the highest tower, and polices her visitors with utmost scrutiny. Why, he even found it in himself to dismiss me, while I was having tea with her just the other day. His concern is truly staggering.

Yet Azula goes about her duties unchecked.

It is all very strange."

Strange doesn't even begin to describe it, Zuko thinks to himself.

"I intend to stay in the capital for a while longer, at least until matters settle down and I can be certain of my father's safety. As it is, Ozai has made sure that news of our father's weakness does not travel far beyond court. You must understand how vital that is to maintain what little fragile peace we have remaining in the empire.

In the meantime, I request you to stay where you are, and be careful. These are dangerous times, and I will not risk putting you in harm's way by asking you to visit."

Indignation rises in the pit of Zuko's stomach. Estranged or not, I am the grandson of Emperor Azulon, and I have a duty to fulfill! If it's safe for Azula to be there, why can't I do the same?

His uncle predicts his consternation, and continues with his warnings.

"I have also written to Lu Ten with the same request. Both of you are far too valuable to me, and will be safer away from the capital. Your absences are understandable, given the circumstances. Now is not the time to be brave, my nephew."

He lets out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. If his cousin Lu Ten, the son of the Crown Prince and Heir Apparent, had received the same message, then he supposes he can afford to be absent. As it is, Zuko is hardly an influential presence back home. His younger sister, always clever and cunning, probably wields far more power than he can ever hope to in his life.

And the fact should have lost its power to bother him by now, and yet, it still leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

"One last thing before I must leave. This may seem an abrupt turn of subject, but I am curious and wish to pick your mind about something that has been drawing my attention (and lately, the attention of several others as well).

You are probably aware that a Master waterbender, trained and recommended by one of my old friends, joined the Special Operations Division some months ago. Perhaps you have even met her by now, and have had the opportunity to work with her."

Zuko's eyes widen. Why, of all people, is his uncle asking about Katara in the middle of an incredibly important missive containing explosive and damning information about the royal family? He is amazed that his uncle is even aware of her existence.

"If so, you are probably curious as to why I would trouble to ask about her. And I do not blame you. You see, I too harboured similar doubts when I received several inquiries of a similar nature about this waterbender while at court, several of which originated from your own lord father."

He rereads his uncle's words over and over again, convinced he's misread them.

But try as he might, there is no changing the apparent fact that his father, Prince Ozai, had gone about court asking questions about a lowly peasant bender from the Water Tribes.

It just doesn't make sense.

Katara's hatred of his family, difficult as it is to stomach for him, makes sense to Zuko. The polar wars had been his father's doing, and Katara had directly suffered as a result of it. That she holds him personally responsible for his father's sins is another matter altogether. Zuko doesn't have to like it in order for him to understand it.

But the other way around – now that is something Zuko cannot understand.

His father has never troubled himself with the Imperial Army. Not once in the six years that he's been here has Zuko ever heard of his father showing any interest whatsoever in the state of the army. That has always been his uncle's domain, and his father, ambitious as he is, knows not to meddle where he cannot win.

So why all of a sudden this newfound interest in Katara? Zuko doesn't understand. She's nobody. A peasant girl with nothing to her name except her incredible ability to bend. That's earned her some respect among the Division here, Zuko knows, but it certainly doesn't explain how or why his father even knows that she exists. Let alone take enough of an interest in her to ask questions.

Even his uncle had found it unusual.

Not for the first time, Zuko wonders what his father is up to.

But it's not his place to guess.

"Having neither seen nor met this waterbender, I was of very little help in resolving your father's questions about her – and there were several. I was always under the impression that Ozai had no interest in the army and its affairs – I must have been wrong. Nonetheless, I have received glowing testimonials to her skills from my old friends, and so I let him know that much, at least. However, I thought it best to let you know, so that you are prepared if your father should ever contact you for an opinion about this waterbender – though for the life of me, I don't understand why he would be interested in her at all."

Zuko's brow furrows. Well, he thinks dimly, that makes two of us.

Not that his uncle has any cause to worry. He hasn't heard from his father in years.

It's probably for the better.

"I suppose it would not be too much to ask you for your assessment of her? I prize the word of my old friends very highly, but all the same – I would be very interested to hear your thoughts about this waterbender who has even caught my brother's attention.

If all goes without incident, I hope to drop by your division's training base next. In the meantime, take care of yourself and don't forget to practice your basics! I will see you soon, and look forward to our next game of pai sho.

All my love,

Uncle Iroh"

He places the letter onto the table once again, steeples his fingers together, and brings them to his chin.

So his grandfather is weak, his father rules all but in name, and his uncle claims that multiple high-ranking individuals at court have expressed interest in Katara of all people.

"What," Zuko murmurs to himself, reaching for a scroll of paper and a brush, "is this world coming to?"

The following afternoon, Jeong-Jeong surprises them.

"You have all been progressing well enough," he tells them, with a slight inclination of his head. "But you can all benefit from some extra training. With that in mind…"

He raises a hand and beckons with it.

To their surprise, Suki, Ty Lee, and Mai step into the arena.

Zuko's heart begins to pound as Mai walks right past him without a second glance.

"Aang and Katara," Jeong-Jeong says, "you can benefit from some extra strength training from Suki. Toph, you will fight Ty Lee and use this as an opportunity to practice fighting a more agile, and more aggressive, opponent."

His veiled barb at Aang's pacifist techniques does not go missed.

"Prince Zuko, you will practice precision and balance with Mai."

Zuko sighs. Of course.

Jeong-Jeong has them fight in demo pairs, as usual. Zuko settles down on the edge of an overturned boulder as Katara and Suki are called to the arena. He watches as the two girls prepare themselves and hold their stances.

Jeong-Jeong gives the command and they begin to spar. Eyes focused on the spots where Katara's strong linen-bound forearms block Suki's fists decisively, Zuko finds himself wondering about the contents of his uncle's letter from the night before.

On the arena, Suki leaps and punches and tries to close in on her opponent, but Katara moves with the fluidity of a crashing wave. She spins and ducks and meets Suki's forceful throws with equal ferocity.

All her time fighting against Aang is starting to pay off, Zuko notes despite himself. She's become faster, lighter on her feet, and that gives her a slight edge over Suki. Their clashes become faster now, as Suki's forced to give ground to the slighter, faster fighter. Her breathing is more laboured, and both girls have a slick sheen of sweat on their faces.

At last, Suki closes in and makes a dive, gunning for Katara's center of balance. In response, Katara whirls around and kicks her opponent squarely in the chest.

Suki flies back in a graceful arc and lands on the ground in a heap.

Katara flips her long, thick braid over her shoulder, and wipes at the short dark hairs plastered to her sweaty forehead.

Then, she walks over and helps the Kyoshi warrior up from the ground. Suki is wearing a wry expression, while Katara looks merely sheepish. "I didn't mean to kick you so hard there," the waterbender can be heard saying, "are you okay?"

"I'll be fine," Suki reassures her with a shrug and a grimace. She clutches a hand to a spot just below her ribcage. "It'll leave a bruise or two for sure, though."

"I could –" Katara begins, but then her face closes up and she shrugs. "Never mind. Good fight, and I'm sorry again."

"Don't be," Suki waves off Katara's apologies with a wave of her hand. "You did great! Glad our training is paying off."

Katara flashes a quick, hesitant, bright grin at Suki before she schools her face to its stoic reticence once again.

Something in Zuko's stomach twists as he sees it, and he can't put a finger on why.

She – she looks like a different person when she smiles. That's all.

He claps his hand to his forehead all the same.

What on earth could Father want to know about her?

He can't stop thinking about it. His father is an utterly ruthless pragmatist, who hadn't even troubled to inquire about his own son in years.

If he knows anything about Prince Ozai, it is that the man is shrewd and calculating and not prone to emotional or sentimental judgments.

So…what could possibly be the basis of his interest in Katara?

Had someone told him about her? Did she have a history or a reputation? Does she have powerful friends out there, somewhere?

As far as Zuko knows, it seems unlikely. Katara is nobody of interest. She is a phenomenally talented and hard-working waterbender, but outside of that, she has no family and no home. And even if she did, he doubts that his father could use it to any advantage.

For the Water Tribes occupied an unusual position in the composition of the Fire Empire. Unlike the Empire's other colonies, the Tribes had not been annexed under treaty or peaceable alliances – instead, they had been the subjects of a long and brutal occupation, one that had left the chiefdoms of the North and South Poles decimated and ravaged. Instead of receiving autonomy under the empire and representation at court, as had been granted to the citizens of the former Earth Kingdom and Air Nomads, the Water Tribes had been subjected to an arduous and intensive assimilation process – to rid them of their primitive, savage ways, his father had claimed at the time.

So why is he backtracking? Why this sudden interest in a bender from a race that he's convinced is beneath us?

Ozai's motives do not make sense to Zuko.

His head hurts.

He knows his knowledge of the circumstances surrounding the polar wars and subsequent occupation is woefully limited. Around the time of its occurrence, he had already left court for the army, and much of what he knows has been through his uncle's stories and tight-lipped condemnation of Ozai's tactics.

And, now, through Katara's unrestrained outbursts at him.

He knows that thanks to his family, she is alone in the world without parents, a home, or a semblance of her own civilization. And she has attributed that fury directly to his father, and for some reason, to himself personally.

"Toph, Ty Lee."

As the blind earthbender struggles to take down the whirling menace in pink, a sudden thought, blinding with possibility, occurs to Zuko as Katara walks past him to sit down next to Aang.

What if they've met before?

After all, Katara had borne a surprisingly detailed knowledge of Prince Ozai and his family in the beginning. She had known who his father was, the moment he had introduced himself that fateful day.

He knows that she had been trained at a military bending academy, but what about before that?

Zuko's brow furrows as he stares searchingly at the enigmatic waterbender, now talking grimly to Aang, who appears somewhat sullen.

He knows that she lost family during the invasion of the Tribes, which had occurred maybe five, six years prior? He had been thirteen at the time; he remembers that with startling clarity.

And then she had said she'd been at the military academy for less than a year, hadn't she? Way back in the beginning, when Jeong-Jeong had been stupefied at the speed with which she had mastered her element…

"So what were you up to in the meantime?" Zuko murmurs under his breath.

Katara's back stiffens, as though she can feel his eyes on her, and she tosses a cool, dispassionate glance in his direction.

He averts his gaze as she turns away from him.

It is not outside the realm of possibility, he concludes. And Agni help her if she ever had met his father.

Zuko realizes that he has a lot – a lot – to discuss with Uncle Iroh, whenever he sees him next.

author's notes. part ii of this chapter should be up later this week. cheers!

Chapter 9: (pt. ii) matters of pride

Summary:

the fire empire celebrates a day of victory.

Chapter Text

disclaimer. atla & all associated content is property of bryke, and i am writing this for no financial gain whatsoever.

author's notes. i know, i know, i said i'd have this up in a week. i'm awful. work has been a giant pile of suck and this chapter kept rewriting itself. what can i say.

thank you so much to everyone who's following this story and leaving your feedback, you really keep me going.

update: shoutout to the lovely talented marsred for the lovely fanart!

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter ix. (pt ii) matters of pride

i feel emotional landscapes
they puzzle me, the riddle gets solved
and you push me up to
this state of emergency

"jóga" / björk

They are excused from their duties on the first day of the turn of the season.

By now, the scorching heat of the summer has passed, the air is crisp and fragrant, and the trees start to blush in hues of reds and pale yellows. The days have grown shorter, and they now eat their evening meals around large bonfires, lest a mishap occur in the dark.

It is a strange time of year for the firebenders to celebrate, and yet, on an unremarkable autumn day such as this one, Zuko's great-grandfather had led his nation on the path to glory.

Ninety-nine years ago to the day, a comet had streaked across the sky with the intensity of a second burning sun. Sozin – then merely Fire Lord Sozin – had harnessed its power and launched a successful conquest that had brought all four nations to their knees before his throne.

Ninety-nine years ago to the day that the world nearly ended, Zuko reflects with some bitterness. For it had originally been Sozin's plan to raze the world beyond his nation's borders to the ground, and rebuild a greater empire from the ashes. Only through the counsel of his wisest and oldest friend, the legendary General Roku, had Sozin been persuaded to abandon the bloody stalemate into which his conquest had disintegrated. Roku, a legendary firebending master respected by the entire nation, had urged his childhood friend Sozin to reconsider the motives for his war, and ultimately spurred the formation of a new empire, held tenuously together by the newly assembled Imperial Court – an unexpected congress of Fire Nation royalty and ambassadors from the acquired colonies, elected to speak in their constituents' interests, and safeguard against the descent of the throne into tyranny.

It had been a risky decision, and truly the measure by which Sozin trusted his oldest friend. For the then Fire Lord had taken his counsel to heart, and brought an end to the conquest nearly as swiftly as he had started it. Instead, the two of them ushered in an era of uncertain peace and unexpected prosperity.

And on this day, the day of the equinox, every year since then, the Empire celebrated.

They called it Conquest Day, and it was the most revered holiday in the land.

A small starburst-shaped cake, traditionally prepared to commemorate the comet that had given them their victory, is served alongside the soldiers' usual breakfast. They sit and consume their food slowly, listening with patriotic solemnity as General Shinu delivers a rousing speech at the front of the hall.

"Always remember," he announces with gravitas, sternly regarding the hall full of soldiers seated before him, "that you are the pride of this great Empire, and with every action you take, you serve her and defend her mighty borders. Remember that this is the greatest Empire that has ever existed in the history of the nations, and may it reign for another prosperous century…"

He continues on in this vein for some time, until the height of the sun in the sky indicates to them all that it is mid-morning, and they are dismissed for the day.

Zuko walks with Mai to the market in the neighbouring village. They are not alone. It is considered auspicious to buy something new for Conquest Day, and so they are accompanied by most of the encampment.

The marketplace is chaotic and noisy, with crowds of people teeming in lines at every stall, and every vendor in the vicinity shouting to advertise their wares to the general public. The smell of peppers and spices and roasting meats fills the air.

A finely-woven silk robe hanging before a textile vendor's shop catches Mai's eye, and she pauses by it, running her hands along the scarlet cloth. The vendor notices her attention and hurries out to greet her, and they begin to argue about the price.

Fighting a yawn, Zuko lets the sounds wash over him. He watches Mai, watches her face turn stern as she drives a hard bargain. A small part of him is grateful, grateful that they are okay again. He hates it when they fight, and try though he might, he can barely remember what their argument had even been about.

Whatever it was, it probably wasn't worth losing Mai.

A small smile crosses his lips and she turns to him with triumphant eyes.

"Look at that one, Zuko," she says, pointing at a crimson-and-gold velvet tunic. "It's perfect for you!"

Who is he to refuse her suggestion? Truth be told, Zuko probably has a dozen of that exact same tunic by now, amassed over the years on special events and occasions. Nonetheless, he wordlessly picks the item off the shelf and drops a handful of gold onto the counter.

"But – but – sir, you've given me too much –" stammers the shopkeeper, scrabbling to make change.

Zuko waves him off. "Don't worry about it. Happy Conquest Day."

He may practically be an exile, but he's still a prince. Sometimes, it takes a little generosity to remind him of that.

"Was that really necessary?" Mai asks dryly as they walk away with their new purchases.

Zuko shrugs. "Someone had to compensate him after the way you ripped him off," he replies lightly, his lips still slightly curled in amusement.

"I did not rip him off," Mai retorts. "They give you an absurdly high price because they expect you to negotiate with them, that's all."

"That was not negotiating," Zuko counters. "That was theft."

"Signs of shopping gone right, then!"

Both Zuko and Mai jump as Ty Lee materializes right behind them. "Happy Conquest Day, you two!" she chirps. "And may all your purchasing ventures be as successful as Mai's here was!"

"Shut up," Mai mutters. "Happy Conquest Day to you too, Ty Lee. Have you gotten anything yet?"

"Not yet," Ty Lee laments. She looks around, before a sudden grin crosses her mouth. "I was helping Suki find something for Toph. Let me tell you, it was a lot more amusing than I'd bargained for!"

As if on cue, the earthbending master's voice drifts to their ears. "Sure, sure, what's the difference anyway, I have no opinion, why are you acting like I can see what you're showing me –"

"Mai! Prince Zuko!" Suki exclaims, twin spots of red appearing on her cheeks. She bobs her head shortly at the two of them. "Happy Conquest Day!"

"Same to you," Zuko replies, nodding his head slowly in return. Beside him, Mai's mouth curls into a small half-smile.

"Oh hey Sparky," Toph sings breezily. "You're not insane like everyone else here. Tell me, am I going to be caught dead in whatever it is Fancy Dancer's got picked out for me?"

She jabs her thumb in Suki's direction, and Zuko gazes at the green-and-gold taffeta monstrosity in Suki's hands.

"Um…" he fights a wince and scratches the back of his head with callused fingers. "You could…do worse?"

"But not a lot," Toph intercedes.

"No," Zuko admits. He throws an apologetic glance at Suki and Ty Lee, who are glaring at him in exasperation. "Sorry."

"Way to go," Ty Lee huffs throwing her hands up in frustration. "There goes our entire morning."

"Your entire morning and that was the best you could come up with?" Mai asks wryly.

"Hey! It was really hard finding anything that was green!" Ty Lee retorts defensively.

"Or, you know, not red," Suki finishes.

"Right," Zuko hears himself saying dryly, "because I'm sure Toph really cares about whether it's red or not."

A slight silence follows his words.

"Thank you!" Toph exclaims, clapping her hands to her head. "I've been trying to tell them that all day."

"Tell them what all day?" asks Aang, round-eyed.

Everyone looks up at the airbender who has just appeared in their midst.

"Hi Aang!" they all chorus, in varying degrees of enthusiasm.

"Are you here alone?" Suki asks, appraising him with shrewd eyes. "I thought Katara would be with you."

Aang shakes his head, looking somewhat mournful. "She – she has very strong opinions about Conquest Day," he answers tentatively. "I thought it would be best to leave her alone today."

"Good call," Toph says, shaking her head slightly. "She was crying all morning. When I woke up, when I was leaving to go to breakfast, when I got back from breakfast…"

"Poor girl," Suki says softly, even as Ty Lee and Mai exchange unsure glances with each other and a tightening ball of unease wars with the tension in Zuko's chest that accompanies the mention of Katara's name. "I hope she's okay."

"She's fine," Toph insists. "I don't get what her problem is."

"I do," Aang replies quietly with a sigh. They all look at him as he continues patiently. "Today's an important holiday for the Water Tribes, too. The equinox marks the change of the seasons, and for Katara, it's probably a reminder of home and family. She's lost both, and probably was forbidden to celebrate her own tribe's rituals for years after that. On top of that, she's expected to celebrate the birth of the empire that took everything from her. I imagine she feels terrible right now."

A heavy silence descends upon the group.

"That…would explain a lot," Suki says at last, venturing to break the silence.

"How did you know that, Twinkletoes?" Toph asks. For once, the surly earthbender appears somewhat contrite.

"She told me," Aang replies with a shrug. "But it shouldn't be hard to understand why someone from a former nation or colony wouldn't be thrilled to celebrate Conquest Day. Especially from the ones that were treated poorly."

His words, though well-meaning and gentle, still manage to hold a barb in them, and Zuko doesn't miss the reproach hidden in Aang's voice.

The unease in his chest turns to guilt.

"Well, they wouldn't have been treated poorly if they'd just submitted to the Empire," Mai points out, unsmiling. "It's their own fault that they resisted. Defiance in the face of defeat is just plain stupidity. They're part of the Empire now and that's obviously a massive improvement to whatever they had before, so why can't they just be grateful for that instead? I don't get it."

"Mai!" Ty Lee gasps, round-eyed. "You don't actually mean that."

"Yes, I do," Mai continues somewhat defensively, rolling her eyes, "and I don't see why we should have to feel sorry for a bunch of people if they want to go on feeling bitter because they lost. How long does it take to get your act together, anyway?"

Another stunned silence follows her words.

"That's harsh, Mai," Ty Lee says at last. "Even from you."

Mai shrugs. "Whatever. I'm sure Katara will move on with her life, with or without my sympathy," she replies blandly. "At least I know where my loyalties lie."

"Loyalties?" Suki echoes incredulously, her face wrinkling with disbelief. "Calm down, Mai. Nobody's accusing anyone of anything here. We're just trying to understand. That's all."

"Looks to me like the matter is perfectly simple," Mai argues back. "The waterbender's upset because she comes from the losing side. That's not her fault. But crying about it isn't going to help her. She should be grateful for the chance that she's getting to serve the Empire in such a high-ranking position."

"Grateful?" Aang repeats, and his face darkens forbiddingly in a way none of them have ever seen before. On the teenage monk's sharpening features, it is surprisingly fearsome. "Mai, do you have any idea how the Empire treated the Water Tribe children in its custody after the polar wars? She has burns all over her body from her time in the colonial schools that were designed to break them from the inside out. Forgive me if I understand completely why she's having a hard time feeling grateful for the Empire's existence right about now."

Zuko feels sick to his stomach.

All this time, and he'd had no idea -

But that's not true, whispers the uncomfortable voice of truth in his ear. You know it's not.

Because Zuko has always been able to put two and two together. He is not completely ignorant to the macabre legacy of the polar wars and subsequent forced assimilation of the Water Tribes. He'd heard snatches of it during his adolescence, but even if he hadn't, he's seen evidence of it in the darkness of Katara's gaze, whenever he draws near. In the rage and hurt in her voice, the day she told him about the loss of her parents, her home, her tribe.

And that one summer day, so long ago, when he'd taken a stroll in the morning and stopped three soldiers from spying on a girl in the bath, three soldiers whispering about handprints etched into her skin…

Burns shaped like handprints.

The conclusion is damning in its clarity.

Firebender handprints.

"But she's hardly a role model when it comes to obeying orders," Mai returns, bullishly, foolishly, "if she got burned, she probably deserved –"

"Mai," Zuko hears himself say through clenched teeth, "shut up. Now."

The impact of these words on her is absolute. She whirls on him, her face a storm, hands slowly resting on her hips. "Why?" she challenges him. "I'm the only one being loyal to the Empire here! You are all talking about things that your own father –" she tosses her head in Zuko's direction, "could have us imprisoned for treason, if he heard! Am I the only one who cares about that?"

"You're being a monster!" Zuko bursts out, not even caring that the others are present, and currently gawking open-mouthed at their spat. "I always knew you could be cold, but I didn't know that Agni forgot to give you a heart –"

"Oh, don't worry about hearts, Zuko, because your bleeding one is big enough for the both of us!" Mai snaps witheringly. "The way you fawn over that waterbender, it's absolutely pathetic! She blames the world for her problems, and you sit and agree instead of taking a stand and acting like the prince that you really are!"

"Since when has admitting your mistakes been a weakness to you, Mai?" Zuko demands, his voice rising in volume. "Or is it only okay when you're right, and never anytime else?"

"You make yourself weak to try ingratiate yourself to a Water Tribe peasant who should be grateful to walk by your shadow," Mai continues, as though she doesn't hear him, "you simper and apologize and lose to her again and again, when you could just command her and have her obey your orders."

"That's not the type of ruler I want to be," Zuko argues, his mouth dry. "You know that, Mai, I've told you countless times, and still you continue to get angry at me because I'm not like my father."

"And that's why you're never going to rule," Mai spits back. Her grey eyes are stone cold as she walks right up to him, her face inches from his, "and if you think that your father will ever consider passing the power of the throne to you when Azula is twice the leader you ever will be, then you are even more delusional than your uncle, and I don't think that's even possible."

"Leave," Zuko commands quietly, and his voice is dangerous now. "Now."

"You know I'm right," Mai whispers in a low voice.

"Now," Zuko repeats, with emphasis.

She stares at him with penetrating, scornful eyes, before she lets out a huff and pivots away on her heel. The red silk of her robes, and the black silk of her hair, sway in unison with every step she takes further away from him.

The silence that ensues is deafening.

"Er…" Ty Lee tries to say, before closing her mouth and thinking better of it. Her eyes dart anxiously between the now-furiously brooding prince and the receding figure of her friend. "Maybe I should go with her…make sure she doesn't hurt anyone, you know?"

And in the blink of an eye, Ty Lee is gone.

Zuko is aware of the puzzled glances that Aang, Suki, and Toph are trying not to exchange in his presence. He is aware that he is not particularly close with any of them outside of their daily practices, aware that perhaps if he were to observe decorum, he should excuse himself and follow Ty Lee and Mai while he still could.

But he just doesn't care anymore. And so instead of brushing it aside as he usually does, this time he surprises everyone. Including himself.

"I'm sorry you had to witness that," he says flatly. "Mai was out of line. Please excuse her. If you can."

He nods his head shortly at them and makes as though to leave.

"It's okay, Zuko," Aang speaks up abruptly, surprising him. "I know you've been trying to make it right. You don't have to apologize for Mai. She'll be better for it."

"I guess," Zuko answers slowly. There is a dull, leaden weight in his chest that he can't seem to shake off, despite Aang's reassurances. "I – I just didn't expect that from her."

"Mai is who she is," Aang replies wisely. "She isn't going to change for you, you know."

"I know," Zuko replies, his mouth dry. There is a painful beating in his chest as his heart takes up a pounding drumbeat of a pulse. The admission on his lips, though something he's always known, is still more painful than he'd realized.

"And," Aang swallows, but continues bravely, "and you aren't going to change for her either."

No, Zuko privately agrees, slowly shaking his head. No, I'm not.

The revelation makes him less miserable than he expected.

If anything, oddly enough, he feels better? It makes no sense. He still feels uneasy and guilty and heavy in the chest, and yet, he has this strange sense that everything will be okay.

Must be Air Nomad trickery.

"Guys," says Toph in a strangely small voice, and the moment disappears as they all turn to face the earthbender. Her fists are clenched and her face is tilted toward the ground, "I …I think we should get something for Katara."

Suki and Aang look pleasantly surprised at Toph's suggestion, but Zuko is not taken aback at all.

He knows guilt when he sees it.

Even if he hasn't personally numbered among those unnamed firebenders who'd doubtless tormented her in the past, he still feels a degree of responsibility, though for the life of him, he can't explain why.

So, wordlessly, he tags along with the others and if they are surprised that he has elected to join them, they keep it to themselves.

He spots it seconds before Suki points it out and asks the vendor for a closer look.

The thick traveling robe is light and airy to the touch, but constructed comfortably and sensibly of blue linen, and trimmed and lined with white silk. It reminds Zuko of the ratty, frayed robe that the waterbender still wears, except it isn't falling apart and is well-suited for the hot days and cool nights of the Fire Nation's climate and is lightly embroidered in white silk thread resembling the crests of ocean waves.

"It's perfect!" Suki croons.

"Comfortable, too," Toph remarks, running a hand along a smooth linen sleeve. "And warm. She could use it for the colder months coming up."

"I don't think she has any great aversion to cold, Toph, she was born in the South Pole," Aang retorts wryly. "But this does really suit her." He turns to Zuko. "What do you think, Zuko?"

He brushes a finger along the smooth white silk trimming the neckline. It is cool to the touch. The blue linen is the exact same shade of the ocean on a clear summer's day. "It's the same colour as her eyes," he says quietly.

Aang, Suki, and Toph all turn to stare at him, stunned.

He quickly withdraws his hand, but doesn't say a word more.

To say more, he feels, would incriminate him further. Best pretend it never happened.

"How much for this one?" Suki inquires, holding the blue linen robe up.

"Forty silver pieces," replies the vendor.

"You're joking," Suki and Toph say together, but the vendor holds firm. He waxes poetic about the quality of the fabric and the craftsmanship of the embroidery.

Suki and Aang each contribute two silvers, and Toph empties the contents of her satchel to yield twelve more, but the vendor is not easily swayed.

"Come on," Suki wheedles, "this is all we have and who else is going to buy blue on Conquest Day?"

"Thirty or nothing," barks the vendor in reply.

Zuko knows she'd be furious if she found out, but it's Conquest Day and she'll never forgive him anyway.

"Here," he says, surprising just about everyone as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a fistful of silver pieces. He places an abundant handful of them onto the countertop, where the round pieces begin to roll across the weathered wood surface. "That should be more than enough."

Satisfied, the vendor folds the robe and wraps it neatly in a package of paper and twine, before pressing it into Zuko's hands and bowing them out of his shop.

"Here," Zuko says awkwardly, handing the packaged robe over to Aang, "it's probably best if you guys gave it to her."

"We'll tell her it was from all of us," Aang says, eyes shining.

"Best not," Zuko advises him wisely.

He leaves them shortly afterward, walking aimlessly back to the encampment alone. The tunic Mai had encouraged him to buy dangles listlessly from his fingers, and he contemplates the merits of throwing it in the river that winds along behind the base.

Mai. The thought of facing her again makes him sick to his stomach, and yet, she's his girlfriend, his beautiful, noble, headstrong girlfriend who makes him happy…

His feet trek the path from memory alone, along the river that cuts behind the camp, by the enclosure where the girls take their baths in the morning, behind the soldiers' dorms and officer's quarters…

Except he isn't happy, he's miserable, and he's been miserable for a long time now, and it seems like every fight they've had recently carves a little more out of him, hollowing him out just a little further until he loses the will to fathom how much more he can take.

It strikes him that perhaps, that's what she wants from him.

And Aang, with wide clear eyes that see more than they have any right to, and possessing a wisdom that belies his youth, even he had stumbled onto the truth of it all, long before Zuko himself had been willing to admit it.

Mai wants a ruler, a leader like his father. A man that Zuko reviles to the core.

A man that he can never be.

And Zuko wants…

I don't know.

He sighs, clapping a callused palm to his cheek, the one that is smooth and fair, not the disfigured scarred one.

A strange sound greets his ears, faint against the brisk day's wind but clear and serene nonetheless, like the call of a bird or the silvery whistle of a flute.

Or a young woman's melancholy voice, singing a song he's never heard before, in a language that is strange to his ears, that he doesn't recognize.

It takes him a moment, but the waterbender's voice is recognizably lovely and only a slight huskiness in her voice belies her previous tears.

He stops at her door, momentarily entranced by the haunting purity of her soul cry. For a moment, he is drawn out of himself, out of his petty troubles and woes. For a moment, he is enchanted. For a moment, he is free.

He wishes he could understand what she's saying. It must be a song of surpassing sadness, he decides, a song of loneliness and partings and old spirits long departed from this world. His own heart aches to hear it.

She stops singing for a bit, and the quiet that follows is stifling.

Against his better judgment, he places a palm on the wooden surface of her door, and part of him – a part of him that he can't explain, a part of him that cedes rational thought and decorum to pure animal instinct – longs to join her, to hold her, to tell her that it'll be okay.

Except he doesn't have that right, and if he tries, he doesn't doubt that she would end him with no uncertainty or hesitation if she knew he had caught her in her most vulnerable moments.

And it hurts him, just like how Mai's dismissal of her past wounds and hurts had hurt him, and he can't explain why.

She is nobody to him, and he is the face of the enemy to her.

In time she starts singing again, a different song this time but one that sounds no less sad to his ears.

He doesn't know how long he stands there listening to her, silently unwilling to leave her alone, which is entirely silly since she doesn't even know he's there and thus rendering the gesture an entirely selfish one on his part.

But when he withdraws his hand and turns to leave and her voice grows quieter as he walks away, he swears he hears a part of his own soul cry out in return.

And for Agni's sake, he doesn't get it. He really doesn't.

That night, the firebenders light a bigger bonfire than usual, and the entire encampment comes out dressed in their finest silks and velvets. A sizeable band of respectable talent is gathered by the flames and they strike up a rousing, jubilant chorus. Cups of foamy ale are passed around with their evening meal under the stars and circles and lines of laughing, stumbling soldiers dance around the bonfire.

He stands on the periphery of it all, not really in the mood to dance, but knowing that his absence would be noted and taken as a slight.

Across from him, on the far side of the fire, he sees Mai, dressed in the beautiful red silk she bought earlier that day, with gold ornaments in her hair and on her neck and wrists. She wears a scowl but the crowd of eager young men surrounding her and Ty Lee are undeterred.

Strangely, it doesn't faze him as much as he thought it would, and when she chances a glance in his direction, he turns away from her easily.

His eyes alight upon Aang, Suki, and Toph, who have miraculously, incredibly, coaxed Katara out from her room. Though her face is slightly puffy and her eyes are still a little red from all the crying, she is resplendent in the lovely new robe they'd all got for her, and Zuko catches her stroking the fine linen in wonder, with some degree of possessiveness, and it warms him.

Aang is dancing with her now, walking her through the steps of a popular Fire Nation waltz. She follows his movements intently, with all the elegance of a capable waterbender, and her movements, always graceful like the ebb and tide of flowing water, are particularly well suited to the dance. Her hands are tentative, one on the young monk's shoulder, the other clasped in one of his hands, and even in the orange-gold glow of the firelight, there is a faint flush discernable on her cheeks.

Aang isn't blushing, but his movements are coloured with enthusiastic appeal, and his hand is firm around Katara's waist.

Zuko drains his cup and finds himself wishing, for a single, irrational, alcohol-tinged moment, to be in Aang's place, before shaking his head and turning his attention to a pretty young girl with hopeful eyes whose name he doesn't know.

And later still, when the fires have burned down to the embers and everyone has surrendered to the slumber of the night, he dreams of blue eyes and soft hands, of her melancholic, lilting voice rising in song, of her long, thick hair undone from its sensible braid and cascading in dark waves along the lush curves of her body.

In his dreams, she dances with him all night long.

author's notes. this chapter turned out to be a lot more character revelation than i'd originally intended. next chapter should bring us squarely back to the plot, however, so be prepared for shit to royally hit the fan!

until then, i welcome your feedback! cheers.

Chapter 10: jetstream

Summary:

Toph senses a stranger in the night.

Chapter Text

disclaimer. everything you recognize belongs to bryke, i own nothing, etc.

author's notes. been waiting ages to write this one. i hope it was worth the wait.

much love and gratitude of the highest order to everyone who's been leaving such lovely feedback for this story! reading your comments makes this story worth every minute i spend writing it. you all are the best!

i give you...

southern lights

chapter x. jetstream

say you were me
then you could see the view
you know we are equally damaged

"for the damaged"/ blonde redhead

"Katara. Katara! Are you awake?"

Bleary-eyed and momentarily disoriented, Katara opens her eyes and looks around in confusion.

It is the middle of the night and the world beyond her window is pitch black. The stars are hidden, the moon absent for this one day of the month. The wind whistles quietly, rustling a falling leaf here and there, but for the most part, everyone is still asleep.

"What is it, Toph?" she mumbles, struggling to sit up.

The room is dark, but she can tell from a faint silhouette that Toph is out of bed and standing by the door.

"There's someone here," Toph whispers urgently, and Katara realizes that for once, the blind earthbender is serious. Her senses heighten.

"Where?" she asks, pulling the covers on her bed back. "By the door?"

"No, not anymore," Toph replies. Katara can faintly make out the earthbender's palm flat against the wood of the door. "Outside. I felt them sneak past the window, but now he – I think it's a he – is heading toward the other building. Where the boys sleep."

All thought of sleep gone, Katara gets to her feet and quietly peers out the window. Darkness greets her eyes.

"Do you know who it is, Toph?"

"No idea," Toph answers, shrugging.

"Are you sure?" Katara presses. Unconsciously, she finds herself reaching for her waterskin.

"Positive," Toph affirms. "Whoever it is, he's keeping cover and walking quietly. As though he doesn't want to be seen or heard. It seems a little creepy to me."

"Me too," Katara agrees, chewing at her lip. "Why would someone be sneaking around one of the most highly trained army divisions in the middle of the night? Could it be a spy?"

"A spy for what? The Empire's top brass is here, why would the Empire want to spy on its own people?"

"I wouldn't put it past them," Katara mutters, before she catches herself. "Wait, top brass? Here? What if it's just someone from a rebel group trying to get information?"

"He sounds like he wanted more than just information," Toph says grimly. "He has a lot of steel on him and he moves like he means business."

Katara's mouth goes dry as she catches the implications. "An assassin," she says quietly, her heart racing.

"What?"

"Think about it," Katara says quickly, as she strides over to her trunk, flings it open, and withdraws her bindings. "It's the dark of the moon and a cloudy night. Perfect for avoiding detection, even if you move quietly and stay low. If he has a lot of steel on him, he probably isn't a bender and he's probably not here peaceably. And – well, you said that the army's top brass is here. Perfect target for a rebel group that has guts and wants to make a statement."

A moment of silence while Toph processes Katara's thoughts. "Hell," Toph says at last, in a weak voice. "I – I think you're right. I'm losing him now, but he's heading in the direction of the General's pavilion."

Katara finishes doing up her bindings and slips on a warm tunic, leggings, and the new robe she'd received just the day prior, before strapping her waterskin to her hip. "You think we should go after him?"

"We don't have a choice," Toph answers firmly, withdrawing her hand from the door and reaching for clothes of her own. "I can't see him anymore and if he's going to hurt someone, we have to help."

"But we don't even know that he's going to hurt anyone, it's just a wild guess," Katara points out.

"So we follow him," Toph decides, sliding on a large green robe over top of her oversized shirt and pants, "until we know what he's up to."

They look at each other in unspoken agreement, before Toph opens the door and Katara quietly slips through it.

They tiptoe silently through the hallways, before quietly exiting the building and stepping into the night air. Toph wrinkles her face in concentration, before pointing in the direction of the intruder and rushing off that way. Katara follows, amazed at how much Mai's stealth training has improved her ability to move silently in the shadows.

They bear down on the intruder, who Katara cannot yet see, following him in the general direction of Shinu's grand pavilion.

Yet, to Katara's surprise, Toph turns around and doubles back.

"What are you doing?" Katara hisses through clenched teeth. "The General is that way!"

"I know that," Toph whispers back, "but he's going back the way we came."

"Maybe he's trying to shake us off," Katara suggests. "Maybe he can hear us."

"Or maybe he's also trying to avoid detection," Toph points out. "Look – he's heading into the men's quarters."

"Aang stays there," Katara muses, speeding up.

"So does Sparky," Toph comments absently.

Katara freezes. "A member of the royal family," she breathes. "Prince Ozai's only son."

And for the purpose of sowing discord within the empire? Katara herself could not have picked a better target. Except maybe the Crown Prince himself if General Iroh had been present.

"We have to stop him," Toph urges, her voice rising slightly. "Zuko's in trouble!"

"He's a bender, Toph," Katara says uncertainly. "He'll be fine."

"We have a responsibility here, Katara," argues Toph, planting her hands on her hips. "Even if you don't like him, you can't let them kill him in cold blood. In his sleep! He doesn't deserve that!"

Katara doesn't move.

Toph lets out an exasperated huff. "If you honestly can stand by and do nothing while some secret assassin tries to kill him, then you're worse than the firebenders you hate so much, you know that?"

With that, the earthbender turns to leave. "I'm going to stop him," she says in a low voice. "When you remember that you're better than this, you know where to find me."

Toph rushes off, leaving Katara alone in the dark with her turbulent thoughts.

It's not that she wants him dead, she thinks to herself feverishly. She has no doubt of Zuko's ability to protect himself, even in a surprise attack. He is able to hold his own against herself and Toph, so she doubts the threat presented by one assassin who probably isn't even a bender.

But then again, she's seen firsthand what non-benders can accomplish, even against the firebenders. Especially if they have enough rage in their hearts. And if there's one thing she is intimately familiar with, it is rage against the empire, and the royal family, and their cruelty.

The soldier in her tells her to stay. That she is on one side of the war, and he is on the other, and casualties are a reality of the battle his own father had started. She should know.

Her father. Her mother. Gran-Gran. All gone.

And Sokka, long fled, so many years ago. Only the feeling in her heart convinces her that he is still out there, somewhere, alive. But it's been long, so long, since she's heard any word from him, and hope is at times more painful than grief…

He deserves it, she tries to convince herself. He's Ozai's son. He deserves it.

But even she knows that isn't true.

His presence exasperates her and his behaviour frustrates her and the sight of him reminds her of his father, but he has treated her no worse than any other of the firebenders with whom she serves and has grudgingly come to respect. He has never tried to hurt her, even in their training spars, even when he lost his temper and unleashed his rage at her, that one time.

It takes a moment to process, and she is not sure what to make of it when it finally hits her.

Ozai's son means her no harm. And he is in real danger.

Oh Sokka, she thinks suddenly, closing her eyes and wishing he was here, to guide her. He had always been the fighter, not her. But she is here and he isn't. Sokka, what would you do?

Sokka had hated the firebenders as much as she had. Maybe even more.

But he had also been shrewd in the ways of the world, and would not have abandoned an ally.

And Zuko, Prince Zuko, though it makes her skin crawl to think of it, had turned out to be an unexpected ally to her in some ways, even though she had never asked for it.

"Spirits save us," she whispers vehemently to herself.

Then she turns and rushes off in the direction Toph had gone.

In his dreams, the fire surrounds him, engulfs him, swallows him.

It doesn't hurt, oddly enough. By now, he is numb to it. The dazzling orange flames lick his face, their heat caressing the rough edges of his scar like a lover's hand.

He blinks and the flames are gone and the soothing caress on his face is an herbal poultice. He peers around himself curiously, staring into the kind eyes of the palace's Chief Healer.

"You saved me," he says uncertainly.

"I tried," the healer explains helplessly. "There will be scarring, my prince, I cannot spare you that, but you will still be able to see and hear, and that is itself a blessing…"

"Thank you," Zuko says blankly. "It could have been much worse."

"It could have," agrees the healer. "But you will live and you will thrive."

"I hope the same for you," Zuko offers uncertainly, a thread of unease coursing through him.

The healer shakes his head.

"Not for me," he says sadly. "They killed me for poisoning an emperor."

The healer's voice sounds like it is coming from a great distance away. The room is filling with fog, and the scent is unsettling to him.

"But you didn't do it, did you?" Zuko guesses.

The healer shrugs.

"Who knows, my prince?"

Then the healer disappears, swallowed by the thick mists. The feeling of it is heavy in Zuko's nostrils and he coughs once, twice, before his eyes snap open.

It takes him a moment to register that the dark room is still full of smoke.

Fire, he thinks automatically, his body tensing. Someone lit the room on fire.

But the scent is still strange, and he can't see flames.

What's going on?

Then, he hears it and his senses go on high alert.

The whisper of soft-soled shoes on solid stone ground. The quiet whirr of steel blades whistling through the air.

He jumps out of the way just in time, as a long steel sword hurtles toward him and embeds itself deep into the pillow where his head had been, moments earlier.

He lands lightly on the floor and with a wave of his hand, quickly lights the torches hanging in their sconces on the walls.

The room is suffused with a cloudy orange glow. Cloudy for the thick smoke wafting throughout.

And, barely visible, is a dark figure wielding a long hooked sword, bearing straight down on him.

He leaps out of the way just in time, feeling the blade slice through the air inches away from his face.

What –

He flexes his wrists and rotates them sharply, throwing up a ring of fire around him.

The stranger pauses and considers its next move.

Zuko takes a moment to breathe.

The stranger leans into an offensive stance and, within the blink of an eye, leaps six feet into the air.

Shit, Zuko thinks to himself, watching as his attacker easily clears the flames and somersaults expertly in the air above his head.

For a wild moment, he thinks it's Ty Lee from the way his attacker moves so effortlessly in the air, but he knows better.

Ty Lee would never be caught wearing so much black.

And Jeong-Jeong's methods are unconventional at best, but Zuko doubts that the old man would actually send an armed man with swords into his room while he slept.

Exhaling sharply through his nose, he drops down to the ground and channels a ferocious blast upward in the air through the soles of his feet.

The attacker tumbles back and lands heavily on the ground.

Now that Zuko is fully awake and the room is bright from the flames, he can discern his attacker as a young man, covered head to toe in black boiled leather.

He doesn't have much time beyond that to think, as the strange man jumps back to his feet, leaps over to Zuko's bed, and wrenches his other sword free. He lands a foot away from Zuko, both swords brandished at the ready.

Two can play at this, Zuko thinks grimly, his eyes traveling to the mantel above his fireplace.

The man leaps at him, whirling both swords with brutal efficiency.

Zuko jumps back, out of the way, ducks below the reach of the blades, and races to the wall opposite. He grabs the two ornamental dual swords hanging on his mantel and spins them experimentally, feeling for the balance.

He hasn't practiced this in months, not since Jeong-Jeong had him cross-training regularly, but he is loath to burn this man alive until he has answers.

So when his attacker rushes him again, Zuko braces himself and parries the man's swords with his own, before lunging forward with a few sharp jabs of his own.

His opponent takes a step backward, yielding the advantage to Zuko, who presses his offensive in an aggressive onslaught of strikes, all of which are expertly deflected.

Biting back a hiss of frustration, Zuko feints and, catching his opponent off-balance, slices away at the black hood covering the man's face.

The shorn black cloth floats lazily to the ground.

Zuko finds himself facing a man he does not recognize, who doesn't appear that much older than he himself is, with unkempt chestnut hair and strangely unsettling dark eyes that do not seem to see him, despite being focused directly on him.

The strange young man lunges forward again before Zuko can gather his thoughts, whirling his twin hooked blades with practiced efficiency. They catch Zuko at different spots: one grazes the crook of his arm, while the other bites into his side and draws blood.

A cry of pain escapes Zuko's lips and he falls back, trying to put some distance between himself and his assailant while clutching at his side, hastily trying to staunch the bright red flow from his side. But the brown-haired mercenary has the advantage now, and Zuko ducks just in time as one of the man's blades skins his knee.

He wants to kill me, Zuko realizes belatedly, as the other blade rushes for his chest.

Time seems to slow down for him and he closes his eyes.

He doesn't feel the blade that pierces his heart, surprisingly enough.

He only feels the cold, and the rush of blood in his veins and on his skin, and the sway of the earth beneath him.

Strange, he thinks dimly through the haze in his mind as he drops to the ground in front of his bedroom door. The earth is moving.

He lands on his stomach, spread-eagled on the ground, which ripples and pulses and cracks.

Over the din, he swears he hears a girl's voice grunt, a young man's voice cry out.

Then the sound of footsteps from behind him. Someone is running, their footfalls echoing in his ears.

Something wedges itself between his stomach and the floor, before it sharply forces him onto his back.

And then hands, cool hands on his heart, on the gaping wound atop his heart.

It's too late, he tries to say, it's too late.

Except, a few moments pass and he belatedly realizes, except it isn't.

The cold recedes and the fog in his mind yields to crystalline silence and the agony in his limbs renews with savage vigour.

He opens his eyes and turns his head.

Toph has immobilized the intruder with ruthless efficiency. The young man is trapped, encased in a pillar of earth that imprisons him from toe to chin. A gag of rock and earth covers the man's mouth. Only his eyes and tousled brown hair are visible to Zuko.

"Wait," says a voice, Katara's voice, from somewhere above Zuko's ear. Her voice is strangely clipped as she rises to her feet, Zuko sees as he turns his head.

The room is dimly lit now, as most of his flames have gone out. But as the waterbender takes a hesitant step forward, he can see a strange whirl of emotions ripple across her face. Confusion, recognition, and dread intermingle on her features as she regards the young man trapped in the center of the room.

"Jet?" he hears her ask incredulously, her voice barely a whisper, yet somehow audible to his ears.

She's standing in front of the assailant now, but unlike Toph, her posture does not indicate wariness or caution in any form. Instead, though her face is not directly visible to him, Zuko does not think he imagines the pity in her eyes as she raises a hand and places it on the youth's cheek.

"Oh Jet," she murmurs softly, and there is no question in her voice this time, only an intense, heavy sadness, "what did they do to you this time?"

A ringing silence fills the room as Zuko's attacker stills and ceases struggling against his bonds.

"What the hell, Sweetness?" Toph demands, turning to face Katara. "You know this maniac?"

Katara places another hand to the young man's forehead. She appears stricken. "I – I do," she answers quietly. "Or rather, I used to."

Toph falls into a stunned silence, and even Zuko feels his heart beginning to race.

"How?" he rasps out, the word scraping across his parched throat.

Katara's back stiffens at the sound of his voice, but she doesn't turn around. Her hands are still on the chestnut-haired man's face, slowly caressing his cheeks, his jawline, his forehead, and suddenly, Zuko realizes it with a sickening feeling in his stomach.

She says nothing. Instead her fingers come to rest on the man's temples.

Zuko struggles to sit upright, and manages to get onto his knees. He clutches a hand to the wound on his chest, but to his surprise, the flesh has knitted and healed without a trace.

How –

He tilts his head up abruptly to focus on the waterbender. Her hands, still on the man's temples, are covered with water, and – strangely enough – the water is glowing.

"You're healing him," he says breathlessly, getting to his feet. He can scarcely believe his eyes, but it's there for him to see, right in front of him, "you can heal with your bending, can't you, Katara? You're a healer."

Katara closes her eyes, focusing. It's been a very long time, an eternity it seems, since she's done it, but it comes rushing back to her with startling clarity. She feels the pulse of Jet's chi, sluggish against the water in her hands, but still flowing with each beat of his heart.

Her heart thumps painfully against the cage of her chest, and everything else in the room sounds like it's very far away. There is a storm swelling within her, of confusion and homesickness and dread all rolled into one, at finding Jet in this state. Here, of all places, caught red-handed trying to murder a prince of the royal family.

Almost succeeding in killing a prince of the royal family. If she hadn't healed Zuko when she had –

Her blood stills as she realizes what she's done.

Years and years of hiding her bending, her healing, from those who would have punished her for it, and then used it for their own gain.

All that effort put into concealing that part of her.

And then she'd gone and healed him. Even better, she's healing Jet in front of him.

Spirits, Ozai's own son knows she can heal.

She wants to feel sick, but there's no time, she doesn't have the luxury of worrying about herself because Jet is here, all the way here, and he is in grave danger.

She needs to help him.

The chi is blocked around his temples, just as she'd suspected, and as she pulls experimentally, trying to loosen the blockage, Jet's face screws up in pain and he cries out through the gag.

"I can't do anything for him this way, Toph," she says quietly, opening her eyes. "Could you please release him, just for a little bit?"

Toph, who has been regarding the scene with a great deal of confusion, suddenly appears aghast at Katara's request.

"Are you crazy?" she exclaims. "He just tried to kill Sparky! He's dangerous! I'm not letting him go anywhere!"

"He's not dangerous in this condition," Katara insists gently. "And he doesn't deserve to die. Besides, I need to know what they did to him. Please, Toph."

"I don't know if this is a good idea," Toph retorts bullishly, jamming her hands at her waist. "Maybe you knew this guy a long time ago, Sweetness, but apparently, people change and become crazy sword-wielding ninja murderers. I don't think you can trust him."

"I've never trusted him," Katara bites back, fighting to keep her voice calm as the memories threaten to engulf her. "But there's something here that doesn't add up, and I want answers. Surely you also want to know why he's here and who sent him, right?"

"Katara's right, Toph," Zuko speaks up from behind her, and Katara flinches at the sound of his hoarse voice. He sounds terrible, but she'd been thorough and is certain that the prince is in no more immediate danger than Jet currently is. "You can just bind his hands, if you're concerned about any threat he poses. I think that's fair, given the circumstances."

He's remarkably level, considering Jet did just try to kill him, Katara muses.

But Toph acquiesces with a giant scowl. With a pull of her fists and a flattening motion, the pillar of earth holding Jet in place sinks back into the earth, and the gag around his mouth vanishes.

Almost immediately, Jet collapses.

Katara catches him before he slumps over fully, bracing his weight against her own. Gritting her teeth, she guides him into a half-crouching seated position, his back leaning against the side of Zuko's lavish bed for support.

Jet is pale and clammy, and though he is staring directly at her, he gives no indication that he recognizes her. In fact, he is entirely silent, Katara realizes. Apart from the occasional cry of pain, he hasn't said a word.

"Jet," she says quietly, placing her hands on his temples again, trying to feel for the blockage. "Jet, it's me, Katara."

He is silent, staring at her unblinkingly through slack, unfocused eyes.

"Give it up, Sweetness," Toph calls from behind her, "he doesn't know you anymore, you're wasting your time."

His pupils are large, Katara notices with a growing sense of dread in the pit of her stomach, dilated so much they have all but swallowed the dark brown of his irises.

What was it that they used to say?

"Jet," Katara whispers, the words coming back to her with chilling familiarity, like a song half-remembered from long ago bursting into her memory with full clarity, "the – the Earth King no longer wishes for your services at Lake Laogai."

As though flipping a switch, Jet's face changes.

He lets out a scream.

His eyes are no longer distant and unfocused – instead, they're wide open and roving around, taking in his surroundings with alarming urgency. Colour returns to his cheeks, and his breaths become frenetic and shallow.

Toph makes a motion as though to immobilize him again, but Zuko holds a hand up, beckoning for her to stop.

"Jet," Katara whispers, gently placing her hands on the shaking man's shoulders, "Jet, it's me."

Jet sharply inhales through his nose, tensing at the sound of Katara's voice. His eyes rake the length of her face, inches from his, and there is no mistaking the fear in them.

"Katara?" he gasps. His voice is that of a young boy's, fearful and broken.

"Yes," Katara answers, and there's a definite quaver in her voice as she fights to hold herself together, "yes, it's me, Jet."

"Katara –" Jet repeats, scrambling to his knees and clutching urgently at her hands, "I – I don't know where I am – I don't know what –"

"It'll be okay," Katara lies, because after all this time, lying to him is easy, "it'll be okay…"

"They did it again," Jet rambles on, a crazed look entering his eyes, "they keep doing it, and there's no one left to stop it, they took everyone – Smellerbee, Pipsqueak, the Duke, Longshot – all of them –"

"All of them?" Katara echoes, the pang in her heart aching for people she hasn't seen in years, people she never thought she would miss, yet now inexplicably does.

"All of them," Jet repeats, his voice becoming more lucid. The feverish brightness in his eyes persists, but the twitching in his face has mostly ebbed. "All. Gone. One by one, they took them away, one by one in uniform, gone, and it's just me, they keep trying to break me and I can't, I won't, I'm the last of the freedom fighters, they can't take that from me –"

"They can't," Katara reassures him, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. "They won't."

Jet visibly relaxes at this.

"Tell me more," Katara presses. She extricates her hands from Jet's grasping clutches, and places them back at his temples. "The Freedom Fighters. When did you last see them all?"

Jet lets out a shuddering exhale as she bends the water to her will, but she is gentle and it soothes him instead. "I don't know." He screws his eyes shut, trying to concentrate. "It was winter – a few months maybe?"

"The better part of a year," Katara advises him, her voice quiet. "It's autumn now, Jet."

"Is it?" Jet's eyes shoot wide open, and he appears genuinely confused. "I – I don't know – I don't remember anything but the dark and the cold and – and the lights, Katara – the lights –"

"He's telling the truth," Toph whispers, more to herself. "I don't believe it but he is."

Katara takes a deep breath and continues.

"In Lake Laogai?"

Jet closes his eyes and begins to shiver. "They – they put me back in my chair and tied me down and made me forget everything again –" his eyes fill with tears, unexpectedly, and they spill over to trail a lazy path down his cheeks, " – I keep forgetting, why is it so easy for me to forget?"

His memories are close to the surface, bubbling over the paths of his chi, and without thinking, she draws at the water near his temples and pulls –

Jet stiffens like a board, and Katara lets out a shriek at the vision that consumes her.

She is aware of the hands on her physical form, hands on her shoulders, on her upper arms, pulling her back and away, but her mind is far away, gone to dark, damp caves lit with sinister green light carved in an extensive underwater network –

She can't see their eyes, their pointed hats disguise them from view, but their hands are of rock and their voices are hypnotic lulls that dim her mind and coax her to sleep.

Somewhere in the distance, she hears something solid hit the ground.

People far away are screaming.

"Katara!"

Suddenly, someone is shaking her fiercely and she snaps out of it.

She's back in Zuko's room, in the middle of the night. Blinking slowly, she finds that she's been dragged back six feet and she's upright on her feet. Strong hands hold her in place.

"Katara, are you okay?" Aang's voice asks from somewhere by her ear.

"I – " Katara's head is reeling from the onslaught of what she can only assume are Jet's memories, pounding within the recesses of her skull. "I – Aang, when did you get here?"

Sensing that she is slowly coming around, Aang gently loosens his grip on her shoulders.

"I heard someone scream, earlier," he explains simply. "It sounded like it came from Zuko's room, so I came to check on him – and then I saw someone in uniform by his door, I didn't get a good look at them – but then they bolted and then I came here and saw –"

Katara can't grasp any of it, until she realizes that Aang is pointing at Jet.

Who now lies prone on the ground, his face waxy, his eyes once again glassy and unseeing.

The dagger sticking out of his chest is buried to its enameled green hilt.

The world spins and Katara feels her feet go out from under her.

"No," she whispers, "no," she reaches for him, trying to feel for a pulse, a vein, anything, "no no no…"

Somewhere in the distance, she hears the ground rumbling, but it doesn't make sense to her, nothing makes sense.

She touches her fingers to Jet's chest, right where the blade sticks out. His blood still spills out, but the flow is slow and she is certain that his heart has been pierced.

It feels like she's being strangled.

The door behind her slams and she hears the rush of footsteps enter the room.

"Nothing," Toph spits out, her voice dark with fury. "Whoever it was just disappeared."

"Did you not get a good look at them when you got here?" Zuko asks Aang quietly. His voice is weary.

"I'm telling you, I just saw someone wearing a soldier's uniform standing by your door. Then they saw me and ran away. It was dark, I couldn't see much," Aang explains patiently.

"A soldier's uniform?" Toph cuts in suspiciously. "As in, one of our soldiers?"

"Not necessarily," Zuko sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his right hand. "It's easy enough to acquire a military uniform and pass unnoticed through a base camp."

"Wait, how did you not notice them?" Aang asks Toph suddenly, frowning. "I thought you could sense everything."

"I can," Toph insists, crossing her arms against her chest. "But I was distracted. Sweetness over here was screaming and fainting while doing her water tribe mumbo jumbo, and Sparky and I had our hands full trying to stop her from falling over."

"It was a little chaotic," Zuko admits. "We didn't even notice when – we just heard the body fall and then – well, whoever it was that threw the knife was very efficient. Toph could barely sense them when we pursued."

He's right on that account, Katara realizes dully. Whoever Jet's killer was, they had done their job with brutal, cold efficiency.

"But how?" Aang is struggling to put a finger on it. "Unless the killer could fly, you should have been able to sense them, Toph! You see with earthbending!"

"Well, I'm sorry, but I couldn't see them and I don't know why!" Toph exclaims. "I'm confused about it too, believe me."

"Toph couldn't see them," Katara says slowly, her words spilling out of her before she has a chance to hold it all in, because Jet had showed up tonight and Jet is dead and his killer is out there and now she will never know the truth of it all, "because the person who murdered Jet was also an earthbender."

She has no way to prove it but she has seen enough to stake her life on it.

The others freeze at her words.

"How do you know that?" Aang asks her gently, kneeling down beside her gently. "I believe you, it makes sense, but –"

"I want to know everything," Toph declares, tossing her head in Katara's direction huffily. "I have no idea what's going on and I'm confused! One moment someone's killing Sparky –"

"Wait, someone tried to kill you too?" Aang interrupts, turning to face Zuko with wide eyes.

"It's been a long night." Zuko shrugs.

" – and then the next, Sugar Queen over here is trying to heal Sparky's killer," Toph continues as though Aang and Zuko haven't interrupted her, "because turns out Sparky's killer is actually an old boyfriend of hers or something –"

"You can heal?" Aang's head whips around to face Katara, whose face begins to redden.

"He wasn't my boyfriend!" Katara denies without much enthusiasm, pointedly ignoring Aang's question.

"Yeah, yeah, real convincing Sweetness," Toph dismisses Katara's protests with a wave of her hand, "and then, just in the middle of some weird healing stuff, when we're finally starting to get this guy to start talking about who hired him and what he's doing here in the first place, another killer shows up and kills the first killer. How the hell does that even happen?" She claps a hand to her forehead, before pointing at Katara. "You're holding out on us Sweetness, and you'd better start talking."

"Toph," Zuko reprimands gently, giving Katara a nervous glance, "maybe this isn't the right time. Katara knew him – Jet, I think she called him – and, this is obviously a difficult time for her –"

"No," Katara says bluntly, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, because the only thing worse is accepting Zuko's pity, "no, I'll talk, I – I don't know much about tonight but I can guess…"

She trails off, wondering where to start.

"His name was Jet?" Aang prompts softly.

Katara swallows past the lump in her throat.

"Yes," she says quietly.

"And he was your boyfriend, right?" Toph queries impertinently.

"Toph," both Zuko and Aang admonish her with a groan.

But Katara shakes her head. "Not exactly," she answers. "It was…complicated. I met Jet under some very difficult circumstances."

"Tell us about it," says Aang.

"I met him before I was sent to Crescent Island," Katara says quietly, her fingers tracing a small pattern on the man's temples. "When I was in a colonial school in New Ozai."

She pauses, trying to collect herself. Though those had been far from happy days, the memories are painful and threaten to engulf her. It is all she can do to keep them at bay, but strangely enough, talking about it seems to help, like drawing venom from a wound.

"I – by then, I'd been separated from most of my people," she says in a faltering voice. "New Ozai was far from home, and – and I wasn't treated very well – because I was Water Tribe and – well, you know –"

"Because you were a waterbender?" Aang asks.

"No," Katara shakes her head vigorously, "no, nobody really knew about that. I tried to hide it because waterbending was like drawing a target on my back – they'd dragged off all the waterbenders I knew and – it was bad enough being a bender, but a healer? It was just safer to hide it. I grew up hiding it. It was hard, but I had to."

She hears Zuko's breath catch in his throat, but she presses on before he has a chance to interrupt her too.

"The Empire called it a school, but everyone knew it was more like a prison, to break their most troublesome cases. For me, I was – I was Water Tribe. Jet worked there, and he...he was a freedom fighter." A small smile crosses her mouth, despite herself. "I don't think he was ever much of a threat, really. He figured the colonial schools were a perfect place to find new recruits. He'd already assembled a small group of misfits, just like him... People who never really belonged anywhere, who'd turned their frustrations with the Empire into violence, who were barely kids…"

All gone, now. What did it matter now? Except that for her, no one would be left to tell their story?

The realization is like an abrupt kick in the stomach.

"Anyway, he found me and took me under his wing. Saw that I could be useful in my own way. We would dream up these plans, you know, to take back our land and destroy the Empire once and for all. Big dreams for such small people, I know, but when you had nothing, like us, sometimes that was all that kept you going. Dreams. Empty promises. Anything that could just take you from one moment to the next."

She swallows, remembering.

"What happened after you met Jet in New Ozai?" Aang inquires. "And why do you think it was an earthbender that killed Jet, if you don't think he was actually a threat to the Empire?"

"It's…complicated," Katara struggles, frowning. "I…you know what, just forget it. He's already dead and you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

She closes herself off, wrapping her arms around herself. And in the dungeons below the lake, the freedom fighters struggled…

"Try us," Zuko challenges, taking a seat by her. Even though she isn't facing him, she can see the outline of his sharp face in her peripheral vision, watching her with cautious intent. "What happened in New Ozai? To Jet's friends?"

And the crazy thing is, she wants to tell him, because only when the words are out of her head do they begin to make a semblance of sense.

"I don't know when it began," she says slowly, "but I only became aware of it when they took one of the boys from Jet's group. A young boy, quiet, skilled with the bow and arrow. We called him Longshot. He disappeared for a couple of weeks, before turning up in a different corner of the school with no recollection of his past and obedient as you could be. This – this was a pattern with anyone who caused too much of a stir, I suppose."

"At the school?"

"No," Katara says, shaking her head. "Jet's resistance included people everywhere - in the school, on the streets. We'd hear stories from everyone, about people getting plucked off the streets and disappear for days on end. It was quite common in the Earth colonies, actually..."

"What happened to him?" Zuko asks, looking her straight in the eye. "What happened to Longshot?"

"I – I saw them trying to piece it together," Katara answers quietly. "I wasn't really involved, I just – went wherever Jet went, I suppose but – after everything I heard, I always thought it was unbelievable, until…" she trails off.

"You're not making much sense," Toph points out uncertainly.

"It was a group called the Dai Li," Katara explains heavily, as it all comes back to her. "They were the cultural agents of Ba Sing Se, but after the annexation of the old Earth kingdom, they became the dominant power controlling the region. All of the minor Earth lords, the royals, anyone with power there, probably has links to the Dai Li and Long Feng, their leader, in one way or another, whether they know it or not. They were charged with maintaining the peace in the colonies, and they had a very unorthodox way of doing that."

"Hypnosis?" Zuko breathes slowly.

Katara looks at him in surprise. "Y-yeah," she nods, her tongue suddenly feeling too big in her mouth. "They'd capture people and bring them down to a hideout, deep beneath a lake in the capital – we only ever heard people call it Lake Laogai – and brainwash them."

"So that they wouldn't rebel," Zuko finished for her, his mouth a grim line. "So that they could maintain the peace."

He sounds absolutely disgusted.

She nods her head quickly. "It started that way," she explains, "but sometimes, they would take it further."

"Further?" Aang demands, appearing horrified. "How can you take brainwashing further?"

"Once they brainwashed someone, they had control over them," Katara details. "They'd use a code phrase – it was the same one for everyone – to bring about the trance – and then would give them orders to carry out. Maybe they would have to fight for them, maybe they would have to steal something. Maybe they would be asked to assassinate someone important. What did it matter to the Dai Li if some nobody was caught in the act?"

Her words ring in the air.

"Are – " Zuko can scarcely believe his ears, "are you implying that the Dai Li tried to have me killed?"

Katara shrugs helplessly. "Jet was brainwashed – you saw how he snapped out of it when I used the phrase to turn off the hypnosis. And he was murdered in cold blood by an extremely skilled assassin, the second he came close to answering any of our questions. That means he wasn't alone – the Dai Li must have sent one of their own to make sure Jet carried out his mission properly – and wouldn't talk about it afterward." A chill runs down her spine at the thought of it. "And the Dai Li are also notoriously powerful earthbenders – how else can you explain that Toph couldn't sense someone standing right behind us all this time, if they couldn't also manipulate the earth around them?"

"Agni," Zuko curses under his breath. His face is very pale. "But – but why? I understand if a rebel group wanted me dead, but – but Long Feng? He became the most powerful man in the Earth colonies thanks to the aftermath of the Conquest. Why would he want me killed?"

Katara meets his eyes thoughtfully. "Maybe you should really have a thought about who your enemies really are," she warns him. "And who would gain the most from your death. These things aren't always as straightforward as you'd like them to be."

"Yes, but – " Zuko sputters, trying to believe his ears, "this makes no sense. Long Feng knows me. He's – he's an ally to my family, to the Empire -"

"The Empire is a lot more fragile than it used to be," Katara points out. "Long Feng is an opportunist, from what I understand. Maybe he's trying to sniff out weaknesses within your family." She rolls her eyes. "He's wasting his time. Your grandfather's a picture of health, and so are your uncle and father." A dismissive shrug. "I don't know why he's aiming for the low-hanging fruit in the royal family."

Zuko appears pale and nervous to her eyes, but he ignores the jibe. "I have to write to my uncle," he mutters softly, as though to himself. He runs an agitated hand through his thick hair. "I have to let him know that this happened. I wish he was here. He would know what to do."

"Like what?" Toph bursts out in frustration. "The guy got away! Right under all of our noses!"

"It's not your fault, Toph," Aang says to her, not unkindly. "Like Katara said, these guys have probably been pulling the rug out from under earthbenders like yourselves all their lives. You were caught off your guard. We all were."

"But –" Toph appears to Katara as though she's having a crisis of sorts, and she feels the tiniest twinge of sympathy for the headstrong earthbender, "but I'm a master earthbender! I'm – I'm one of the best – I can't even see without my bending – and if they got the better of me…what are we really up against?"

"Maybe that's why they have us cross-training together," Aang suggests. "So that we can learn from each other and get an edge on highly skilled, dangerous opponents like the Dai Li."

His words echo slightly in the night air and, for the first time since Jeong-Jeong had assembled them, so many months ago, do they regard each other with anything other than skepticism and uncertainty.

"Hell, Twinkletoes," Toph swears, "I think you might be onto something there."

"That…does make sense," Katara agrees slowly, in spite of the giant frown crossing her face. As much as she despises the Fire Empire, she finds the Dai Li and its sinister, controlling ways equally hateful.

"Do you think they knew about the Dai Li before setting this up?" Zuko asks uncertainly. Of the four of them, he appears most shaken, even more so than Katara does, and his hand is clamped over the scarred side of his face. "That this was just another calculated measure for them? Are we really just a weapon?"

It sounds strange, so strange, to hear it in Zuko's voice, Katara thinks to herself. She's known all along that they've been expedient to the Empire and its military. But coming from Ozai's only son…

"We're military," she says, and her voice is more scathing than she intends it to be, "we've always been weapons."

He shakes his head. "But – but there's a difference," he protests weakly, and he's facing the ground now, his long thick bangs in his eyes so she can't read the heartbreaking expression on his face, but she senses it with every nerve in her body, she can feel his pulse in her ears, "between being a soldier and being a tool for them to use and discard."

How can you be so naïve? "Sorry to burst your bubble," she says to him instead, and if her voice isn't exactly comforting, at least it isn't as harsh as it is in her mind, "but to your family, they're exactly the same."

"Not my uncle," Zuko retorts stubbornly, raising his head to meet her eyes with a renewed intensity that sends shivers ringing down the length of her spine, a flutter in the pit of her stomach as he stares her down without fury or anger, "not Uncle Iroh. He cares about his men, he always has…"

And Katara is weary and Katara is cynical and Katara is hardened by the world around her, but she is not cruel.

So instead she shrugs and struggles to pull her gaze away from his. "If you say so," she mutters half-heartedly, unwilling to argue the matter now.

Because she knows Ozai is a monster, she knows that as a certainty, but Iroh is a different beast altogether, one she still can't quite put a finger on.

"I know so," Zuko insists, and she finds that she can't look away from him, she can't even hate him now, "and if you'd ever met him, you'd know that too."

Because Zuko has rarely ever defended himself and he has never defended his father, but he won't hear a word against his uncle, and that is something, something redeemable in him that Katara can't dismiss.

And he's still staring at her with those strange yellow eyes that are the image of his father's, and yet strangely different at the same time now, warmer and kinder and more intense, and there's a shifting in the wariness in them, as though he is looking at her and thinking about something intently, as though he is trying to puzzle something through –

"You were in New Ozai," he blurts out to her so suddenly that he actually winces when he realizes that he's spoken. "With a rebel group."

Katara is taken aback.

"I guess you could say that," she replies darkly. "I was never actually a rebel, though. Well, not officially. I did what I could to help."

Zuko looks her straight in the eye, and she sees him steeling himself to ask his next question. "Did you ever meet my father?" he asks her gravely. "While you were there?"

"What?" she exclaims. "No! Why would you ask that?"

Zuko turns the colour of his crimson bedrobe. "I – I know he founded the new city on the ruins of Omashu, after the rebellion," he explains, "and the way you talk about him – I – I just wondered if you'd ever met him." He looks at her, somewhat apprehensively. "Because everything you've ever said about him is right, you know."

"I – no," Katara insists, shaking her head vehemently, though something inside her glows at his unexpected assessment of her judgment, "no, I've never met him. Thank the spirits."

Zuko doesn't answer immediately, but continues to give her a strangely searching stare. It makes her skin crawl and her hair stand on end. "You've never met him? You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," she snaps back. To her great chagrin, he sounds surprised at her answer. "Why would I lie about that?"

She hears Zuko mutter something under his breath, something like well that's that, but she doesn't quite catch it.

"And if you don't believe me –"

"I do," he says simply, wearily. "I just – so many things don't make sense to me."

She raises her eyebrows. "Why would that not make sense?"

He just shrugs and shakes his head.

She wonders what he isn't telling her, but then decides it's none of her business anyway.

"Get some rest," Zuko says, his hands on his temples as though massaging an extremely painful migraine. "It's late. And," he raises his eyes to look at Toph, Aang, and Katara in turn, "thank you, for coming to help me. I would – probably have been dead now if it wasn't for you."

Katara looks away this time. She knows that he is speaking to her, and she knows that he is right.

"What about the body?" Toph asks suddenly, indicating with her head. "We can't just leave it here!"

"Well, you're an earthbender, aren't you?" Katara asks irritably, "can't you just bury him quickly?"

"I – " Zuko looks at Katara nervously, "I know this might be a lot to ask but – I need to show the body to my uncle, whenever he gets here, this – I – it's the only proof I have, besides your word, and maybe he could find clues, something we missed –"

She understands his clumsy request straightaway. There is rage in her, but also the slightest hint of pity.

So she sets her jaw and nods curtly.

Soon enough, they are outside, by the river that winds out of the army base camp and into the canopy of dark trees surrounding them. Aang and a visibly-relieved Zuko have hoisted Jet's body between them and gently lower him into the water.

Katara closes her eyes, raises her hands, and exhales a lungful of ice.

As the water around Jet's body freezes, she says a prayer for him in her mind.

Toph pushes her fists down as she lunges forward. The frozen body is swallowed by the earth.

And then the night is quiet again, dark and silent and misleadingly serene as the four of them stand, shoulder-to-shoulder, staring at the spot where Jet's preserved body lies in wait.

Chapter 11: the harsh light of day

Chapter Text

disclaimer. ATLA & all its associated properties belong to bryke, none of this is mine.

author's notes. thank you so much to everyone who's following along and leaving such lovely feedback! reading your thoughts and interpretations and guesses as to where things are going next is honestly the most rewarding feeling after writing each new part of the story...especially when some readers guess correctly! i love it so much, please keep it going! :D

i apologize for the delay (again). this chapter is a little small but was a toughie to write! a warning that it does get a little disturbing near the end and that the rating is up for a reason...

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter xi. the harsh light of day

her eyes
she's on the dark side
neutralize every man in sight

"angel"/ massive attack

In the daylight, everything appears deceptively calm.

It's as though the previous night's harrowing events never happened, Katara reflects bitterly at breakfast the next morning. Aside from herself and the three others who sit at her table, nobody else seems affected at all.

A man had been killed last night – murdered, in cold blood, by a complete and total stranger, and the whole bloody camp was none the wiser.

"It's driving me crazy," Toph mutters to herself, sipping on a cup of tea the colour of pitch. "I can't sense the guy from last night anywhere. Whoever he was, he must have done a bunk fairly quickly."

"We've been through this before, Toph," Aang replies patiently, putting down his own cup. "If one of the Dai Li was in fact involved, they could probably be using their earthbending to evade detection by your earthbending."

"It's quite a stretch though," Zuko points out. Of the four of them, he looks the worst. His face, haggard and gaunt in the light, is paler than usual, so that the dark circles under his eyes stick out like bruises. His hair looks like it had never heard of a comb. "Unless the Dai Li always use their earthbending to avoid detection by other earthbenders, I don't see why they would do so. Unless they knew Toph was here."

"How would they even know who I am? I mean, I know I'm good, but I'm hardly famous." Toph rolls her sightless eyes and pops a piece of bread into her mouth.

"You're a Beifong, aren't you? Your father must have connections to the Dai Li, and it isn't exactly private information that you're the master earthbender here," Aang reasons.

"The Dai Li have ears everywhere," Katara speaks up. Her food before her lies untouched. "If they arranged a hit on Zuko, for whatever reason, you can bet they took exhaustive precautions to make sure they were ready for any of us."

And they were, she thinks to herself darkly. Even though they hadn't carried out their assassination, they had escaped with barely a trace, leaving the four of them with unanswered questions and a single dead body to bury.

Now Jet was gone, gone away to a place where he couldn't answer any of their questions, where he couldn't reveal the identity and purpose of his puppeteers.

And in his place, the prince of the Fire Empire lives and breathes to see another day

Life, she reminds herself, is patently unfair.

Apart from a throwaway comment remarking upon how tired the four of them look, Jeong-Jeong doesn't seem to notice anything amiss.

He has them spar together in a melee for the first hour of cross-training. By now, Toph has lost her obvious advantage. Aang has become a tad more aggressive, Zuko more powerful, and Katara more agile.

Now, when Toph bends the earth beneath their feet, Katara is able to evade the blow, moving light like an airbender to stay on her feet and form her next attack with precision.

When Aang sends half the sky whipping in her direction to throw her off-balance, she uses the force of her water to launch herself eight feet into the air, to knock the airbender off of his little air-scooter and back onto the ground where he no longer has an advantage.

When she lands, she is strong in her feet, the way the earthbenders are, so that when Zuko bends a plume of flame at her, she is able to keep herself rooted to the ground.

And when she counters with an attack of her own, she breathes the way the firebenders do, feeling the chi move within her and propel her water into a jet of fearsome power, one she surely would not have been able to produce three months earlier.

Water and fire fizzle out in a hissing of steam that leaves the both of them temporarily blinded.

Toph senses an opening and lifts. The ground beneath Zuko and Katara ripples and forces itself up with alarming speed, sending the two of them flying into the air.

Katara orients herself first, pulling her limbs close in to control her center of gravity. Twisting her wrists with a sharp motion, she draws half the river up and it rises to meet her, swirling in a twenty-five-foot tall whirlpool to support her weight easily.

A rush of heat grazes by her face. She turns her head. Some distance away, Zuko hovers with some difficulty, the force of the flames emitting from his open palms keeping him suspended in the air.

He's facing Toph, however, and she realizes that he has stumbled across the same idea that she has.

After all, as long as they're off the ground, Toph can't see them.

For once, they have her at a disadvantage.

Katara has her element under greater control, however, and it is she who charges first. Controlling the direction of the giant whirlpool, she bears down closer to Toph, moving a mile a minute, her water moving with the force of a great waterfall –

Toph sends a boulder flying at her, and Katara is forced to veer off-course, careening bodily into Zuko as he descends unsteadily with his twin bursts of flame.

The shock catches both of them and her whirlpool collapses to the ground and his fire puffs out in a cloud of smoke as, limb tangled in limb, both of them begin to fall to the ground.

There's no time to curse, no time to speak, no time to think.

She's dimly aware of the world rolling around her, of his knees digging into the small of her back, of her head caught between his stomach and his arms. They tumble through the air together, head over heels, the ground coming closer to meeting them with every passing second.

It is Zuko who gains his bearings first.

They are perilously close to hitting the ground when he sharply inhales and jettisons a ferocious blast of fire through the soles of his feet, launching himself back into the air, and Katara with him.

She flexes her fingers experimentally before pulling at the remnants of her water, now puddles lining the ground. They coil together into a single long rope, which she wraps around her wrist and snaps against the ground. The force of it propels the two of them further back in the air.

They achieve an unspoken rhythm – Zuko using the force of his firebending in concert with the push of Katara's water whip against the ground, to slowly, awkwardly, elevate themselves to an advantageous position in the air from which to mount an offensive.

In later moments, Katara will not be able to say how this unspoken synchrony occurred. She isn't sure if he said a word or she gave a signal or a gesture, anything. Only that one moment, they are balanced precariously between their combined elements, and the next, both of them are plummeting to the ground and surging forward, moving, attacking, breathing as one.

The geyser that bursts forth from their combined attacks to knock Toph off her feet and rolling into the ground is as much a surprise to the two of them as it is to the blind earthbender.

"Hey!" Toph protests weakly, through a mouthful of dirt. "What the fuck was that?"

A slow, clapping sound echoes across the arena.

Katara and Zuko look up to see an applauding Jeong-Jeong approaching them. He wears a small, triumphant smile, and his eyes regard them with nothing short of pride.

"That, Sifu Toph," he says with emphasis, "was the fruit of our labours."

Katara feels strange. As she looks around in the bright daylight and sees the last wisps of steam float away into the sky, she has the strangest sensation of being out of her body and slowly settling back in.

Now that she's back on the ground and the danger has passed, she looks down to regard her hands, expecting to see them charred or twisted or different, somehow. But the skin on her hands is still chestnut brown and smooth, and when she wiggles her fingers, the water on the ground twitches.

"I don't understand," she says hoarsely. "What –"

"Sometimes," Jeong-Jeong explains and he cannot hide the pride suffused in his voice, "a bender with enough power and talent can create something entirely new. The legends speak of Avatars who were able to manipulate not just fire, earth, water, and air, but also metals and lava and the like." He shrugs, casting a quizzical glance at Zuko and Katara, who are inching away from each other with every passing word. "I did not expect any of you to achieve such synchronization to be able to come close to producing such an effect – especially not the two of you, given your turbulent history. It fills me with pride to learn that you have put aside those differences for now."

"We have?" Zuko interjects, casting a cautious, if not somewhat nervous glance at Katara.

Something inside her stirs. It's feebler than she remembers, but the old anger still burns.

"We have not," she insists. "I – I don't know how I could – with him –"

It felt like sharing, sharing too much, and she never agreed to that. Maybe she doesn't want him dead, but that doesn't mean that she's ready to let him in, to trust him with a part of her in exchange for a part of him and turn it into something completely different and unexpected.

Not with him.

It had felt invasive, compromising, almost violating…

And yet, she had embraced it with all of her mind and body, had surrendered to it on pure instinct, had welcomed the discovery and harmonized with it.

And that she can't accept.

"It is clear to me that this was a shock to you, Sifu Katara," Jeong-Jeong says in response to Katara's outburst. "Whatever you feel now, however, does not change the fact that you and Prince Zuko successfully fused your bending to create a new type of bending. Perhaps of equal note, if you recall, was how the two of you were able to combine your firebending and waterbending to stay afloat and maintain your aerial advantage over Sifu Toph. It was a truly impressive display. In all my years, and there are far more than I care to admit, I have never seen anything quite like it."

Jeong-Jeong reminds her so much of Pakku: so quick to anger, so reticent with approval. His praise should fill her with pride. On any other day, it probably would have.

But today, she is fit to burst with all the incoherent contradictions rampaging in her mind of which she can no longer make any sense.

"If this is what you are capable of without even attempting to resolve your differences," Jeong-Jeong continues slowly, his mouth stern but his eyes still warm, "I only wonder what you can accomplish if you try."

He dismisses them for the day.

Zuko walks away without even looking at her. The set of his shoulders is very rigid, and his fists are clenched tight.

She doesn't know what he expected. To be frank, she doesn't even know how to behave around him anymore.

She should hate him. She wants to hate him.

But now she realizes she doesn't, and the guilt is eating her alive.

Behind her, Aang and Toph evade her gaze. She sees the disappointment in Aang's eyes.

Who are you to judge me?

She turns on her heel and storms off, scarcely paying attention to the world around her.

Guilt and anger are at war within her.

Firebenders are the enemy.

Firebenders destroyed my home and killed my parents.

Firebenders took me away from Sokka and put me in a colonial school.

Jet saved me from the colonial school.

Firebenders took me away from Jet and sent me to Pakku.

Pakku sent me here to Zuko.

Zuko is a firebender.

Zuko is kind to me.

Zuko means me no harm.

Zuko protects me from other firebenders.

But firebenders are the enemy.

And Zuko is the enemy.

Zuko was almost killed by Jet.

Jet was killed by the Dai Li, because they wanted to kill Zuko.

Jet is dead because I helped Zuko instead of him.

Jet is dead because I helped the enemy instead of him.

A wolf-whistle and a crow of laughter filter through her whirling thoughts, breaking her out of her reverie.

"What's the rush, pole girl?" Chan inquires insolently. He stands in front of her, directly blocking her path and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

Ruon-Jian and Hide close in on her on either side, arresting her motion forward or sideways.

Belatedly, Katara realizes that she's stumbled into a circle of her least favourite people within the camp. Behind her is a small audience of Chan's friends, an assortment of firebenders and non-bending soldiers.

Heart pounding in her chest, Katara ignores Chan and tries to walk around him.

He grabs her by the wrist and flings her back.

She lands on the ground amidst the jeers of the crowd behind her, with less grace than she'd have liked.

"I said," he repeats more slowly, a leer crossing his handsome face, "what's the rush?"

Her cheeks flush angrily as she struggles to get to her feet. Her muscles hurt from her exertions at cross-training earlier, and her mind and emotions are everywhere at once following the events of the night before.

Katara is at the breaking point of her very last nerve. Chan was a nuisance and a piss-poor firebender to boot, she knows, but he'd gone and laid a hand on her and now he's gone too far. "Get out of my way," she tells him in a low, menacing voice.

A chorus of titters greet her words.

"Or what?" Chan taunts her.

He's stripped off his shirt by now, and he leans into an offensive firebending stance that she recognizes all too well by now.

This is a bad idea, a lone voice in her head whispers, before she pushes it aside.

Chan has no right to harass her this way. He's literally asking for it.

Katara responds by silently uncorking her waterskin at her side and streaming her water out in front of her at the ready. She chooses a much more aggressive stance than she would have selected had she been in view of Aang or Jeong-Jeong.

"Or else she'll splash you with some water, Chan!" Ruon-Jian calls out, to a chorus of laughter. "That's all waterbenders are good for!"

Chan carelessly lobs a fireball in her direction, deliberately missing her face by half a foot.

She doesn't flinch, but merely follows the motion of the fire with her eyes. "Your aim could use some work, Chan," she comments tonelessly.

A muscle twitches in his jaw at her words, and his handsome face is suddenly ugly. "Don't you dare talk down to me, colonial scum," he spits, taking a step closer to her.

"Or what?" Katara snorts disdainfully, throwing caution to the wind and damning the consequences, because she's just itching to show these firebending bastards that they can't just do what they want, not to her, not now. "You'll bend a couple of pathetic smokestacks at me and miss again?"

The next fireball comes hurtling for her face, but its trail is slow and predictable. After months of training, Chan's skills are no match for her reflexes, and she lazily blocks him with a swish of her water.

"You think you're so important," Chan hisses at her. "But just you wait. Watch your back, waterbender, because I'm watching you, and I'll get you, right when you least expect it."

"Was that a threat?" Katara inquires, raising an eyebrow. "If so, why wait? You have me right here, in front of your little audience. If you think you can hurt me, come and try."

His hesitation adds fuel to the wave of recklessness consuming her. "Unless you're the one who's really scared," she hears herself goad.

Her words strike a nerve as Chan lets out a yell and barrels toward her.

She waits until the last second before she leaps out of the way, easily dodging his headlong tackle and ensuing blast of fire. Landing lightly on her toes, she turns and watches him insolently as he clambers to his feet, red-faced and panting.

His arms rotate at the shoulders and he attempts a spinning kick, fire erupting from the sole of his extended foot. The force he achieves would have impressed her some time ago, but months of sparring with Zuko leave her underwhelmed with his prowess.

She sidesteps his attack and, with offensively deliberate ease, sends him flying six feet into the air with a well-timed snap of her water whip.

He lands on his feet and charges at her.

She freezes the water beneath his feet and sends him sliding and crashing to the ground.

"What's the matter, Chan?" she asks impudently, dropping her water and tossing her long braid over her shoulder. "I thought you were going to teach me a lesson. This isn't even a fight."

Chan spits out a mouthful of what looks like blood, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "For a peasant of a waterbender, you fight a lot like a firebender," he says to her. "Who taught you that? The guys who gave you those scars?"

She tilts her head quizzically and raises an eyebrow. "Scars, what scars?"

"Oh, come on now, everyone knows." Chan's face twists into a grin that is almost feral. "The ones that look like burns, but they're shaped like handprints – "

Katara feels as though the bottom has dropped out of her stomach. Chan, sensing that he's struck a nerve, continues maliciously. " – and you've got them everywhere, and when I say that, I mean everywhere –"

How does he know?

But the answer comes to her almost instantly as she remembers that day, just shortly after her arrival at the camp, when she and Toph had overheard someone spying on them while they were bathing…

She'd since put the memory of that incident out of her mind, assuming that whoever it was hadn't seen much, or that Toph had knocked the fear of the spirits into them in retaliation.

But this is a new low. A violation of her privacy of a nature that she hasn't felt in a very long time.

"How did you get them, anyway?" Chan presses on, oblivious to the gathering storm within Katara. "I mean, those are awfully private spots. Did they force themselves on you or did you let them touch you?"

He presses his hands to his chest, along his torso, in mocking demonstration.

The old shame consumes her. The guilt. The terror. The hatred. It swells inside her, so that she can barely hear the filth pouring out of Chan's mouth.

"Know what I think? I think you let them. I think you've fucked more firebenders than anyone else in this division. And what's more, you probably enjoyed it, you water tribe slut."

Chan turns to face his crowd of onlookers, who wear grins large enough to match his own.

"Who's with me?"

They jeer in response.

Katara can't see, Katara can't think, Katara can't do anything except feel.

The racing of Chan's heart, the flow of his blood inside his veins, pulsing back and forth in his nervous, earnest excitement. It pounds in her ears, dominating her senses, and her fingers twitch, itching, urging her to just –

Kill.

She raises her head sharply, to meet his eyes with her own.

The shit-eating grin slips off of Chan's face in the space of a heartbeat.

Everything goes silent.

Then, Katara charges.

She bears down upon him with the speed and ferocity of a rampaging moose-lion, and he doesn't even have a moment to defend himself before she tackles him to the ground.

Despite his obvious size advantage, she's learned enough from Suki and Toph to keep him pinned down, without a struggle.

Now you're at my mercy.

She punches him repeatedly, and he doesn't stand a chance.

Except firebender scum like you don't deserve my mercy.

Not now. Not ever.

Her fist connects with his jaw and the crack is audible.

Chan lets out a howl of pain, and his hands scrabble at her, grabbing at her arms, her shoulders, struggling to push her off –

She grabs his hands and twists, immobilizing them with brutal efficiency, before she wraps her hands around his neck and squeezes –

Kill them all.

Footsteps pound on the ground behind her, approaching her, and then she feels more hands, trying to pull her away –

She inhales and throws her arms up into the air around her.

The water seeping into the ground around her springs back into the air and forms into a ring around her, where she sits. In the blink of an eye, her assailants have been thrown back, away from her.

And what's more, you probably enjoyed it, you water tribe slut…

Chan's words echo in her ears as she mercilessly forces the water into his mouth, down his throat and into his lungs.

She hears him choking and coughing, but he'll stop breathing soon enough, she already can feel the flow of his blood, slowing, and then –

And maybe then, you'll wish you learned to fear the waterbenders.

Her hands clench shut and the ribs surrounding his lungs crack, as the water inside him ripples and expands.

Chan's scream never leaves his throat. There's too much water for the sound to form.

Because fire won't save you from drowning.

It hadn't saved the guards back in New Ozai, and it won't save Chan either.

But then, she realizes, too late –

Hands, strong, firm, unyielding hands grab her by the arms, shoulders, waist, even by her ill-fitting tunic, and they drag her backward, before she has a chance to struggle –

Her arms are twisted and pinioned behind her back, and through the rush of blood in her ears, she thinks she hears someone yelling her name.

She tries to pull her hands free, but the grip on her wrists is like stone –

"Katara, Katara, stop –"

More cuffs, now on her feet, and she lurches forward, falling to her knees –

"Hold her still, while we assess the damage –"

Voices, above her, fading in and out of earshot, arguing. One is high-pitched and positively crazed, the other low and gravelly.

"She almost killed Chan, she's crazy –"

"Chan provoked her in a deliberate and cruel fashion –"

"That doesn't mean she could attack him like that! She's like a rabid dog that needs to be put down –"

"What did he think would happen to him by angering one of the most dangerous benders in the army? He's lucky he isn't dead, with brains like that –"

Dangerous. Lucky.

She lets out a breath.

Before her, Chan is supine on the ground, stirring feebly. His eyes are closed and his face is pale. An officer dressed in red kneels over him.

"He needs medical attention, immediately," the officer says urgently. "Careful while lifting him, otherwise we might lose him. His lungs sound like they've been ruptured, and he's got more than one broken rib."

The words wash over her. Inside, she feels hollow.

The earth around her rumbles and forms itself into a makeshift stretcher. Chan is gently deposited onto it, and borne out of her sight, toward the medical tents.

She realizes the pulse echoing in her ears is now her own.

"What do we do with this one?"

A foot kicks at her.

"Teach her a lesson!" yelps Ruon-Jian, whose voice is unrecognizable to Katara's ears, it is so high-pitched in its fear. "Make sure this freak never bends again!"

"We're not making a cripple out of her. That will solve nothing." A pause, and Katara feels herself being hoisted to her feet.

Her ankles are bound in rock cuffs, and she raises her eyes.

Her heart drops as she meets Toph's angry, sightless eyes. The earthbender's hands are shaking slightly, but she holds the stone cuffs firm around her legs and wrists.

"You're fucked up, Sugar Queen," Toph spits in her face, shaking her head. "What you did to that guy – what on earth is wrong with you, you need help –"

A tattooed hand places itself on Toph's shoulder. "Don't," says Aang's voice, and Katara notices that Aang is shaking too, but he won't meet her eyes, he won't even look at her, "don't waste your time, Toph. I wish I hadn't."

She is too far-gone to even feel the hurt.

"Take the waterbender to the prison hold and lock her up," commands the presiding officer. His voice is flat and without intonation. "Keep her there in isolation until we can determine an appropriate course of action with her superiors."

Katara is dragged away.

The firebenders around her give her a wide berth now.

Ruon-Jian stands toe-to-toe with Zuko, but while the former averts his eyes, the latter meets her gaze impassively. His scarred face is inscrutable, and that, perhaps, is for the best.

After all, it isn't every day that she weighs herself against the fire prince and realizes that maybe, just maybe, the real monster is her.

Chapter 12: white lotus

Summary:

Katara is brought before the General to answer for her actions.

Chapter Text

disclaimer. ATLA & its associated content are property of bryke and i derive no financial gain from writing this.

author's notes. whew! this chapter was a toughie to write. i had to really play with the structure in order to get everything across in a semi-coherent manner...and even then i don't think i was entirely successful. ah, whatever.

thank you so much to everyone who's been following along! it really means a lot to me when you guys get involved and invested in the writing, and i only hope that the payoff is worth it.

just a quick(?) aside before getting back into the story: many of you have commented on the way the narrative treats katara unfairly, as well as the reactions of aang and toph in the previous chapter seeming somewhat jarring and unfounded. while i leave it to the story to defend itself, i would just like to make a couple of things absolutely clear:

1) i do not intend to have this story defend or glamourize the oppressive actions of the fire empire, or devolve into victim-blaming. a major theme in this story is colonization, and the way the conflicts within the story are presented are in keeping with the reality of such imbalanced power structures. look at every day instances of people in positions of lesser privilege or oppression, and the way their complaints are silenced and shut down by hostile institutions and allies alike. frankly, if as a reader, you are outraged by the way katara is being treated in this story, then the narrative is doing its job in successfully depicting both the unpleasant realities of colonization and oppression, and the less-than-ideal behaviour from all parties (including the oppressors, oppressed, and bystanders/allies).

2) this is a story that, while fictional, mirrors a lot of what's going on in real life. i've drawn a lot of inspiration from historical assimilations of indigenous populations as well as current sociopolitical movements in the western world. this includes the wide range of reactions people have to such movements. toph and aang, for example, are meant to embody the type of allies who, while well-meaning and sympathetic to the cause of individual oppression, have never actually experienced it themselves due to their relative privilege and thus, when confronted with the very real anger, disruption, and violence that often forms the core of such movements, tend to shut down, back away, or suddenly lose a lot of their sympathy. (we see this play out in canon, when aang is unable to understand katara's need for closure and vengeance against the southern raiders, while toph has been seen to steadily lose patience with katara's frustration in recent chapters). this is not meant as an indictment of either character, but more an indication of the growth every character in the story will have to undergo in order to be their best selves. at this point in the story, katara is not an "ideal victim" and does not behave as such. toph, aang, zuko, and even mai, are imperfect individuals who come from very different places and range in their abilities to recognize katara's distress, empathize with it, and help her confront it in a supportive way. how this happens is the subject of future chapters.

...okay so i lied, that was not quick at all BUT i felt it was important to be absolutely clear about where this is coming from and where this is going to go.

anyway, moving on.

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter xii. white lotus

passion chokes the flower 'till she cries no more
possessing all the beauty, hungry still for more
heaven holds a sense of wonder and i wanted to believe
that i'd get caught up when the rage in me subsides

"silence"/delirium

Katara's cell is a small stone square with a heavy metal door. The small line of light peeping through the bottom of the door is her only light. Otherwise, it is cold, dark, and cramped. In the corner lies a scratchy straw mattress with a thin, raggedy blanket for her to sleep on.

It reminds her unsettlingly of her days back in New Ozai.

The wash basin and chamberpot are kept outside her cell, which is under guard every hour of the day. When bodily need outweighs her pride and dignity, she calls for them.

Her wrists and ankles are clapped together in irons, and when it is time for her meals, three guards hold her down and feed her, lest she try use the water in her cup and in her thin gruel as a weapon to break free.

But they needn't have bothered with soldiers and shackles.

Shame is a far more effective captor.

Dear Sokka,

I wish I had better news for you. But right now, I'm imprisoned at a Fire Empire military base.

And the worst part is, I think I deserve it.

((THE SOUTH POLE: NINE YEARS AGO))

She used to tell herself it began with the snow.

In the years to come, however, she realizes it began long before that.

She had been young, far too young to understand such things. But certain things she remembers with burning lucidity.

She remembers the arrival of the men in green, and with them, the promise of war.

She remembers the sounds of her village awakening at daybreak, how the crackling of the cookfires and creaking of the longboats changed to the sounds of men shouting and drilling and sharpening their weapons.

Most of all, she remembers the lines around her father's eyes, the anxiety in her mother's face as they argued long into the night.

The feeling of Sokka's hand on her shoulder as they listened quietly at the crack of the door. Heard their mother try to convince their father to send the children away, now, while they still could. Heard their father insist that it was safer here, among their own people. No one outside the borders could be trusted in these times, anyway.

And so Katara had believed, though she and Sokka could never quite shake the feeling of mounting unease that had gripped their home.

And then, one unremarkable day, while running outside pelting snowballs at Sokka, along where the ice met the ocean, it began.

First came the snow, black with soot.

Then came the ships, row by row, far as the eye could see.

And then, horror.

You're probably wondering what I did that was so bad, and, well, I suppose if I were to tell you, I don't even know if you'd agree with me. War is war and we were soldiers long before we were people.

((PRESENT DAY))

It's the smell of the fire that stays with her the longest.

Sometimes she catches it, still, a wisp of memory fleeting from consciousness as she awakens from a particularly bad dream.

In her dreams, she is still eight years old, hiding behind Sokka's fur-lined parka, watching the ice floes drift by their little cell window, feeling the air outside the iron steamship change as it carries them further and further away from the South Pole.

Sometimes she is nine years old, and sitting in a dark room with the other children her age. In her dreams, it looks like a prison cell, and when the guards discipline them with glowing orange fire in their hands, the screams still sound real. The memory of heat of their hands burning through cloth and skin and flesh often wakes her in the night, though by now she has learned not to scream.

Sometimes she is ten and learning how to heal, furtively, during the days when the school staff was away to celebrate Fire Empire holidays, like Conquest Day and Day of the Dragons. She paces from bed to bed in the sick bay, cautiously applying water to one burn after another. She grows used to scars, ugly disfiguring weeping scars, that crisscross the bodies of her fellow classmates. She learns to ignore the stench of infection, the odour of death. She steels herself against the sight of dead children, carelessly tossed into crudely dug graves in the school backyard.

But what if I was to tell you that I almost killed someone today? Someone who was a firebender, and who harassed me nonstop for months on end, and who got off on saying the most vile, disgusting things about me? Who even confessed to spying on me while I bathed, and then making fun of my scars?

Would you think I was wrong if I told you I wanted him dead for that?

Or would you think I was wrong for feeling sorry that I did?

((NEW OZAI: FOUR YEARS AGO))

At times, she is thirteen and sneaking into her brother's room. Sokka nurses his left side, which is covered in oozing burns. Another welt is bright red down one of his cheeks. As a fifteen-year-old boy, he remains defiant and a popular target for the school staff during public disciplining rituals. She remembers purifying his wounds, drawing the reeking pus collecting within his burns and clearing the sluggish blood from infection and disease. She remembers asking him if they would ever see home again. She remembers wondering if they were both going to die there, like most of their other classmates who had perished of sickness and malnourishment and complications from their burns.

Sometimes, Sokka even answers her. She likes those nights best, when she can hear his voice, clear as the last time she'd seen him, and feel his grip on her hand, still so very strong despite his wounds, as he promises her vehemently that yes, they would live.

"But Sokka," Katara interjects then, on the verge of tears, "how can you say that when they're so cruel to us?"

"We'll find a way," Sokka insists, his eyes big and bright blue, just like hers, trained on her. "I'm the last warrior in the Southern Water Tribe, and you're our last bender. Those Fire Empire bastards don't stand a chance against us."

His false bravado fails to move her.

"But there's only two of us against all of them," she argues, feeling the futility of it all settle over her. "What can we do? They want us all dead and I don't even know why. Why do they hate us so much, Sokka?"

A single tear escapes her eyes and trails a path lazily down her cheek.

Sokka struggles into an upright position and reaches out a hand to gently wipe the tear away.

"Because," he tells her simply, "it's easier to hate than to change."

She never forgets the way he feels in her arms when she hugs him.

Truth is, I have no idea what you'd think. You've been gone for so long, and I've been going on, living life without you, growing without you, trying to look for you but never finding you.

I miss you. I wish you were here. You're all I have left and without you, I feel lost and alone and so confused. It's hard enough to tell right from wrong when everything's been so fucked up, and sometimes…sometimes I need my big brother to tell me what to do.

((NEW OZAI: THREE YEARS AGO))

More often than not, she is fourteen, kneeling in the snow outside the school.

She's staring blankly at the footprints Sokka left behind, and the boomerang that he'd dropped.

To this day, she cannot decide if she is happy that he escaped, or angry that he left her behind.

But that doesn't fly either. In the end, I'm responsible for the decisions I make, whether they're good or bad. And even though my moral compass isn't exactly the soundest right about now, I think I can recognize a monster when I see one.

Yes, Chan was awful. He's the type of person you would have hated. I don't know what you would have done to him if you'd heard the way he was talking to me. Maybe you'd have beaten him up as badly as I did.

Maybe you'd have done worse.

((NEW OZAI: TWO YEARS AGO))

"You're new around here," says the tall boy with the messy chestnut hair and impudent, dark eyes. He leans against the doorframe with languishing ease, chewing on a weed of some sort, as he eyes her up and down with undisguised interest.

"I suppose you could say that," Katara replies, her face giving nothing away. By now, she is fifteen and alone and no stranger to the attentions of men.

"I could keep an eye out for you," the boy continues evenly. The weed in his mouth moves up and down as he speaks. "I know some people, people who shake things up around here. Besides, no one would bother you if you stuck with me. If you want."

"That's very kind," Katara acquiesces, feeling the hollowness consume her but steeling her nerve. She meets his eyes. "What's your price?"

Jet straightens, drawing himself to his full height. She is not exactly small, but he towers over her as he slowly saunters up to her. He pulls the weed out of his mouth and tosses it carelessly to the ground.

Then he pulls her face to his and kisses her forcefully.

After all, it's a kill-or-be-killed world out there, and firebenders are the enemy. After what they did to us, does it really matter that I almost killed one of the enemy?

((NEW OZAI: TWO YEARS AGO))

Her last year in New Ozai is a blur to her. True to his word, Katara is no longer subjected to the same bodily indignities as before.

Instead, she's traded the fresh burns for bruises in the shape of Jet's fingerprints.

She harbours no illusions about him, or the nature of their relationship. His kisses are brutal and his touch is rough and he makes disparaging comments about the burn scars lining her torso and back.

But he keeps her safe, and that's all that really matters.

So she uses him and he uses her and it doesn't bother her so much, as long as she's alive.

Once upon a time I might have said yes. Once upon a time, you might have said yes.

((NEW OZAI: ONE YEAR AGO))

When she's sent at last to the military academy, Jet says he'll miss her.

She doesn't return the lie.

But maybe I'm misremembering you. Because you were strong and tough and fiercely loyal to us, but you were never cruel like them. You were angry, but never hateful.

I, on the other hand... I'm not proud of what I've done.

What I did to Chan was no less wrong than what the firebenders did to us.

Why, even Prince Zuko - yes, the fire lord's son – even he wanted to spare Jet, and this was after Jet had tried to assassinate him in the middle of the night.

And if that's what Ozai's son would do, then…what does that make me?

((CRESCENT ISLAND: ONE YEAR AGO))

"Waterbending is not for girls," Master Pakku tells her flatly. "They must have made some mistake, sending you here to me."

"Great," Katara snaps at him. "Then you can go train the other waterbenders the Fire Empire sends you. You know, since there are so many of us left."

By now, the polar invasions and brutal assimilation tactics have rendered the Water Tribes to a fraction of its former population. Waterbenders are rare to find now, and good ones rarer.

Pakku is set in his ways but he is not blind.

"If you can't keep up with my students, then I can't help you," he barks at her at last. "I'm not making any exceptions for you."

I want to be angry, Sokka, I want to fight. I want to hold on to vengeance for our family, and hatred for the people who did this to us.

But I've tried and tried and now, I'm not really angry anymore.

I'm just…tired.

((CRESCENT ISLAND: A FEW MONTHS AGO))

By the year's end, she has become his favourite student.

It's like I'm dragging this great big weight around, and I'm doing it because I think it keeps me strong, but all it does is weigh me down. It's exhausting.

And I…I don't like who I'm becoming, Sokka.

I don't think you would, either.

Whatever you think, whether what I did was right or wrong, or good or bad, or justified or not, I…I think you would be sad if you saw me like this.

((CRESCENT ISLAND: A FEW MONTHS AGO))

When she leaves for the Fire Empire Army, he gives her a small cloth bag.

It contains a small, nondescript wooden tile, carved with a white lotus.

I think it would break your heart.

((PRESENT))

The door to her cell slams open.

Katara stirs, blinking slowly, before shielding her face against the bright light pouring in from the hallway.

How long has she been here? A day? A week? A fortnight? She's lost count. There have been no hallmarks by which to measure time in her solitary confinement.

"Get up," commands a soldier's rough voice.

Blinking, she attempts to look up again.

Four guards, silhouetted against the doorway, have entered her cell. She can't make out their faces and the one man's voice does not sound familiar to her.

She opens her mouth, to try and ask a question. It's tough, when her mouth is so dry.

She wants to ask them what's going on, but only a word or two make it past the fortress of her lips.

"You're being summoned," the guard tells her curtly. "Best get a move on, waterbender."

She struggles to sit up. For the last eternity, it seems, she's been lying on her straw pallet in a listless daze, lost in her thoughts. Her captors haven't starved her exactly, but after the dark and the cold and the meager rations, her body feels weak and strangely resistant to her attempts at motion.

The world sways in front of her.

"Could I have a hand?" Katara manages to ask.

She can't see the expressions on their faces, but two of them oblige and haul her up, all the same.

"We're going to remove the shackles on your legs," one of the guards tells her firmly. "Can you walk?"

Katara shifts her weight experimentally. Her legs feel like jelly, but they still support her.

"I think so," she answers uncertainly.

"Hold still, then," the guard orders. He produces a key and kneels down. A clink later, the heavy irons fall free of her ankles.

"Thank you," Katara says gratefully.

The guard gets back up again and looks at her sternly.

"I hope you know that we've been given strict orders to escort you where you're needed to go," he says to her bluntly. "If you even try to bend, we've been instructed to use whatever means necessary to subdue you."

Katara nods, her face downcast.

"I understand," she whispers.

"Good. Now, follow me."

The guards march her out of her cell, through the dank hallway lit with glowing, firelit torches in iron sconces mounted on the wall, and up a set of roughly-hewn stone steps. The one who'd talked to her leads the way. Two flank her on either side, and the last one walks steadily behind her.

"Where are we going?" Katara wonders out loud, as the stairs level out and they head outside.

"The General wants to see you," the guard in front of her says flatly.

Oh.

Katara hasn't even thought about what it would be like to face them.

General Shinu and – and Master Jeong-Jeong, she realizes with a sickening feeling in her stomach. Her commanding officers, who had treated her with respect, and whom she'd learned to respect in turn.

She knows now, that she's probably being summoned for a disciplinary hearing of sorts, perhaps a sentencing.

And yet, the threat of punishment doesn't fill her with dread half as much as does the idea of seeing the disappointment in Jeong-Jeong's eyes at her actions.

But the guards flanking her march squarely on, and so, she drags her feet onward.

They march her through the camp, and she keeps her eyes fixed straight ahead of her. The others are out and about, and she doesn't know what to do if she finds herself face-to-face with someone she knows.

She doesn't know how to deal with them bearing witness to her shame.

I made a mistake and I'm sorry. Please.

They march her into a tent that looks like General Shinu's grand pavilion. The guard in front of her holds the entrance flap aside for her to let her pass, and the others guide her through the foyer toward another doorway on the left.

She dimly hears a low murmur of conversation beyond the curtain, before it too is pulled back and she is led through it, into the room within to face judgment.

The sight that greets her is not exactly what she expected.

It reminds her of the war council room, but the windows are bigger and daylight pours in, bathing the room in a warm and cheerful glow. There are ornamental vases and paintings and scrolls lining the walls, artful arrangements of exotic-looking plants decorating the corners. The table in the middle of the room is much smaller than the war council table, and in the fireplace, a pot of tea simmers away.

Behind her, the guard clears his throat, and the men sitting at the table look up.

There are a handful of them: high-ranking, commanding officers, some of whom she recognizes from war council meetings. Long-winded Captain Shu is seated next to a handsome man in a navy uniform, while Jeong-Jeong sits slightly apart, garbed in a simple dark cotton cloak. His face remains mean and flinty and gives nothing away.

To her surprise, General Shinu is not occupying the high seat of honour at the head of the table. That highest honour has been accorded to the person sitting next to him: an old man with a kind face, who Katara does not recognize.

"We have brought you Katara the waterbender," the guard behind her announces.

General Shinu turns his attention away from the kindly old man sitting next to him. His eyes sweep over her face, and they narrow only slightly.

"Thank you," he says shortly, nodding at the guards behind her. "You may leave us now."

The guards bow and take their leave.

Katara feels like a fish out of water, gaping for breath on the hostile shore. She is aware of everyone's eyes on her, and their expressions range from curious to downright outraged.

"So this is the feral waterbender?" bursts the handsome man sitting next to Captain Shu, the one in the navy uniform. His face is clouded with rage, and he gets to his feet, pointing at her with an accusing finger. "This Water Tribe peasant was the one who almost murdered my son?"

Katara feels the blood drain out from her face, leaving her white as a sheet.

It takes all of her effort to not fidget or squirm or flinch at the man's angry words, and yet, she cannot fault him his anger.

"We will act with decorum, Admiral Chan," says the old man at the head of the table in a placid voice.

Chan's father, the Admiral, stiffens, but after a moment, he turns to face the old man.

"With all due respect, General," he forces out in clipped words, his voice shaking with the effort to maintain a respectful, even tone, "my son was almost killed by this girl! Forgive me if decorum is not a priority on my mind at this moment."

"I understand that this is a serious matter at hand, Admiral," replies the kindly old man in the same calm voice, "and I feel your pain as a father, for the suffering your son has endured. However, this is not the place for retribution, but for justice. If you are not prepared to hear, as I suspect, the many other sides of this story besides the one you have already been told, then I will have to ask you to excuse yourself."

Admiral Chan's face reddens, but the old man's face is resolute. After opening and closing his mouth a few times without uttering another word, the admiral bows his head shortly, and sits back down in his chair, arms crossed across his chest.

Katara cannot help but stare at the old man and wonder. He seems to be a General of the army, and though his military attire suggests that this is true, Katara has never seen a man who appears less warlike. General Shinu, Admiral Chan, even Master Jeong-Jeong appear stern and ferocious, like they would belong on the battlefield. This benign old man, with his receding hairline, broad lined face, and rotund shape, however, seems more suited to reading old scrolls and playing pai sho than to commanding the most fearsome army the world had ever known. And yet, the deference given to him by the other officers in the room suggests otherwise.

But how? How could a man so serene and kind, with laugh lines creasing around his eyes and mouth, rise to such heights in the army? Katara doesn't understand it at all.

"We will proceed," says General Shinu, breaking Katara out of her ponderings. He nods at Katara. "Please, take a seat."

Katara blinks, and then awkwardly seats herself at the one empty chair, on the other side of the table. The manacles on her wrists clink as she rests her hands on top of the worn wood surface.

The old man seated next to Shinu frowns. "Why are her hands bound like that?" he inquires, a frown crossing his broad, lined face.

Katara does not miss the confusion that ripples across the faces of everyone else at the table. With the exception of Jeong-Jeong, seated at the old man's other side, who still appears impassive and unresponsive.

"With respect, General, this waterbender was apprehended while attacking one of our firebenders with great ferocity," Captain Shu explains. "She is an incredibly powerful bender and thus, we have had to keep her wrists bound as a safety precaution."

The old man snorts. "A room full of the Empire's finest, and you feel threatened by one girl? You dishonour yourselves. Remove her shackles."

"But – but she could be dangerous, sir!" Captain Shu splutters.

The old man sends a stern glance to the captain. "Sifu Katara remains our only waterbending master, for all the allegations against her. It is not your place to treat her like some common criminal. Or have you found another with her talents lining up to replace her?"

"That's – that's not what I meant –" Captain Shu continues, now red as a plum-beet.

The old man turns his attentions to Katara and fixes her with his shrewd gaze. "Will you use your bending to harm any of us in this room if we remove your shackles, Sifu Katara?" he asks her politely.

Katara gapes at him, before shaking her head quickly.

"Well, there you have it," the old General says briskly. "Unbind Sifu Katara's wrists."

A guard materializes by her side and quickly unlocks the cuffs on her wrists.

"Th – thank you," she forces out hoarsely, rubbing at her wrists.

The old man smiles at her. "I have heard a great deal about you, Sifu Katara. I regret that we must meet under such troubled circumstances, for I have been looking forward to making your acquaintance." He bows his head shortly. "I am General Iroh."

Katara's jaw drops.

This old man – this wise, peaceful, kind old man –

"You're the Crown Prince?" she blurts out, unable to contain her disbelief.

Of all her assumptions about what Ozai's older brother would be like, this man cannot be further from them.

"General Iroh is indeed the Heir Apparent to the Fire Empire throne," General Shinu informs her curtly. "Agni willing, it will be many years before he leaves us to assume the throne and govern the land."

General Iroh – no, Crown Prince Iroh – waves a hand dismissively at Shinu's words. "Enough of that talk, now," he says. "We are here to get to the bottom of another matter."

"That is correct," Shinu says, and his voice becomes hard as he focuses his attention on Katara. Whatever hope had bloomed in her chest at Iroh's earlier actions quickly dashes as Shinu begins to speak. "Katara, I will be quick about this. Did you, or did you not, attack Admiral Chan's son?"

Katara swallows past the lump forming in the back of her throat. "I did," she confesses, her voice quiet.

"Did you do so intentionally?" Shinu continues sternly.

Katara nods her head. "I did." Her voice is a whisper now.

What was the point? General Iroh's small kindnesses be damned, they were Fire Empire through and through, and Chan, vile creature that he was, was a firebender and almost died because of her.

There is no point in defending herself, in pointing out the horrible things Chan and his ilk had said and done to her, to provoke her attack. Who would care?

"Did you do so intentionally, knowing that he may not have survived the ferocity of your attack, knowing that you were the superior bender?" Shinu presses on.

"I – " Katara struggles to remember that day. Truth be told, it seems so very long ago, and even in the heat of the moment, she hadn't been thinking straight. "I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Admiral Chan explodes at her, unable to contain himself. "You mean you didn't want to kill my son, you heartless Water Tribe witch?"

"Language, Admiral Chan," General Iroh admonishes forcefully, as Katara shakes her head quickly. "I am warning you, if you cannot control yourself, I will have to ask you to leave."

Admiral Chan closes his mouth and glares at Katara.

"Please, continue," General Iroh says to her encouragingly.

"I –" Katara is dumbfounded and entirely lost for words. What does General Iroh want to hear from her? She's already confessed to hurting the firebender, so why should he keep up this charade? Why hasn't he started clamouring to burn the Water Tribe witch like the rest of his compatriots yet?

What does he want from me?

"What General Iroh means is," Shinu takes up the line of questioning in a resigned voice, "what were you thinking during the attack? Did you want to kill Chan?"

"No!" Katara exclaims. "Of course not!"

Except, that's not true, a voice in her mind whispers snidely, you wanted him dead, and then regretted it later...

"I mean," she backtracks, confusing even herself with her honesty, "I don't know. I – I wasn't really thinking. I don't know what I was doing, or what I wanted."

"How very convenient," Admiral Chan sneers, as General Shinu rubs his forehead warily.

"So – you didn't want to kill Chan, but you aren't sure about what you wanted?" Shinu echoes skeptically. "You are hardly presenting a convincing case for anyone to follow here, Katara."

Katara shrugs. "I'm sorry," she says quickly, honestly. "I know now that what I did was wrong, and I regret what I did to Chan. I suppose in the heat of the moment I got – carried away, you could say, but –"

"Is that all you have to say for yourself?" Shinu cuts her off, raising an eyebrow.

"I – I don't really know what else to say," Katara answers hesitantly. "I did exactly what you're accusing me of, and I'm sorry that I did it, and I'll accept whatever sentence you think I deserve."

Her heart pounds in her chest fitfully as she remembers the cruelty of Fire Empire judgment.

"I think there is more to the story here than we realize," General Iroh interrupts suddenly. "It would be unwise to consider an appropriate sentence before weighing both sides of the story."

"We have weighed both sides," General Shinu protests. "The waterbender confessed to the crime, what else is there to hear?"

"My dear General Shinu," General Iroh declares, clasping his hands together on the table in front of him, "in life, you must remember that context is everything."

He once again fixes Katara with his assessing amber gaze. "I have been told that prior to your assault on young Chan, he insulted you," General Iroh says evenly. "Repeatedly and cruelly. Is this true?"

Katara's stomach does a backflip at General Iroh's unexpected interest in her motives.

"Where did you hear that?" she asks him sharply, without thinking.

General Iroh's eyes are kind as he replies, "My nephew witnessed much of this incident, as well as – I assume – several of the ones preceding this. I trust his judgment."

Oh.

For many days now, Katara has suspected Prince Zuko of being a much better person than herself. But only after meeting his uncle does she begin to understand the magnitude of her misjudgment.

"What nonsense is this?" Admiral Chan snaps. "This waterbender is guilty of attacking my son and she admitted it! Why are you and Prince Zuko now backtracking to defend her?"

"Because there is a lesson to be learned in all of this," General Iroh answers. "If you will but bear with me, Admiral Chan. Katara, is it true that Chan harassed you, many times, often with the support of other firebenders?"

Katara bites her lip and nods shortly.

"Including the time you attacked him?"

Katara nods again.

"If it does not cause you too much distress, would you be able to describe some of what happened that day, that provoked you to such rage that you would attack him so?"

"I –" Katara struggles, trying to remember. "He accosted me that day, when I was on my way back to my dorm from cross-training, he and his friends. They surrounded me and grabbed me, to stop me from leaving. Chan said some very impolite things and bent a couple of fireballs at me, not intentionally to hurt me, I don't think, maybe to intimidate me, more like –"

"How very rude of him," General Iroh comments. "How did you react?"

"Not well," Katara confesses. "Usually I just ignore him, but that day was – there was a lot going on and he got under my skin."

"What, exactly, did he say?" Iroh asks carefully, but the tone of his voice indicates that he doesn't need to hear it, that he already knows.

Katara's memory doesn't fail her at that. Chan's words from that day are seared into her memory like a brand, and they come back to her instantly. "Lots of things," she answers vaguely, not really wanting to repeat any of the vile things Chan had said.

"Such as?"

She shrugs.

"Katara, we cannot judge you fairly if you do not tell us what he said," General Iroh tells her patiently. "I understand it must be difficult for you to think about, but –"

"Difficult is a nice way to put it," Katara retorts, something within her snapping. "Difficult is when a gang of popular firebenders, who you know are never, ever going to be punished for what they say to you, because they're Fire Nation and you're not, single you out in front of everyone and insult you. Difficult is when they make fun of the way you look, or where you're from. Difficult is when they try to attack you, not to hurt but to intimidate, to remind you that because you're not Fire Nation, you should always remember to be scared of them. As though nine years of –" she halts abruptly, deciding that airing this subject in front of the Crown Prince himself is the dimmest idea she's had all week, " – as though all my life, the Fire Empire hasn't been trying to teach me that." Her voice grows hoarse. "But when they violated my privacy by watching me bathe, and then had the nerve to insult what they saw, and then called me a slut over it, I – " she pauses, trying to catch her breath and quell the anger rising in her, still, because Chan may be in pretty poor shape right now, but only because he was a little shit who deserved some pain, "I don't think that was difficult, General Iroh. I think it was quite easy."

To her surprise, General Iroh appears sad. "So do I, Sifu Katara," he says quietly, bowing his head slightly. "So do I."

"What?" Admiral Chan all but yells out, turning to face his General. "Sir, you cannot condone this girl's actions! What she did was monstrous! What she did to my son was unforgivable!"

"I am not condoning anything," General Iroh says to Admiral Chan with a heavy voice. "But you are wrong. Your son lives, still. What Katara did to him was almost unforgivable. Almost. But I have now heard her side of the story – what little of it she chooses to share with me, I am sure, there is no shortage of misery she must have endured here – and I am satisfied that her actions, violent and dangerous as they were, have been motivated by nothing more malicious than rightful anger."

Huh? Katara is lost, and she is certain her mouth is all but hanging open at Iroh's words.

Is General Iroh, Crown Prince of the Fire Empire, Ozai's older brother, siding with her?

"Anger?" Admiral Chan echoes in fury, jumping to his feet again. "Carry on like this, General, and I'll make sure you become very familiar with the word! What about my anger? My son -"

"Your son took special pleasure in tormenting a young girl with no home and no family, Admiral Chan," General Iroh speaks over the indignant admiral with ringing finality in his voice. "He delighted in finding new, cruel ways to provoke her and make her feel small about herself. Given the way our people have treated hers, your son's actions appear all the more grave. Perhaps he was only posturing, perhaps he never meant to actually harm this girl – but you are all aware of the devastation our Empire, and in particular, our military, has wrought on the people of the Water Tribe. What we have done, now that, I fear, is unforgivable. But even then, we cannot give up. We must try harder, with what exists within ourselves and with what we pass on to our children, to make our amends and do better. To make ourselves worthy of trust again."

"Must?" Admiral Chan bellows. "We are the children of Agni! We must do nothing! We answer to no one!"

"If you are answerable to no one, then no one will answer for the pain they cause you," General Iroh says plainly. "My heart aches for your son, Admiral, for it is becoming plain to me that you are responsible for the way you have taught him to treat others. He is guilty only of acting the way he has been shown, and now he has paid a heavy price for it. But I cannot find Katara guilty of anything more than acting the way she has been taught. By us and our kind, no less. In the end, this girl has more in common with your son than you will ever know or understand, I fear."

Katara feels her eyes welling up at the General's measured words.

"So you will not punish the girl, then?" Admiral Chan's voice is flat with disbelief. "It was justified because she got angry?"

"Angry because a group of firebenders provoked her by making threats and repeatedly insulting every aspect of her being?" General Iroh summarizes, his voice becoming louder and uncharacteristically sardonic. "Yes, how very unreasonable of her! Why, I am quite confident that if you found yourself in the exact same situation, Admiral Chan, you certainly would not find yourself angered in the slightest. You would not let your anger get the better of you and do something rash, perhaps something that you would come to regret."

Iroh's chastisement is not ineffective. Admiral Chan opens his mouth to retort, but then thinks better of it. He sits down, thoroughly chastened.

"So what is your judgment then, esteemed General?" General Shinu asks. He sounds genuinely confused.

General Iroh surveys the occupants of the room, before slowly getting to his feet.

"I cannot rule either party as innocent or guilty, I am afraid," he says slowly, running a hand along his chin. "Both are guilty of significant wrongdoing to the other. Chan deliberately made Katara a target of his campaign of harassment and bigotry, to make her feel uncomfortable by virtue of who she was and where she came from. This was not correct. Katara, on the other hand, snapped from this constant abuse and attacked Chan in retaliation, to the point where his life hangs in the balance. This too, was not correct. However –" and he raises up a hand, "- we must always remember where these two young people came from. Chan was raised in a loving household, with every rank and privilege accorded to him by his esteemed father – and unfortunately, every sad prejudice that accompanies it. Katara, on the other hand –"

Iroh pauses, his hand stroking his pointed beard now. He fixes his piercing amber gaze on Katara now.

"I do not know what your life has been like," he says to her directly, somberly, sorrowfully. "I do not know where you were born, or who your parents were, or what they did. I can only guess at the sorry circumstances that have led you here, to this spot. Perhaps you were separated from your family during the first polar raids, or perhaps it was later. Perhaps you were torn from them during the state-sponsored assimilation programs, and subjected to the atrocities of the colonial schools: an institution that we have only recently become aware of, an institution that we are quite ashamed of." He hangs his head. "I only know for certain that my people have taught you to fear us and hate us. We have burned your villages and killed your fathers and stolen your children. We have tried to make you forget who you are, to make you feel inferior because of the culture we tried to erase from you. And…in too many ways, we succeeded."

A tear trails down Katara's cheek. She makes no effort to wipe it.

She should feel angry. She should feel vindicated. She should feel sad.

She should feel something.

"I will not insult you by asking for your forgiveness," General Iroh says, looking her in the eye once again. "We have done nothing to earn it from you. I do not doubt that your hatred for us, your fear, your instinct for self-defense and survival, are what have kept you alive through these dark years. To expect you to relinquish all that now is plain foolishness. You acted as you did with Chan, because that is what we have taught you, and because that is what we deserve. We cannot punish you for learning our lessons. All I ask from you is one small thing."

Katara swallows, with some difficulty. Her throat is closed up and her body is shaking.

"What?" she whispers.

Iroh gives her a small smile, and another tear falls from her eyes.

"My old friends Jeong-Jeong and Pakku commend your fighting spirit and your immense skill with your bending, and my nephew informs me that you are a force to be reckoned with." Katara blinks in surprise, but Iroh continues on, unaware that he has said anything amiss. "You are regarded highly by those around you, for your bravery and your resilience and your quickness to learn. It is in the spirit of these strengths of yours that I ask you for time."

"Time?" Katara echoes, unsure that she's hearing him correctly.

"Yes," Iroh nods solemnly, clasping both his hands together in front of him. "Time. Time enough for you and I, and Admiral Chan, and Admiral Chan's son, and Master Jeong-Jeong, and General Shinu, and everyone else in this division to learn a new lesson. We cannot undo the past, nor should we ever forget it. But we should always commit to learning from our mistakes, and in time we will learn to be worthy of your trust, Sifu Katara. In time, I promise you, we will earn it back."

The world is swimming. There is an ache in her chest, an ache that hurts so much Katara can barely breathe.

"And when that time comes...can you learn to trust us again?"

Katara wants to answer him, she truly does. But her throat is closed up tight and her mouth is pressed tightly together, in an effort to keep what little control she has over herself intact.

Instead, she settles for a quick nod, dashing at her wet eyes with the back of her hand.

General Iroh's face splits into a smile.

She decides that she likes it when he smiles. The crinkles around mouth and eyes warm his broad features, and heighten the aura of calm and trustworthiness that surrounds him.

Ozai's own brother. Who would have thought? Certainly not her, that's for sure.

"Then we have a way forward," General Iroh continues. He clears his throat and looks around at the other commanding officers seated by him. "Instead of punishment and retribution, let us focus on healing the damage we have inflicted upon ourselves and each other."

Katara scrubs at her face in a vain effort to make herself appear slightly more presentable, before she looks up at General Iroh again. The look he gives her is less stern than thoughtful.

"Katara, you agree that your attack on Chan was wrong, do you not?"

Katara nods her head in agreement.

General Iroh's gaze seems to see right through her as he continues.

"What do you think would be an appropriate way to atone for your actions?" he asks her gently. "Something that shows your repentance, but could also help heal Chan?"

Katara blinks.

He must know. Zuko knows, there's no way he doesn't too, by now.

It would have seemed preposterous before, but now…

The words slide out of her mouth as though she's always meant to say them.

"I have healing abilities," she hears herself say. "I could physically heal Chan from the injuries I inflicted."

The ensuing shock that follows her words does not disappoint.

"Healing?"

"You can heal?"

"How have we never heard of this before?"

To her surprise, General Iroh also appears taken aback by her admission.

The only one who isn't surprised is Master Jeong-Jeong, who finally gives her a small smile.

"You knew?" Katara blurts out, shocked.

Jeong-Jeong shrugs. "The great benders of the Water Tribe sometimes have the ability to heal. How could you not?"

"With all due respect, I think we're getting ahead of ourselves," Admiral Chan butts in, looking somewhat nervous now. "You just said this waterbender was justified in her savage attack against my son. Now, you want to let her near him in his current condition, because she claims she can heal? I think that this puts my son in even greater danger! How can you trust her?"

"I believe Katara's repentance is sincere," General Iroh answers patiently. "And I think this will be an excellent exercise to build trust, on both sides. Katara will use her healing abilities to help your son, as an act of atonement for the violence she inflicted upon him. And you – both you and your son will apologize for your appalling behaviour. You will learn to respect Katara and honour her, and not only for sharing her tribe's secret talent to your family's benefit… though I suspect that will have a lot to do with it. But more importantly, you will also learn to abandon your belief in Fire Empire superiority, and will champion the cause of those in the colonies we have marginalized over our long years."

Admiral Chan splutters in disbelief as General Iroh claps his hands together.

"I believe this is fair to everyone involved, and thus I render my judgment complete," he concludes. "Dismissed."

Katara feels like she's in a daze as everyone in the room gets to their feet and slowly departs.

Fair is correct, and it surprises her. Fair is exactly what she had not been expecting.

She remembers Zuko and how he had sprung to his uncle's defense without question that night, and how he's never held him in anything less than the highest respect, and now –

Now she understands.

"You appear surprised, Sifu Katara," General Iroh observes, and Katara starts. By now, everyone else in the room has left, and it is just her and the General, standing across from each other at opposite sides of the table.

"I –" Katara hardly knows what to say to this strange old man. "I suppose I am." A moment's pause, before she remembers her manners. "Thank you for your mercy, your –"

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Iroh interrupts her, his eyes shining. "I just brewed a pot of ginseng tea. It is my favourite. Have you ever tried it?"

"I – I can't say I have." Katara is now dumbfounded.

"Then, please, you must let me pour you some. I insist."

Katara can hardly refuse him now, and so, she sits in her chair quietly, slightly uncomfortably, as the old man gets to his feet, draws the teapot from the fire, and pours out two cups of steaming, fragrant tea.

He places one in front of her. She lifts it and sniffs at it gingerly.

She isn't a big fan of tea, but then again, she's probably never had anything this fine before. The tealeaves served to common soldiers were probably not fit for the Crown Prince, after all.

The aroma is somewhat pungent but otherwise not unpleasant. She glances at General Iroh, who is slowly sipping at the scalding liquid, and following his lead, takes a small sip.

"What do you think?" General Iroh asks her, his face still creased in a smile.

Privately, Katara thinks it tastes like boiling hot water with a couple of dead leaves thrown in for good measure. Crown Prince Iroh, however, strikes her as somewhat of a tea aficionado and, after everything he's just done for her, she concludes that voicing this particular opinion of hers would be inappropriate at best, and downright offensive at worst.

"It's good," she mumbles, swallowing the hot liquid slowly.

"Really? I'm thrilled! You should hear what my nephew said when he tried it. Hot leaf juice, is what he called it!" Iroh's face clouds up and he shakes his head disapprovingly, before taking another sip of his tea.

"Oh, did he?" Katara stammers. She finds herself in agreement with Zuko, and it unsettles her that this is not an infrequent occurrence anymore. "How – how rude of him."

Iroh grins at her easily.

"Well, he was just stating his opinion. A wrong one, if I might say so."

He takes another sip of his tea, before putting his cup down slowly.

"I am glad that we have the opportunity to speak privately," he says to her, his face still cheerful but his voice suddenly serious. "As I have said before, I have wanted to meet you for a long time now."

"You have?" Katara is stunned. Why would the Crown Prince of the Fire Empire even know who she was, let alone want to meet her? It makes no sense to her. "Why?"

"Your reputation precedes you," Iroh tells her warmly. "Pakku is a very old friend of mine, as is Jeong-Jeong."

"How?" Katara wonders.

Iroh winks at her. "Let's just say that, to a certain extent, all old people know each other," he says vaguely. "And we all gossip."

"I'm sure you do," Katara says uncertainly, not really sure why Iroh has her here when he probably has a thousand other priorities vying for his attention.

The General sets down his cup. "But even in spite of that, you remain a great mystery to me, Sifu Katara," he tells her plainly, his warm face growing slightly pensive. "Full of surprises. Did Pakku know of your healing abilities?"

Katara hangs her head. Pakku had been like a father to her, a wise mentor. But in the end, he was the Fire Empire's to command and he had sent her away. So, she remembered the voices in her head, the echoes of her grandmother's words, and trusted no one with the knowledge of her healing.

"No."

"Well, that explains why he didn't tell me about them, then," Iroh mutters, more to himself than to her, before picking up his cup and bringing it close to his lips again.

"You seem surprised," Katara comments, raising her eyebrows. "I thought Zuko would have told you."

Now Iroh is staring at her curiously, the cup in his hands all but forgotten. "No," he says at last, weighing the word slowly, "no, he didn't. I didn't know that he knew."

"Oh." Katara doesn't know what to say, now. "I thought he was going to write to you about it, when – uh – I healed him from an injury."

Iroh's gaze sharpens, making it clear that he knows at once what she's actually talking about. He sets the cup down on the table again, this time more firmly.

"That is why I am here," he tells her, his voice serious once again, and all trace of mirth is gone from his face. Instead, he appears older to her eyes, concerned and wary. "My nephew sent me a missive detailing the assassination attempt, some five nights ago. As discreetly as I could, without drawing any undue attention from my brother and his cronies at court, I packed up and made my way here as fast as possible."

"And?" Katara presses. "What do you think?"

"I do not know what to think," General Iroh confesses, somewhat helplessly to her ears. "I only arrived this morning. I have barely seen my nephew or had a chance to talk to him, before being presented with the matter of your dispute with Chan."

"I'm sorry," Katara says awkwardly.

General Iroh waves a hand at her dismissively. "It is of no matter. I did my duty and set an example for my men to follow. I hope that they will do so. In the meantime, I do what I can, with whatever I have. Zuko tries too, Agni bless him, but he can only do so much in his circumstances. It distresses me to hear that you have suffered here. I hope from now on, this will not be the case."

His tone suggests to her that he would make it his business to ensure it would be so.

"Why did you help me?" Katara blurts out, setting her cup down too. "I'm a nobody. Why are you sitting here, drinking tea and chatting with me, when you have an army to run? When you have your nephew to see?"

And the mystery of his potential assassin to solve?

"You are not a nobody to me, Sifu Katara," General Iroh tells her patiently. "Nor to Jeong-Jeong, nor Shinu, nor your old Master Pakku."

He pauses, regarding her with thoughtful eyes.

"Nor," he continues slowly, watching her, gauging her reaction, "to my brother, Lord Ozai."

Katara almost knocks over her teacup in response.

"What do you mean?" she demands, face white as a sheet. Her heart hammers in her chest wildly, erratically.

"I mean," General Iroh elaborates slowly, and it suddenly dawns on her, the true motive behind his patience and his kindness, "that my brother has been asking me all sorts of questions about you, Katara."

"Why?" Katara's voice is almost a shriek, now.

The expression in General Iroh's golden eyes as he looks at her is unreadable, and for a minute, she is reminded of Zuko. "I was hoping you could tell me."

Now she understands it, the two sons of the Fire Emperor, and how different they appear and how similar they truly are. Though one is fair while the other is foul, both are unscrupulous in their own ways. Ozai uses swords and fire despite being a courtier, while Iroh, being a soldier, uses his words and artfully constructed kindnesses.

"Is that why I'm here?" she asks in a quiet voice, shaking with the effort to keep calm. "Is that why you're sitting here with me, trying to win me over with your apologies and your mercy and your tea, so that you can get me to talk?" The old hurt rises in her, and she was just beginning to think that she was going to like him. "I thought you wanted to try trust, instead of just manipulating me –"

"Katara, please," General Iroh holds up a hand and cuts her off. "I am only asking out of concern for you. I may be the Crown Prince of the Empire, but my brother is a dangerous man and an even more dangerous enemy. A fact that I am sure is not lost upon you. So, I am going to ask you one more time, and for your own sake, I hope you answer honestly: why is my brother so interested in you?"

"I don't know," Katara answers truthfully, her heart beating wildly now. "I don't know why he would ask about me, I don't know how he even knows who I am. I've – I've never met him or talked to him, or –"

"Zuko tells me you were sent to a colonial school in New Ozai," Iroh says sharply. "That you were connected to individuals in the resistance there."

"Yes, but," Katara looks up at him anxiously, "that was only out of association. I never did anything."

After all, Jet did all the dirty work. Her hands were clean. That had been part of their deal.

Iroh continues to peer at her, and though he doesn't express outright skepticism at her words, he doesn't look like he believes her entirely. "Katara, let me tell you a story," he says suddenly. "And then, you can tell me if it sounds familiar to you."

"Okay," Katara answers, bewildered.

He takes a deep breath before launching into his narrative.

"Once, there were two brothers; one older, one younger. Their father ruled a vast empire encompassing many lands, some rightfully his own, some acquired through warfare and bloodshed. Through a vastly complex system of court nobles and constituent ambassadors, their father maintained peaceful rule as he taught his elder son how to be a leader."

"The younger son, however, resented the darkness of his brother's shadow, and yearned to break out from it – to carve a name for himself, to win glory for himself and approval from his father. But he never cared for the lessons their father taught them, about justice and ethics and moral governance. Instead, he listened to the counsel of his confidantes within the courts – scions of elite families affronted by the notion of sharing their influence with ambassadors, who they regarded as mere street folk from common lands beyond their ancestral borders. He learned from them that power is not bestowed upon you – it is seized. And so, he watched, and he waited, and he concocted what he thought was a perfect plan."

"The target he chose was ruthlessly deliberate. One of the empire's most recent trading partners was a land far away, with people whose appearances, rituals, and customs were so different from his own, that their ambassadors seldom fit in at court. They came from a land that was wintry and severe, and had little to offer in the way of resources, the way the other acquired colonies in other areas of the world could."

Katara feels her blood beginning to boil, but doesn't interrupt as Iroh goes on in his measured voice.

"It wasn't long before the citizens of the empire began to view these others as burdensome, troublesome aliens. When the emperor recommended sending ships of local produce and goods to the winterlands, the people grumbled. And when the first famines began to shrink their harvests not long after that, the citizens began to blame the winterlands for it. And then...things got worse. Slights against them went unchecked, negotiations with the remainder of the empire seldom ended in their favour, and aggressions directed at them escalated, often without punishment."

"The younger son perceived that it was time to harness this ill sentiment among the people of his empire for his own gain. He told the courts and his father and his brother that he was going to formally annex the winterlands to the empire, under diplomatic terms similarly presented to other colonies – and his father was impressed. Little did any of them know that, with the stamp of their approval, the younger son had not opted for diplomacy, but instead, barbarism. He struck at the winterlands in brutal raids and commenced a brief, but bloody occupation. Then, to consolidate his idea of his empire's cultural superiority over the winterland aliens, as he viewed them, he started a new project."

"The colonial schools, as he proposed them to the courts and the people of the empire, were seemingly innocuous. Instead of leaving the winterland's children to languish away at the ends of the world, he proclaimed, why not cart them over to more desirable locations within the empire itself? There, in the heart of the empire, they could learn to adapt to civilized life, to their new life within the great empire, and reap the opportunities that lay in wait for them. They could learn to reject their primitive, strange old ways. In their arrogance and blindness, everyone agreed with him, perhaps thinking to encourage him whenever he showed initiative in matters of state."

General Iroh does not mask the sorrow in his voice. Her jaw clenches as she remembers it all.

"What they did not know was that behind closed doors, the colonial schools were hell on earth for their subjects. A thinly veiled moniker to abuse, torture, and kill those who had survived the winterlands occupation, all while the rest of the empire thought that he was doing them a great service. His father grew proud of him, and in time, slowly began increasing his responsibilities around the court. His name was spoken by the people, perhaps for the very first time, in reverence."

Her nails dig into her palm as she clenches her fist, hard, in her lap.

"But, in one city, named for the younger son himself, housing the very first colonial school, thrived a seed of resistance pushing back against his tyrannical, barbaric ways. The members of the resistance worked to expose the realities of the colonial school to the imperial court and to the public, at great personal peril. And when their labours bore fruit, the fallout the younger son experienced was unlike anything he could have anticipated. For someone who believed in the darkness of humanity, how could the plight of these tragic children move the common people of his empire? Or the courtiers? Or his own father, the emperor?"

I'll bet he learned a thing or two. Katara works very hard to keep her face neutral. She is aware that General Iroh is watching her keenly, monitoring for any shift in expression, any accidental reveals or admissions of her past endeavours.

She hopes the fierce glow of pride within her has not reached her eyes. That he does not have the ability to read her as well as she thinks he can.

"But the treatment of these children at the colonial school became a scandalous affair, one that cost the emperor the trust of many of his colony ambassadors. Instead of praising the younger son for his dedication to saving the children of the winterlands and demonstrating the superiority of the Fire Empire over them, the people began to fear him and speak of him in hushed voices, as though he was a monster. It was the final nail in the coffin for his plots and his ambitions. Disgraced in front of the nation, humiliated before his father, he was forbidden from meddling in state affairs ever again. The emperor, together with his older son, resolved to make things right thereafter. But years of damage are not so easily overturned."

Iroh pauses, and Katara looks at him expectantly, her eyes harsh. "Well?" she asks him. "What happened next? Don't stop now."

"I don't know what will happen next," Iroh admits, taking the last and final sip of his tea. "But I can imagine that the younger son did not take the loss of his father's trust lightly, nor do I think he is the type to sit by idly as the world rights itself of his wrongs. I do not know much about the resistance movement that uprooted him, but if I were to hazard a guess, I would estimate that several of them went on to meet extremely untimely ends."

He puts his cup down for the last time, and steeples his fingers on the table before him. "Does this story sound familiar to you at all, Sifu Katara?"

Katara swallows, but does not answer. She doesn't have to. The answer is written plainly across her face, and General Iroh is certainly more perceptive than he lets on.

"Let me ask you one more question," he continues, and his tone is cautionary. "If this younger son got wind of someone, someone seemingly innocuous – let's say, a young girl from the winterlands, with extraordinary talents and power, who was close to his son and had a past association with the very resistance that destroyed his political reputation – and had ample time shut up in the palace to fixate upon her and her past, how much danger do you think that girl would be in, at this very moment?"

It is as though the blood in her veins has frozen, the way the chill sets upon her all of a sudden.

"And, with that in mind," the General warns, "do you think this particular young girl can afford to reject any help when it is freely offered?"

Point made.

Her mouth tightens.

"No," she repeats, in a slightly stronger voice.

Maybe he truly does mean her well. Or maybe he is just using her.

Maybe both.

But General Iroh has shown that even if she cannot trust his motives, he will do what he can to help her, for the moment. Whether she can trust him in the long run is something that remains to be seen.

And that is better than nothing.

So, Katara resolves, she doesn't have to trust him just yet. She doesn't have to believe his claims of paternalistic concern for her wellbeing, when they are still strangers and he has little cause to care about her at all. But she can still afford to keep him as a powerful ally, to accept the protection he offers, and reserve judgment until she learns more about him.

She can afford to be used by him, so long as she keeps her eyes and ears open to what his intentions truly are.

But he's right about one thing.

If Prince Ozai has her on his map, she needs all the help she can get.

Chapter 13: amends

Summary:

Katara heals.

Chapter Text

disclaimer. ATLA is property of bryke, i write this for no financial gain and own nothing you recognize.

author's notes. holy crow.

thank you SO MUCH for all the love for the last chapter! going through your comments and seeing how much you guys are taking in/reflecting/analyzing is one of THE best feelings out there and one (of many) reason(s) i'm writing this! please, keep it up!

this chapter required several rewrites before i was even willing to put it up. i think i could have spent forever working on this. i'm still not happy with the finished product but figure this is as good as it's going to get, so eh.

anyway.

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter xiii. amends

you could still be
what you want to be
what you said you were
when i met you

"medicine" / daughter

"We need to talk," she says quietly, behind him.

Zuko starts and looks at the mirror before him, not really sure what he'd been expecting.

The morning has been a blur – an emotional one. He had received a message from his Uncle some four or five days prior, almost immediately after he had sent off a lengthy letter of his own, describing the unusual attack by Jet and the mysterious assassin.

The message he got back was short and to the point, scrawled without regard for legibility or tidiness upon a scrap of parchment paper.

I'm on my way. Take great care.

Uncle.

He's been on edge ever since, waiting restlessly for his uncle to arrive. And early this morning, just past the crack of dawn, the Crown Prince and his retinue made their appearances at the army base.

He'd had precious little time to greet his uncle properly, exchange a few words over a cup of grassy tea, before they had been interrupted by General Shinu and the matter of camp discipline.

Uncle Iroh had asked Zuko to excuse himself then, promising to call him later after the chaos of his arrival had settled.

And so Zuko waits impatiently in his room, hunched over a scroll that his uncle had given him that morning. He's absorbing its contents intently when a girl's low voice from behind him interrupts his thoughts.

He looks up at the mirror on the wall before him. Standing behind him, her arms crossed and reflection scowling in the polished, burnished glass, is Mai.

Oh.

Once upon a time, Zuko's heart would have leapt up in the cavity of his chest at the sight of her, at the sound of her voice. Once upon a time, Zuko would have done just about anything to keep her happy.

But his heartbeat is calm and his hands are steady as he slowly furls up the parchment scroll and places it back down on his desk, before getting up and turning to face Mai.

"Okay," he says simply instead. "Let's talk."

Mai seems taken aback by the coolness in his voice. Usually, by this time, he's fed up of her cold, distant silences and just wants to reconcile. Usually, by this time, he's willing to let the past stay in the past.

But now, he is maintaining his own share of the space between them, and his eyes have lost the desperation in them, and there's a quiet resignation in them, a steely resolve that makes her want to question everything.

But this has been a long time coming and she knows better than to back down now.

"Okay," Mai takes the bait. "What's going on with you? I don't understand. Do you really care so little about your reputation around here?"

And here it is, Zuko thinks to himself, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. The part where she's mad at me for things she doesn't even try to understand.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he tells her, his voice slow and stilted.

He has an idea though.

Mai rolls her eyes and plants her hands on her hips.

"The waterbender, Zuko. Agni's sake, why would you defend her when she attacked Chan like that?"

"Because Chan is an idiot who had it coming," Zuko retorts, unable to keep the scathing bite out of his voice. "Did you not hear all the awful things he said to her?"

"I wasn't there," Mai points out, "and that's not what's important, Zuko! Your own countryman, the son of an Admiral to boot – was just viciously attacked by a treasonous, unstable waterbender, and you go around defending her? Do you have any idea how that looks? Do you want to never see the throne in your life?"

"Who cares about the throne?" Zuko bursts out at her, finally losing some of the calm he'd clung to previously. "Every time we argue, you're always concerned about my status and my place in the succession. It's as though you're only with me because I'm a prince."

Mai looks like she's been slapped across the face.

"How dare you," she all but hisses at him. "How could you even accuse me of that? I care about you, Zuko! I want what's best for you! And your future! Can you no longer see that?" Her voice changes. "Has your obsession with that waterbender blinded you to everything else in the world?"

Now Zuko feels like he's the one who's been slapped. "I'm not obsessed –" he begins to protest, but Mai cuts him off.

"And don't even bother denying it, Zuko. You're not a very convincing liar." A strange half-smile is on her lips as she continues, flipping her long black hair over her shoulder. "We get into an argument about her behavior and you don't talk to me for days. Chan insults her and you say she's justified in her attack that almost killed him. For the love of Agni, what is it about that girl that makes you hate your own kind so much?"

Zuko's heart is racing a mile a minute at being confronted in this manner. His fights with Mai are usually ugly, but they have never attacked each other so personally before. This time, it feels like she is shining a giant spotlight on him, exposing all his shortcomings for the world to see, and he squirms at the thought of having to defend himself to people who won't understand it.

"I don't hate my own kind," he says to her softly. "I want what's best for them too, believe me. We – just have a different idea of what that is."

"That's not possible," Mai fires back. "Either you're with us, or you're not. And so far, Zuko, you've been acting like a traitor and a colonial sympathizer, and that's going to get you into deep trouble back home! Here in the army, no one gives a damn, maybe, but back home, your actions say volumes."

"Enough," Zuko snaps, finally, and his irritation rears its head at her presumptuous words. "You don't have to educate me on what life at court is like, Mai. I know plenty well what it's all about. I don't need you guiding my every move like I'm a sort of puppet for you."

Mai shakes her head disbelievingly. "I don't believe it," she says hoarsely, clapping a hand to her forehead. "I don't believe it. Do you even hear yourself? You are being so stubborn and – I –" she drops her hands to her sides as she looks at him helplessly, "I feel like I don't even know you anymore."

Zuko blinks at that. His mouth is suddenly very dry and it's as though the world has gone very quiet and very still. "That's because," he says in his gravelly voice, "I don't think you ever knew me at all."

Mai turns her head away now, stung by his words. Her pale grey eyes are shiny now, shiny and welling with tears she'll never shed in front of him. "No," she says quietly, at last, the emptiness in her voice somehow more painful for him to bear than her anger, "I suppose I didn't."

Zuko has never seen Mai look this defeated, and the sight of it distresses him to the core. "Mai," he says, trying to help, trying to make it better, "I never meant to hurt you –"

"But you did, Zuko," Mai lashes back, dashing at her eyes with the back of her hand so that when she looks at him squarely in the eyes, there are no tears, just a hint of redness to suggest that they were ever there in the first place. "You did, and you were always going to, whether you meant to or not."

"I don't –"

"Please." Mai holds a hand up, silencing him. "Please don't make this worse."

"I," Zuko confesses, running a hand through his hair in agitation, "I don't know what to do, then."

"What else is there to do, Zuko? This is the first time you've ever been honest with me." Mai smiles at him mirthlessly. "Own it. You're a prince, after all."

Zuko realizes that perhaps she's right this time, and that by sparing her his honesty, he hasn't been fair to her. Because she has never had a chance to be anything more to him that what she is now.

Because…he doesn't think she can be. Whenever he drops his carefully cultivated façade around her, she hates it. She has never even tried to understand it or accept it.

And once the realization hits him, there is no taking it back.

"I…" he says, his voice faltering but carrying on regardless, because not saying it would be worse, not saying it would be unfair to Mai and damning for him, "I don't think we're right for each other, Mai."

The strange smile still lingers on her face, but it resembles more of a grimace as he continues doggedly.

"You're an incredible woman. But I don't think I could make you happy. You – you want a man like my father, and I – I don't want to be like that. I couldn't make you happy without lying to myself. And that's not fair to me, and that's not fair to you. I –" and he pauses to collect himself, "I wish I could have done right by you. But I can't do anything more than be who I am. I'm sorry to have hurt you, Mai. I really am."

Mai takes a deep, shuddering breath, but when she speaks, her voice is perfectly steady.

"I suppose I expected this sooner or later," she comments flatly. "I can't say I'm thrilled but – well, at least now you're free to do what you want."

Free. The word is uncanny. Even though Mai was not an unpleasant person to be with, he feels lighter and freer than he has in the long months that they've been together.

"I'm sorry it has to end like this," he tells her awkwardly.

Mai lets out a little scoff.

"No, you're not," she corrects him.

"Yes. I am. I care about you, Mai," he tries to convince her, because he does mean it. He isn't sorry that he is not the person she wants him to be, but he is sorry to have caused her pain. "I'll always care about you, Mai. You – you are important to me, still."

Mai raises an eyebrow. "And the waterbender?" she asks, her voice now without reservation or judgment. "Why is she so important to you?"

It's a weighted question, one that Zuko has been too scared to ask himself, for fear of having to answer it. He can hardly lie to Mai, but at the same time, telling her the truth is out of the question when he himself can scarcely bring himself to face it.

"She's just a girl who needs my help," he says quietly, unyielding in the face of her expectant eyes. "Who helped me when she didn't have to. It's just the right thing to do."

Mai shakes her head again. "All the girls in the Empire and you had to go and pick that one, huh?" she asks incredulously, the levity in her voice masking the intensity underneath, the hurt and the pain. "You really are a masochist, Zuko. She hates firebenders. She'll never think of you as anything more than the enemy. You're wasting your time and your honour and your reputation on that girl. Do you really think it's worth it?"

She's right, you know, the voice in his mind that echoes his father whispers to him. She'll never see you as anything more than the son of a monster. She said it herself.

"I didn't pick anything," Zuko says firmly. "I'm just doing what I think is right."

And maybe one day the impossible will happen and she'll change her mind.

"And that," he finishes, his voice barely above a whisper, "is always worth it."

Maybe one day she'll look at me the way she looks at Aang.

"You think this is right," Mai echoes slowly. She shrugs, before turning to leave for the door. "I don't understand."

"No," Zuko agrees sadly as she retreats out of his room and out of earshot. "I don't suppose you could."

Katara is allowed time for a bath and a quick meal before she is brought to the medical tent.

She spends a lot of time scrubbing herself, washing the filth of her solitary confinement off, brushing her hair until the long brown strands are lustrous and strong again. Wading out of the shallows and shrugging on the new linen robe – the only thing she owns that really fits her properly – she feels a thousand years younger.

The cool fall air crisp against her skin as she redoes her hair into its long, thick braid, she feels almost ready for the task ahead of her.

"So, they let you out, huh?"

Almost.

The sound of Toph's voice behind her reminds her of how much she has left to do, however.

Katara turns slowly. To her surprise, Toph and Aang are standing behind her, by the entrance to the building in which her room is housed.

Their faces are solemn and unreadable, and for a second, she remembers back to the last time she'd seen them.

You're fucked up, Sugar Queen. You're fucked up good.

Don't waste your time, Toph. I wish I hadn't.

"They did," Katara says cautiously, with a slow nod. It's all she can do to keep the hurt at bay, because as much as the firebenders' taunts stung, they pale in comparison to the censure of those she'd started to consider as friends.

"And?" Toph asks. Her arms are crossed and even though she appears at ease, Katara can see that the blind earthbender is racked with tension. "What're they doing to you?"

How are you going to prove that you're not as fucked up as you seem?

"General Iroh isn't punishing me, if that's what you're asking," Katara answers delicately, crossing her arms in front of her. "I offered to heal Chan of the injuries I caused him."

"You did?" This from Aang who, for the first time since she'd been hauled off into solitary confinement, is able to look at her face. His big grey eyes are wide with surprise. "You offered?"

"It only seemed fair." Katara shrugs, unsure of why the relief and pride mingling on Aang's face fills her with irritation instead of happiness. He's her friend, after all, she's supposed to be happy that he isn't cross with her for her shocking behaviour earlier. "Why do you sound so surprised?"

"I –" Aang hesitates, before turning to face Toph briefly. "I mean – Katara, you should have seen yourself, the way you beat up Chan like that. For a moment – I thought – we thought we never really knew you. We never thought you were capable of – of that."

"I see." Katara fights to keep her voice steady. "So – so it's okay if Chan and the others act appallingly to intimidate and threaten me, but not if I do the same to defend myself. Is that what you're saying?"

"No! No, it's not," Aang protests, alarm spreading across his face at the tone of Katara's voice. "Look – what Chan and his buddies were doing to you was clearly not okay, either! But – but what you did was – was really difficult to stand by."

"I heard." Katara's voice is wintry cold. "You said you wished you hadn't wasted your time on me, Aang. I'm sorry I was such a disappointment to you back there."

"That – that was wrong of me too," Aang says quickly, and to his credit, he does look ashamed. "I shouldn't have said that. But Katara – you have to understand, the way I was raised, was that violence is wrong. Period. What Chan did to you, and what the Fire Empire did to you, it was all wrong. But what you did to Chan was just as wrong! It was monstrous. I – we –" he shoots another uncertain glance at Toph, who remains still and silent, before continuing apprehensively, " – we thought you were doing so much better in getting over your anger recently, you were doing so well, with Zuko and – " his voice catches in his throat, and he pauses before looking back at Katara, " – it was just really shocking to us, to see you like that. I guess I was just upset with you, because I thought we were friends and I thought I knew you, and I know you're so much better than what you showed with Chan, and – well…"

Aang's words make sense to her, she supposes. His reasoning isn't unlike what her reflections in solitary have told her. But, for some reason, it still stings.

"You're right," she says softly. "Both of you. What I did with Chan was wrong, and I realize that. But –" and here her voice catches in her throat slightly because she remembers Iroh's story and she knows that she needs friends, she needs all the help she can get, but all the same, " – but it's not friendship if you can just pick and choose when I'm worth your time."

"Come again?"

"I meant," Katara repeats, and even though her ears seem to be ringing and her body is shaking, her voice is low and calm and steady, "if you can just decide that you don't want to be my friend whenever I do something you don't agree with, then you're not really my friend."

"That's not what I meant!" Aang protests. "I just mean that I was raised differently – by monks, if you remember. Violence is difficult for me –"

"So much so that you ran away to join the Fire Empire army?" Katara points out. "You spend your days devising military tactics and training with one of the most oppressive armies on the planet. But yet, you can't stomach violence when it's me doing it."

"That's – that's not the same thing!" Aang argues. "It's not the same thing as beating someone up, almost killing them with your bending in cold blood!"

"Isn't it, though? What do you imagine the army is going to do with your contributions? When they decide to use the attacks you invented for them in order to quash a rebellion here or there, I guarantee you it won't be peaceful. People are going to die, and whether you strike the killing blow or not, it'll be because of you." Katara's hands are running along her braid, and her words are spilling out; hurt, angry words tumbling out of her mouth in an uncontrollable flow. "What do your monks have to say about that? Why is it okay for you to enable the army's violence, why is it only okay for you to accept the violence that the Fire Empire does to me and people like me, but not okay for me to fight back when it becomes too much? Have you ever thought about that?"

Her voice has gone shrill now.

"And then for you to stand there and tell me what I did was wrong – as if I don't already know that? As if I'm some sort of barbarian who can't tell right from wrong? Aang, I know very well what I did when I attacked Chan and guess what? I did it anyway! Because I wanted to and because he deserved to be punished. And though I know that I went too far and I shouldn't have attacked him as badly as I did, I will not apologize for defending myself when he and his friends ganged up on me when I was all alone. Or have you forgotten who threw the first punch?"

"I – " Aang's face is stricken. "I can't argue with that, Katara. I suppose I was unfair to you, and you're right – I have no idea what it's like for you, to go through this – and you certainly have the right to defend yourself, but –" and here he struggles, trying to put his own dilemma into words, " – but even though I agree with your motives, I can't agree with the methods you chose to pursue. Vengeance isn't justice."

"No. Justice is justice," Katara returns, crossing her hands over her chest. "It's funny, because after all this time, General Iroh had a better time understanding that than you, and you're supposed to be my friend."

"I am your friend, Katara!" Aang insists. "Look – so we disagree about what you did – but can't we move on? You've learned your lesson and I've learned mine and – you're healing Chan and so there's no lasting damage done, right?"

Katara stares at his earnest face, sizing him up.

He has no idea. Absolutely no idea.

And how could he? You and him come from such different worlds, how could he possibly understand?

"Sparky thinks that we were too hard on you," Toph speaks up suddenly, her voice brisk and matter-of-fact. "And that we should apologize for that."

Katara blinks at Toph's unexpected confession.

"And – and what do you think?" she asks, wondering how in all of this convoluted mess, her greatest advocates have apparently been Prince Zuko and Crown Prince Iroh.

Toph shrugs. "Hey. You know I've always wanted to bash Chan's head in, but there's a difference between wishing violence upon someone, and actually inflicting it." She pauses. "But, Sparky reminded me that your upbringing was fucked up, so…it makes sense that you'd do something fucked up too. So, unlike Twinkletoes here, I don't have a problem, in hindsight. They beat you up, you beat them up, it's all fair, life goes on. If I was a shitty friend to you because I freaked out at how far you were taking it, I apologize."

Katara can't help but smile at Toph's nonchalant statements, and the growing unease spreading on Aang's face as a result of them.

"Thanks, Toph. I –" she pauses, looking at the two of them, wondering, because even though she doesn't think they get it, not just yet, they're still here, watching her with anxious eyes and they still care, and she needs all the help she can get, "I'll try to be better, and not resort to violence next time. But I can't promise anything if someone attacks me. I can't act in good faith if someone across the aisle won't do the same."

"That's fair," Toph agrees, holding out her hand. "I can live with that, I suppose."

"Aang?" Katara's voice is a little sharper as she meets the young monk's eyes with her own.

"There is so much about this that makes me uncomfortable," Aang admits, slightly crestfallen. "But for your sake, Katara, I'll try to work past it. Because my discomfort isn't what's important, compared to what the Fire Empire put you through."

He holds out his hand too.

Katara flashes the two of them a quick, hesitant smile.

"Thank you," she says gratefully, clasping their outstretched hands with her own and giving them a quick squeeze.

Because even if things are somewhat awkward and uncomfortable now, they won't always be. Even if they don't understand completely, even if they're not perfect, they're still willing to try, and right now, that's all that matters.

He is sitting cross-legged on the cold stone floor before the fireplace when his uncle finds him later that afternoon.

"What are you doing?" Uncle Iroh asks, bemused.

"Meditating," Zuko replies, eyes still closed and hands still pressed together in his lap.

"I can see that," his uncle replies, scratching his head in confusion, "but why? I've never known you to be the type to stay inside and brood on such a nice day!"

Zuko sighs. The confusion inside him is still fresh, and the noise inside his head clamours loudly. A bit of meditation helped keep it at bay, but now that Uncle Iroh is here, it comes back to him and –

"Mai and I broke up this morning," he says, his voice expressionless.

His uncle's face softens a little, and he walks over to where his nephew sits. He plants a hand on Zuko's shoulder.

"I am sorry to hear that," Uncle Iroh says gently. "You must be feeling very sad."

Zuko shakes his head.

"Not really. I feel more relieved than anything. If I'm sad, it's because I don't think I'm sad enough. Does…" he opens his eyes and looks up at his uncle, "does that make sense at all, Uncle?"

"Of course it does." Uncle Iroh lowers himself so that he is kneeling on the ground beside Zuko. "It means that you made the right decision, Prince Zuko. Even if it was difficult."

"I'll say." Mai's words are still echoing inside his head. The ones that had relieved him, the ones that had freed him, the ones that had filled him with despair…

"How was the trial?" he asks his uncle, trying to change the subject. "How…how is she?"

He can't bring himself to say her name, even.

Because Mai was right, after all, and he's deluding himself if he thinks she'll ever see him differently, no matter how hard he tries to do the right thing.

"The trial went well, I would say," Uncle Iroh says, his voice growing warmer as he launches into a brief retelling of his morning. "It did not surprise me that Admiral Chan was being difficult –"

"He would be," Zuko murmurs. "It was his son that was attacked."

"Of course, and it was to be expected," Uncle Iroh admits, stroking his pointed beard with a thoughtful hand. "But he came around, in the end."

"However did you manage that, Uncle? Did you promise him the waterbender's head, or just the hand that struck his son?" Zuko fights to keep the bitterness from his scathing voice.

"Neither." Uncle Iroh smiles at him. "After a very lengthy cross-examination, I was able to get him to agree to a formal apology. Him and his son – whenever young Chan recovers, that is."

"That doesn't seem likely," Zuko remarks. "The healers say he is unlikely to make it through the next week without some – miraculous – intervention."

The fresh scar on his chest tingles, as though in memory of the glowing water, the healing hands, that had pulled him from the brink of the abyss.

"Well," Uncle Iroh winks at him. "Luckily I was able to procure a miracle worker to work on Chan's injuries, then."

"Huh?"

"Sifu Katara," Uncle Iroh clarifies, casting a sidelong glance at his nephew's somber face, "She has healing abilities, and you didn't even tell me?"

Zuko's eyes widen and he turns to glance at his uncle sharply.

"Maybe you thought to protect her secret," Uncle Iroh muses. "Out of honour."

Zuko nods his head slowly, and turns his gaze to the floor. "It wasn't my secret to tell."

"I understand, Prince Zuko," his uncle acknowledges. "Nonetheless, Sifu Katara offered to heal Chan, of her own volition. It was truly remarkable. A happy ending, if I've ever seen one here before."

"Good," Zuko comments.

A happy ending. For everyone, but himself.

He should feel happy for her, he reminds himself. For all that she'd been put through, it's about time something went right for her.

He shouldn't be so selfish.

"Your friend is truly formidable," his uncle continues, clasping his hands together in his lap. "Very little escapes her."

"Yes," Zuko agrees, but then goes on to correct his uncle with a sigh. "But she's not my friend."

"Maybe not yet," Uncle Iroh says gently. "But there is no chasm that time cannot bridge. With time, maybe Sifu Katara will come to see you differently."

"I..." Zuko flounders, his uncle's words at odds with Mai's, and he struggles with which of the two he should believe. "I don't think I believe that's possible, anymore."

"And this upsets you?" Uncle Iroh's tone is mild enough, but Zuko can hear it, just below the surface of his voice.

"It would just make things easier," Zuko says heavily, with a shrug. "She – she saved my life, Uncle."

"Yes, she told me that," Uncle Iroh says solemnly, and his eyes are keen and thoughtful in his somber face.

"And she didn't have to." Zuko turns his head to meet his uncle's gaze with confused eyes. "Do you understand? She hates me, Uncle, and she still saved my life. She's –" the strongest person I know. So strong, and so broken, and so very lost, he finishes in his mind, unable to speak.

"I do not think she hates you, Prince Zuko," his uncle says gently at length.

"She just as good as told me that," Zuko insists, running his hands through his unruly hair. With her words and her anger and her actions…

And the uncertainty giving way to rage in her eyes, the day they'd fused their bending. Zuko is almost certain that, had she not been reeling from that unwelcome discovery, she wouldn't have been so quick to lash out at Chan.

She'd lost her old boyfriend to save him.

She'd let him in and hated it.

Mai was right. She was right all along…

He's hanging on to a fool's hope.

"Katara does have much hatred and anger in her heart," his uncle says quietly. "It is unlikely that she would have survived up until now without such things. It is not for you to decide when it is appropriate for her to let them go, for your sake. All you can do is show her another way."

"I know," Zuko admits, because he does, of course he does, "I'm trying, but –"

"Good." Uncle Iroh smiles at him warmly. "You are doing what you can, my nephew. It is the right thing to do. Will it be enough to change her mind? Who knows? Only she can decide for herself. That does not mean you give up."

"I haven't."

Uncle Iroh lays a gentle, reassuring hand on his shoulder. "We will continue this conversation later. There is much that remains for me to do here. In the meantime, Prince Zuko, do not be too hard on yourself. Meditate, bathe, take some rest. Perhaps tomorrow, we will take a look at your training, start you on something more advanced. I think you are ready for it."

"That sounds good," Zuko hears himself agreeing, as his uncle gets to his feet with a smooth motion that belies his years. "I can't wait to show you what I've learned in these past months. I might even have already mastered some of the advanced techniques that you want to teach me."

"Oh really?" his uncle returns, a sly grin crossing his face as he turns to leave the room. "I am pleased to hear it. But I am sure that there is one thing that you'll still need an old man's help to learn."

"What would that be?"

Uncle Iroh winks at him from the doorway.

"Have you learned to control lightning yet?"

The shackles have been long removed from her wrists and ankles but she still feels the weight of them as she steps inside the tent, looking around expectantly, hesitantly.

You volunteered for this, she reminds herself as her heart begins to pound in her chest. You'll feel better afterward.

A girl dressed in red silk appears at a doorway to her left, as though to exit the premises. Her face is downturned as she walks, but she stops in her paces as she notices Katara standing there.

Katara's breath catches in her throat as Mai's gaze sweeps over her, coolly impassive as always. It is too late to pretend that she hasn't seen her, too late to look away and pray that an awkward encounter could be avoided. She's never had a problem with Mai, not personally, but the girl is cold, quiet and, of late, has been giving off a slightly judgmental air.

"So," Mai speaks first, her voice low and quiet as always. "They let you out."

Katara nods mutely, not really sure what to make of Mai's indifferent attention to her.

"I was just checking in on him," Mai continues baldly, nodding her head back in the direction from which she'd come. "You really did a number on him."

Her tone isn't exactly accusatory, but Katara is not stupid. As far as she knows, there is no love lost between Mai and Chan, but they are both Fire Nation through and through. As far as she's concerned, Katara may as well have attacked Mai herself.

"I didn't mean to –" she begins half-heartedly, but Mai cuts her off.

"Yes you did. You knew exactly what you were doing, and you did it anyway. I don't know why you bother with playing the victim around here, you've got a lot more fire in you than people would credit a girl from the Water Tribes."

Once upon a time, Katara would have fired back right away. Once upon a time, she would have been unable to hold back the tidal wave of anger unleashed by the firebenders and their ignorant words.

But General Iroh had asked her for time and General Iroh – prince of the Fire Empire and the man in charge of this entire operation – is on her side.

So Mai can go jump in a ditch for all she cares, but for now, Katara is content to leave justice in someone else's hands.

"I suppose you would think that, being Fire Nation and all," she says simply. "But if I were you, I wouldn't speak lightly of things you don't understand at all."

That doesn't mean Katara is going to let her off the hook so easily, though.

Mai raises an eyebrow. The sight of it unsettles Katara, because it's the most expression she's ever seen on the impassive girl's face.

"I understand more than you think," Mai points out. "It still doesn't give you the right –"

"As far as your precious empire is concerned, I have no rights," Katara counters, struggling to suppress the instinct to fight back, and instead, embrace the alien tactic of surrender and tranquility, and it all feels very wrong to her, "and I'm sure you think you understand me. But the truth is, you haven't even tried. You don't know a thing about me. Why would you? You have it all – you're a nobleman's daughter, a prince's girlfriend, a high-ranking officer in the army – why on earth would you trouble yourself with understanding me when you could just make assumptions and go on with your comfortable life?"

There is a sad smile breaking out on Mai's face, and she is very quiet before she speaks again.

"You really can't do any wrong here, can you?" she says, her voice suggesting that she is not really asking a question at all. There is a thoughtful, almost wistful look in her pale grey eyes as she surveys Katara standing before her, and it makes the waterbender feel unusually uncomfortable.

"I did just spend a week in solitary," Katara points out, unsure of whether their discussion is antagonistic or amicable. "So…I don't think you're quite right there."

Mai is quiet again, and Katara can see the thoughts whirling in her mind, reflected in her eyes.

"General Iroh presided over your case, didn't he?" she asks at last.

Katara nods.

Mai sighs and shakes her head slowly.

"What did he say? There's no way you got out scot-free after what you did."

Mai's line of questioning unnerves her. But, it is preferable to her earlier accusations and so, Katara decides to engage.

"You're right," she says. "I'm out for a price. I – I'm healing Chan."

Mai gives her a blank look.

"Healing him?" she echoes.

Katara nods her head.

"How? What good will that do?" Mai blurts out, her confusion palpable to Katara's senses. "No offense, but – what could you possibly contribute that our best healers haven't already?"

Katara sighs.

There is still such a long way to go.

"To you, probably not much," is all she says, now tired of the conversation.

"You really can't do any wrong here," Mai sighs in exasperation. "It must be nice."

I've had enough.

"I should go," Katara says abruptly, gesturing to the hallway in front of her. Mai's tone-deaf ignorance is grating on her last nerve, and she wants nothing more to do with it.

"Me too," Mai says, with a curt nod.

But for a moment, she doesn't move and neither does Katara. They stand across from each other, frozen, caught in an awkward standstill, neither one willing to break its grip and return back to reality.

Then –

"You know," Mai says off-handedly, almost indifferently, but for the slight quaver in her voice that betrays her, "he really thinks highly of you."

Katara's brow furrows.

"Who?" she asks, baffled, her eyes following Mai as she walks past her and toward the doorway leading out of the tent. "General Iroh?"

Mai stops right at the doorway and turns to face her. Silhouetted against the afternoon sun, low in the sky, she really does cut an elegant, formidable figure.

"I'm not talking," she says very slowly in a low voice, slightly louder than a whisper, each word forceful and cold, as though Katara has wounded her to the core with her ignorance, "about General Iroh."

Katara's heart speeds up a mile a minute, even as the colour slowly drains from her face. "Oh," is all she is able to say, as realization washes over her like the cold morning tide.

"For whatever reason that truly escapes me," Mai continues abruptly, and her voice is acerbic and her tone is like a knife thrust to the chest, and her face, shadowed in the light, is a tightly-held mask, "he really does, and he doesn't deserve your hatred. Whatever you think he did, he doesn't deserve that."

"I know," Katara says quietly. "And I'm -"

Mai lets out a laugh that is equal parts mirth and devastation. "If that's an apology you're planning on making, don't waste it on me."

She takes one last look at Katara, before shaking her head again, as though in amused resignation, before she steps out of the tent and away, into the distance.

Katara has never disliked the girl, not really, but after this particularly uncomfortable encounter, she cannot say she is unhappy to see the back of her just about now.

"So you're the waterbender."

Katara snaps out of her little reverie and turns around.

Standing behind her is a grizzled old woman who looks tough as nails, dressed in a red healer's robe. Katara assumes she is the chief medic here as the old woman approaches her and surveys her impassively.

"I am," Katara replies, her voice a thread of sound escaping her throat.

"Hm," the old woman muses, with a slight sniff. "How I'm supposed to believe a skinny thing like you was able to put that boy in that condition is beyond me. But, my orders are not for me to question. You say you can heal him?"

"I can try," Katara says uncertainly, still not entirely sure what she's gotten herself into. "I don't really know what I'm dealing with though."

The old woman's eyes widen incredulously, before she schools herself to a neutral resting expression.

"I see," she comments bluntly. "Well, let's get a move on, then. Follow me."

The woman turns on her heel and makes her way briskly through a hallway of curtained doorways. Katara follows, lagging behind a few paces.

"Of course, I don't have to tell you that if you try to hurt that poor boy any more than you already have, it will be the last thing you do." The old woman's voice has not changed in tone at all, but Katara does not doubt the strength in her wiry old body.

"Of course," Katara says quietly, clasping her hands in front of her, even as a small part of her bristles at the threat. "I don't want to cause anymore trouble."

"I should think not," the old woman says, stopping in front of a doorway at the end of the hall. "My name is Jia. What is your name?"

"Katara."

The old woman, Jia, nods slowly.

"Follow me. But be careful not to disturb anything."

She pushes the curtain aside and walks inside. Katara, hesitating a little, follows her inside.

The room inside is small and dark. The curtains at the window are pulled tightly shut and the only light in the room comes from the brazier in the corner, glowing with smoking herbs on the red-hot coals. Katara smells the fragrances in the air, thick with healing vapours. Lavender, sage, allheal…

"We have been trying to keep him stable," Jia whispers. "But there is fluid in the lungs and his ribs are broken, so it is hard for him to draw breath. And where there is no breath, there is no life."

Katara's heart drops to her stomach as she spies the prone figure stretched out on the bed in the centre of the room. Chan's face looks waxy pale and his hair is out of its topknot, lying in lifeless strands around his sunken face, across the pillow. There are bandages around his jaw and nose, Katara sees, and a thick, warm blanket covers the rest of his body.

"Can I examine him?" Katara asks quietly, somehow forgetting how to breathe at the sight of Chan's deathly face.

Jia nods, her stern face softening a little.

Katara is grateful that the old woman doesn't hover, and instead, chooses to give her space. She steps up to the bedside and places a hand over Chan's head, closing her eyes and breathing deeply.

Focus.

And it doesn't take much for her to tune in to all the water in his body. The water in his blood, tissues, muscles, even the water in his bones…she follows the path of it all, trying to assess the damage.

She senses the breaks in his jawbone and nose, and traces her hands in a path down the line of his airways, following the tears in his throat and lungs, to the water that should not have been in his lungs, to the fragments of his ribs floating in his chest cavity. To the pulse of his heart, flagging, with barely enough strength to alert her senses to its continuous beat.

I did this.

It takes all of her strength to keep going, keep assessing the extent of the damage. Mai and Jia had not been exaggerating when they said he was in bad shape. She is reassured by the flow of humours in his body, sluggish but present, but all the same…

"I need water," Katara says, forcing her voice to be steady and strong. "Clean water, preferably cool, if you have it."

It is a mark of the trust Jia has in her word that she doesn't protest at the notion of giving her water to wield in Chan's presence. Instead, she nods her head slowly and leaves, returning promptly with a bucket of clear spring water pumped from the well outside the tent.

Katara draws the water from the bucket and pulls it close to her hands, like strange, glowing, blue gloves. She presses her hands to Chan's chest, where he needs the most help. His jaw and nose will heal in time, but his lungs are a different story.

"Can you heal him?" Jia asks in a quiet voice, watching Katara at work.

She passes over his ribs, up and down, focusing on the bone, blood, pleura, water, all the pieces that she herself left behind in her anger, all the pieces she has to put back together before she can safely say that he's out of danger.

"You've done a good job at keeping him stable, Jia," she says, not looking up from the task ahead of her. "There's…a lot to do before he'll be okay. It'll take a lot of time. Days, weeks even. There's a lot of damage for me to fix."

Her voice weakens at the end.

So much damage to fix, and Chan is just the first step.

She sets her mouth, wishing the water could fix everything broken inside her, too.

But things are not so simple.

What lies before her, beyond the healing hut, beyond Chan, is the real challenge.

She doesn't know if she's ready.

"But I'll do my best and hopefully, that'll be enough."

She only knows that she has to try.

She doesn't know how she avoids bumping into the others as she traverses the length and breadth of the base camp after exiting the healing tents. The cross-training clearing, the practice arena, the mess hall, the armoury, the officer's quarters…

Her feet guide her from spot to spot without her really having to think, and it's probably for the best that she is letting her instincts run the show. If she allows her mind to take control, just for a second, she might get cold feet and shrink away, instead of doing what has been long overdue for her.

After all, if today is the day she slays her demons one by one, then she cannot put this off any longer.

She rounds the corner of the boys' sleeping quarters and spots the subject of her uncertain pursuit.

Prince Zuko is wading out of the shallows of a small pond, the one behind the building, the one the men use for their baths. His attention is squarely focused on the ground in front of him, as his hands do up the drawstring around the waist of his loose-fitting trousers, slung low against the protrusion of his hipbones. His hair is still wet and hangs in a shaggy curtain in front of his face, while gleaming droplets of water stream down the lines of his powerful shoulders, his arms, his bare, sculpted torso…

It is only when he stiffens, realizes that he's being watched, and raises his eyes to see her standing with her arms crossed by the back wall of the building, that she feels a trickle of doubt. Just a trickle. But as the confusion on his face wars with a slight flush on his face and a wary glance around, to see if anyone else is present, she summons what nerve she has left and speaks before he can even open his mouth to ask her what she's doing here.

"You didn't tell your uncle," she blurts out, not really paying attention to the words that come out of her mouth, only focusing on getting the first word in. "About my healing," she adds to clarify, as Zuko's brow creases and he tilts his head in confusion.

"Oh." Zuko looks uncomfortable to her, and shifts his weight from foot to foot slowly, weighing whether to take a step onto dry land, closer to where she stands in the shadows, or to remain with his feet immersed on the shore. "No. I suppose not."

"Why?"

Deep down, Katara knows the answer. But she wants to hear it, just to make sure, before pressing forward, because this is something she's never done before and even though it doesn't feel like a risk, not now, every inch of her remains on edge.

"Because," Zuko says politely, cautiously, as though afraid any word of his will incur her wrath, "you hid it for a reason and it wasn't my place to tell."

He looks down at himself, and then back up at her, and he appears somewhat discomfited. "Is this really the best time –"

"You told your uncle that Chan insulted me," Katara cuts across his tentative protest, feeling dizzy and short of breath, but holding course regardless, because this has to be done, "Why?"

Zuko's face is a little redder now, and he looks back down at himself, sighs, and takes a step out of the water. His feet are bare and caked with sand.

"It was the truth," he answers, with a small, helpless shrug. He presses his lips together, tightly, before hesitantly continuing. "If you're mad that I intervened –"

"No," Katara interrupts him, also taking a small step forward, and then another. "No, that's not it. I –"

Her arms drop to her sides, but her hands find each other and she's twisting her fingers together in indecision.

"I –"

Across from her, maybe a dozen footsteps away, Zuko is still, afraid to move lest she snap at him again, and the guilt is overwhelming and then –

"I can't be this person anymore," she says breathlessly, in a voice so quiet it is barely more than a whisper. But the ill-concealed surprise in Zuko's face and the abrupt stiffening of his posture tell her that he has no trouble hearing her, and she continues in somewhat of a rambling rush, "I can't, I just can't. I've tried holding on to it, you see, I thought that I would be betraying myself if I didn't, but – but – but I'm just so tired of it now, I'm exhausted and I want it to stop. I can't do it anymore, I can't."

The water in the pond crests and dashes over the shoreline in small, rushing waves. It froths and skims over the tops of Zuko's feet, washing the sand away, and recedes as quickly as it came. The sound is soothing to her. It grounds her, and reminds her of who she is and where she comes from and what it first taught her.

It reminds her of the person she wants to be.

"And you," she continues, her voice gaining a thread of intensity that hadn't been there before, "you –" she takes another step forward, " – you've always been on my side. You've always taken my side, you defend me, help me – even when I asked you not to, even when I was awful, you – you still did it, and – I – "

She swallows hard before looking him in the eye and bracing herself.

"I'm in your debt," she says to him, her voice quiet but firm. "I owe you, for what you did –"

"There is no debt," Zuko says flatly. His face is unreadable once again, the surprise and discomfort gone and replaced with something akin to resignation. But his hand reaches up to lightly touch the new scar on his chest, just above where his heart lies, prominent against the stark white skin. Katara can't help but stare at her handiwork, dimly remembering the feeling of her hands on his chest, the flagging pulse of his heart, the sticky warmth of his lifeblood... "You saved my life that night. I owed you. Now we're even. Don't trouble yourself over trying to repay me. I don't want it."

He trudges out of the shallows, where the water laps at his ankles, and makes his way for dryer ground. Katara would have judged him distant and cold in this moment, as he walks past her, if it hadn't been for the twin spots of red flushing on his cheeks still.

"What I meant was," she tells him quietly, reaching out and placing a tentative hand on his shoulder to arrest his progress, "I think I owe you an apology. Or an explanation. If – if you want to hear it, that is. After – after everything, I'd understand if you didn't."

She almost thinks she'd prefer it if he chose to hold a grudge, the way she had. And then that way she could tell herself she tried, but he had rebuffed her attempts, and it was reasonable for him, and then they could go on as they were in peace.

"You don't need to explain anything," Zuko says heavily. "You were right to be angry with me. I thought I was trying to apologize to you, earlier, but I was making it all about me. You have the right to conduct yourself any way you want."

She can feel the pulse of his blood, beating quickly under the skin of his shoulder. He is warm to the touch, almost uncomfortably so, or maybe she is only imagining that her hand burns where it touches him.

"That doesn't mean –" she takes a deep breath and in her head she thinks, Just say it already, and her mouth opens and all of a sudden, "I'm tired of this, Zuko."

She feels his muscles under her palm go taut with the tension that floods his entire body. His heartbeat has skyrocketed and it pounds in her ears, against her fingertips, echoing somewhere inside of her. She slowly withdraws her shaking hand as he slowly, incredulously turns to face her.

"Tired of what?" he asks her. His eyes are wide, but one is smaller than the other, slitted in the scar on his face. It imbalances his otherwise striking, symmetrical, fair features.

"All of this," Katara confesses with a vague gesture of her hand that indicates the empty space between them. "I'm tired of being angry and I'm tired of holding a grudge, and I'm tired of trying to hate you for who you are and where you come from when, the truth is, I know better."

Zuko opens his mouth, and then closes it. Up close, she can feel the heat emanating from him in waves, and smell traces of the soap he'd used to wash himself. It smells like yuzu and star spice, like the glowing coals of a dying fire.

"I know that you're not the monster I thought you were, I know that you're better –" she swallows past her reservations and the part of her that's petrified by this admission, still, " – probably much better than I am, right now. I'm – I'm not proud of the way I've been behaving here, with what I did to Chan and how unfair I've been to you... and I don't suppose I have an excuse for that –"

"It's okay," Zuko says hoarsely, his low voice rasping against his throat.

"No! No, it's not!" Katara exclaims. "I was wrong about you, alright? I was so wrong. It's far from okay. But – but – I want to –"

She feels herself floundering, running out of words to say, and the worst part is, she isn't even sure what she's trying to tell him anymore. Has she said enough? Is there anything left to say?

Zuko is very quiet and very still. It would have unsettled her if she hadn't been so focused on the slurry of words caught in her throat, all threatening to come up at once in an incoherent babble of drivel.

"I get it," he says, cutting across the whirl of her thoughts. "I didn't at first, but now I do. You feel the way you do for your own reasons, and even though I don't have to like it, that's – just the way it is."

She stares at him, her confusion forgotten for an instant.

"If – if it's just easier this way for you, that's fine, I –" Zuko runs a hand awkwardly through his hair, "I'm used to it, I suppose, but – you really don't owe me anything, Katara. Thanks for trying, though."

He makes as if to turn away.

It strikes Katara out of the blue, the realization that's he's bitter about her resentment and her quick anger and her words. And she can't blame him.

Guilt pools in her chest, lending her voice strength.

"What makes you think I'm doing this for you?" Katara demands abruptly, suddenly finding her voice in the fear of losing this opportunity to make it right. "This is – this is what I want, okay?"

Zuko's face twists into a frown.

"Are you sure?" he asks her carefully. "Because you – you look like you just want to turn around and run the other way right now."

"I'm not going to lie, that's exactly how I feel," Katara replies, her face heating up. "And I've never done this before and maybe that's why this is all new to me – but –"

She takes a deep breath.

"I'm tired. Okay? I'm tired of carrying all this hatred around inside me," she says, and her voice is finally clear and even and steady, the way she wants it to be, "and if I want to be okay again, I have to start somewhere. I – I can't stop hating the people who hurt me, or the people who continue to hurt me, or the ones who put me down for who I am and where I come from, those guys can all burn on a pyre for all I care – but –"

She lifts her gaze to meet his golden eyes, which have the strangest look in them, she's grateful she can't read its meaning.

"But you've never hurt me, and you've never put me down, and you've always respected my wishes, even when you didn't like them, and I –"

She takes a step toward him and crosses her arms across her chest.

"I'm think I'm ready now."

Zuko wears a puzzled look on his face, and it takes a few moments before he is able to form words.

"What are you saying?"

There is a fleeting collage of emotions, almost imperceptible, dancing in his eyes. Confusion, shock, dismay, hope…

"I'm saying," Katara clarifies, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "that I don't want to hate you anymore, Zuko. I don't want to be angry. And I'm sorry for the way I treated you. You didn't deserve it. And," she swallows again before she starts stuttering all over the place, "and even though it might be a while before I can be comfortable with the idea of trusting you or – or being friends with you, I – you should know that I want to try."

Zuko is rigidly still now, and he is quiet for so long Katara is worried that she's gone and offended him.

"Really?" Zuko whispers and the intensity in his voice makes her jump a little. "You mean it?"

Katara nods slowly.

"I think so." A thought comes to her, terrifying in its reality. "Unless you'd rather not."

But then she looks at him again and realizes that she's speaking nonsense.

The most curious change has swept across his face. He looks…happy.

It's only when she notices the slight quirk playing around the corners of his mouth that she realizes that she's never seen him smile. Not properly, anyway.

But his eyes give him away. They're lit up with a brightness she's never seen in them before, and there's a bit of a crinkle in the corners that reminds her of General Iroh's eyes when he smiles, that softens the striking harshness of his face and makes her want to hide.

"No," Zuko shakes his head at her. "I'd – I just didn't think you ever–"

"Me neither." Katara feels a thousand pounds lighter, as she vehemently adds, "I didn't think I could."

"Well." Zuko regards her somberly, the fleeting half-smile gone as quickly as it'd arrived. "Thank you for changing your mind."

"I didn't do it for you," Katara reminds him.

"I know." Zuko nods. "But thank you anyway."

He turns away from her again, as though to leave, and something inside her forces her to call out after him.

"I know you're your father's son and all…but after I thought about it, you remind me more of your uncle."

The smile in his eyes hitches, but only briefly.

"You've been so patient and considerate and – well – selfless," Katara continues, and she isn't sure why she's saying this, only that it feels right and with each word, she feels lighter still. "Your uncle seems like a good man, and –"

"He is," Zuko says, his voice oddly flat and restrained. He takes a couple of steps back, away from her. "But I'm not as selfless as you think I am."

Katara stares at him quizzically, even as he retreats from her slowly, the space between them widening with each step he takes.

"What do you mean?"

In the distance, she sees him run a hand through his hair in frustration, before he shakes his head and disappears into the building behind them.

That was strange.

The cool autumn breeze whistles through the skeletal tree branches around her, whispers across the surface of the pond behind her, rustling the warm linen draped around her body.

Now where do we go from here?

Though she feels like a great burden has been lifted from her chest, it is still strangely difficult to breathe.

Her hand is still warm.

author's note. ... :)

so that just happened.

about time, too.

love it? hate it? want more? let me know!

Chapter 14: thought and conspiracy

Summary:

General Iroh challenges everyone to a game of pai sho

Chapter Text

disclaimer. atla & its associated content are property of bryke, i am just a cheap but earnest knockoff.

author's notes. well. that took a lot longer than i anticipated - there were days where i'd just write and delete and write and delete, over and over again. going back to the narrative's "normal" pace after four straight chapters of high intensity was difficult, but we do need to return to some more rising action/worldbuilding/character-developing before we can truly hit the story's main conflict... which is not necessarily a bad thing but certainly not as much fun to write as the really dramatic, action-packed, fast-paced, compelling parts. but oh well. you take the ups with the downs.

speaking of ups...thank you SO MUCH to everyone who's been following! i am absolutely humbled and grateful for the overwhelming response i've gotten over the last few chapters - so once again, thank you for taking the time to let me know what you think! it is one of the best parts of writing this thing. please do keep it up! you are all awesome.

without further ado, i give you...

southern lights

chapter xiv. thought and conspiracy

you are looking at me
but i don't know what to say
are you sure it's supposed to feel this way?

"coming of age"/ maddie medley

They are summoned just before the crack of dawn the next morning.

"Remind me to kill the jerk who decided that this was an acceptable time to wake us up," Toph grumbles, fighting a yawn as she trudges alongside Katara to the clearing by the river where they do their cross-training exercises.

"Remind you?" Katara mutters savagely in reply, rubbing at her tired eyes blearily. In her other hand, she holds a lantern to light the way. "I'll help you."

Though they are no strangers to early mornings, of late their training schedules have been pushed later into the day, to accommodate for the longer and cooler nights of the changing season. Thus, it was to the chagrin of both girls that they awoke that morning much earlier than expected to a sky full of stars, a brisk night wind, and the abrupt rapping on the door jolting them from slumber and informing them of an early training session.

When they arrive at the clearing, they find Aang and Zuko similarly disheveled.

"Surprise wake-up for you too, huh?" Toph remarks to them.

"No kidding," Aang groans. His protuberant grey eyes are creased and puffy. "I used to love waking up at the crack of dawn back when I lived with the monks. But that was a long time ago. I'm all out of practice."

Zuko just nods at the two of them in acknowledgment, seemingly too tired to speak at all.

Katara feels a jolt in her stomach as his eyes pass over her, and she forces herself to smile at him and nod back as she sets her lantern down.

He drops his gaze and resumes scrutinizing the tips of his toes with renewed interest.

With some effort, she makes herself pay attention to the conversation unfolding between Toph and Aang, feeling the heat rise slowly to her face.

Give it some time, she tells the uncertain part inside of her that is still, somehow, unconvinced. You spent so much time hating him. Of course it won't feel normal just yet.

She doesn't know what she was expecting, to be honest.

"Good morning," says a voice from behind the four of them, and they snap to attention almost immediately.

Standing before them are Jeong-Jeong and General Iroh, both clad warmly in thick black cloaks. Neither holds a lantern in the dim morning light – instead, a plume of bright yellow flame hovering over Jeong-Jeong's open palm illuminates their lined faces.

The four of them bow in unison.

"No need for that!" General Iroh exclaims, with a little laugh. He waves his hand gently, and torches surrounding the perimeter of the clearing spring to life. "At ease."

They comply.

"You must be wondering why I have summoned you all here so early in the morning," General Iroh begins at leisure.

"This was his idea?" Toph hisses under her breath.

"Still planning on killing him?" Katara mutters wryly. "I don't think that'd work out so well."

"So I guess you're not helping then."

"Nope. Sorry."

General Iroh clears his throat politely. Katara and Toph fall silent instantly.

"Thank you. I know, it is early for all of us," he continues mildly. "But the day of a General is busy, to say the least, and I am most intrigued by the stories my good friend Jeong-Jeong has told me of your progress."

"The General would like to see a small demonstration of your abilities," Jeong-Jeong says to them. "As he is the man who originally conceived of the idea of the Avatar project, I feel that this much is owed him."

Katara's jaw drops.

Team Avatar was Crown Prince Iroh's idea all along?

She doesn't know what to make of it. The ambition behind their cross-training had always seemed simple to her – to add a new bending power, the likes of which the world had never known, to the arsenal of the Fire Empire's army.

But Iroh – the Crown Prince and General of the Empire's army – had struck her as a man more interested in building bridges, rather than burning them. Why on earth would he have dreamt up this idea?

Katara has no time to nurse her misgivings, however, as Jeong-Jeong has the four of them take up one of each corner of the rectangular arena. He instructs them to spar in a melee, similar to last time, for a period of fifteen minutes.

"Bending only," he warns. "No direct hits, no hand-to-hand contact. And try not to kill each other," this directed at Katara, wearily, "just this once."

But to Jeong-Jeong's surprise, he needn't have bothered airing his qualms about the nature of their team dynamic.

This time, the four of them take and yield ground in a disciplined fashion. The restriction against actual physical contact means that none of them are able to get too close to each other, but each holds their own remarkably well.

In contrast to her usual style, Toph adopts a more defensive style of earthbending, focusing more on deflecting the attacks rather than getting under her opponents' feet.

Aang, on the other hand, is trying his best to channel more aggression into his movements. When met by fire and water alike, he focuses on holding his ground and putting up a strong offense, rather than dodging and weaving as he is inclined to do.

As far as Katara is concerned, she is neither defensive nor offensive. In the blink of an eye, she is able to change the nature of her movements, from a shielding wall of water to a multi-pronged water whip lashing out. She supposes her bending has always had this natural advantage of versatility, and for the first time since Pakku has she reveled in it. The water is an extension of her, the water is part of her, and here, in the throes of what could be called a friendly sparring match, she remembers just how much she loves being a waterbender.

Strangely enough, it is Zuko who falls first. He fights with his usual stamina but he appears somewhat distracted. The flames he bends at them are redder in colour than usual, and move without the same finesse or control. He puts up a strong fight against Katara and her giant wave, but in turn fails to notice the rolling boulder Toph sends in his direction, which knocks him off his feet and decisively to the ground.

"Whoops," Toph says, a little abashedly.

"That will be all for now," Jeong-Jeong calls out, holding up a hand to stem the fighting. He looks somewhat surprised. "That was well done. All of you."

General Iroh claps slowly. His face gives nothing away, except his eyes are thoughtful and slightly triumphant.

"I commend you on your work here, Jeong-Jeong," he says to his friend warmly. "These four young benders, working past their differences and against the inclinations of their bending? That cannot have been easy."

"You could say that again," Jeong-Jeong mutters under his breath.

"Now I see four individuals with such a natural rhythm and flow, such instinctive understanding of each others' movements, and yet…" Iroh falters momentarily, composing himself before he continues, "Yet I see airbenders fighting like earthbenders, and earthbenders fighting like waterbenders, and waterbenders fighting like firebenders. It is most incredible. You should all be very proud of yourselves. Never before in the history of our people, as far as I am aware, has such an exercise in cooperation been attempted between our four races. That it is turning out to be a greater success than I dared to hope fills me with anticipation for what else you will discover."

Cooperation?

Katara scarcely believes her ears, and yet, the undisguised earnestness in Iroh's face tells her otherwise.

He thinks having Team Avatar will bring us closer together, she realizes, her heart pounding, he doesn't think of us as a weapon at all.

And she'd felt it, hadn't she? On the arena, sparring with Toph and Aang and Zuko, testing the limits of her bending without trying to hurt anyone, and without being hurt in turn, she'd been reminded that her bending is so much more than just a weapon.

And if that's the case, then…

"Though there is something that I have not yet seen, that I would very much like to witness with my own eyes, if possible," Iroh continues, and he turns his eyes toward first his nephew, and then, slowly, toward Katara.

"Jeong-Jeong tells me that you two somehow managed to fuse your bending," he says softly, and his tone has changed to one of wonder. "Do you remember how you did it?"

Katara's face flushes red as she remembers. It had barely been a week ago, but to her, it feels much longer than that. Truth be told, she had barely been paying attention during that fight, her mind preoccupied by Jet and the Dai Li, that to her, the memory of it feels surreal, like a dream.

From the deepening colour of Zuko's face, she gathers that he is probably in a similar boat.

Neither of them speak.

"Well?" Iroh turns to Zuko expectantly.

Zuko shrugs. "I have no idea what happened," he confesses. "We didn't do it on purpose or anything. It was – kind of an accident."

"Happy accidents often make for the greatest discoveries," Iroh says to him, enthusiastically.

"I wouldn't call it a happy accident, exactly," Zuko mumbles under his breath.

"If I may ask - what happened during this accident?" Iroh presses. "Something out of the ordinary must have occurred, something specific, to trigger such an event."

Zuko shakes his head. "I don't know," he answers, somewhat helplessly. "I wasn't really thinking at the time – it all happened so fast –"

"That's right," Katara speaks up, and Zuko looks surprised that she is lending her voice to his. "It did happen really quickly. I don't remember much of it, but I must have been acting on pure instinct." She shrugs too. "I wasn't paying much attention either."

"But I was," Jeong-Jeong says in his deep voice. "I'll tell you what I saw, General. I had the four of them fighting in a simple melee, one such as this. At a certain point in the fight, Sifu Toph had engaged both Prince Zuko and Sifu Katara in a two-fronted assault. Due to her use of seismic sense, both Zuko and Katara realized that aerial offensives were most effective at evading detection. They united their abilities to stay afloat in the air, General." His voice goes quiet with reverence. "I saw a firebender and a waterbender moving, thinking, breathing as though they were one."

Understanding dawns on General Iroh's face as he contemplates Jeong-Jeong's words.

"You are saying that before they accidentally fused their bending," he says to Jeong-Jeong slowly, "they achieved perfect synchronization?"

"It appeared so," Jeong-Jeong agrees. "Perhaps this was in itself unprecedented. For when else would a firebender and waterbender have worked closely enough to fight with such an understanding of each others' movements?"

"Perhaps," Iroh muses, stroking his beard. "Perhaps that is all. Or perhaps there is more to it that meets the eye."

He faces the four of them.

Behind him, the sky begins to glow with the first morning light.

"It is time for a lesson. Please, take a seat."

Katara, Toph, Aang, and Zuko are seated in a row at the edge of the clearing. They are all cross-legged, straight-backed, fists pressed together in their lap, as though readying themselves for meditation.

In a way, Katara supposes they are.

Across from them stands General Iroh, who by now has removed his thick black cloak. Today he is not wearing his military regalia, but instead has opted for a far more comfortable brown robe. Beside him, Jeong-Jeong sits on a flat-topped boulder, his face unreadable.

"Tell me," Iroh says, assuming a neutral stance. "What is bending?"

Is this a trick question?

Katara quickly turns her head to the side. To her relief, she sees Toph and Zuko wearing similarly befuddled expressions, while Aang frowns in concentration.

Oh good. I'm not the only one confused by this.

"By that," Aang begins tentatively, "do you mean the definition of bending?"

"I mean exactly what I say, Sifu Aang," Iroh replies gently, his face creasing into a serene smile. "What is bending?"

"Bending is –" Aang stutters a bit, before finding his footing and resuming, "bending is controlling the elements."

"Yes," Iroh nods, "but what is that? What causes bending?"

"Uh…" Aang falters, thinking quickly before answering, "well, the bender causes bending, right? With their body, with their mind –"

"Yes," Iroh presses, "but how?"

Somewhere beside them, Katara hears Zuko groan.

Aang is finally at a loss for words. "I don't think I know, sir," he says meekly.

"Hm." Iroh's eyes sweep over the rest of them. "Does anyone else want to take a guess?" He meets Katara's gaze a second before she is able to look away. "Katara, what about you? What do you think bending is?"

"Uh…" Katara hesitates, thinking hard. After all, Aang wasn't wrong, not exactly, but his answer had certainly been limited. She thinks of her healing, and how it is like her bending, and at the same time different, before she opens her mouth to answer. "I think bending…has more to do with the flow of energy in your body? And outside your body?"

Iroh beams at her. "Spoken like a true waterbender. My old friend Pakku certainly trained you well."

He regards all of them, before lifting his hands to roughly the level of his navel. "Katara is essentially correct. Bending –" and here he inhales deeply, "is the harnessing of the energy all around us, by the pathways within our own bodies and minds."

He begins to move his hands, slowly, in strange, opposing, circular motions. "There is a reason all the bending masters practice meditation and spiritual training. When we are at one with the world around us, that is when, as benders, we are at our most powerful. That is when the energy from all around us can flow within us, undisturbed."

"Huh," Toph mutters, her tone halfway between a snort and a sigh.

Katara is inclined to agree. Though meditation had been a regular part of her training with Pakku, she has always found it irritating and abandoned the practice after coming here.

"All energy is a balance of yin and yang," Iroh explains, his hands still moving steadily. Light blue sparks trail from his fingertips, and yet he appears to not notice them. "Light and dark. Positive and negative. How do I know this? Because when the energy falls out of balance, and yin and yang become separated –"

He lunges forward, pointing skyward.

And a great bolt of lightning, bright blue and scalding to the touch, flows up the length of his arms and erupts from his fingertips.

Katara's breath catches in her throat as she fights the urge to scramble backwards, in fear. Lightning is a fearsome thing to control. She never knew that firebenders had the power to manipulate lightning as well.

"Lightning. The cold-blooded fire." Iroh relaxes back to a neutral stance, his hands now clasped together in front of him. "Or, the result of separated energies crashing back together to restore balance."

A short silence follows his words, before Zuko speaks up. "That's very well and good, Uncle," he points out uncertainly, "but what does that have to do with the bending fusion we saw earlier?"

Iroh takes a deep breath, and sweeps the four of them with his thoughtful, amber gaze.

"I have a theory," he says slowly, "only a theory, you understand, but one that I am interested to test – and in fact, have been testing gradually, with your help. I believe that the four types of bending are more similar than we realize, divided only by the illusion of separation. Once upon a time, with the existence of the Avatar, we had the ability to control multiple elements at once – but now that has been lost from us, and the old divisions stronger and more insurmountable than ever before. How else to account for that, but that the bending of different elements is just the harnessing of different energies all around us? And that somehow, over the years, we have lost that versatility?"

Iroh shrugs helplessly.

"And so I thought: what if we tried again? What if, by bringing together four different benders, equal in age, talent, temperament, and ambition – we could learn, once again, that what divides us is very much unimportant, compared to what unites us? What if, instead of four benders fighting against each other, we had them fighting with each other, in harmony? You have seen enough of each other's bending to recognize the similarities to your own, faint as they are? I see you observing and applying lessons from other styles of bending and applying them to your own, whether unconsciously or deliberately, to increasing effect. How can that be possible – how can a waterbender or an airbender use the breathing technique of a firebender and experience the same effect, if the different forms of bending are not related somehow in some fundamental manner?"

All this time, Katara thinks to herself, heart pounding slowly, I was worried we were being used as a weapon, the strongest weapon the Fire Empire had ever seen. And meanwhile...General Iroh just thought of us as some sort of warped science experiment.

She doesn't know whether she wants to laugh or cry.

"And if we take this supposition as true," Iroh continues earnestly, his lined face radiant with a new, undisguised glow of excitement, "that the four types of bending are just different parts of a single whole, then can we not apply the same laws of energy to bending itself? That, like yin and yang, when different bending energies are separated and then reunited at once, like we see with lightning, might not something unexpected happen?"

He turns his gaze to Zuko, and then to Katara, in quiet triumph.

"For example – fire and water? Two elements so diametrically opposed to each other, yet always seeking balance." He holds out one hand, and then the other, as though to demonstrate. "Water, an element of negative jin, always flowing, seeking to fill empty spaces, to nourish and heal, to cool and soothe. Fire, an element of positive jin, constantly moving to create emptiness, to heat and illuminate and innovate. What better example of yin and yang than these two? And yet –" he begins to make the circular motions with either hand again, as though to generate lightning, but not actually doing so, "water extinguishes the weaker flame, fire in enough quantity will vaporize water, and what is created by either of these but steam?"

Instead of pointing his fingers upward, as he would to generate lightning, Iroh clasps his hands together in front of him.

"You think that because Katara and I were bending in synchronization," Zuko says slowly, disbelievingly, "our bending fused because our energies somehow interacted?"

"Not just because of your synchronization," Iroh explains, holding up a finger. "Though I suspect that played a critical role. Remember how we create lightning, Prince Zuko. The energy of firebending, the energy that surrounds us, is first separated into positive and negative energy. Once separated, they seek to join together again. It is the joining of separate, opposite, but equal energies within the body of a firebender that generates lightning. Similarly, I believe that certain combinations of bending – or benders, for that matter – will lend themselves more naturally to such patterns. Fire and water, for example, is a perfect example. When you and Sifu Katara fused your bending, it was not just your movements that were synchronized. Jeong-Jeong said your breathing and your minds were also as one. And, more telling, both you and Katara said that your minds were empty, devoid of thought or emotion. This is also something that we require when creating lightning – peace and calm of mind, a complete surrender to the energy surrounding us. You became more than just a firebender fighting alongside a waterbender. The two of you became vessels, the humble guides of a new union of energy, one that has never been seen before."

He turns his eager eyes to the rest of them, positively beaming now.

"It seems like there is a whole word of discovery ahead of us. And for my part, I will stay here, as long as necessary, to help you achieve all the possibilities lying in wait."

Feel the push and pull within him, Katara tells herself patiently, as sweat beads on her brow and her fingers begin to cramp. Water is water.

It is early afternoon and she is back in the healing tent, seated beside Chan's comatose form, hands gloved in glowing water. Across the room, waiting for instructions is the old woman Jia. She wears a smock over her medic's robe, and a concerned expression.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" she asks softly at one point, as Katara withdraws her hands and lets out a frustrated sigh.

"I don't know," Katara mumbles, her shoulders slumping. She massages her hands forcefully, trying to force the cramps out of them. She can raise rivers and turn them into ferocious, all-consuming maelstroms of destruction, but a single block in the healing process and she is but a frustrated novice all over again.

And for all intents and purposes, when it comes to healing, she is. She's never had a master teach her how to heal, not the way Pakku had taught her how to bend. Everything she's learned, she's had to figure out on her own, or face the consequences of her failures.

How could it be otherwise? Waterbending itself has been taboo for the last ten years or so of her life. But healing? That sacred practice that the firebenders had envied and coveted and tried to possess for their own, long before they tried to wipe out evidence of its existence by rounding up all known healers and killing them? It is no surprise that she has little more than a rudimentary grasp of the subject. There is nobody left to teach her.

Nobody except…

No, Katara tells herself firmly, shivering a little. No, I can't go back to her. Not for this. Especially not for this. If his wounds don't kill him, she certainly will.

Her stomach turns and a brief wave of nausea comes over her.

"You're not feeling well," Jia observes, and for the first time since Katara has sat down, she approaches her and rests a bony hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you take a little break?"

"I don't need a break," Katara protests, but her hands fall into her lap all the same. "I need to figure out what it is that's confusing me. I'm stuck, and I don't know why."

Fresh wounds are easy. No matter how deep or how severe, it's just a single point of entry. Stop the bleeding, let the flesh knit over, heal.

Burns are more difficult. So many humours. Blood. Pus. Scars. Flesh. Infection. Everything in between. Various levels of damage to determine. Clear the pus. Don't stop the blood from flowing, it helps to clear the wound. Calm the flesh, let it knit. Test the muscle and the sinew, until they work again. When the infection is over and the pus is gone, then stop the bleeding and let the scars form. Heal.

Broken bones are hardest of all. Clean breaks are relatively straightforward. Align the ends, let them fuse. Draw blood to the area to purify. Heal.

But shattered bones? Broken in multiple places? Splintered? How do you find all the pieces? The whole human body is water, but how do you find something that small? And draw it back to the right place? And fuse it? Such a long process. How can you heal that?

She wishes it were the full moon. At such a time, her bending is at its zenith, drawn by the proximity of the moon and its pull on her chi. But the full moon is not for another week. Chan doesn't look like he is going to hold out for that long.

"What is it about this boy's injuries that confuses you so?" Jia asks her. "Compared to what you have healed in the past, how are they different?"

"I don't know, I –" Katara's voice catches in her throat as she looks down at him, in mounting horror. "I thought I could fix this. I thought…"

Her voice trails off.

"He's going to die," she says, the panicked realization hitting her abruptly, like a jolt to the spine. "He's going to die and it's all my fault."

Jia is silent and still for a minute, before she speaks again.

"What is he going to die from?" Her voice is calm and unwavering.

Katara lets out a laugh, cynical and dark.

"Do you really want to know?" she asks skeptically. "Okay. Let me run a list by you. Assuming the water in his lungs doesn't get him first, his ribs are broken into a bunch of tiny pieces, which is making it hard for him to breathe properly – partly because it hurts too much and partly because I think his lungs are being punctured somewhere – there's too much water and I can't tell for sure. But if I can't tell what's going on inside him, how am I supposed to fix it? Oh, and if I ever figure that out, his jaw and nose are broken too, but those are the easy bits."

"I see," Jia nods. "Taken together, it sounds like a daunting task."

"You can say that again." Katara shakes her head violently, raking her fingers through her hair, across her scalp.

"But, individually," Jia continues pointedly, fixing Katara with her bright, beady eyes, "it is not so bad? If you know to prioritize."

"I've been trying," Katara complains, her cheeks glowing red now. "It's not working."

"That's because you're setting yourself up for failure," Jia says briskly. "You're focusing on the hardest part, the things that you cannot see or sense or hope to fix, without removing the lesser hurdles from your path. The broken nose and jaw, the water in the lungs, these are simple for you on their own, are they not?"

"Well – yes, but –" Katara stammers breathlessly, " – but they're not important! Not compared to the damage in his ribs!"

"Yes, but they too are causing him pain, are they not?" Jia counters steadily. "By prolonging his pain, are you not allowing his body's state to deteriorate even further? True, addressing the breaks in nose and jaw will not save his life, but it may make him more comfortable, make it easier to draw the water forth from his lungs, which may buy you some more time. It may be easier to diagnose the damage once the excess water is gone." The old woman flashes her a quick, gently reassuring smile. "And, you may also find that repairing one or two small things first will return to you the confidence that you need to heal him for good."

Katara gapes at Jia. "That was…very sensible," she says at last, clearing her throat and raising her hands into position again. "Thank you very much for your advice, Jia."

Jia nods her head slowly and walks back to her usual spot on the other side of the room.

By the time Katara leaves the tent for the day, Chan's face has already lost a bit of its pallor.

She has just finished dinner and is returning back to her room with Toph when a stern, square-jawed officer intercepts her.

"A message from General Iroh," he says to her curtly, handing over a roll of parchment sealed with red wax and the flame insignia of the Fire Empire.

Katara nods her thanks, feeling her curiosity mount as the unsmiling soldier turns around and walks away.

"What was that about?" Toph inquires, crossing her arms across her chest as Katara holds the scroll out in front of her.

"I don't exactly know," Katara admits, looking around her. "Here, hold my torch, would you? Let's see what the General wants."

Toph obliges, holding out her hand to hold the flaming wooden torch high enough for Katara to get a good view as she peels off the thick, waxy red seal and unfurls the parchment scroll.

"It says," Katara frowns as she reads the message, written precisely and carefully in a calligraphic hand, "Dear Katara. Please stop by my quarters after dinner. I would greatly enjoy a cup of tea and a game of pai sho. Relay the message on to Toph also. Your most esteemed General Iroh."

Toph's brow furrows in confusion.

"All that secrecy over tea and an old people's chess game?" she complains. "And here I was hoping for something exciting."

"It is a little odd," Katara comments, feeling a stirring of unease tug at her stomach. "Why wouldn't the General just ask us earlier today during practice?"

"Maybe he didn't want to make anyone feel left out?" Toph suggests, as Katara rolls the scroll back up and tucks it into the pocket of her robe.

"Maybe," Katara replies with a shrug, taking the torch back from Toph. "But who would be left out? I can't imagine he would invite us and not Aang or his own nephew."

Her suspicions are confirmed as, some time later, she and Toph hesitantly find themselves outside Iroh's grand pavilion and are ushered inside by none other than the General himself.

"Please, seat yourselves anywhere," he insists, holding the door for them and gesturing to the room within.

Katara recognizes it as the room her sentencing had been in, just the day prior. It has been only a day since she met General Iroh, she reflects, but the time that has passed since then feels much longer.

The large rectangular table has been cleared away, she notices. In its stead is a smaller, round wooden table, and set on top of it is a nondescript, checkered board. There are five comfortable-looking chairs arranged around the table. Aang and Zuko occupy two of them. Aang appears politely confused, while Zuko looks downright nervous.

The two girls shrug and seat themselves at the table. Moments later, General Iroh is pulling a pot of tea out from where it hangs in the roaring fireplace, and pouring out cups for each of them.

"Jasmine for tonight, I thought," he tells them, his eyes twinkling. "Such a warm, pleasing aroma."

Katara can hardly protest, so she quietly takes the cup in her hand, by the rim where the scalding liquid hasn't transferred its heat, and blows gingerly at the steaming surface of the clear brown tea.

A cloud of fragrance, smoky and floral and sweet, wafts into her face.

"Thank you," Aang says with a smile, before taking a cautious sip from his cup.

Katara decides to follow suit. The tea is not quite as sweet as it smells, but she still prefers it to the pungency of the ginseng tea she'd tried yesterday.

"How is it?" Iroh asks him, his broad face still creased in a warm smile. "Do you like it?"

"It's good, Uncle," Zuko says quietly.

"It's delicious," Aang chimes in, his eyes sparkling. "How do you brew it so well? I always thought tea was supposed to be bitter, but there isn't the slightest bit of it here –"

"Bitter?" The smile slides off of Iroh's face. Instead, he looks absolutely affronted. "Tea is not supposed to be bitter! What a waste of leaves, they must have been scalded, what a dreadful loss…"

He shakes his head and replaces the kettle on the mantel above the fireplace, before collecting himself and sitting down at the table with them.

"Who here is familiar with the game of pai sho?" he asks innocently, withdrawing a small brown cloth bag from somewhere within his robe's sleeve.

Toph and Zuko let out a groan, simultaneously.

"I will assume that like my nephew, you too are not a fan, Sifu Toph?" Iroh points out, with a hint of mirth detectable in his voice.

"You could say that again," Toph declares, shaking her head. "It's such a boring game when you can't exactly see what's going on, you know."

"It's not that I'm not a fan," Katara hears Zuko sigh under his breath, as he rests his chin on top of his steepled fingers, "I could just go longer without having to play it again, that's all."

"And you? Sifu Aang? Katara?" Iroh turns to face them, his face touched with an inquisitive sort of hope. "Are either of you familiar with the game? Or, like your fellow companions, are you lost causes as well?"

"Uh…" Aang falters, casting a sidelong glance at Toph's disgusted face, "well…I don't mind it, exactly…"

"Well, that's a start," Iroh says happily, before turning to look at Katara expectantly.

Katara shrugs. "Master Pakku showed me how to play it," she offers nonchalantly. "I never really liked it, but that's because I could never win against him. I'm sure I'd like it if I thought I could be good at it."

"A most perceptive answer, Sifu Katara," Iroh tells her warmly. "I will be happy to show you the finer intricacies of the game, if you are willing to learn." His eyes glitter keenly in the firelight, and Katara fights a shiver. "I have always said that pai sho is not just a game."

Somewhere beside her, Zuko groans again.

General Iroh hums a quiet tune under his breath as he upends the cloth bag in his hand over the pai sho board in front of them. Small round tiles clatter against the weathered wooden surface, tumbling and rolling around noisily.

"As pai sho is traditionally a two-player game," Iroh intones, picking up a tile inscribed with a white flower, "let us start by dividing ourselves into groups. I will use the light pieces. The rest of you can use the dark ones."

Katara blinks in surprise.

"You want to play against all four of us?" she repeats, not sure if she has heard him correctly.

Iroh nods, focusing on separating the light and dark tiles into two piles before him.

"I think that should be a fair match," he explains, with a swift wink of the eye

"No it won't," Zuko mutters, and this time his voice is audible to everyone. "We don't stand a chance against him."

It is an hour past sunset and by now, the board is set with several tiles, alternating light and dark, red and white. General Iroh's face is serenely unperturbed, while across from him, his four opponents have worked themselves into sweaty frustration.

"I think we should use the snapdragon," Aang says, reaching for a dark tile inked with a dark red five-petaled flower seated on a yellow square. "It's clashing, and we need to move it before he captures us –"

"But then that opens up that space for him," Zuko protests, pointing at a neighbouring light tile inscribed with a red flower. "And he has a mum, he can arrange it there –"

"It's a sacrifice we have to make," Aang insists. "We can always recoup a harmonization later on, but if we lose our dragon –"

"Just smash him with a rock," Toph interrupts in a bored voice, her sightless eyes glazed over as she lazily swirls her teacup. "Rocks crush flowers, right?"

"Toph, the way the board's set up, it would only crush our flowers," Zuko tells her in a pained voice.

Toph shrugs. "Well, how was I supposed to know?" She waves a hand in front of her face sardonically. "It was worth a shot."

"I think you're forgetting something, Aang," Katara points out, seemingly unaware of the conversation unfolding around her. Her face is solemn as her eyes rove the board. "If he gets to harmonize with his chrysanthemum next turn, he can use his white lotus." She points at the benign white tile, sitting in one of the triangular red ports bordering the corners of the playing board.

"So?" Aang asks. "The white lotus can't move far in a turn. It isn't near enough to any of us to make a threat."

"Not if you move our snapdragon to evade his chrysanthemum," Katara says slowly, pointing at the piece that Aang so desperately wants to move. "Our movements are constrained now because General Iroh's boxed off these corners of the board, so we have to move where he can reach us with the lotus. And you know what that means."

She points at the arrangement of the various light and dark tiles on the board, and draws imaginary lines with her finger to connect them together.

"Game over," Aang realizes, horrified.

"How does he do this every time?" Zuko bursts out, exasperated. "Always with that stupid lotus!"

The faintest of smiles is playing across General Iroh's mouth, but he says nothing in response to Katara's strategizing.

"He's been planning this from the beginning," Katara explains, scanning the board carefully, thoughtfully. "Master Pakku used to play the same way. I always thought he was just going easy on me, but it was just to lure me into a false sense of security. In the end he'd always use the white lotus gambit to win. It's clever, but there might be a way around it."

"Really?" Aang fixes her with his big grey eyes. "How?"

"You'll have to trust me for now," Katara says to him. "Can you do that?"

"Yes," Zuko says sharply, glaring at Aang. "He can."

The young monk recoils and nods sheepishly.

"Okay." Katara takes a deep breath, before she places her hand on a dark tile and moves it four spaces over to where General Iroh's offending piece lies.

"I capture General Iroh's chrysanthemum here," she says, "and because of its position, it harmonizes with our snapdragon here."

"That is correct," General Iroh says, nodding his head as Katara picks his tile off of the board and sets it aside.

"I'm not finished yet." She then reaches for a tile sitting on the table. "Because of our harmonization, I'm going to go and," she triumphantly places it on a triangular port, closest to the light-coloured tiles, "plant an orchid."

She senses the collective jaws dropping around her.

"Well," General Iroh muses, his eyes widening as he stares at the board with renewed interest. "Well-played, Sifu Katara." He strokes at his pointed beard thoughtfully. "Yes, the orchid, with its speed and aggression, is usually quite a good foil to the lotus."

"So you give up?" Katara asks excitedly.

Iroh lets out a laugh. "I never give up," he proclaims defiantly. "Though I might suggest a little break for now."

"Oh thank goodness," Toph sighs. "I thought that was going to go on forever."

"A break? What for?" Zuko queries, a frown crossing his face.

Iroh holds a hand up to silence his nephew, before turning his gaze on Toph.

"Sifu Toph. Is anyone still about outside?" he asks suddenly, his voice changing abruptly.

Toph looks confused by the question, but closes her eyes and focuses for a moment.

"No," she says at last, "no, everyone's back in their quarters, freshening up, bolting the doors, changing for bed, that sort of thing."

Katara gets the sense, just before Iroh begins to speak, that they are about to find out the real reason Iroh has gathered them here - pai sho lesson be damned.

"In that case," Iroh continues, and his voice is much quieter now, quiet and solemn, "I would raise a subject with you all that I know to be of utmost secrecy. I did not dare speak of it before, not even in front of my good friend Jeong-Jeong." He sighs, before fixing each of them with his steady amber gaze. "Last week, you intercepted a man sent to assassinate my nephew. I am told that you have preserved his body down by the river."

Katara feels her blood run cold, but Iroh's abrupt change of topic doesn't surprise her as much as his innocuous invitation earlier in the night had. She is only surprised that he hasn't brought it up sooner.

"I would like to examine the body," Iroh finishes, and by now, his face is so forbidding that Katara can hardly reconcile it with the genial, smiling man against whom they'd played pai sho just moments ago. "If you would take me to where it lies and exhume it for me."

In no time at all, they have returned to the riverbank, some distance away from the army base. The night is dark, but not one of them dares to light a torch. They rely on the faint sliver of moon in the sky, and Toph's seismic sense, to guide their way.

Sometimes, Katara doesn't know how they would manage without the blind earthbender. She confidently leads them quietly, unseen, to the very spot where they had buried the body a little over a week earlier. A sharp twist and pull of her fists and the earth before her opens up, yielding the dead man's body to the surface.

Katara has had some time to process his death, some time to come to terms with it. This time, when she sets her eyes on Jet's lifeless body, a great sadness settles over her, but the rage has ebbed.

"By the spirits of Ran and Shaw," General Iroh murmurs under his breath, bowing his head at the sight of the body. He kneels down onto the ground, beside Jet's form, and conjures the smallest orb of fire in his left hand. "So young," he laments, and there is a great sadness in his choked voice, "so young to have died in such a troubled way."

He reaches out to gently touch the dead boy's forehead, and then over his eyes, before his hand drifts down lower to rest on the hilt of the dagger that still protrudes from his chest.

"This is it, then?" Iroh asks heavily. "This is the blade that killed him?"

Katara feels helpless as it all comes back to her. But Toph and Zuko, who had witnessed it all, nod resolutely.

"It came out of nowhere," Toph says in a low voice, so serious it barely even sounds like her at all. "So quickly and quietly that we didn't even notice it until we heard the body fall."

She shakes her head, her face darkening at the memory of it.

"Toph is right," Zuko continues with the explanation. "By the time we noticed that he had been killed, whoever it was that threw the knife already had a good head start on us. We pursued him through the building, but he disappeared the minute he got out the front door." The bitterness in his voice is thinly veiled. "Aang says he saw him, lingering outside my door, in the hallway, dressed as one of our own soldiers."

"Did you?" Iroh inquires, turning to face Aang.

Aang bobs his head shortly. "Just for a split second," he explains. "I saw someone – I didn't recognize them or make out their face or anything – only that they were wearing a uniform, and then they took off the second some giant commotion happened in Zuko's room." He turns a nervous glance in Zuko's direction. "I assume that was when you discovered the body."

"But you didn't see this person throw the knife," Iroh emphasizes.

"I didn't see much at all," Aang confesses, scratching at the back of his head. "It's possible that I saw him right after he threw the knife. He didn't stick around very long at all."

"I don't think there is any doubt in Uncle's mind that anyone else threw the knife?" Zuko cuts in, and there is a definite question in his voice as he looks at General Iroh. "It could hardly have been any of us, and it is implausible that anyone else would have been in the area to do it."

"No," General Iroh says, and his voice is clouded with darkness, "no, you are probably right. I am just reviewing the facts, in case you may have missed something."

"What about the Dai Li?" Zuko asks, and Katara glances at him sharply as he presses ahead boldly. "Uncle, have you heard from Long Feng recently?"

General Iroh stops at that, and turns to fix his nephew with a piercing stare. "What about them?" he asks, taken aback. "They have been stalwart supporters of our family ever since the time of your great-grandfather, Prince Zuko. Why would you name them in connection to this – this most unsavoury incident?"

Zuko falters, trying to think of something to say. He turns his head to look at Katara, a question in his eyes.

Katara sighs, and decides to speak. There is no use in protecting a dead man now. But by speaking, perhaps she can give his life meaning. "Because just before Jet was murdered," she says, her voice shaking a little, "he spoke to me."

General Iroh fixes his full attention on her now. She doesn't flinch.

"As you are well aware by now," she continues, "Jet is – was - an acquaintance of mine, back from my days in New Ozai."

"The freedom fighter," General Iroh comments. His tone is flat and his face is unreadable.

"Yes," Katara nods her head. "Yes, he was involved with the resistance movement there."

"And you were not," Iroh points out, his eyebrows raised.

"Only so far as my acquaintance with him went," Katara explains, fighting to keep her voice calm in spite of the pounding of her heart. "Jet looked out for me. He kept me safe in a terrible place. Whatever he did, I – I can't forget that."

The look in Iroh's eyes is not suspicious, only sad.

"I would accompany him in New Ozai, to a lot of his meetings," she goes on, unwilling to let herself be interrupted again. "I saw some things that you would probably find unbelievable, especially if you didn't really see what happened with Jet after he tried to kill Zuko –"

"Please, try me," General Iroh challenges her. "This is the second instance in the past few months that I have heard of an attack on the royal family being traced back to that resistance in New Ozai. At this moment, I think I am ready to believe anything."

Katara's eyes widen, and she is not the only one who appears shocked by the revelation. Toph's head has snapped to attention, and Aang's eyebrows have shot up. Only Zuko appears unfazed.

"What do you mean, the second instance?" Toph asks suspiciously. "Are you saying that this has happened before?"

"Let Katara tell her story first," General Iroh says calmly, "and then I will tell you mine."

Heart pounding in her chest, Katara swallows to clear her throat before she launches into her story.

She tells him about the strange abductions during her time in New Ozai, the disappearances and reappearances of various freedom fighters, and their troubling links to the Dai Li. She tells him about Lake Laogai, the underwater headquarters of the group, and their ongoing attempts to control insurgents in the area using hypnosis and coded sleeper agents. Finally, she tells him about Jet and his abrupt awakening from his trance following her use of the code phrase.

"He told me that he was the only one of the freedom fighters left," she finishes, her voice anxious and her stomach churning as she remembers the memories she'd pulled from his mind, sinister, unsettling, alien, "that the Dai Li had gotten to all of them, one by one. He said that they were all under their control now, sleeper agents waiting to be used for whatever ends Long Feng deems appropriate. Jet was the only one who was troublesome – they kept on having to find him and recapture him and put him under, over and over again. But everyone else –" Longshot and Pipsqueak and Smellerbee and the rest, all of them, " – everyone else was gone."

General Iroh is silent for so long, Katara doesn't know whether he believes her or not.

"Quite a tale," he breathes at last. "And he told you all of this?"

"Some of it," Katara replies, her voice growing remote. "The rest, I saw in his mind when I was trying to heal him. Just before he was killed."

Iroh's eyes are wide now, and he is very still as he contemplates her words.

"Uncle," Zuko speaks up in his hoarse voice, "I know it sounds a little crazy. But Toph and I were there when she broke him out of his trance – there is no other way to explain the change that came over him. We heard him tell his story to Katara. You have to believe her."

"And him too," Toph says firmly, nodding at Jet's dead body with a tilt of her head. "I can always tell when someone's lying – or not being entirely truthful. The body has a physically stressful reaction to that. I could feel him as he was talking to Katara. He was telling the truth." A pause. "Or, at least he thought he was."

"I believe you." General Iroh's pronouncement is flat and without hesitation as he slowly, smoothly gets back to his feet. "I believe that you are all sincere, and that you regard this tale as a very real possibility to account for this man's actions."

"But you don't believe that the Dai Li is behind this," Zuko points out bluntly. "You think that's a whole bunch of nonsense."

General Iroh shakes his head. "I would not dismiss this claim as nonsense," he explains gently. "But you must understand, it is an extraordinary accusation. And while I find it most troubling, I for one, will require more proof before I am able to act on these tidings."

It was no more than Katara had expected. Still, she thinks to herself, her heart sinking in her chest, at least he was nice about it.

"What about the knife?" Aang ventures hesitantly, pointing to the enameled green hilt sticking out of Jet's chest. "There could be clues based on the craftsmanship, like where it was made or who it belonged to."

"The guy who killed Jet wouldn't be stupid enough to use a knife with his name on it, Twinkletoes," Toph points out witheringly.

"Probably not," Aang admits, somewhat sheepishly, and yet his face is still alight with some earnestness. "But there could be other information. If it's an expensive knife, for example, it could suggest that it belonged to a noble or someone wealthy."

"Or someone who stole it from someone noble or wealthy," Zuko counters, his voice dark.

Aang shrugs.

"Then you have someone reputable missing an expensive knife, who might have information about the thief. Either way, some information is better than none. Right, General?"

"Correct," Iroh acknowledges. Without a word, he wraps a hand around the hilt of the knife and, with a firm motion, yanks it free.

Katara tries not to stare at the bloody hole gaping in Jet's chest.

"Hm," Iroh muses, wiping the blade clean with the remains of Jet's dark clothing before holding it up close to his face. He squints, bringing the firelight in his palm closer to illuminate the weapon.

"Made in Earth Kingdom," he reads out loud.

Toph lets out a giant snort.

"Well that was helpful," she remarks dryly, rolling her eyes. "Real helpful."

"Actually," General Iroh interjects, his face alert now, "it was. Look."

He holds the knife out for them to see.

Katara is able to read the inscription, carved faintly into the base of the blade.

"I don't get it," she says, confused.

"Me neither," Aang agrees, scratching his head. "What are we supposed to be looking at?"

"It says Earth Kingdom," Zuko realizes. "According to the trade agreements we made after the conquest, the colonies were no longer permitted to refer to themselves as the Earth Kingdom. All of their products would have to be labeled according to the city they were made in. Made in Ba Sing Se, or Made in Gaoling, or –"

"Precisely, Prince Zuko," Iroh says, nodding. "So either we have a rogue weapons manufacturer in the earth colonies violating our trade agreements…or this knife predates Sozin's conquest of the Earth Kingdom and is a relic of the palace of Ba Sing Se."

"Is that possible?" Zuko asks skeptically. "What're the chances of that?"

"I cannot say," Iroh mutters, scanning the length and breadth of the knife with a critical eye. "I am no expert in these matters. However, if our assassin is indeed a member of the Dai Li, headquartered in Ba Sing Se alongside Long Feng…the likelihood of coincidence grows slimmer." He sighs, before closing his eyes and looking away. "There is much that troubles me about this, and more still that I do not understand. I must think, before I act next."

"You said that this had happened before," Toph speaks up sharply. Her posture is combative, and her arms are crossed defensively across her chest. "Sweetness told you her story. We gave you proof of it. Now it's your turn. You have to tell us your story, Grandpa."

"Grandpa?" General Iroh echoes, raising an eyebrow.

Aang and Katara let out a sigh.

"It means she likes you, Uncle," Zuko explains in a deadpan voice. "Ridiculous nicknames are just one way Toph shows her affection for people."

"I see," Iroh says, and his voice still suggests that he is taken aback by her level of familiarity. He casts it off easily enough as he takes a deep breath. "I do not have to remind you that what I am about to say cannot leave the five of us. It is a matter of national security. And, come think of it, also a matter of personal safety for Zuko and myself."

The air is fraught with tension as General Iroh strokes his beard with his right hand, wondering where to begin and how much to tell.

"Four months ago," he begins, "someone tried to assassinate Fire Emperor Azulon."

"What?" Katara blurts out, unable to believe her ears.

"You're kidding," Toph exclaims incredulously, quite beside herself.

"I am not kidding," Iroh replies wearily, and in the flickering firelight, his lined features make him look older than he is. "The perpetrator used a deadly poison – it was only at the last minute that my father's life was saved."

"Is he okay?" Aang ventures to ask, his face full of concern.

Iroh shakes his head sadly. "He lives, but at great personal cost. He lost the use of body and speech. He can never bend again, never walk, nor talk, nothing."

"How come we've never heard of this before?" Katara demands, her voice shaking. "If Fire Emperor Azulon is in such awful shape, and for some time now, wouldn't – wouldn't people know about it? Wouldn't people freak out about it?"

"Yes," Iroh acquiesces, "the people would indeed be alarmed if they found out. There would be uproar and uncertainty and rebellion after rebellion, perhaps even a debate over the succession of the throne." He sighs. "That is why my younger brother has elected to demonstrate a united front between my father, myself, and him, while keeping his condition a secret of national importance. If word were to get out, it would spell disaster for the empire."

"How did you know that the resistance was behind the assassination attempt?" Aang asks. "Did you manage to catch the poisoner in the act or something, did he confess?"

"I did not arrive on the scene until a week after the events had occurred," Iroh explains. "By then, the chief healer in the royal palace had been apprehended, on charges that his family was connected to the resistance in New Ozai. The link seemed tenuous to me, at best. But at his trial, he confessed to the crime and was found guilty of attempted regicide. Regrettably, he is – no longer around to plead his case."

"That makes no sense," Katara says quietly, and she cannot stop herself from trembling now. "I knew the people in the resistance, General, all of them, and they were just a bunch of kids. They could never pull off something with that kind of reach, that level of magnitude. Not without help."

"You yourself alleged that they have all been turned over to the custody of the Dai Li," General Iroh returns gently. "Might that not have been the help they needed? If the Dai Li are indeed involved, and if they are engaging in illicit hypnosis programs to enact their agenda, it is not so difficult to envision that this unfortunate healer, through whatever spurious family connection and no fault of his own, wound up caught in something much greater than himself."

"Katara did say that the Dai Li would use their sleeper agents to perform tasks that they wanted, without regard for the consequences," Zuko points out. "Why would they bother preserving one agent caught in the act when they have an entire resistance organization, brainwashed and ready to do their bidding, ready to die for them without them even knowing it?"

There is a terrible look on General Iroh's face now, a mixture of pity and horror and fury all rolled into one. Katara had thought him harmless at first, a benign soul suited to the appreciation of fine arts and tea. But now, for the first time since meeting him, she is able to perceive the iron in him, the fire and steel that would make him a terrifying foe on the battlefield.

"If this is true," he pronounces in a voice like the thrust of a knife, "if the Dai Li has been engaging in acts of sedition and duplicity against the throne of our empire – that too by unscrupulously gambling with the lives of innocents – then they have made themselves a deadly enemy. I find these allegations disturbing and against the nature of everything this empire stands for, and I will not rest until I get to the bottom of this. If the Dai Li are involved – well – then, the next time they think to send an agent of theirs after someone else in my family, they will not find it so easy." His amber eyes blaze in the night. "I too have informants within the Earth territories and resources at my disposal. I will do what I can to protect my family, and my country, from these treasonous creatures that pretend to be our allies."

He turns his gaze downward, to stare at Jet's dead body one last time. His fingers grip the green-hilted knife very tightly, before he tucks it away into the sleeve of his robe.

"Thank you very much for showing me this," he says softly to the four of them, and he sounds like a completely different man now – older, sadder, quieter. "But this boy has known turmoil for far too long. Let us lay him to rest now. May he find the peace that was taken from him in life."

Wordlessly, Toph clenches her hands into fists and pulls sharply at the air in front of her.

Once again, Jet's body disappears back into the earth.

There is a deep silence among the five of them, a silence tinged with sadness for the moments past and apprehension for the moments to come.

"Now," General Iroh says briskly, breaking the spell with a shake of his head and a falsely-bright smile, "who would like to finish that game of pai sho?"

The four of them groan in unison.

Chapter 15: the shape of things to come

Summary:

general iroh writes a letter. zuko and katara share a cup of tea and a telling conversation. toph has a nightmare.

Chapter Text

disclaimer. atla & all its related content is property of bryke, i own nothing familiar.

author's notes. it took a while before i was satisfied with this one. while this chapter is quite a departure from previous instalments (in that it's a bit uneventful and disjointed at times), it ended up including a bit more character revelation than i originally expected. but, all to set up the changes that are coming our way in the next few chapters.

to any bsg fans kicking around out there... yes the chapter is named after that brilliant piece from the show's soundtrack. highly recommend reading with it on (not only because it really evokes that tricky blend of foreboding/apprehension/hope/melancholy that i was trying to strike here, but because it's breathtaking in its own right)

as always, thank you to everyone who's been following along and forthcoming with their feedback! your comments make my day 3

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter xv. the shape of things to come

i think i might have inhaled you
i could feel you behind my eyes

"bloodstream"/stateless

In the days to come, Katara will ask herself how it was that she ended up here.

"So, you have elected to use the orchid counteroffensive?" asks General Iroh, his eyes gleaming brightly as he sits back down at his spot at the round table. Another pot of tea has been placed in the fireplace – an herbal infusion of chamomile and mallow, if Katara's nose correctly identifies the aromas now filling the room in Iroh's grand pavilion.

"Yes," she replies, bobbing her head in a short nod. She swallows to clear her dry throat as Iroh rubs his pointed whiskers with a thoughtful hand, staring at the board with focused intent.

It is probably an hour to midnight by now. Toph, ever brash and forthcoming with her intentions, had scoffed off the General's invitation to continue their earlier game and marched straight back to bed. Aang, mumbling something about writing a letter to an old mentor of his, had also ducked out.

But Katara, feeling ever in Iroh's debt by now, had found escape a fanciful thought as the keen General turned to her in earnest appeal.

Katara, he'd said to her seriously after both Toph and Aang had slipped away into the darkness, my dear Sifu Katara. Surely you will come back to finish the game? You have not even had the chance to demonstrate your response to the white lotus gambit!

General Iroh had stood up for her in front of the entire command staff and showed her mercy when no one else would. Regardless of his motives, she owes him for that.

And, as such, it had been impossible for her to refuse him.

And now here she is, trapped by duty, drinking tea and playing pai sho with the Fire Empire's Crown Prince and his silent nephew barely half an hour after burying Jet's body and discussing the possibility of a Dai Li-sponsored insurrection.

Imagine including that in a note to Sokka, she thinks to herself wryly.

The thought of the ensuing look on her brother's face, were he to ever find out about her current antics, is one of few things that keeps her going.

"For now," Iroh says at last, breaking her out of her thoughts, "based on the set of the board, I will choose to check your orchid's movements by using my knotgrass here."

He places a tile inscribed with a tangle of weeds onto a space not far from where Katara's orchid rests in its port.

She sighs, reaching for another tile in her pile. Back to square one we go.

They play for another quarter of an hour, with Iroh maintaining a more defensive strategy and Katara struggling to recoup territory lost earlier in the game.

Eventually they reach another impasse, this time with Iroh's lotus threatening to sweep the entire network Katara has painstakingly set up on the board.

"I think," Iroh's voice cuts through the tense silence that has descended upon the room, "we could all use some more tea."

He gets to his feet in a smooth motion and walks over to the fireplace.

"Need help?"

Katara starts as Zuko speaks up. He has been quietly observing the game between the two, to the point where Katara wonders why he is even in the room at all.

"Looks like I could have used that help two turns ago," she laments, resting her cheek on a hand and gesturing to the board in front of her. "I think I'm a little past that now."

Zuko's eyes narrow as he studies the set of the pieces, light and dark, red and white interspersed.

"No you're not," he points out, his voice barely audible to her own ears, let alone to his uncle fussing over the teapot on the other side of the room. "You see the trap he's setting for you and you're trying to avoid it. He has you caught here and here. But you have another opening here –" he points at an empty space on the board, "that you can use to free your orchid and capture his lotus."

Katara raises an eyebrow as she contemplates his suggestion.

"But he has about three pieces in the way," she points out. "I can't move there."

"Then use your wheel," Zuko suggests. "He's been so busy boxing you in, he probably hasn't been paying attention to his own boundaries. Now you can catch him off guard."

Katara's eyes widen as she evaluates the tiles on the board and realizes that he's right.

"You're good," she breathes, turning her head to face him directly. "That completely slipped my mind."

Zuko shrugs. "I've been playing against Uncle for a long time. I know his strategy. But even then, he'll probably come up with some way to outfox us in the end. Just don't expect to win against him, that's all."

Katara frowns at the defeat in Zuko's quiet voice, but she says no more as Iroh returns and pours tea into each of their cups.

She politely nods her thanks.

"I just remembered something," Iroh says to them, a half-apologetic smile on his lips as he replaces the teapot back in its spot on the mantel. "There is something that I must take care of, straightaway. It is important, and will not take very long." He bows his head shortly. "Will you excuse me?"

"Um. Sure?" Katara can hardly refuse him, after all.

"Thank you. I will be back quickly enough. In the meantime," Iroh turns his gaze over to his nephew, "I am counting on you, Prince Zuko, to keep an eye on the board and make sure none of my pieces mysteriously vanish or change spots."

"You don't have to worry about that, Uncle," Zuko says flatly. "Katara is an honourable opponent. She wouldn't cheat to win."

Iroh grins, before he turns and steps out of the room.

"Why do you do that?" Katara demands before she can stop herself.

"Do what?" Zuko parries, attempting to feign nonchalance.

She sees right through it and squares her shoulders.

"Talk me up," she says uncertainly, but firmly. "To your uncle, to the others – you've been doing it since the day I got here and – why?"

Why do you think so highly of me when I've been nothing but awful to you? I don't understand. Her fingers twist at each other in remembered guilt.

Zuko shrugs, but doesn't say a word.

"That's not an answer," she points out, her frustration mounting. "You can't just say you don't know, there must be a reason you do it –"

"You wouldn't cheat to win, would you?" Zuko returns, and there is a weary note in his voice as though he would much rather be anywhere else right now.

Katara is caught off guard. "No," she admits, "but –"

"Well, there you go," Zuko concludes simply, as though what he has said is enough for her.

It's not.

"Just because I wouldn't cheat in a board game," Katara seethes through gritted teeth, "doesn't mean I wouldn't if I had to. You don't know me, you don't know what I've done before - how can you go on vouching for me to others like that?"

Zuko frowns at her. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No!" Katara blurts out, and the resulting confusion that spreads across his face makes her aware of just how much sense she isn't making. "I just want to know why."

Zuko goes very quiet, and Katara gets the impression that he is thinking very hard, weighing his words carefully in his mind. Strategizing, like coming up with a new pai sho tactic, just how much ground to give, how much territory to keep.

"I can't explain it," he says at length, his gruff voice so quiet that she struggles to hear it. "When I met you, I...I could tell that you had things to hide...that you couldn't talk about. I guess I understood that. Maybe that was why I felt like I needed to help you."

She shakes her head, her heart pounding in her chest, her blood rushing in her ears.

"Well, I'm sorry," Zuko finishes, and his voice is rather brusque. "But that's all I've got."

"That's not an answer," Katara repeats in frustration.

Zuko gives her a wry look. "Uncle Iroh told me that if you're not getting the answer you're looking for," he tells her, not unhelpfully, "then you're not asking the right question or the right person."

"Your uncle," Katara mutters through gritted teeth, crossing her arms across her chest defensively, "is a piece of work."

"That he is," Zuko agrees, his mouth quirking into that curious half-smile she's only seen on him once before, "but he is also a useful ally to have on your side." He pauses, his golden eyes alert and focused on her now. The fleeting curve of the lips vanishes. "I hope you realize that."

She shivers, feeling the weight of the conversation shift into something a little more serious. "I do," she nods quickly. "And I'm really grateful for his help – don't get me wrong –"

"I know you are," Zuko cuts her off. "He can be somewhat cryptic sometimes – I understand that better than most – but he means well and he is loyal to a cause when he finds one." He regards her earnestly. "It might seem like he was skeptical of your story at first, but believe me when I say that if anyone can get to the bottom of this, it's Uncle."

Katara swallows. "I believe you," she says in a very small voice, thinking of the look on the General's face when he had seen Jet's dead body. Anyone who could see that expression on his face and not feel the slightest terror was a fool, she concludes.

"And for what it's worth," Zuko's voice has gone very soft again, and when she raises her eyes to look at him, she finds that he is very carefully avoiding her gaze, "I'm sorry. For what happened to your boyfriend."

A sudden scoff escapes her throat before she can control herself. "Thanks for your concern," she tells him, trying to keep the scorn out of her voice, "but don't let Toph fool you. He wasn't my boyfriend."

Zuko's eyes remain fixated on his fingertips as he slowly absorbs her words. "You really seemed to care about him," he points out, his voice still carefully neutral.

"I owed him that," Katara explains patiently. "We never really…I mean, we had a relationship, I suppose, but he was never my boyfriend." The idea of it sits uncomfortably in her mind, like wearing a shoe on the wrong foot. "Does that make any sense at all?"

"Not really," Zuko admits, but he stops examining his fingers to meet her gaze nonetheless.

"I guess it wouldn't," Katara agrees, racking her brain to think of a way to describe it, all while fighting the sweatiness in her palms and beating of her heart at the idea of explaining this to Prince Zuko of all people. "Life was really difficult back then. It's hard to explain. I…I don't suppose you could understand even if you tried."

Her voice ends with a slightly apologetic note.

"No," Zuko agrees, to her surprise. He doesn't sound bitter or cynical, though, only disappointed. "I don't think I could."

"Yeah, well…" Katara trails off, wondering where this conversation came from, and feeling slightly grateful that it is coming to its awkward end.

But the prince seated across from her keeps stealing furtive glances at her, clearly not content to let the matter lie. "So…" he ventures again, his voice somehow hesitant and firm at the same time, "you and he…?"

"What's it to you?" Katara snaps back.

Zuko recoils a bit, as though she's slapped him with her words. In a way, she supposes she has. "I'm just trying to understand."

"Why?"

"Because," Zuko struggles to hold her gaze with his own, "because someone should."

His simple honesty takes her by surprise, and to her chagrin, she finds herself unable to stay frustrated with his line of questioning. "Fine," she sighs in resignation. "But if you dare judge me –"

"I won't," Zuko says quickly, sounding relieved. "I promise."

She'd gone to him. She wanted to repair the bridges, undo the damage she'd wrought. She reminds herself of this, even if the sight of him still sets her on edge, even if her mind stills recoils with every word of his.

"Okay. Well." She clears her throat, wondering where to begin, how to start, exactly how much to say... "Jet and I weren't really in a relationship so much as, uh…" she racks her brain, trying to think of an appropriately clinical description, "a series of ongoing transactions?"

"Oh." From Zuko's voice, she can tell that he is suppressing his surprise well, though his eyes are somewhat wide and his eyebrows have risen fractionally. "Was there-" he struggles with the words now, clearly uncomfortable, "was there money involved?"

Katara coughs, suddenly understanding the root of his discomfort. I guess I walked right into that one.

"N-no!" she splutters, her face flushing hot at the unintended implication. "No, not that type of transaction. More like…" She forces herself to be a little more clear this time, lest she lead him to another wildly inaccurate conclusion about her past. "He looked out for me, kept me safe and out of trouble, that sort of thing."

"I see," Zuko comments. The relief in his voice is somewhat comical, but also somewhat unsettling. "And in return, you…?"

He trails off awkwardly, leaving the air heavy with insinuations.

Katara does not speak to any of them. It's all she can do to keep her head held high.

"Oh." Zuko lapses into another contemplative silence.

To his credit, he doesn't say anything thoughtless once he clues in. She supposes she owes him a small measure of mercy for that.

Because after everything, she is not ashamed. Shame was for those who had put her in such a position at such a young age. She had merely done what she had to in order to survive.

Let Prince Zuko and his kind feel as awkward about it as they want.

"That's terrible," Zuko comments frankly, and she fights the urge to send a glare in his direction. "Terrible that you had to make that kind of decision, at such a young age."

"Fifteen isn't that young," Katara counters. "At sixteen you can fight and die in someone else's war. At sixteen you can get married and start having kids. What difference does a year make?"

"I suppose you have a point," Zuko acquiesces, his face darkening now. "Back at home, by the time you're sixteen, you're ready to hold your first governorship, to prove you're ready to be a leader and rule. Why, by the time you're thirteen, you're old enough to prove your mettle in an Agni Kai, so all things considered, I suppose fifteen isn't that young at all."

His voice is suddenly harsh and full of loathing. Katara is stunned at the sudden change in him. She has had his acquaintance for a few months now, she supposes, and in that time, she has seen him weather all sorts of moods. She's seen him polite, carefully restrained, and well-behaved throughout most of their interactions. Occasionally, she's seen him bitter, angry, hurt. And once or twice, even more rarely, she thinks she's seen him happy.

But this sudden darkness – this abrupt brooding onset of not just mere frustration but hatred – this is something she has never seen.

It disturbs her.

"Agni Kai?" she queries, catching on to the unfamiliar phrase and furrowing her brow. "What's that?"

Zuko is quiet now and his breathing is very deliberately controlled. She senses a tension in him, a feeling that he is focusing all of his energy to stay in the present moment instead of being swept away by whatever haunts him

Against her better judgment, Katara finds herself sympathizing with the young prince. She, after all, is too familiar with that sensation.

"A fire duel," Zuko whispers, his voice threatening to break with each word that scrapes over his throat. "Ordained by the spirits of fire that birthed our nation. You invoke Agni Kai as a final form of justice. When all other courses have failed and a verdict must be set. It's a fight to the death, with your life and honour on the line. Fire is our law, fire is our life, and fire is never wrong. If someone was to lose an Agni Kai –"

He breaks off, unable to speak. But his hand slowly touches the scar on his face, not consciously but as though out of habit.

"They'd die?" Katara guesses, her mind now racing as quickly as her heart.

Zuko closes his eyes. "Life or death is irrelevant," he says bitterly, and the emptiness in his voice makes Katara's hairs stand on end. "By losing an Agni Kai, the fire judges you unworthy. Unworthy of the land, of honour, of life. But what is life without any of those things? And what does it say about the man who would lose and still beg for mercy? In the end, it's probably kinder to die fighting."

His fingers dig into the roughened skin of his scar.

"Is that what you wish happened to you?" Katara asks wide-eyed, staring at him as though for the first time. "Is that how you got that?" She nods her head at the disfiguring scar across his right eye, the scar that she'd never thought to question, not once.

If he got that when he was thirteen… Who in their right mind would challenge someone so young to a fight to the death? What sort of monster would do that to a child?

In all the time she has known him, she has made countless assumptions about him. That he was just a selfish, spoiled prince made in his father's image, too lazy or unoriginal to aspire to anything different.

Katara has never felt more ashamed of herself than in this very moment.

"I won't talk about this," Zuko forces out through clenched teeth, his voice cold.

"But –"

"I said no," he snaps, but the heat in his eyes is not directed at her. "Maybe you think talking would help, but –"

"I never said that." Katara attempts a flustered backpedal while she still can. "I have stuff I'd rather not talk about too, I get it. I just thought –"

"You thought wrong."

"Fine. Fine." Katara's defiant retort is huffy, and she attempts a nonchalant shrug. "I shouldn't have asked." A pause, while she weighs her options. "Even though you were the one who brought it all up in the first place. I didn't have to know."

She regrets her persistence the second the words come out of her mouth.

"Enough." His voice is a snarl now, a feral lash against her quiet insistence.

Katara does not flinch, but merely sits still, holding her ground. "Okay," she sighs. "But…"

He turns away from her then.

She is reminded of the arctic wolves back home, the way they draw strength from their pack and grow weak when isolated and alone. She remembers how they snap and become desperate when wounded, and in a way, infinitely more dangerous.

"Thirteen years doesn't make someone a man," she continues quietly, wondering if her assumptions are correct. He doesn't look at her now, but the slight stiffening in his shoulders betrays his attentions. "Thirteen years makes someone a little more than a kid, but not by much. When I was that age, I was just scared." She swallows, trying to keep her voice steady as she remembers it all. "I didn't care about honour or the law or any of that sort of stuff. I just wanted Sokka and I to live. I didn't care what it cost." Her voice grows heavy and against her better efforts, it begins to shake. "Dying that young...it's never a kindness."

For a while, he says nothing in response. He remains so still that she wonders whether he has even heard her at all. The look in his eyes is distant, and it doesn't surprise her that his thoughts have carried him very far away.

But when at last he lowers his hand from where it touches the edge of his scar back onto the surface of the wooden game table and returns his attention to her, the look in his eyes is both stricken and alert.

"Sokka?" he echoes in a whisper-soft voice, his face furrowed in curiosity.

Katara feels the bottom drop out from under her stomach.

Was this how he felt when I asked about the Agni Kai? For an innocuous conversation over tea and firelight, it seems to her that they have been trading some perilously cutting blows.

But loath as he was to revisit whatever particular hellfire the memory of that Agni Kai had invoked, he had answered her. "My brother," she clarifies.

The strange haunted expression that clouds his face swiftly disappears, to be replaced by astonishment. "You have a brother?" His eyes are wide again, and he shakes his head gently. "I didn't know that."

The abrupt change in him is striking. She has half a mind to believe that their earlier exchange had just been a figment of her overtired imagination.

"You wouldn't have a reason to," Katara explains, her voice heavy. "I've never mentioned him before, not to anyone here."

"Not even to Aang?" Zuko asks incredulously.

Katara shakes her head in denial.

Zuko appears struck by this, and she doesn't understand why. Loads of people had siblings, she reasons, why was it so miraculous to him that she'd once had one too?

"Was he older? Younger?" Zuko continues to pry.

Katara would have found it invasive or annoying by now, but it's been so long since she's talked about Sokka to anyone other than the version of him in her mind, and – well… "Older," she answers, her throat tightening. "By two years."

"I see," he comments abstractly. "Were you two close?"

Katara looks him over appraisingly. It is not the question she'd expected from him, but all things considered, it is a reasonable one to ask.

"Always," she breathes, closing her eyes, trying to picture Sokka as she remembers him, trying to imagine what he must look like now. "Especially – especially after it all started. After we lost our mom and dad in the wars, he – he took care of me. He was everything to me."

It has never struck her that if he was to stand before her today, after only a few short years, she might not even recognize him.

The thought hurts her more than any physical pain.

"What happened to him?" Zuko asks, his voice gentle now. There is something mournful about him, something sad that stirs in his eyes, and yet his voice is perfectly even. "Why isn't he here with you?"

Katara swallows and turns her head away from his inquiring gaze. "He went away," she says shortly.

"Oh." Zuko sounds disappointed. She doesn't blame him. Even after all this time, it still hurts to think about. "And he left you behind?"

She hears the judgment in his voice, and at once, the hurt in her gives way to defiance.

"He couldn't," she counters defensively, because even now after everything he still doesn't understand. "It was a life or death situation for him. He had to escape straightaway, break out from under their noses. We barely had time to say goodbye." She is quiet for a moment, remembering. When she speaks again, her voice is small and remote. "I haven't seen him since. I don't even know if he's alive or dead."

Either way, she will defend his choices to the bitter end. Even if she never has the chance to make sense of them.

"I'm so sorry," Zuko says, and to his credit, he does sound genuinely sorrowful. "I – how long ago was this?"

"About three years." She shrugs. "It's hard to keep track of time."

"All that time and you haven't gone looking for him yet?" Zuko asks her, in a tone of disbelief. His golden eyes, fixed upon her, are much more perceptive than she'd initially wished to believe.

"I did try," Katara admits, sitting upright and straight-backed. "But where was I going to go on my own, with no resources? If he's gone where I think he has, that's a long way away. Not somewhere a girl travels by herself with no money and no plan. Even if she's a powerful bender, she has to eat, and sleep, and pay for passage." She shakes her head again, dismissing the thought. "No, he's probably shed his real name far behind by now. Even if I could, I wouldn't even know where to begin."

The silence that descends upon them immediately afterward is far from comfortable.

"I see," Zuko manages to say. "That sounds really tough. I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Katara shrugs, searching in her brain for something, anything to say, to change the topic from this incredibly uncomfortable yet strangely candid conversation.

But then the door opens abruptly. General Iroh returns to the room as though he had never left, his broad face perfectly at ease.

"I apologize for the wait," he tells them, bobbing his head shortly in a gesture of courtesy, "that certainly took longer than I initially expected."

"Is everything okay, Uncle?" Zuko asks tentatively, his eyebrows lowering in confusion.

"Just fine." Iroh holds up a hand, dismissing his nephew's aired concern. "Well, the hour is running late and you two should retire to bed soon – after all, we have an early morning ahead of us."

"But I thought you wanted to finish the game," Zuko points out. "Wasn't that the whole point of calling us back here in the first place?"

General Iroh's eyes brighten inexplicably, and he surveys the board with renewed interest. "Ah," he says softly, stroking his beard. "The wheel tile. Sifu Katara, you have been listening to my nephew, have you not?"

Katara nods quickly.

"A bold attempt, that is to be sure," Iroh comments, leaning over the board and pointing at the new positions of all the tiles involved. "I am intrigued by the aggression in your plays – first with the orchid, then with the wheel. Very bold and precise. I am impressed."

"So now do you give up?" Katara asked him, unable to keep the excitement from her voice.

"Give up?" Iroh shakes his head, a small smile on his face. "But there is so much left to teach you. Alas, that I must cut this lesson short, so I will have to leave you with –"

His fingers move tile after tile, each light tile matching up with a corresponding dark tile, until at last he is able to place his lotus in the heart of the network with a triumphant flourish.

Both Zuko and Katara stare in devastation at General Iroh's victorious gambit.

"What? How?" Katara spits out in disbelief, her eyes roving over the board. "You – you were waiting for us to use the wheel! You had that play planned out long before I even moved!"

Iroh's eyes twinkle as he regards her. "It is somewhat unfair," he tells her gently. "But part of the art of pai sho is to map dozens of strategies, just in case. It never hurts to be prepared."

"So it wouldn't have mattered what I did," Katara realizes in growing dejection. "I would have lost, no matter what."

"I did warn you," Zuko sighs under his breath.

"Only if you continue to labour under the illusion that pai sho is about winning and losing," General Iroh says with a quick wink.

I miss playing Master Pakku, Katara fumes irately to herself. "Isn't that what all games are about?" she says out loud instead, her irritation evident in her voice.

General Iroh begins to clear the board. "Perhaps. But as my nephew will undoubtedly assure you, I have always said that pai sho is not just a game." The cryptic quality of his voice gives way as he peers at her face kindly. "You two had better go to sleep now. We have an early morning ahead of us."

Katara fights the urge to clap a hand against her forehead.

"Thank you for the game, Uncle," Zuko says to his uncle somberly, respectfully, with a gentle incline of his head. "We learned a lot. Maybe next time we'll be able to keep you on your toes."

His uncle smiles. "As always, you get better and better with each round. I look forward to the day when you defeat me, my nephew." He bows his head in turn. "Sifu Katara, a pleasure. I hope to continue our matches in the nights to come. I am most curious to see how you develop your skills."

"Sorry I was such a sore loser," Katara apologizes shortly, getting to her feet. "Like I said…I don't enjoy games if I can't win them."

"Perhaps you should shift your focus," Iroh suggests, escorting the two of them to the door. He shrugs and smiles. "I find that discipline and dedication are often far more important stepping stones to mastery, rather than an ongoing tally of victory to defeat. The only adversary worth conquering is yourself."

With those parting words, he ushers them out of the room, bids them goodnight, and closes the door behind them.

"I have no idea what he just said," Katara complains, rubbing at her temples.

"That's Uncle Iroh for you," Zuko sighs. He looks around, taking stock of their surroundings. The three-quarter moon hangs high in the sky, crowned by a patchwork of piercingly bright stars. The night wind whistles through the branches of the trees in the forest, coaxing the brightly coloured leaves from their canopy in the sky to rustle forth and blanket the ground. Around them, the training camp is dark and still and silent.

"We should get back," he says at once, his eyes turning toward the path back to the ' dorms.

"Let's go then," Katara says. She takes a step forward before pausing, a frown on her face.

Zuko weighs the poorly lit pathway against the uncertainty and tension that appears in Katara's eyes. He opens his palm. A single small burst of flame illuminates their immediate surroundings.

"Do you need a light?" he asks carefully.

Across from him, she nods.

It is late at night as the blind earthbender slumbers beneath the covers.

The room is dark. Before Katara's arrival a few months ago, the room stayed dark when the sun went down. Toph had no need for candlelight, after all.

She is growing accustomed to the early mornings and as such, tends to sleep when the night is fairly young. Unlike Katara, who tosses and turns on the bunk above her, she is a sound sleeper.

But tonight, her sleep is fitful, her dreams turbulent and uneasy.

In her dreams, she is back at home. She has no idea what home looks like, of course, but there is no doubt in her mind that she is there. The feeling of marble and limestone cold beneath her feet, the sound of the wind rustling through every blade of grass on the well-manicured lawns, the stern, isolating walls fencing off the perimeter of the expansive property…

And the sound of her father's voice. Her mother's breathing, slow, controlled, lest she give herself away and shame her husband.

"Where did you go, Toph?" her father demands, and the old helplessness washes over her, encompassing, paralyzing. "How could you leave us for so long?"

"I –" Toph struggles to answer, to find her voice, but as always at home, she is not only blind, but also mute.

"Do you not care about your parents?" her father presses, his voice taking on a tone that fills her with trepidation. "Does family mean nothing to you?"

Not nothing, Toph wants to speak up. But you never cared.

"For the love of Bumi," he continues, "it is a dangerous world out there and I don't know why you insist on being so willful. First with the earthbending classes – you were lucky we even allowed you to have a private tutor, do you know how many girls your age were lining up for the chance at having private lessons and not having to go outside, where it isn't safe – but no, you stubborn, insolent girl, you decided that wasn't enough for you, oh no –"

Here we go.

" – you had to sneak out, against your mother's and my express orders – and where do we find you, but at an illegal earthbending rumble competition? With older men and dangerous thugs and gambling -?"

"It wasn't illegal –" Toph protests, knowing that he won't hear her, knowing that her blindness isn't nearly as bad as his.

"How would you know? How do you know what's good for you and what isn't?" Her father is shouting now, and she can feel the tiny droplets of spittle flying from his mouth, in his rage.

Just as she remembers.

The heavy brocade dress weighs down on her, and the satin slippers on her feet cloud her ability to sense him. Just as well. She is not sure she wants to remember the furious lines popping out of his face.

"And then –" her father continues, and he's lunging toward her, and next thing she knows, his fingers are digging into her shoulders painfully as he shakes her, as though she's just a doll, just a puppet of some sort, " – then we find out that you ran away. You just packed up your things and left, with nothing more than a silly note to tell us what was going on! How? How could you leave us?"

It was easy, Toph wants to say, you made it so easy.

But her father has never been interested in what she's had to say.

"Lao," her mother says in a low, hesitant, somewhat reproachful voice.

Her father whirls his head around to face her mother, where she stands, some ten feet away by the stairs.

"Don't you dare raise your voice to me, Poppy," he barks at her, and he is absolutely livid now. "We talked about this. Toph is to be confined to her room until further notice. No walks, no visits, no earthbending. She has defied us for far long enough – it is time she learned to obey."

No.

"Your father's right, Toph," her mother says with a sigh, tucking her hands into the ends of her wide, bell sleeves. "We went through so much trouble to find you. For years, we waited for our informants to get close to you, wondering if you were alive or dead. You never wrote, you never spared a word for your poor mother or father. Not one."

"You see, Toph." Her father's fingers are bruising purple spots in her shoulders. "We love you. Your mother and I alone. I'm sure there's no shortage of friendly strangers on the street who see a young blind girl and offer their sympathies or – or advice. Doubtless someone's wild ideas got to your head and you forgot."

She screams as he begins to pull at her, dragging her away from the doors and windows, away from outside, where the prying eyes of any onlookers might be able to see what she can't, and is flung back into her room – large, palatial, confining, airless –

A fear that she has only experienced once before all but consumes her, as she slowly gets to her feet and feels the metal against her feet, lining the floors, covering the walls…

Only in here is it truly dark. Only here, under her parents' watchful gaze, is she truly blind.

"Father, please," she begs. "Don't do this!"

The door slams shut and the key rasps as it turns in the lock.

"You are a Beifong, Toph," her father's voice echoes from the hallway, confusing her wild senses. "You belong with us."

The words still ring in her ears as she jolts awake, sitting upright in her bunk, the top of her head barely grazing the bottom of Katara's bunk.

Her heart drums a thousand beats a minute, sweat drenches her hair, her clothes, her sheets, and her body trembles, shivering violently because she's cold, she's so, so cold…

It takes her a few moments before she tries to reach out, before she realizes that she's not back home in Gaoling, but safe, safe in her quarters at the army camp, somewhere so far away from her parents that they would never be able to send someone her way without her noticing them first.

The fire in the grate is low, and she gets out of bed, padding over to its heat, and picks up the poker hanging on the mantel. She prods at the logs, smouldering in the ashes, before the flames lick at the newly exposed surfaces and rise once again, enveloping her with their heat.

From the sounds of it, it is late into the night. Most of the camp is abed and slumbering quietly. Even the wind is unmoving, the night silent. The night creatures in the forest roam about, minding their own business. She wonders at how she could have had such a nightmare on such a serene night.

It is only as she replaces the poker and crawls back into bed that she realizes that the bunk above hers is empty.

That's odd, she thinks to herself sleepily. Where's Sugar Queen?

Her question is answered, only moments later, by the vibrations of approaching footsteps from outside the door.

Toph furrows her brow in concentration, focusing on the footsteps outside the door. And voices, quiet, hushed voices, barely above a whisper, conversing quietly in the dark.

"…you really didn't have to do that," whispers Katara in a hushed, abashed voice. Her outline is fuzzy in Toph's mind, but she is able to sense her well enough to perceive the raising of a hand, the anxious tucking of a strand of hair behind her ear, the increasing tension flooding her body and her nonchalant attempts to disguise it from -?

"I know," mumbles Zuko – Zuko? – as he jams his free hand into the pocket of his trousers, the other raised so that the flame in his open palm can light the dark hallway. "But –"

I wanted to, is what he doesn't say. But Toph hears it nonetheless.

Sparky with Sugar Queen?! Her thoughts are equal parts amazed and incredulous. What the hell? I thought she couldn't stand him.

"Thanks for the help, earlier tonight," Katara says suddenly, ducking her head down as though by facing the floor, he won't be able to tell that she's trying to hide the expression on her face. "Even if we lost. You were really good. You – you surprised me."

The silence that follows is tinged with tension, as Zuko tries his best to keep it together. Katara will never comprehend the effort it takes him to keep on standing there, still as a stone, but Toph can feel his heartbeat echoing in the hollows of her skull and what on earth was happening here?

"In pai sho?" he asks cautiously.

Katara is the one racked with tension now. "That," she agrees slowly, nodding her head slowly, "and other things too."

Unlike the previous silence, this one that follows her words is pointed and expectant. Like the tension crawling up her body at that very moment.

"I'm sorry," Zuko mumbles, looking down at the tips of his toes now. "What I said, earlier...I wasn't myself."

"I think that was the most yourself you've ever been around me," Katara counters quietly. "In a way."

"I was weak," he sighs, and the hollowness in his voice surprises Toph. "I don't like being that way."

"It isn't weakness to feel afraid," Katara whispers, her fingers twitching suddenly as though she's thinking about putting a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. "Or ashamed."

She crosses her arms across her chest instead. As though she's cold.

He probably buys it, too.

"You should go to bed, Katara," he says wearily. "Sleep well, I'll see you in the morning."

He turns away from her and steps away.

"Thanks," she says, her voice slightly forlorn. "And...and Zuko?"

He freezes in his tracks, but doesn't turn around to look at her.

She swallows nervously. "What you said to me earlier," she continues, her voice shaking a little but still strong and resolute, like the Katara that Toph knows and has come to expect, "I won't tell anyone. I promise."

He turns his head around to look at her then. His heart is racing a mile a minute and he has to swallow twice before the words make it to his throat. "Neither will I," he breathes, before turning around and walking away.

Katara stands at the door unmoving for a good minute before she collects herself, shakes her head, and enters the room. Luckily for her, the fire is still high in the grate and, without further ado, she makes for her chest, changes into her nightwear, and quickly climbs into her bunk.

Well this is interesting, Toph thinks to herself, a grin crossing her face despite herself. Sugar Queen and Sparky. Who'd have thought?

By the time Toph falls asleep again, Katara is still lying awake, lost in her thoughts.

The messenger hawk flies swiftly into the night.

Tied to its satchel is a long thin package, wrapped in cloth and secured with twine. Alongside it is a scroll of parchment, sealed in white wax, pressed with an emblem. A strange emblem, of a circle inscribed with a lotus.

My dear Jun, reads the sealed message.

How are you? It has been some time since I last wrote. My most sincere apologies. Life has a way of catching up with us all, and making an old man out of me. Recent events being what they are, I regret the brevity of this message and wish I had the time to see you in person.

I came by what appears to be an Earth Kingdom artifact of sorts. It appears to be of great value and misplaced. If you could examine this for me and discreetly inquire as to its origins, I would greatly appreciate it. It is a story of great curiosity of how it came to my possession. I only hope one day I can recant the tale to you in person.

Of course, I do not have to tell you that I take a great risk in sending you this at all. Nonetheless, it would please me greatly if, in your inquiries, you kept my name out of this. I wish I did not have to drag you into this mess, but I can think of no one else with your specific knowledge, resourcefulness, and curiously unorthodox sense of loyalty.

I, and my family, remain forever in your debt.

Fondly,

Grand Lotus Iroh

The hawk lets out a screeching call.

Its powerful wings flex and beat against the nighttime air, striking a course for the former Earth Kingdom.

Chapter 16: falling so slow (pt. i: adrift)

Chapter Text

disclaimer. atla & all its associated content belong to bryke, i own nothing you recognize and do not profit off the writing of this.

author's notes. well. it's been a while. apologies for that, folks. the forthcoming chapter was a bit of a struggle to write, especially because of the sheer volume of content that i still had to write. i realized that i was being especially ambitious in trying to cram it all into one chapter, and as a result the pacing suffered. so, because of that, i've decided to split what i'd initially planned for this one mega-chapter into multiple parts. right now, this is the first of four or five such instalments but i can see it taking longer, depending on how the writing process goes.

on a slightly unrelated but personally relevant note, i'd like to acknowledge that the song choice for this chapter is in dedication to the late, great Sense8, which was a significant influence for this fic (particularly with the development of the four-headed avatar and opportunities for character connection and empathy it provides). too many visionary and truly creative shows are axed before their time. i'd recommend everyone go watch it if you haven't already; if you've made it to this point in my story, you would probably fall in love with it.

i should probably also put some warnings up for the content of this chapter, specifically for adult content and abuse. there are some parts near the end that were difficult to write and intense, so if the subject matter is triggering, you've been warned in advance.

thank you very much to everyone who's been following and leaving feedback, it means the world to me.

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter vxi. falling so slow (pt. i: adrift)

and you might pray to god or say it's destiny
but i think we're just hiding all that we can be

"wise enough" / lamb

The very next morning, in a cramped apartment facing a dilapidated storefront on the lowest ring of Ba Sing Se, the bounty hunter smirks as she scrawls her reply.

I'm on it, Grandpa.

Wait for my next report.

After the messenger hawk has flown out the window, she unrolls the enameled green knife from its careful wrapping and tests its weight experimentally in her hand.

"Sparkly," Jun remarks wryly. She spins the blade in the palm of her hand, admiring the balance and the way it gleamed in the faint light of her apartment.

So Grandpa Grand Lotus wants to know where this piece came from? I'll bet there's a story or two there.

...still, no time like the present.

After all, if there's one thing Jun is really good at, it's tracking things down.

She whistles sharply.

The thundering of approaching footfalls echoes around her as she finishes tying her hair back.

"Good girl," Jun says affectionately, patting the blind shirshu as it trots up to her obediently. "We have a new mission, Nyla. Isn't that exciting?"

Nyla whines and scratches at the floor, her nostrils flaring.

Jun sighs and pulls at a strip of possum-chicken jerky from a box on the counter. The shirshu catches the scent and sits up at once.

"That got your attention quick enough," she mutters, shaking her head as she tosses the dried meat at the shirshu. Nyla leaps up and catches it with her mouth, chomping away in satisfaction.

"Enough of that, now." Jun reaches a hand out and pats the slavering beast on its head. "We have work to do, now. You'll get more when we're done."

She holds the knife to Nyla's nostrils.

The shirshu inhales the scent and lets out a growl.

"You know," she whispers to him across the still darkness of the night, broken only by the dancing flickers of the cool red glow in his open palm, "you really didn't have to do that."

He isn't looking at her now. He doesn't need to look at her to sense her discomfort.

"I know," he replies, his voice barely louder than hers, hesitant in the silence of the night. His mouth is dry and his heart is pounding out a tense, strangling pattern somewhere in the cavernous wilderness between his stomach and his throat. "But –"

He jams a hand into the pocket of his trousers to distract himself from it, from the admission on his lips, from the cowardly voice of his mind that's urging him to forget it and run, away from her and back to his room where it's safe.

"I wanted to," he says instead, and a strange sensation washes over him, a sense of things feeling not quite right, of reality subtly altered and, at the same time, things never feeling more right than in this one strangely surreal moment.

He chances a glance at her as she ducks her head down, intensely scrutinizing the tips of her toes, hiding the dark flush erupting on her cheeks.

"I figured," she mutters, and her voice is so quiet, he has to take a step forward, a step closer, to hear her properly. When she looks up, there's something in her eyes, something different – maybe bravery or hope or just plain defiance – that makes him want to look away.

He doesn't.

"But why?" she asks. Her posture shifts with a straightening of her spine and she crosses her arms across her chest, almost as though she's cold.

Almost.

Turn around, Zuko, warns the voice in his head that sounds like his father, a hissing, sibilant voice empty of warmth or feeling or conscience. Turn around and walk away, while you still can.

He takes another step forward, closing the distance between them to a span of meager inches. A deliberate, defiant movement that somehow strikes him as uncertain and purposeful in the same breath.

Her eyes rove his face with a mix of trepidation and curiosity. She's holding her breath, he realizes, and so is he.

"You know why," he tells her, reaching for her with his free hand and cupping her chin with it. He can't fight the urgency that enters his voice as he continues, "you have to."

She doesn't shrink from him or his touch. She only lets out a slow, shuddering breath. He can feel her trembling beneath his fingers, and the sensation is surreal.

"You're right," she murmurs quietly, and the look in her eyes as she looks up and meets his haunts him. "I do."

When she finally snaps out of her daze and reaches for him, it feels like a dream. Her hands clutch at the clasps of his tunic and pull him in close, so that he's flush against the firm curves of her body, so that he can feel the pounding of her heart against his own.

By now, the flame in his palm has been extinguished. The hallway plunges back into total darkness, save for the slight slivers of faint moonlight crisscrossing around them.

Her kiss is hungry, her mouth moving against his even with a firmness and aggression that takes him aback, even as his hands explore the planes of her insistently. Her fingers trail a path along the line of his shoulders, his neck, the line of his jaw, before tangling into the shock of his hair. He groans as she backs into the solid wooden door behind her, pulling him closer against her.

It feels surreal.

"Wait," he pants, even as she wraps her legs around his waist and his fingers dig into her thighs reflexively, "wait…"

"I don't want to wait," she growls into his ear, rocking slowly and sinuously against the telltale length growing in his trousers. "Do you?"

Her hand closes around him and he fights the sudden hiss that escapes through his clenched teeth.

"You don't feel like you want to wait," she whispers with a smirk, running her hand up and down the length of him. "You feel like you want this."

He throws his head back at the sensation of her hand there, stroking a fire in him that's ready to lose control at any moment.

It feels too good to be true.

She licks the outer lobe of his ear and his inner restraints are quelled momentarily. "Like you want me."

She grinds against him again, setting up a faster, more urgent rhythm. "Like you want to be in me," she gasps through a moan of her own. "Right here."

As though to drive the point home, she takes one of his hands and plunges it into the waistband of her leggings, under the seam of her underwear, into the intense heat and slippery moisture gathering between her legs.

The fire in his loins gives way to an ache at the discovery, and he lets out a strangled whimper. Greedily runs his hand against the proof of her desire.

"This doesn't feel like you," he mumbles against the velvet skin of her neck, his lips pressed against the taut skin between shoulder and earlobe, as she stretches against him and sighs. "This doesn't even feel real."

"You're right," Katara agrees, cupping his face with both of her hands, so that he can see her and her flushed face and her kiss-swollen lips clearly. "It's not."

Zuko's eyes open frantically in the early morning light. He is in his room, in his bed, decidedly alone. His sheets and covers are a tangled mess, tenting over his painfully hard length.

He closes his eyes, letting out a winded, long exhale through his teeth as it comes back to him. The dream, how real it had felt…

His cock twitches at the memory of her, not the version of her that he knows, but the strange dreamlike seductress version of her that his dream had conjured. "Fuck," he curses, clapping a hand to his aching forehead, as though to block out the thoughts swirling in his mind.

But the reality that faces him is incredibly impractical.

Outside of the warped dreamscape of his nighttime fantasies, Katara can barely stomach him. She still fights the urge to run from him, the instinct that warns her that he's the enemy. Last night, even if they'd come to an uncomfortable understanding, she would probably shy away from him again, the way she always did. Then after a while, they would arrive at an uneasy truce, before something else would rock the boat and they would go back to opposite corners of the ring, a never-ending vicious cycle.

In the face of that stark reality, what he wants doesn't seem to matter.

So, instead, he surrenders what little control he can afford, with what little time he has left to himself for the time being.

And with only a tiny pang of shame, he closes his eyes, wraps a hand around his erect cock, and thinks of her.

"So," Toph says breezily, tying a dark green belt across her waist, holding her cotton tunic in place. "You were up late last night, huh?"

Katara groans as she glances at her reflection in the small polished mirror hanging by the door to the privy. Small lines and puffy bags have appeared under the waterbender's bright blue eyes, and she prods at them in dismay.

"Pai sho game took a while, huh?" Toph inquires innocently, fixing the headband holding her dark hair in place. There's something in her voice that sounds amused and inexplicably satisfied. "Man, aren't I glad I came back early!"

Katara shrugs, pinning a beaded strand of hair into the rest of her braid. "It wasn't that long," she insists, unsure of why Toph's nonchalant tone of voice has her on her guard.

"Sure, sure," Toph remarks cheerfully, straightening the guards around her wrists and forearms, before she marches right up to where Katara is fussing over herself by the mirror. "So what kept you and Sparky so long then?"

Katara freezes. She chances a glance at Toph's face, smug and cheerful and wearing a small smirk, reflected in the glass before her. "N – nothing," she stammers, taken aback.

Her hands fidget in front of her of their own accord.

"Didn't sound like nothing," Toph sings and her smirk has broadened into a grin that Katara can only describe as slightly evil. "What's going on between you two?"

Katara's mouth drops and she gapes at the blind earthbender ineffectually, twin spots of red rising to her cheeks.

"Nothing!" she insists again, jamming her hands on her hips and turning to face the earthbender where she stands, unperturbed by the rising tension in the room.

"Are you sure?" Toph presses, now picking at the undersides of her nails.

"Sure I'm sure," Katara declares firmly, marching right up to the insolent little earthbender, her face bright red by now. "I just needed a light to see the way back to my room and he offered me one. That's all."

Toph stops picking at her nails and faces Katara. "Okay! If you say so!" she exclaims, her voice a shade too bright for Katara's liking.

Katara opens her mouth to protest further, but Toph grabs at the cuff of her sleeve again. "Now come on, before we get late for breakfast!"

Without a further word, the blind earthbender has all but dragged her out of the room.

"You look tired," Aang remarks to Zuko, as they retrieve their breakfasts from the canteen and make their way through the mess hall. "Late night?"

"You could say that," Zuko mumbles, balancing a cup of black tea on his tray, watching the dark liquid lap at the rim of his cup perilously.

"Did you guys play for much longer after we left?" Aang inquires, his eyes round. "I'd have thought General Iroh would have cleaned you out in under a minute! No offense."

"None taken," Zuko admits, his eyes alighting on a table in the corner where Toph and Katara sit with Suki and Ty Lee. "In the end, that's basically what happened. But he let us think we were winning for a while before that."

"That's nice of him," Aang says with a smile, before he also notices the table with his friends. "There they are! Anyway, maybe I'll join you guys next time. I got a really disturbing letter from one of my old teachers. Man, things back home are looking a little weird."

Zuko frowns, but slows his paces as Aang nears the table. "How do you mean?"

Aang shrugs, the nonchalant gesture not really doing much to hide the uncertainty in his eyes. "Hard to explain when you're not a monk," he says promptly, a wry look crossing his face. "Just…some people back at the temples are saying some things that Gyatso found disturbing."

"That's it?" Zuko raises an eyebrow.

Aang shrugs again. "Like I said, it's hard to explain," he repeats, somewhat apologetically. He turns his attention to the table ahead of them, and waves at Ty Lee and Suki, who by now have spotted them. "Hey guys! How's it going?"

"Well, look at what the cat-owl dragged in," Ty Lee teases, resting her chin on her hand. "Good morning, you two!"

"Morning!" Aang greets them, nodding his head at the four girls.

Toph nods sightlessly at him, while Katara flashes him a quick smile.

Zuko takes an inadvertent step backward, pointedly avoiding eye contact with everyone at the table.

"Sit down, you two," Suki instructs, moving over on the bench to make space. "I'm killing my neck trying to look at you guys standing over us like that."

"That's okay," Zuko hears himself blurt out, taking another step away from the table as Aang sits down at the edge of the bench where Suki and Ty Lee are seated. Five pairs of eyes descend upon him curiously, but he deliberately meets none of them. "It doesn't look like there's much space left anyway…"

"Nonsense," Suki counters, scanning the bench across from her. "Toph, Katara, move over. There's plenty of room for him on your side."

"Yeah, Sparky," Toph echoes. To his surprise and utter dismay, she scoots away from where she sits next to Katara, sliding toward the opposite end of the bench. "Plenty of room right here."

She pats the empty space on the bench, right in between herself and Katara, smiling innocently.

So much for a low profile, he curses inwardly. "Uh…"

"What's the matter?" Toph pries, her guileless smile turning ever so slightly into a small smirk. "Are we not good enough for you or something?" She turns her head in Katara's direction, where the waterbender sits calmly sipping on her tea. "Or are things still awkward between you and Sugar Queen here?"

Zuko feels the blood drain from his face as Katara, without a change in her expression, puts down her cup and sighs. "Don't be ridiculous, Toph," she says primly, before turning her bright blue eyes over to meet his. She gives him a small smile, and he tries not to drop his tray. "Of course it's not awkward. Right Zuko?"

"Uh," he stammers, his mouth dry and heart pounding, "right, of course not. Why would things be awkward?"

And feeling much like a small animal in a cage, he lowers himself in the spot Toph had set aside just for him.

His elbow bumps into Katara's as she reaches for her cup again. He fights the apology that springs to his lips, as well as the shivers that course up his spine like electricity from the spot where her skin touches his.

Just be normal, he tells himself irately, fighting the wave of heat that rushes to his face. You haven't done anything wrong, and no one will ever know if you act like a fucking normal person.

"I don't know," Toph drawls, scraping her spoon against the bottom of her bowl. "I thought you two couldn't stand each other. So what gives?"

Katara closes her eyes as she takes another serene sip of tea. "Well," she says patiently. "I decided that I needed to make things right, and offered Zuko a truce. We're trying to be friends now."

"What?" Aang blurts out, his eyes wide and traveling from her to Zuko and back again. "Really?"

"I'm so confused right now," Suki mutters to Ty Lee in a deadpan voice.

"Me too," Ty Lee admits, looking slightly perplexed. "Katara doesn't hate Zuko anymore?"

"I think it's fantastic!" Aang cuts her off, positively beaming at the two of them. Zuko stifles the urge to sink into the ground. "Katara, I'm – so proud of you! And Zuko – how do you feel now that you're not at each other's throats all the time?"

"Uh…" Zuko struggles to appear somewhat articulate, taken aback at the response from everyone. Truth be told, he'd been hoping for everyone to mind their own business. Instead, he has a spotlight focused on him and Katara. He has never resented the others as much as he does in this moment. "Good, I guess?"

Toph's face breaks into an uncomfortably satisfied smile, and with a belated sense of dread, Zuko remembers that she can tell when people are lying.

She doesn't call him out in front of everyone, though, and for that he supposes he owes her one. Even if the look on her face speaks volumes to him on its own. Specifically: Nice one...but we're talking later.

He shoves a bite of his breakfast in his mouth so that he doesn't have to acknowledge.

You're so doomed, his inner voice declares in despair.

"Leave him alone," Katara says dismissively, rolling her eyes as she continues sitting there calmly next to him, sipping tea the way his uncle would. "Look, I'd appreciate it if you guys didn't make things more awkward than they need to be. Alright?"

The brisk sensibility in her voice only makes him feel even more ashamed of himself. It only reminds him of how far out of his reach she really is, even though she sits only inches away from him.

Something inside him plummets.

Ty Lee lets out a low whistle "Just when you think you know someone!" she remarks.

"Tell me about it," Suki remarks with a smirk. "Is this because we stopped training with you guys? Because I'm telling you, it's not our fault. Ever since General Iroh arrived on site, you guys have been awfully secretive."

"Yeah, we barely see you guys anymore!" Ty Lee complains. "What gives? I didn't even know about you and Mai until she told me last night, Zuko! Way to be a stranger."

Zuko chokes. Oh right.

In the heat of things, he hasn't even given Mai a second thought.

"Wait, what happened with you and Mai?" Suki interjects, confused. "And why haven't I heard about it?"

He coughs once, twice, trying to clear his throat. "We broke up."

"What?" Suki blurts out, in complete disbelief. "You guys – when? How? Why?"

"That's exactly what I thought!" Ty Lee exclaims. "It was so out of the blue! I thought you two were so cute together!"

Next to him, Katara has frozen for a moment, just a split second so brief he thinks he might have imagined it. Then, she continues sipping her tea, a little too slowly, a little too calmly. Her entire body is too relaxed, he thinks despite himself, like she's putting on a show that is a little too convincing.

He doesn't understand how such a subtle non-reaction can fill him with equal parts disappointment and hopeful terror.

"I didn't," Aang admits quietly, his eyes sad. "I'm not surprised at all."

"That's because you're a monk!" Ty Lee cuts across him, "what do you know about dating? Aren't you all celibate?"

"Can it, Circus Freak," Toph speaks up abruptly, her voice a rock-hard command. She scowls ferociously at the earnest girl in pink, who claps a hand across her mouth. "I get that you're very concerned for the fate of Sparky's sex life, but there's no need to take it out on Twinkletoes. It's nobody's business but his if he's still a virgin."

Aang flushes an impressive shade of purple.

"Can we leave my sex life out of this?" Zuko growls, feeling his entire face turn red with embarrassment and irritation. "And Aang's too, while we're at it? This is why I didn't tell anyone! Yes, Mai and I broke up, and that's our business. Not some piece of gossip for everyone to trivialize and discuss! Would it kill you to show a little tact?"

His outburst complete, he falls silent with a heavy breath or two, still glaring at everyone. Except Katara, who he doesn't dare look at. But he feels the long exhale that she releases beside him.

"How are things back home, Aang?" the waterbender asks lightly, very obviously and diplomatically changing the subject. She places her cup on the table in front of her, steeples her fingers together, and fixes a friendly, non-judgmental glance at Aang across the table. "You were writing to your old teacher last night, right?"

The look of relief on Aang's face should have filled the rest of them with shame, Zuko thinks to himself furiously.

"Yeah," the young monk replies, a little too quickly, his voice a little too bright. "Yeah, they're okay. Gyatso's alright too, but…"

Aang prattles on, and Katara doesn't let her attention falter for a second. Her face is held in a tight, little smile, and her knuckles are white.

She doesn't look at him.

As though in punishment, his mind keeps traveling back to his dream, the one he wants to forget, but doesn't want to forget.

You could still try, an unusually optimistic part of him suggests. Try for her. What could possibly go wrong?

"What do you mean, it's hard to explain if we're not monks?" Katara demands, her voice taking on an edge that is a little bit dangerous. "Then help us understand. We'd all love to learn more! Right, Ty Lee?" The smile she tosses in Ty Lee's direction stings worse than a slap to the face.

"Everything," Zuko mumbles to himself, gulping a mouthful of his own tea.

I don't stand a chance. I never have.

When at last, it is time for everyone to disperse back to their rooms and prepare for the rest of their day, he breathes a sigh of relief. He parts from the rest of them silently, hoping no one notices that he has given them the slip. Turning the corner and out of sight, he pauses in his tracks and lets out a sigh.

He closes his eyes and tries to focus. But the only thoughts that calm him, that give him any sort of solace at all, are of her. The texture of her skin. The taste of her lips. The rhythm of her body pressing into his, the strength and heat and sureness of it…

He shakes his head, reminding himself patiently that it all wasn't real, that it was just a dream.

I can't do this. The thought strikes at his core, unbidden, blunt, powerful. I can't keep doing this. I'm going crazy.

Soft footsteps approach from behind him.

"For what it's worth," Katara's voice says quietly, firmly, and his eyes widen and he spins around to see her standing behind him, arms crossed and face still carefully neutral, "I'm sorry it didn't work out between you two. And that everyone else made a joke about it. That wasn't funny."

His fevered thoughts scatter to the wind. His mouth opens and closes soundlessly. His voice feels like it's stopped working.

How can she say something just like that, he observes blankly, and make it all worth it?

"Thanks," he manages to say out loud. "But Aang was right. Mai and I – we weren't good for each other."

She frowns a little at that. He waits for her to offer the usual platitudes. If you need somebody to talk to, or you'll find the right person for you, or maybe even I'm single too, let's get to know each other –

"You don't have to explain," she tells him instead, holding up a hand. She still has that strange, closed expression on her face, but he can see the curiosity thinly veiled in her eyes. "Like you said – that's your business."

Oh. The swelling balloon of hope within him bursts.

"Right," he stammers, his mouth dry.

"Right," she echoes, raising a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

He wonders if she feels as awkward around him as he does around her. Part of him irrationally hopes that she does.

But then she gives him a small smile, one that reaches her eyes this time, before she turns and walks away.

His heart flutters and snaps, and the swelling thing in his chest that had burst at her dismissal, just mere moments earlier, begins to rear its ever-persistent head yet again. And –

Maybe, he thinks irrationally, maybe I can keep doing this after all.

Katara takes up her usual spot on the stool beside Chan's bed in the healing tent.

"You look happy," Jia observes as she deposits a bucket of freshly drawn water beside the young waterbender. "Anything special going on?"

Katara glances up at the grizzled old woman, momentarily taken aback. "Huh? Not really," she replies, raising her hands and drawing a sizeable volume of water from the bucket with which to glove her hands. She flashes a quick smile at Jia nonetheless. "Just a good day."

"I see," Jia replies, glancing at the bright sunshine streaming in through the window. "I was surprised to see you in this early in the morning. Don't you usually have training with the General at this hour?"

Katara nods. "Usually, yes," she acquiesces. Her brow furrows in some confusion. "But I bumped into him on my way to practice, and he said that he was cancelling this morning's training. Just out of the blue. Said that he wanted some one-on-one time with Prince Zuko. So, I told the others and then thought I'd come here."

"I see," Jia remarks with a short nod. "That was generous of you. I'm sure you would have enjoyed taking a little more time to yourself."

Katara shrugs, placing her hands just above Chan's bandaged face. "A promise is a promise," she says. "Plus, I made so much progress with him yesterday. I think I might make a breakthrough today." She smiles at the old healer.

Jia's eyes widen. "Well, it's nice to see you optimistic for a change." She shuffles out of the room.

Katara is still amazed that the old woman allows her to be alone in the room with Chan, unsupervised and with a bucket full of water. Truth be told, she'd been expecting to be treated with infinitely greater suspicion for a longer time before regaining everyone else's trust. But, to her surprise, everyone around her has gone back to treating her with dignity and respect.

She can't help but be grateful for that.

So she focuses her attention on reattaching the last bits of broken bone around Chan's nose and jaw, drawing away the inflammation, and at long last, rebuilding the ruined airways of his throat and upper chest.

She tilts her head back, rolling her shoulders and flexing her fingers in preparation.

Time to do this.

And with a single decisive tugging motion, she gathers all the liquid collecting inside the cave of his chest – all the water and blood and pus and excess humours, all of it – and pulls it slowly out of his newly reconstructed airways. The flow of liquid rushes through his windpipe and throat, until it emerges from his mouth and nostrils.

When she's sure she's got every last drop, she forms the waste liquid into an even sphere and floats it out the window. It splashes to the ground outside.

Almost immediately, Chan's breathing strengthens. She can feel the warmth of his breath against the back of her hand. His eyelids stir and flutter. His chest begins to rise and fall, ever so slightly, of its own accord.

Katara wipes at her brow with the dry skin of her forearm, a disbelieving laugh escaping her.

I can't believe it. I did it.

Her work is far from over. His chest is still a mess and she still has to rebuild his lungs and strengthen the lining of his chest cavity. But the water is gone and with it, the risk of imminent infection and death.

Now he has a chance and so does she.

Zuko wanders into the enclosure behind the campsite in somewhat of a daze. His Uncle is the only one there. He is dressed in light breathable cotton, sensible for the heat of the midday sun above them. The air is unusually warm for the time of year.

Uncle Iroh frowns. A ferocious messenger hawk is perched on his shoulder and his eyes are trained on a piece of parchment paper in his hand, sealed with white wax.

"Grandpa, she says," Zuko hears him grumble under his breath, as he folds the letter up and tucks it away into the sleeve of his robe. "Why does everyone keeping calling me that? I'm not that old..."

"Everything okay, Uncle?" Zuko asks gently, glancing at the place where Iroh had stowed his letter.

Uncle Iroh brightens as he notices his nephew. "Prince Zuko! Yes, yes, everything is in order. Please, make yourself comfortable. We are going to try something new today."

Zuko doesn't move. "What was that all about?" he asks, nodding his head at the bird on Iroh's shoulder.

Iroh pats the hawk on its back, and the bird gives a feral screech before taking flight and winging back toward the camp. "That," Iroh replies cryptically, "was the first stage of my investigation into the matters we discussed last night."

"Already?" Zuko frowns. That was fast.

Iroh bows his head. "I told you and Sifu Katara last night that I had an urgent letter to write. It appears I wrote it not a moment too soon. My informant is looking into the matter for us, and she is well-placed and highly suited for the task ahead. I trust that she will get back to me soon." His face, unusually austere, breaks into a smile. "In the meantime, let us not forget about your training! We have something important ahead of us today!"

Zuko shrugs off his tunic, preferring to train in his comfortable, loose-fitting trousers. He looks around expectantly.

"Where is everyone else?" he asks, tilting his head questioningly. "It's just us."

"Yes," Iroh acquiesces. "I thought it would be better to cover this first lesson one-on-one, firebender to firebender. I didn't want to bore Sifu Toph, Aang, or Katara with this."

"Oh." Zuko cannot help the slight slump in his shoulders. "Okay."

After all these months of sparring with the others, training one-on-one with his uncle seems perfunctory and unexciting. And it shouldn't. His Uncle is a phenomenal instructor, who could probably teach the art of firebending to a sky bison if he had to. He hasn't trained one-on-one with him in what feels like years. He should be honoured.

And so he straightens his back and pushes the slight well of disappointment back into the pit of his stomach where it belongs.

"What are we doing today, Uncle?" he asks politely.

Uncle Iroh grins. "Nothing as exciting as training with your friends, unfortunately, but maybe something that can match up in some small measure," he says with a short wink. "Assume your starting stance."

Zuko obliges, assuming a wide but rooted stance, his muscles flexed, his joints loose, his weight light on his feet.

"Today, I will take you through the basics of lightning generation," his uncle announces with a hint of pride. "Like I promised."

Zuko's mouth drops.

"Really?" he asks, unable to fight the hint of excitement that enters his voice.

Uncle Iroh nods. "I think you are ready."

A glow of excitement courses through Zuko's veins. Lightning. Finally. From what he's heard, Azula has been able to control lightning for years already. She has always been better than him.

It is high past time that he begins to even the score.

"I think I am too, Uncle," he agrees. He raises his hands and places them in a neutral stance, resting at the level of his chest.

Uncle Iroh nods approvingly. "Let us begin, then."

With a fluid motion that belies his age and bulk, he assumes a sharper iteration of the stance that Zuko has chosen. "First, I will walk you through the motions. I see that you have assumed a very grounded stance. Excellent form."

Zuko inclines his head at his uncle's approval. He remembers Uncle Iroh yelling at him in his earlier years, telling him that he would never master anything past his basics if he allowed his opponents to break his root, whatever that meant. But evidently, his bouts with Toph have helped him overcome that particular technical block.

I should thank her the next time I see her.

Uncle Iroh lowers his hands to about the level of his navel. "What is special about this part of the body, Prince Zuko?" he asks, his voice taking on a crisp, instructional air.

"Your stomach?" Zuko raises his eyebrows, thinking hard.

"Yes," his uncle nods, before his face breaks into a broad smile. "Apart from its unparalleled ability to store giant quantities of delicious food, of course!" He pats his round belly and winks.

"Um…" Zuko frowns. "I don't know?" As far as he is concerned, his uncle has only ever lectured to him about the importance of his limbs and his breath when it comes to firebending.

Wait. "Does it have something to do with breathing?" he ventures a guess, hesitantly.

His uncle tilts his head, thinking. "Somewhat," he concedes, with a nod of the head. "But it has much more to do with chi."

Damn it, Zuko curses inwardly. More spiritual energy stuff. He usually glazed over when his uncle lectured him on such matters.

"What is the relationship between breath and chi, Prince Zuko?" his uncle quizzes him.

Zuko lets out a sigh of relief. An easy question. "When you breathe, you let chi into your body," Zuko replies. After all, Uncle Iroh had just explained something similar to them the day before. Even if the subject bores him to tears, some bits of it still stick. "Uh, breathing connects the chi in our body with the chi around us."

"Correct." His uncle smiles reassuringly at him. "And when you breathe, through which pathways in the body does your chi flow?"

"I'm not sure," he admits. "Doesn't it just follow the path of your blood?"

His uncle's smile doesn't fade, but his face softens. "Not exactly." He traces a line from the extremities of his limbs down the axis of his body to his stomach. "Chi is not blood. It follows its own path. Like small rivers within your body. And –"

He points at his stomach, for emphasis. "Like bodies of water, there are places in the body where the rivers open up and become lakes. Instead of flowing, the chi collects in a pool. This can be a source of great power. But – "

Here, he fixes his nephew with a pointed stare. "In the absence of proper spiritual discipline, these pools become blocked over time. You will remember what I said yesterday, about great bending masters mastering meditation and spiritual training. Only in this way will the chi in their body flow unhindered."

"I remember," Zuko mutters, thinking about the last time he had meditated on something that wasn't related to a girl or complicated family matters. It was an embarrassingly long time.

"So," his uncle concludes, his hands returning to their spot above his stomach. "After all I have said, Prince Zuko, can you now tell me what is special about this part of the body?"

"It's a pool of chi," Zuko says. And, as understanding hits him, he continues, "it's where the chi from outside your body collects when you breathe, isn't it?"

Uncle Iroh beams at him. "Yes! There are seven such areas of the body, but today we will focus on this one. Not coincidentally, it is referred to as the fire chakra."

"Chakra?" Zuko raises an eyebrow. "Is that what you call the pools of chi?"

Uncle Iroh nods enthusiastically. "I see you are beginning to understand, my nephew."

"And it's the fire chakra because it's the one most important to firebenders?" Zuko continues to guess. "Do different benders rely on different chakras for their elements? Like…would a waterbender rely on a water chakra, or an airbender need to clear his air chakra or something?"

His uncle only shrugs slowly. "Not being anything other than a firebender myself, I cannot answer your questions, Prince Zuko," he confesses, with a deep sigh. "I can only explain the chakras as they relate to our own bending, and perhaps extrapolate them to fit other styles of bending. But without the input of benders from other nations, this cannot be anything other than a hypothetical discussion."

"Is that why you assembled the four of us?" Zuko asks quickly, his mouth going dry. "To find out?"

Uncle Iroh only smiles cryptically.

"Fine," Zuko replies shortly, rolling his eyes. Keep your secrets for now. He attempts to redirect instead. "So what does this fire chakra have to do with lightning?"

"Why," Uncle Iroh says, holding his hands out wide, "everything."

Katara is in the middle of reconstructing Chan's pleural cavity when she hears the shift in his breath, the slight recoil of his body, which gives away his return to consciousness.

"Easy now," she says quietly, her motions slowing to a halt as Chan's eyes flit open and widen in fear at the sight of her hunched over his broken body. "Don't make any sudden movements, or you'll undo all of my work."

"What," mumbles Chan through what sounds like a clenched jaw, "what's going – get away from me, you waterbender freak!"

He tries to lunge away but finds himself unable to move or draw breath without suffering agonizing pain in the chest.

"Breathe light, shallow breaths and the pain should go away," Katara instructs, ignoring the frightened firebender's outburst. "I'm in the middle of fixing your lungs. You'll find yourself much more comfortable when I'm done."

"Fixing my lungs?" Chan shrieks, instantly wincing at the sharp pain racking through him. "You broke them!"

Katara does not look away. "I did," she admits.

"And now you expect me to believe that you're fixing them?" Chan continues incredulously. "You expect me to let you?"

"Yes," Katara answers. "You don't have a choice, either way. You might as well make my job easier."

"And what's that, exactly?" he demands.

"I told you," Katara replies, returning her attention to the inside of his chest. "I'm fixing the mess I caused."

"Why you?" Chan asks pointedly. "Why not one of the healers?"

"Because none of them could," Katara answers forcefully. "Believe me, they tried."

It is at this moment that Chan notices her hands on his chest, gloved in glowing water. "What's that?" he chokes out fearfully.

"I'm healing you," Katara grates. I thought forgiveness would be easier, but he's as annoying as I remember him to be. "Healing. It's a special art, sacred to my people. We use the water to heal. I'm using it to fix what your healers said was irreparable damage."

"But," he stutters, "but I'm totally at your mercy! Where's the other healer? What's stopping you from finishing me off right now?"

"Basic human decency." Katara rolls her eyes. "And enough repentance to impress an Air Nomad, I'd guess."

"Or you could be playing with me," Chan whispers conspiratorially. "You could be biding your time, trying to gain my trust, only to kill me off when I least expect it!"

"Chan." Katara's voice is sharp and no-nonsense. "If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already, long ago. That way I wouldn't have to listen to your annoying voice. Now shut up and let me do my job."

Chan is quiet for a while, as she resumes her efforts. "I won't be better again for a while, will I?"

Katara shakes her head. "This is going to take a lot of time to heal. I could probably get the bulk of the damage fixed by the end of the week, but then there would be lots to do afterward. Rehabilitation, regular draining, residual healing…" she trails off, thinking hard. She shrugs. "I've never healed something of this magnitude, either."

"You should have thought of that before you hurt me!" Chan's voice is high-pitched and accusing. "This is all your fault!"

Katara's temper flares up. "No. You should have thought of that before picking fights with me for no reason," she retaliates furiously. "If you're going to sit there and blame people for your condition, how about you start with yourself for once?" She glares at him sternly. "I'll continue to heal you because I made a promise to someone better than you. But keep giving me a hard time and I swear I won't put that much effort into it."

Chan finally caves. "I'll cooperate," he grumbles.

"Thank you," Katara replies coolly.

"But I don't forgive you," Chan finishes stubbornly, a sullen look crossing his face.

Katara narrows her eyes, concentrating on the vasculature of his inner chest wall.

"I'm heartbroken," she laments sardonically. "But I think I'll get over it."

Iroh resumes his starting stance, hands at the ready, and takes a deep breath through his nostrils.

"Remember that all energy is of duality in balance. Yin and yang. Positive and negative. Lightning, for all its power, is simply firebending without aggression. The cold-blooded fire. To properly generate lightning, one requires calmness of mind and stillness of spirit. Oneness with the energy around us. Then –"

His hands rotate slowly, trailing circular motions around his body. Zuko narrows his eyes, watching the motions.

"In this moment, I am concentrating on the chi in my body," his uncle says through gritted teeth, eyes screwed shut in concentration as he divides his focus on teaching his nephew and controlling the tiny, lazy sparks that trail from his fingertips. "I am separating the positive and negative energies within my body, creating an imbalance. Energy does not like this. It likes being whole, being one. All of its existence strives toward balance and unity. With all the discipline in my mind, I am focusing on holding the two parts apart, maintaining this disparity until the moment is right. And then –"

With an abrupt, forceful motion, Iroh brings his hands together and lunges forward with his right hand extended. A fearsome crash of lightning bursts forth, in a moment's worth of light and sound.

"When the time is correct, I guide the energy as it crashes back together, producing lightning," his uncle says, straightening out his limbs. "That is all. I do not command the energy, I do not fight it, I do not tell it where to go or what to do. I am one with it. In fact, I surrender to it." His gaze sharpens. "It is the relinquishing of thought and control that makes lightning generation so very perilous. To carry all that unstable energy within you, to surrender to that raw, consuming power and fight the firebender's instinct to hunger and emotion and control… It is no wonder that so few of our kind are well suited to bending lightning." He tilts his head, looking thoughtful. "I often tell myself that it is a mercy to our kind that the airbenders cannot control lightning. With the emphasis on detachment and spiritual balance in airbending, I cannot help but think that they would have quite an aptitude for it. That they would be the most precise and deadly lightning-benders of us all if they could."

"Good thing they're pacifist monks," Zuko comments, his mind skipping ahead of itself in trying to digest his uncle's words. Breathe. Meditate on the chi in your body. Separate the energies in two different pathways. Don't be a control freak. Guide the separated energies back together without getting fried. Think like an airbender.

He tries to think of how Aang would absorb this new lesson. With enthusiasm? Trepidation? Humility?

"Want to try?" Uncle Iroh suggests gently.

"Yes!" Zuko is eager, itching to prove himself. He is tired of being held back, of being kept in the dark, of settling. More than anything, he wants to prove that he's good enough. For himself, for his family, for her –

"Remember," his uncle warns him, "you do not control the energy. You are merely –"

"Its guide," Zuko finishes, already striking up the starting position that he'd seen his uncle hold. "I know. I was listening."

Uncle Iroh gives him a reassuring smile. "Then we'll begin. Follow my instructions. Do not skip ahead or you may injure yourself. If at any moment you feel unsafe or out of control, use your legs to deflect to the ground."

"I'm ready," Zuko announces quietly, pushing the flutter of thoughts away, trying to find the quiet spot in his mind. What would Aang do?

"Breathe first," his uncle instructs.

Zuko closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose, feeling the rush of sun-warmed autumn air in his nostrils, filling his airways and expanding the cavern of his chest and lungs.

He focuses on his stomach, the expansive pool of energy that has always existed there, and for a moment, he visualizes the energy rushing into his body to fill it, like some internal waterfall filling a reservoir, like a dam bursting within himself.

"Good, Prince Zuko," his uncle comments. "You are one with the energy around you. Focus on your breath, on the energy within your stomach, below your heart, and then separate them."

He feels the pool of energy in his belly heating up, and maybe he imagines the little sparks flitting around inside him, dancing off the surface of the lake.

Separate the energies, he resolves.

A pause, and then –

How the hell do you do that?

A thread of unease weaves its way into his thoughts. The pool of energy in his stomach stirs and courses.

"Use the motions of your hands, Prince Zuko," his uncle calls out, perhaps sensing his unease. "It will help you guide the energies apart."

He starts with his right hand, trying to recreate the slow rotations that his uncle had demonstrated. First the right hand, and then the left, in slow, opposing circles that span the breadth and height of his stomach and surround the chakra in his gut.

Is it working?

The old anxiety creeps into his mind, looming, distracting, controlling –

Why isn't it working? What am I doing wrong?

He's going through the motions. His form is correct, his thoughts are focused, and he can feel the chi rippling in his body, something he's never actually been able to feel before, but still –

They're not separating. Unease is slowly replaced by panic. I can't do this. I don't feel them separating.

Maybe they are, replies the voice of bravado, of uncertain arrogance. You don't know what it feels like. Maybe you're doing it right and just don't know any better.

Or maybe you're doing it wrong. The panic continues to nibble away at his zen. Maybe you can't do it at all because you're not as good as Azula and you'll never be and you already know it.

"Surrender to the energy, Prince Zuko!" His uncle's voice sounds like it is very far away. "You are trying too hard to control."

Zuko returns his thoughts to the swirling pool of energy inside of him. His hands have taken up the motions almost of their own accord. He pushes the frantic thoughts away, trying to hide from them.

Focus on the pool of energy and feel them separate, he tells himself.

His hands move in circles, and he feels the tides within him following his motions. Good. Hang on to that. Give in to that.

The pool begins to split in a shallow divide. He feels the sparks dancing on his fingertips, and his heart speeds up.

"Good!" Uncle Iroh's approving pronouncement fills his ears. "You are doing well, Prince Zuko! Keep it up!"

Yes, keep it up. You're good at giving in. Remember the Agni Kai?

The voice in his head, the one that sounds like his father, appears out of nowhere. It whispers in his ears but the sound is loud enough to drown out his uncle's praise.

Remember how you couldn't fight, how you begged for mercy? Why don't you try that now? Maybe the lightning will feel sorry for you. Or maybe it won't, because lightning is strong like your father and not weak like you.

Something starts to go wrong. The flow of energy within him follows the motions of his hands, but it is sluggish. Like mud instead of water.

No, don't listen to it, he tries to tell himself. Uncle Iroh said that surrender was key. That voice just wants to keep you weak. That voice is the reason most firebenders can't bend lightning.

He tries to push it away, but the thoughts in his head that speak with his father's voice are relentless.

Iroh is weak and so are you. Next to Azula, you're nothing. Next to your father, you're nothing. In fact, you're lucky you're so inconsequential to them, that they don't see you as a threat. It's the only reason you're still alive.

Here in the recesses of his mind, faced with the sound of his breathing and the echo of his beating heart and the crackling of energy humming deep within him, there is nowhere left to hide.

You were almost assassinated and nobody back home even cares. You should be flattered that the Dai Li are trying to take you out. Katara was right when she called you the low-hanging fruit in the royal family. You're like a withered leaf, adrift on the wind, with no purpose and no direction.

His hands move listlessly of their own accord. The energy swells within him turbulently. It feels wrong and a sense of impending doom rises in his gut, like something very bad is going to happen.

You're pathetic, sneers that dark voice in his mind. Did you honestly think that you could control lightning? Even Katara is stronger than you. A no-name Water Tribe orphan, and your father will ask about her before he asks about you. Face it. You'll never see home and you'll never be loved and you'll never make a difference. Fight it all you want, but you know it's true.

It feels difficult to move. His hands are moving out of control, now, and the sparks in his hands are growing very hot, almost too hot.

You're losing control. Seize it now,while you still can. It isn't too late to change your fate.

"You're fighting, Prince Zuko," his uncle warns him, his voice rising sharply. "Clear your mind. Pride, resentment, shame, they will only get in your way."

Pride. Resentment. Shame. Zuko feels the doubt gnawing at him as his hands shudder out of his control. They're all I have left. I can't let go.

"You must let go!"

But I can't.

"Prince Zuko, watch out!"

The crackling burst of fire that erupts from his hands is one of the biggest explosions he's ever conjured. The backlash knocks him to the ground, rolling and tumbling into the dirt twelve feet away.

I'm a failure. I'll always be a failure.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out through a mouthful of dirt as his uncle rushes over and kneels over him, pressing a hand against his shoulder. "I failed. Like always."

"You didn't fail," Uncle Iroh tells him gently, patting his shoulder reassuringly. "You did so well. You almost had it. Nobody generates lightning on their first try."

"It blew up in my face!" The dust caked on his face hides the tears of frustration that are now streaming from his eyes. "Like everything else I do. Why do I even try? What's the point of any of it? What am I even working for?"

He lets out a shuddering breath, before the thought eating away at him, the thought that really haunts him, spills out. "Azula probably did it perfectly," he spits venomously. "Like everything else she does. Everything comes to her naturally. Why can't I be like that? Why do I have to struggle so much when she and my father don't? It isn't fair!"

His uncle is silent for a few moments longer, before he clutches Zuko by the shoulders and pulls him up to a sitting position, in one smooth motion. "No," he agrees, wiping the tears away from Zuko's cheeks. "No, it isn't. That is why you must continue, to work harder than she ever has. It is your gift and your curse."

"How is it a gift?" Zuko demands, feeling the old anger rising within him. "I'm weak and inconsequential and I'll never do anything with my life -"

His uncle regards him solemnly. "Those are your father's words, Prince Zuko. Not yours," he says sadly. "You are still so young and life is full of mysteries. Who is your father to command it so?"

He's my father, Zuko thinks to himself, closing his eyes. I wish he loved me. I wish he never had to hurt me.

"I just wish," he mumbles instead, "that I wasn't so weak."

Uncle Iroh sighs, before tightening his grip on his nephew's shoulders. "Look at me, Prince Zuko."

Zuko hesitates a moment before he complies.

"You are not weak," his uncle tells him firmly. "You are one of the most persistent firebenders I have ever seen –"

"You're just saying that to make me feel better," Zuko retorts, his voice fierce with loathing. "Who cares about persistence? I'm not good. Maybe around here I'm the big fish in the small pond, but back home –"

"If you find yourself lacking in the finesse of your family members, it is because your father's influence has robbed you of the purpose and direction you need," Uncle Iroh interrupts him in a measured, calm voice. "Years away from him have helped you, I think, but only to a limit –"

"I still don't hold a candle to Azula," Zuko argues miserably. "I don't think I ever will."

Uncle Iroh's eyes are sad. "It is true that your younger sister is gifted, with a level of skill and ease of mastery that comes once in generations," he agrees. "Against such raw talent and power, it is easy to lose one's sense of self worth. But you are more than a footnote in her story, no matter what Ozai has told you." He pauses, and his eyes blaze with anger. "Of all the terrible things my brother has done, and there are far more than I can count, the way he treated you is something I do not think I can forgive."

"Then you're a stronger man than I am."

The admission leaves him raw. It has been a long time since he's felt this wretched.

"Prince Zuko." His uncle gives him a little shake by the shoulders, as though trying to snap him out of it. "You love your father. You love him in spite of everything he did to you. That is not a weakness. That is strength. Tremendous strength."

"No it isn't," Zuko argues back, hating himself with every word. "After everything, I should hate him! But...but then, why do I still care about what he thinks? Why do I still care about his approval, or his love, or being replaced by Azula…" His voice trails off hopelessly.

"Love is not a weakness," Uncle Iroh insists. "No matter what your father has taught you. But you have suffered and been grievously hurt, in more ways than one. Sometimes it is difficult to see in the darkness. Sometimes it is easy to feel like the love we carry is more a burden than a gift. Something inconvenient that weakens us and makes us vulnerable, that we must rid ourselves of in order to strive for power and glory. Does that sound familiar to you?"

Zuko nods.

"Azula takes after her father," his uncle continues in his comforting, steady, calm voice. "Like my brother, she will rise rapidly, treasuring nothing and no one but herself and her love for power. This will cost her dearly." He takes Zuko's face in his hands, looking straight into his eyes. "We may strive for glory, Prince Zuko, but we live and die for love. Your father, for all his ambitions, has ignored this and for that, he is a fool. Pity him if you can, love him if you must, and in time, come out from under his shadow. Do you understand?"

Zuko pauses, considering his uncle's words carefully.

His unscrupulous father has power and ambition in spades. He has a strong heir in Azula. He has the support of the court back home, and of late, the dubious complicity of Emperor Azulon.

But his uncle, heir apparent to the imperial throne, commands the military in its entirety. He is mild-mannered and humble, but also a seasoned war general and strategist. His heir, Lu Ten, while not as prodigiously talented as Azula, is also a respected captain within the navy. Both of them have spent their lives among soldiers and sailors and common-folk, inspiring loyalty from the people of all corners of the empire.

The people may fear Ozai, but they love Iroh.

And if it came to a struggle, they might fight for Ozai. But they would die for Iroh.

"I think I do," he whispers, scrubbing at his cheeks. He clears his throat, trying to compose himself. "Thank you, Uncle."

"There is nothing to thank me for," Uncle Iroh says, helping his nephew to his feet.

Zuko takes a deep breath and exhales. He already feels lighter. "I think I'm ready to try generating lightning again," he offers.

"No," Uncle Iroh declares, waving him off, "no, you're not. You must clear your mind of all your burdens, Prince Zuko, or risk repeating this many times over. I have decided that you will not attempt this again until you commit yourself to proper spiritual training."

"What?" Zuko groans. "Why?"

"Because it is apparent that you sorely require it," Uncle Iroh says firmly, and his face brightens. "In fact, I think all four of you could benefit from some more spiritual discipline! I'll pass the message on to Sifu Aang and Toph and Katara! Meditation boot camp, starting tomorrow, until I'm satisfied with everyone's performance…"

Zuko imagines facing Aang, Katara, and Toph, as well as the combined looks of frustration on their faces when they find out that because of him, instead of sparring, they're going to be meditating for the indefinite future.

He gulps.

Toph is going to kill me.

Chapter 17: falling so slow (pt. ii: deconstruct)

Chapter Text

disclaimer. ATLA & all its associated content are property of bryke. i'm just a cheap imitation.

author's notes. well that took longer than expected. i seem to have written myself into a bit of a knot and it took forever to figure out how to undo it. hence the constant rewriting of this chapter (and even still it's turned into a giant ham-and-cheese sandwich. oh well...) a hefty dose of writer's block didn't help much either. but i forced this one out. also summertime means none of your time is actually your own. *sigh*

anyway enough of the excuses. thank you very much to everyone who's been leaving feedback! means a lot to me! please keep it up!

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter xvii. falling so slow (pt. ii: deconstruct)

because when you play the fool
you're only fooling everyone else
you're learning to love yourself

"song for a friend"/jason mraz

"I'm going to kill him," Toph declares the next morning.

Katara sighs, dragging a comb through her bedraggled hair. "If it has to be murder, can it wait until breakfast?" she asks placidly. "I'm starving."

Toph considers her words momentarily. "Me too," she agrees, raking an impatient hand through her thick, black bangs. "Okay fine, breakfast first and then murder. You in?"

Katara presses her lips together as she puts the comb down and proceeds to braid her hair. "I'll think about it," she says lightly. "Our last plan didn't exactly pan out, you know."

"Yeah," Toph admits, stepping out of their shared room. "But that was because I'd feel bad about killing Grandpa. This is Sparky we're talking about now."

"Yeah, but…" Katara flounders, thinking quickly. "Even he's got his uses too, I suppose?"

She closes the door behind her and turns the key in its lock, missing the quick grin that flits briefly over Toph's face.

"I guess you're right on that one, Sugar Queen," Toph drawls as they set off for the canteen for breakfast. "After all, if we get rid of Sparky, we lose the best eye candy this establishment has to offer!"

She finishes her declaration with a sly, pointed smile.

Katara rolls her eyes. "What does it matter to you? You're blind."

"Yeah, but even this blind girl can appreciate a set of symmetrical features!" Toph lets out a small whistle as she gestures to herself. "And let me tell you. His are quite symmetrical."

"Well." Katara looks thoughtful, casting about for the appropriate thing to say as they step into the soft morning daylight. "I guess I can't argue with that."

"Argue with what?" pipes up Suki, falling in step with them. She's joined by Ty Lee, who is walking on her hands. Katara has learned by now not to question it.

"Morning, Ty Lee. Suki," she greets the two girls with a nod of her head. "Toph was just saying that, uh, when it comes to facial symmetry in this camp –"

"Sparky's the hottest," Toph summarizes succinctly, with a nod of her head. "That's all I was saying. He's hot. Real hot."

"Well duh," Ty Lee blurts out, somersaulting back onto her feet. "Of course he is."

"Was that ever really a debate?" Suki queries with a small smirk. "You don't really have to be into Fire Nation types to appreciate that guy."

"Yeah, you'd have to be blind to not see it –" Ty Lee begins, but Toph clears her throat loudly.

"Hey. I resent that." She grins wolfishly. "I'm blind and I still see it."

"Sorry, Toph," Ty Lee apologizes quickly, turning a shade of pink that matches her attire. "I should probably rephrase. You don't even need eyes to see that Zuko's a total ten-out-of-ten knockout!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Katara sniffs, with a lot more disdain than she actually feels. "I didn't realize that the Zuko fan club was assembling here."

"And you're not?" Toph parries, raising an eyebrow. "Come on. You have eyes, don't you?"

"Well, yes –?"

"And you're attracted to men," Ty Lee states, looking around in confusion. "Right?"

"Well, yes –"

"Then you have to agree here!" Ty Lee concludes earnestly, clapping her hands together.

"I wasn't fighting the point," Katara concedes in bewilderment. "He's a good-looking guy. I was just surprised that he has so many –" she pauses, searching for the correct words, "- loyal fans. Wasn't he literally just dating your best friend?"

"She has a point, you know," Suki mutters wryly, nudging Ty Lee in the rib. "Try keeping it classy once in a while."

"He was, but that's over now, and I don't need to have a personal interest to appreciate our resident Sifu Hotman, okay?" Ty Lee clarifies, jamming her hands on her hips.

Katara raises an eyebrow. "Sifu Hotman? Seriously?"

"Well, it's accurate!" Ty Lee shoots back defensively. She looks around nervously. "Right?"

"It does have a nice ring to it," Suki confesses with a bit of a giggle.

"Suits him too!" Toph declares cheerfully. "Though personally I like Sparky more."

Katara groans. "You guys are insane."

"When was the last time," General Iroh begins wearily, casting his light amber gaze across his tepid audience, "any of you meditated?"

His query is answered by a prolonged silence, deafening in its certainty. Then –

"A couple of weeks ago?" Aang offers sheepishly.

"Just the other day," Zuko sighs, relieved to know that even the monk meditates less frequently than him.

"It's been a month," Katara admits. "Or six. Closer to six." She pauses, crossing her arms across her chest. "Okay, maybe nine. I don't remember."

"I don't meditate," Toph declares imperviously. I dare you to make me, says the tone of her voice.

General Iroh raises a hand and massages his temples with it. "I suddenly wish I was a younger man."

"Why would you wish that?" Aang asks nervously, his grey eyes wide.

"Because the odds of me dying an old man before my task is complete would be lessened somewhat," General Iroh retorts sharply. "Never mind. Until I am satisfied with your progress, you are all forbidden from using your bending. Starting now."

"Um. What?" Zuko can scarcely believe his ears. "What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I say, Prince Zuko." General Iroh's voice is uncharacteristically stern, and his kindly face is no longer beaming. On the contrary, his broad pleasant features appear to be carved from stone. It makes him appear suddenly rather imposing. "You are henceforth forbidden from using your bending, until the time I say so."

"Like…no bending for fighting, right?" Aang clarifies quickly. "You don't actually mean…?"

The look the General gives him makes him falter in realization.

"You can't be serious, Uncle!" Zuko exclaims, his fists clenching in outrage. "No bending at all? How – how am I supposed to see after dark if I can't firebend?"

"I suggest you borrow a spark-rock." General Iroh's response is swift and cutting.

"How am I supposed to bathe?" Katara blurts out in horror. Ever since the incident with Chan and his friends spying on her in the bath, she has taken to erecting a solid wall of ice while she bathes in order to gain some extra privacy.

"A bucket, then."

Toph's mouth opens and closes wordlessly. "How am I supposed to see?" she croaks. "What do you suggest I borrow for that, Grandpa?"

Aang, Zuko, and Katara all turn their heads to face the blind earthbender in mutual, horrified realization.

General Iroh is silent for a moment. "A shoulder," he says at last.

Toph chokes. "You're joking," she seethes, with a snort of disbelieving laughter. "You can't possibly expect me to go back to living like – like that?"

"Toph's right, that's going too far," Zuko speaks up. "Even for you, Uncle."

But General Iroh doesn't budge. "I am doing what I have to for your own good," he barks at them in return. "It is clear that outstanding benders though you are, you have not learned to respect the discipline required to sustain your talents. You are like little children playing with fancy toys, excited by the thrills but heedless of the consequences. And you will never take it seriously unless someone forces your hand. So yes, I am going too far, for your own good. And if the loss of your own bending is not sufficiently motivating, perhaps the loss of your friends' bending will be enough for you to finally dedicate yourselves to my lessons."

"I'm not going to do it," Toph declares stubbornly, her usually brusque voice an unsteady thread. "You can't make me."

Iroh's eyes are sympathetic as they settle on the blind earthbender. "I know this will be hardest on you, Sifu Toph," he says gently. "Not just because of what your bending means to you personally, but because of all the freedoms it affords you. However, you must understand that it is not my intention to punish, but only to challenge you to become better than you ever have been. I would not make you do this if I felt you were incapable of it."

Toph sniffs and her head hangs low, her face staring sightlessly at the ground by her toes.

Katara feels her heart lunge for the strong, stubborn earthbender, who in spite of her brashness and occasional tactlessness has wormed her way into a particular soft spot of hers.

"But as your General and superior officer…" Iroh continues ruefully, "I am giving you an order, Toph. If you refuse to obey, I will have to consider it as insubordination. I do not wish for it to come to that, but –"

"You're the worst!" Toph's shriek echoes across the morning air. Her hands clutch at her head and she slams a foot into the ground. Ripples course through the earth within a ten-foot radius of her. "I can't do this."

Iroh inclines his head and sighs."Perhaps you all need a moment."

He steps back and away, receding past the line of trees to a spot where they can't see or hear him.

Toph heaves a shuddering breath in and exhales slowly before dropping to the ground in cross-legged frustration.

It is Aang who kneels down beside her and places a tentative, reassuring hand on her shoulder first. "I know this must be really scary for you, Toph," he says. "Really scary and isolating. Not being able to bend means not being able to see and not being independent –"

"That's not it," Toph chokes out, and Katara is shocked to see the girl's strong shoulders shaking with the effort to hold herself together. "It'll be like going back."

"Going back?" Katara echoes, her forehead crinkling with confusion as she walks over to the two of them and sits down next to them. "Going back where?"

"Home," Toph clarifies, and this time there is no mistaking the steady stream coursing down her cheeks. "It'll be like going home."

Katara frowns. "Do they…" and it strikes her then, that maybe, as impossible as it seems, the unflappable and invulnerable Toph has been running away from something too. And maybe to the others, home does not bring with it the same pang of longing that it does for her, but fear of a different sort. "Do they not let you bend at home, Toph?"

Toph's shoulders stiffen, before she shakes her head quickly. "My parents don't like it when I bend," she explains in a tight voice, wiping at her cheeks and brushing her bangs out of her face. "I ran away once. When they caught me and had me brought home, they padded my room with metal and locked me in there for a week."

"Why the metal?" Katara queries hesitantly.

"Because you can't earthbend with metal," Toph answers bitterly.

Horrified silence greets her words.

Katara suddenly feels sick to her stomach.

"Agni," she hears Zuko breathe, before he plants himself on the ground in front of Toph. The expression on his face reminds her unsettlingly of the way he'd looked the other night, when talking about Agni Kai. "That's – that's just awful. No parent should do that to their child."

"They said they did it because they loved me." Toph's voice is small, and for the first time does Katara remember that she's only fifteen years old and still so young.

"I'm sure they do, Toph," Katara answers, trying to be comforting but feeling awkwardly out of her depth.

"I'm sure they do too, but that doesn't excuse their actions," Zuko replies softly, his bright gold eyes fixed on Toph's forlorn face. "What they did to you wasn't about love, Toph. It was about control."

"Zuko's right," Aang speaks up, and there's a grimness in his young face that takes Katara aback. "There are times when your elders will try to control you because they love you. But there are also other times when they'll try to control you because they view you as property. It's hard to see the difference at first and even harder to accept, but there's no shame in feeling trapped by that."

"I don't want to feel trapped," Toph snaps. "I'm tired of it. I picked up earthbending because of how tired I was of it! All my life I've been kept in a cage and called a cripple! Weak, frail, helpless – well, I'm none of those things! I'm going to be the greatest earthbender in the world and nobody is going to stop me – not even your dumb uncle, Sparky – and I'll never let myself be trapped again!"

"But you are," Katara speaks up despite herself, and she feels everyone turn their heads to glare at her. "You're still trapped. You're just in a different prison."

"What do you mean?" Toph demands incredulously. "I'm free, okay? I can see with earthbending – I can see more than any of you. I can protect myself and pull my own weight, I'll never have to depend on my parents ever again…"

"As long as you keep running," Katara finishes. "But what will you do when you run out of places to hide? You may not be in an actual cage right now, but you're still allowing your fear to trap you. That's why you always act like nothing gets you down but – but it's just a front, isn't it? Underneath it all, you're terrified. What if your parents find you? What if you have to go home? What if you're so dependent on your bending that you can't even go a couple of days without it?"

Toph is quiet, but Katara can see the thoughts whirling in her head, reflected in her pale green eyes.

"What are you saying?" Zuko demands, outrage written across his face as he levels an intensely pointed stare in her direction. "Are you saying that she should go along with this? That we all should?"

And suddenly, Katara finds herself temporarily speechless as she returns his heated gaze. Not only because of the intensity of his words but because her heart has started beating at twice its normal rate and there is a rush of blood to her head and her mouth is suddenly dry, and even when he's angry...she isn't afraid of him anymore.

The realization, when it hits her, is both liberating and exhilarating.

"This may sound crazy but," Katara cannot believe what is she is saying even as she says it, "yes."

The pause that follows her words is tinged with many unspoken thoughts.

Zuko finds his voice first. "Why?"

She holds her ground. He really is beautiful. The thought springs up in her mind unbidden. Impossible. Terrifying in its simplicity. Even when he's mad.

"Because," she says with emphasis, trying to focus on the matter at hand and not at how his eyes, as much as they resemble his father's, glimmer in the sunlight like the element he bends – "because as much as I hate to admit it, I – I think your uncle is right, Zuko."

"What?" Toph blurts out, her eyes full of fury. "I knew you were a goody-two-shoes, Sugar Queen, but how can you agree with Grandpa here?"

"I –" Katara falters under Toph's angry glare, struggling to put her thoughts into words. "I – I can't explain it, I just –"

She thinks of herself, and her brother, and the tumultuous journey that brought her here. Of her anger and her hatred and her fear, and the week spent in isolation. Of Chan, lying comatose in a cot in the healing tent.

All of that carried like a stone in her heart.

And then she thinks of what came after. Jia, the old healer who helped her heal and trusted her when she had no reason to. Ty Lee, a girl who was Fire Nation through and through and still somehow a welcome sight. General Iroh, the Crown Prince and Heir Apparent himself, who had stood up for her and given her a second chance when she had given up hope, at her darkest moment. Even Mai, suffering through a quiet breakup with no reason to look twice at her, had tried to warn her in her own way. He doesn't deserve your hatred, she'd said…

She no longer fears the firebenders. Chan is a source of pity and shame, and her progress with him, irritating as he is, only makes her feel better about herself. And Zuko…the thought of reconciling with him fills her with a thrill she can't explain – perhaps it's hope, perhaps it's something more – but she would have considered it unthinkable not two weeks ago…

All those burdens, now washed away.

And she feels –

"Free," she says quietly, and raises her chin just slightly. "I think it would make us feel free."

Another pause follows her statement, this one disbelieving.

"You're joking," Toph splutters. "How would going back to being blind and helpless make me feel that?"

"Because running away from your fears doesn't set you free," Katara answers, her voice trembling a little but still eerily calm. "Going back and confronting them, that does."

Aang inhales sharply at her words. "I think you're right, Katara," he agrees in a hushed, deferential voice.

"Not you too, Twinkletoes," Toph groans, holding her head in her hands.

"No, but think about it, Toph," Aang goes on, his eyes wide with the epiphany. "We are all running away from something. That's what brought us all here, isn't it?" His bright grey eyes scan the rest of them. "It brought us together. But what if it isn't enough?"

"What difference does it make?" Toph demands, but now Zuko's expression has shifted from pure outrage to uncertainty. "What do the bending spirits of the universe care whether or not I've gotten over my daddy issues? I learned how to bend from the badgermoles, okay? I use my bending to see what you dunderheads can't. I'm always bending, every waking minute. Why isn't that enough?"

Aang looks thoughtful. "There was an airbending guru who lived thousands of years ago," he muses, scratching at his chin, "called Laghima –"

"I don't want to hear what some old gasbag had to say – "

"- who was able to unlock the highest ability of airbending," Aang continues his story, heedless of Toph's exasperated protests. "He conquered gravity itself and learned how to fly. No one in recent memory has been able to do it."

"Why?" Katara asks, frowning. "Did he keep it a secret?"

Aang shakes his head. "No. He wrote a poem about it, explaining exactly how he did it."

"Did the poem get lost?" Zuko asks, his interest piqued reluctantly in spite of his reservations.

Aang shakes his head. "No. We know how it goes." He clears his throat and begins to recite. "Let go your earthly tether. Enter the void. Empty and become wind."

His words echo in the morning air.

"What does that even mean?" Toph scoffs.

But now it is Zuko who speaks up, in that same breathy voice of realization. "It means that you have to let go," and his voice quivers with something that Katara can't quite place, a darkness, a weight that she doesn't fully understand, "you have to surrender. Whatever it is that holds you back, whatever it is you're running away from. Whatever it is that you can't let go." He swallows. "Pride, resentment, shame…"

"Hatred," Katara takes up his list and adds to it with her own. "Anger. Loss."

"Prejudice," Aang confesses, and the rest of them look at him in surprise. "Isolation. Responsibility."

There is so much I don't know about him, Katara thinks to herself, watching the young monk with appraising eyes. What is he running away from?

And then Toph closes her eyes. "Control," she whispers. "Fear. Loneliness."

Katara places a hand on the girl's shoulder, and feels her tough facade of control start to give way. "It would feel good to let all that go," she suggests tentatively, "wouldn't it?"

"It would," Toph agrees remotely. "Except I don't know if I can do it. I don't know if I can go back to being cut off again. To being all alone."

"But you won't be alone this time," Katara promises, her voice quiet but rock steady. "We'll be with you, every step of the way."

"None of us will be alone!" Aang declares, grabbing one of Toph's hands with both of his own. He faces her, then Katara, then Zuko, his grey eyes shining bright. "As long as we've got each other, we'll get through this. As long as we're here, we're safe."

"If we do this, we'll be unstoppable," Toph realizes finally, and she tilts her head up to face them. "No one would stand a chance against us. Not my parents, not the army generals, not even those Dai Li bastards trying to off your family, Sparky."

The three of them look at Zuko expectantly. His face is carefully expressionless. "We'll do it, then," he acquiesces, finally, in his low gravelly voice, "whatever it takes. If it means being the best – whatever it takes to be the best – we'll do it."

"Together," Aang proclaims, holding a hand out. "We'll face it together."

"We'll be the best Avatar in the history of the world," Toph asserts, thrusting her hand out as well.

"And anyone who gets in our way," Katara states, placing Toph's hand on top of Aang's and covering it with her own, "anyone who tries to stop us –"

" – will be sorry they ever crossed us," Zuko finishes, a ringing finality in his voice as he puts his hand on top of Katara's.

A jolt runs through her spine at the gesture, but she holds his gaze nonetheless.

He really does have striking eyes, she notes to herself. Even with the scar.

And when his eyes linger on her and the faintest flush dusts his pale face, something like a knot winds itself in the pit of her stomach, and –

Oh. She looks away, and so does he.

Perhaps it's hope. Perhaps it's something more.

"I see you have come to an agreement, then?" calls out General Iroh's voice, as he returns to the clearing where they are all sitting in a circle, their hands stacked one on top of the other in an unmistakable gesture of unity.

"We have," Aang answers, withdrawing his hand from the circle.

"We'll do what you say, Uncle," Zuko replies steadily, but he is quick to remove his hand from the circle also, as though he's been burned. "We'll stop bending until you're satisfied with our progress in your lessons."

General Iroh's face breaks into a heartfelt smile. "All of you?"

"All of us," Katara speaks up, holding Toph by the arms as she helps her to her feet. The blind earthbender moves without her usual confidence but is not ungainly on her feet either. "We'll commit to the spiritual training and discipline you think we need."

"Excellent," General Iroh breathes, clapping his hands together in pride. "If you apply the same dedication to my lessons as you do to your bending, I am certain that you will not have to suffer for too long."

He steps up to right in front of Toph, where she stands clutching at Katara's arm, her sightless eyes far-off and slack.

"I am proud of you for taking this step, Sifu Toph," he says to her quietly. "I realize it cannot have been an easy decision for you. All I can say is that your courage and dedication will pay off in due course."

"Great!" Toph exclaims, her voice a little too bright. "Then let's get to work, Grandpa!"

To emphasize her point, she outstretches her hands in a gesture of enthusiasm. With the lack of her seismic sense and ability to judge distance, however, she ends up smacking the General right in the face with the back of her hand.

Katara presses a fist into her mouth, to stop herself from giggling at the angelic look on Toph's face and the utter exasperation on General Iroh's face giving way to resignation.

"Whoops," Toph apologizes innocently, but there is a wickedly mirthful gleam in her sightless eyes. "Sorry, Grandpa, it was an accident! That would never have happened if I could see…"

"Surprise, surprise," Jun mutters to herself, bringing Nyla to a halt with a motion of her knees. "Of course we'd end up here."

The ornate Cultural Center of Ba Sing Se, formerly the Imperial Earth Kingdom Royal Palace, looms before her in all of its tall, imposing glory.

"Well, I guess I'd better go in and take a look around," she sighs, sliding off the shirshu's back in one fluid, practiced motion. "You stay put, Nyla."

To emphasize her point, she reaches into the satchel swinging from her side, pulls out a strip of dried meat, and tosses it at Nyla's head.

The shirshu tosses its head and leaps to catch the morsel of food in its mouth, snapping as it chews appreciately.

"Good girl," Jun comments, running a hand through Nyla's stringy mane. "I'll be back."

Nyla sits back on her haunches as Jun crosses the length of the courtyard, approaching the stately palace entrance.

Come on, she thinks to herself, eying the palace guards in their dark green uniforms and conical hats with some wariness. I'm right here. Send someone in to stop me, why don't you?

As though on cue, a dark-haired woman wearing a bright, placid smile emerges from the doorway to meet her.

"Hello! Welcome to the Ba Sing Se Cultural Center, home to the ongoing mission to preserve our great city's cultural heritage!" The woman bows deeply. "My name is Joo Dee. How can I help you today?"

Great. Another Dai Li mouthpiece bureaucrat, Jun thinks to herself, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

Instead, she forces herself to return the woman's smile, albeit with a little less enthusiasm.

"Thank you, Joo Dee," Jun says politely. "I had a few questions about an artifact that was delivered to me. I believe it to have originated from the palace. Would you – "

"Cultural center," Joo Dee interrupts her delicately, shaking her head as though admonishing a small child.

Jun blinks.

"Excuse me?" she asks, a small furrow appearing in her forehead.

"You said palace," Joo Dee corrects in a singsong voice, her bright smile unwavering. "The Ba Sing Se Cultural Center is not a palace. It is a cultural center."

Jun pauses for a moment, sizing up the earnest bureaucrat and wondering how far across the courtyard she could throw her.

"My mistake," Jun says in a voice of forced calm instead. "Cultural center, then. As I was saying, I believe I have in my possession an important artifact originating from this...cultural center." Spirits, that sounds stupid, she thinks to herself vehemently, before continuing smoothly. "Would you be able to direct me to someone to help me learn more about –"

"All property originating from the Cultural Center is property of the city and its cultural stewards, the Dai Li," Joo Dee interrupts again, her smile widening. "As such, the item in your possession cannot be an artifact from our center, unless it was stolen."

"That's exactly what I'm trying to figure out," Jun insists, adding an extra layer of sweetness under the knife thrust tone of her voice. "Whether this artifact was – stolen – or not."

"It is impossible to steal from the Cultural Center of Ba Sing Se," Joo Dee states, sounding as though she is reciting from a very boring manual. "Our security is second to none."

"I'm not saying it was stolen," Jun says, with the last shred of her patience. "I'm saying that I would appreciate a chance to sit down with a cultural agent to examine this item in question and discuss its history – cultural or otherwise."

She steps forward, until she is nose-to-nose with the blithe bureaucrat, her own form towering above hers.

"Do you think you could arrange that for me, Joo Dee?" Jun asks, flashing her a very dangerous smile. "I'm sure it would be well worth your while."

For a moment, Jun thinks she sees something flicker in Joo Dee's blank eyes. Apprehension, perhaps. Maybe even fear.

Then –

Joo Dee lets out a nervous laugh.

"Well, of course I can! Why didn't you say so to begin with? Right this way, then…"

"Breathe first."

Iroh paces back and forth at the front of the clearing, thinking hard.

It is the next morning. The four young benders sit side-by-side in a row before him. They are straight-backed and attentive, their faces calm even if their eyes are not.

They will learn soon enough, Iroh thinks to himself.

At his instruction, the four of them begin to breathe, slow deep breaths, rustling quietly in the still morning air.

"Close your eyes and focus on your breath."

Sifu Aang is a picture of tranquility. With his orange attire, shaved head, and bright blue tattoos, he appears to be quite at home during the meditations.

He shifts his attention over to Sifu Katara. A force to be reckoned with, his nephew had called her, and Iroh does not doubt that assessment. He has only ever witnessed the calm side of her, but he has seen the wheels turn behind those deceptively calm blue eyes and he knows that there is a storm brewing there.

"Sifu Katara, relax your shoulders," he instructs, stopping by her and touching a hand to her left shoulder. "The breath should collect into the stomach. Out, when you breathe in. In, when you breathe out. The shoulders should not move."

Katara nods wordlessly and applies the correction.

Iroh nods and walks on.

Sifu Toph had been the most challenging disciple of them all. Given her temperament, consistent with most of the great earthbenders he's met over the course of his lifetime, he is surprised that she's agreed to his lessons at all. But he remembers the first time he ever met her, as a runaway back near the hills of Gaoling. As barely more than a child, stubborn and precocious and so very fragile.

"Straighten your back, Sifu Toph." He places a hand where Toph's back curves outward.

"My back hurts," Toph complains, but she sits up straighter nonetheless.

Iroh lets out a chuckle. "It will get easier," he assures her, before moving on.

His nephew, Prince Zuko, has come a long way. Though Iroh remembers the fiery personality he had when younger, he also knows that nobody works harder than Prince Zuko.

Time and time again, that has been overlooked. That is probably to his benefit, in ways he still does not recognize. Motivation, talent, ambition, desire – these are weak, fleeting, insubstantial things upon which to build a foundation. But discipline is strong. Discipline is powerful. Discipline endures where all else crumbles.

"You are holding too much tension in your neck, Prince Zuko." He prods at the muscles, tight on the sides of Zuko's neck. "Let it go."

Zuko appears momentarily perplexed, before he complies.

Good.

Iroh walks back to his spot at the front of the clearing, satisfied.

"You are doing well. When at last you feel comfortable, I invite you to shift your focus from the breath to the body." Iroh pauses, watching carefully. "Pay attention to the way it carries you, holds you. When was the last time you thought about it? Where do you ache? Where do you hurt? Where do you carry your tension?"

As he speaks, he sees the slight movements, the little corrections that they make in response to his words. Toph's scrunched-up face begins to loosen. Aang's head droops forward a little. Katara's jaw unclenches. Zuko's fingers relax.

"Think about all the discomfort you carry," Iroh continues, beginning to pace again. "Think of all the worldly burdens you have placed upon yourself, willing or unwilling. Focus upon each and every one of them."

He tries not to pay too much attention to the shifts in expression taking place on each of their faces. It is not his business to guess what's behind them, what causes them.

"Think about your past. All the events or things that have gone by, but still weigh down on you."

He pauses, waiting for the words to sink in.

"Concentrate on your fears. What are you afraid of? What scares you? What are you trying to escape?"

Toph tries to keep her breathing steady, all while General Iroh's soft voice echoes in the air.

What are you afraid of, he'd asked.

She fights an outward snort at that.

What am I afraid of?

Nothing was the easy answer. The answer everyone expected from her. Tough Toph, omniscient and invulnerable. That was how everyone knew her here.

Here, everyone thinks twice before crossing her. People are afraid of her. Hell, people know they can't even lie to her.

Here, she's powerful. It's the first time she's ever felt that way.

Here is the only place she's ever felt free. Accepted. Like she belongs, like she isn't a burden, like she has something to give.

After a childhood spent in cages – of darkness, obligation, duty, love – she'd only ever dreamed of a place like this. That one day, her earthbending would speak for itself and her blindness would just be a footnote.

So what am I afraid of?

Her nightmare comes easily to mind.

"What are you trying to escape?" General Iroh asks, pacing somewhere in front of her.

Home, Toph thinks instinctively. Dad. Mom. My room.

All the cages she's left behind.

Running away from your fears doesn't set you free, Katara had declared. And maybe she's right.

But how on earth do you confront a cage? You can't reason with it, or trick it, or convince it to stop being a cage. All you can do is break it down, and frankly, Dad's rich enough to build a new one to replace it.

"We all have our demons," General Iroh speaks again, at length. "Spirits of things long past that haunt our steps and weigh us down. We grow used to them, we build walls around ourselves in fact, because it is easier to adapt than it is to confront them."

Easy for you to say, Toph thinks quickly. You've never had to confront Dad.

She has never doubted her father's love for her. She supposes, underneath all the resentment, perhaps she loves him too. Maybe even misses him.

But she'd sooner die than have to go back and live under his roof. Under his rule.

The thought is not exactly a happy one. Nor is it a new one. But it brings clarity to a heavy cloud of thought that she usually tries not to think about, and surprisingly, it makes her feel a little better.

"And so," General Iroh recites, his voice punctuating her thoughts, "we wade in the waters of life with anchors tied to our feet, never knowing that with each step we are drowning."

Drowning.

That is exactly how Katara has felt, every day since she and Sokka were taken from their homes so many years ago. Since everything that had happened in the colonial school. Since Sokka had run away.

Event after event, one by one, weighing her down, suffocating her, threatening to break her if she was anything less than strong.

"But by doing so, we cut ourselves off," she hears the Crown Prince continue in measured tones, and she fixates on the sound of his voice, letting it calm her. "From the world, from each other. From ourselves and all that we can be."

She thinks of how much of herself she has lost. How much she's given up in order to stay strong and survive. The Fire Empire had done much more than destroy her family and her home. It had turned her into a bitter, vengeful, remorseless creature, heedless of the damage she caused.

And as she's come to learn, dividing the world into absolutes – us and them, right and wrong, good and evil – was exhausting work.

"Think of what you have done in the past," Iroh intones. "What are you ashamed of? What do you regret?"

Now that's a loaded question.

Chan's battered and broken form, feebly stirring on the ground as she attacked him, easily comes to mind.

It's amazing how clear the image remains in her mind. Even after everything that came afterward – her reflections, her attempts to reconcile and atone – she just has to summon the thought and she returns back there.

She remembers the sound of his taunting voice and she lives it all over again. The coolness of the water, pliant in her grasp. The sudden, vicious coursing of hot wrath flooding her veins, tightening her stomach, filling her with the need to kill. The echo of his screams and his flagging pulse in her ears as she incapacitated and tried to drown him from the inside out, breaking everything in her path until…

Until what?

Until he died, she recalls, her mouth going dry. I was going to kill him.

It should have been a dispassionate thought. The way she thinks about her other victims. Chan would not have been the first person she killed and, knowing the way the firebenders worked, he wouldn't have been the last either.

So why, then, does the thought of that day fill her with trepidation and shame?

"And how much of your shame is borne out of something you did out of fear?" General Iroh continues to probe abstractly, as though he is unaware that Katara suspects him of being able to read her mind. "Desperation? Ignorance?"

She feels herself frowning as she considers Iroh's words.

Chan had never scared her. The thought was laughable.

And she doesn't regret attacking him, even though she's long since recognized that doing so was wrong.

Then what do I regret?

She remembers pummeling his weakening body, forcing the water into him as he'd lain there, unable to fight back. She remembers feeling like an animal.

It is painful to realize that she too, is capable of such savagery.

I don't regret fighting him. I don't regret lashing out. But I do regret how far I went. I didn't have to do that. He had already learned his lesson.

Was it fear or desperation that drove her to do it? She still isn't sure. But either sounds like a better explanation than it simply being in her nature to do so.

I'd like to think I'm better than that.

"Would you have done differently if you had known to be true to yourself?" General Iroh questions. "If your actions reflected all the potential you have in you?"

To be true to myself. What does that even mean?

Katara envisions a world where being true to herself is not a choice between anonymity and a target on her back. Where being a waterbender is not a curse or an invitation for humiliation or worse. Where being from the Water Tribes was irrelevant.

I've spent so much time looking over my shoulder, to watch my back. I've forgotten how to look forward.

And the frustrating bit is that she still doesn't know if that would have made her rethink her barbaric attack on Chan. There is no easy answer there.

"Life is long and life is hard," General Iroh says. "Even the most spiritually balanced person can be bested by any surprise that life has in store. Every day, we fight battles. Some end in victory, others defeat. That is the way of things." He sighs. "But it is in our nature to question our losses. And so we get caught up in them and lose sight of the end. We get lost in asking ourselves how and why and what if and in so doing, we become small."

Small.

Zuko cannot remember a time when he felt any other way. Even before he left home, he remembers feeling diminutive and worthless.

"We forget that we are only humble servants on this great earth. Instead, we believe ourselves commanders, leaders." Uncle Iroh's booming voice strengthens with each word. "And in our arrogance, we do not accept our losses. Instead, we grieve for them." He pauses for a moment, and when he resumes speaking, his voice is somewhat gentler. "Reflect upon that. Consider a time in your past, or several, when you failed. Where you lost yourself grieving over your failure. Or something that was outside your control. Over something that was bigger than you."

Zuko fights the urge to scoff.

His whole life has been spent doing just that. The burden of being born into the royal family, and all of the political overtures it entailed.

But grief…it is as familiar to him as an old friend but at times, he has trouble recognizing it.

He remembers feeling the first pangs when Azula had bent her first flame, at a mere three years old. It was blue.

Zuko still couldn't firebend by then.

Later still, when he was ten and being presented to the court, his grandfather called upon him to demonstrate a sampling of his prowess. He'd rehearsed the movements day in and day out, driven by the thirst to prove himself, against his uncle's warnings to wait, that he wasn't ready.

I had to do it before Azula, he recalls, stillness settling over him like a shroud. She beat me at everything and I was the older one. I couldn't wait. Azula was being presented the next day. Nothing else mattered to me except debuting before Azula.

He tripped on his first motion, set fire to the canopy framing Emperor Azulon's throne, and was laughed out of the courtroom.

Azula debuted the day after him, the youngest member of the royal family to ever do so. His father had stayed up with her, perfecting her firebending routine into the late night.

She was flawless. His father was proud. He was a joke. His father liked to pretend he didn't exist.

He always thought it was jealousy that drove his actions over the next few years, lashing out harder and harder, trying to get his father's attention. To get a chance for his father to smile at him, the way he did at Azula.

Maybe that was what drove him to speak out at that one fateful meeting.

But as he lay in the healing wing in the weeks that came after, and his father didn't visit him, not once, the feeling that overwhelmed him wasn't anything new.

My father never loved me. He couldn't afford to. In the royal family, power is more important than love. I was weak and he had to cut me loose.

He has spent his whole life trying to digest this painful truth and he still can't.

"What did you focus on?" Uncle Iroh presses. "And what did it make you think of yourself?"

What did I focus on?

All the things he hated about himself. All the things his father hated about him.

His lack of talent. Ambition. Drive. All wrapped up in the angry red scar blooming across his face. The scar he wears as a mark of the unwanted. The unfit prince.

And when that became too much to bear, he turned his despair into fury.

Fury at his father for discarding him so easily. At his sister for her lack of scruples. At the court for overlooking him at such a young age.

And he channeled that fury into his lessons, into his firebending, until his uncle pronounced himself satisfied with his progress.

Slowly, over time, that fury cooled to a vague ideal of redemption.

When I go back, he'd thought, my father will welcome me. He will have realized the error of his ways, and will consider me worthy of being his son.

Maybe that was why he had jumped at the chance when he found out that Mai was interested in him. Having a girlfriend was a welcome distraction from the emotional turmoil plaguing his thoughts. But importantly, she came from a good family. If she could accept him, maybe his father could too.

And perhaps more importantly, she had been a friend of Azula's. She'd been one of Azula's childhood friends, her and Ty Lee. When Azula learned that her friend Mai had done the unthinkable and fallen in love with her estranged, good-for-nothing brother, she had flown into a most impressive rage. He caught Mai quietly burning the letter Azula had sent her in response. They never spoke to each other again. Because of him.

Being with Mai had felt a little bit like stealing from Azula. And after all she'd taken from him during their childhood, it felt like revenge.

Thinking about it now makes his skin crawl.

"Did any of it ever make you feel better?" Uncle Iroh asks. Zuko hears the rueful smile on his face. "I would guess not."

Half a life spent in agony and bitterness and self-loathing has made Zuko feel worthless. Cheap. Weak. The fruit of his father's influence evident in the way Zuko thinks about himself.

And he doesn't know how to change that without lying to himself.

There is no denying that in comparison to the rest of his family, he is mediocre and powerless and completely without influence. That is not his treacherous inner voice whispering to him, that is a fact.

And there is no denying that this troubles him to the core.

And unless he can somehow convince himself to turn his back on his family and his identity, that will remain a constant thorn in his side.

Zuko is stuck.

"We spend so much of our time wrapped up in winning and losing that we forget about the importance of learning," Uncle Iroh states heavily. There is a faint rustling, as he resumes his pacing. "In each loss, there is a lesson to be learned, and in that lesson, a seed to future victories."

"But such lessons require introspection and time, and it is much more attractive to appear infallible. Or so we have taught ourselves."

Infallible. Aang is familiar with the word.

His childhood, spent up high in a temple atop the mountains. His mentors, the wise monks of the Council of Elders. His companions, a homogenous compilation of acolytes and sky bison and lemurs.

It was easy to believe in your own superiority when everyone looked and talked and believed the same as you.

We the Air Nomads are apart from it all, Elder Monk Tashi had taught them, in one of Aang's earliest lessons. We are set apart because we are better. The other nations are petty, greedy, driven by their lust and attachment to worldly things. We were put on this earth to show them a better way.

Then why don't we befriend them? Aang remembers asking, his curiosity piqued long before his concern. Wouldn't it be easier to show them a better way if we were friends?

Tashi had laughed at that, and patted him affectionately on the head.

You do not befriend a baby moose-lion, no matter how harmless it looks, he'd replied. Your first responsibility is to yourself. You cannot teach civilization to an animal. It is inherently savage. All you can do is wait for a better time.

And so the Air Nomads thought, and isolated themselves behind their walls atop the mountains and far-flung places.

Except it wasn't true.

We trade with the Fire Empire, Aang pointed out a little while later. And with the Water Tribes. If they're so uncivilized, why do we need them?

Tashi had respond with a giant harrumph.

Because even we require sustenance, he answered grudgingly. Believe me, if we could get by without the likes of them, we would do it in a heartbeat. But even the most savage animal has a purpose on this earth.

What a glorious lie, Aang reflects with no small degree of uncertainty. It was grand in its dismissiveness, its willful ignorance and dissonance.

"Thus, we lie about ourselves, who we are, what we're like, in order to appear powerful," General Iroh resumes. "And in so doing, we weaken ourselves."

Monk Gyatso had said just as much. Sometimes, General Iroh reminds Aang a lot of Gyatso.

There is strength in difference, Aang, he told him during one of their long games of pai sho. Monk Gyatso had always appeared older than his years and during some of their later conversations, Aang thought he understood why. But there is also fear.

Aang never understood why difference scared the monks. His questions troubled the Elders.

There is a time to ask questions, Aang, High Monk Pasang instructed him during a Council intervention. And a time to be silent, for the sake of the peace. You are stirring up trouble with your ideas.

What is the point of peace, Aang had countered, a stubborn boy newly turned twelve, if you can't say what you want?

"Think about your understanding of truth," General Iroh instructs. "How much of it has been taught to you? How much of it have you discovered for yourself? And how much of it differs, one from the other? How can you tell which is true and which is a lie? When others lie to you, how can you tell? When you lie to yourself, how do you know?"

But after spending time in the heart of the Fire Nation, among their army, Aang thinks he understands more.

At their core, the soldiers of the Fire Nation aren't that different from the monks of the Air Temple, he wrote to Gyatso a short while after arriving with General Iroh. They believe that their way is the right way. They believe that they are the ones civilizing the earth. But their way is so different from ours.

Maybe that was why Tashi and the rest of the Elders feared the outside world. Because it would mean that they, the Air Nomads, were no longer special. They were no longer exceptional.

Maybe thinking it was blasphemous, but it is a realization that Aang has never had to fight. It is only of the only facts he knows in his heart to be true.

"People will tell you that deep down, the heart always knows the truth. Perhaps it is so," General Iroh lectures, his voice growing skeptical. "But even the heart has hopes and dreams of its own, does it not? Even the heart can lead you astray."

Violence is the way of the animal, Gyatso had written back. We must teach them to be something more. That is our duty and our curse as Air Nomads.

And so Aang had believed in the righteousness of the Air Nomads, even if he didn't fully accept their doctrines entirely.

That is, until a troubled girl from the Water Tribes wandered into his life and dashed all of his preconceived notions with a cold splash of water.

People are going to die, she had accused, the truth staring at him in the face as obvious as his efforts to deny it, and whether you strike the killing blow or not, it'll be because of you. What do your monks have to say about that?

What did the monks have to say about that?

The 'violence of inaction', as you so put it, is not the same as the 'violence of action', High Monk Pasang had written back to him witheringly. The burden of responsibility has shifted. It is not your duty to step into a pack of ravening wolves and stop them from ripping each other to shreds. As ever, we remain above such things.

Then why do you send Air Nomads to fight for the Empire when they come asking? Aang had returned, a new panic gripping him. I thought we were above such quarrels.

We are, Pasang had answered. But one does not invite the hordes of hungry wolves to our doorstep. We do what little we can to safeguard the peace.

Even a monk can sell his scruples, Aang had learned that day with a heavy heart.

"No, the search for truth in the world is about as challenging as the search for truth in yourself," General Iroh resumes. "And you cannot hope to understand the world, messy and chaotic as it is, until you first understand yourself. Who are you? What do you want?"

Aang wants to live in a world where the truth is consistent. Where believing in the good of people is not a dangerous thought.

But the Fire Nation has built an empire on the myth of the inferiority of other nations, and to his growing dismay, the Air Nomads have done no differently.

The only difference is the use of violence to achieve those ends and now, Aang is not sure whether the Air Nomads' diligent observance of nonviolence has been kinder.

If we'd gotten involved sooner, he wrote to Gyatso most recently, his troubled mind keeping him awake into the small hours of the night, if we had a relationship with the Fire Emperor and spent the time instructing those people at court, maybe they would have known better. Maybe they would not have been so destructive with the Water Tribes. Maybe my friend would still have a home and a family.

Perhaps, Gyatso had written back, kindly. Gyatso had always seen the world with clear eyes. Gyatso had been the one who recommended him to join the army and participate in General Iroh's project. But there is no way to know for sure. They could just have easily have ignored us too.

"But this is not something that can be achieved in a day. In fact, this is not something that may ever be achieved in a lifetime," General Iroh concludes. "Truth is not a locked door and spiritual discipline is not a key. As always, the answer is within you. Meditation is only a light that can illuminate the path ahead and help you find it."

There is no point in focusing on what might have been, Aang, Gyatso continued in his most recent letter. You must strengthen your heart and your resolve for the days ahead of us. For the peace is unsteady and the Council of Elders has noticed. They are making plans for the days to come. You must be ready.

General Iroh takes a deep breath.

"When you are done reflecting upon all this," he commands, "you may in time open your eyes."

"How do you feel?" General Iroh asks with a faint smile. "Calm? Restored? More confused than ever?"

"Is it possible to say all of the above?" Zuko mutters, rubbing at his eyes with a fist.

General Iroh beams at his nephew.

"If you were listening to what I was saying," he says kindly, "you know my answer is yes."

"It could have been worse," Aang mutters to himself. "At least there was no onion and banana juice."

"But…" Katara objects hesitantly, "I thought this was supposed to help us become stronger. Confront our fears and our weaknesses. But all we did was –"

She trails off, shrugging.

"All we did was think about old stuff," Toph complains, taking up where Katara left off. She crosses her arms. "You just spouted a load of waffle without actually telling us how to do anything about it."

General Iroh chuckles.

"Before going into battle," he explains, "do you rely on the vague accounts of others when it comes to understanding your foe? Or do you study your enemy closely, learn everything you can about them, so that when the time comes to face them, they are less than the reputation that preceded them?"

He scans the four hapless students in front them, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his nondescript brown robe.

"It is not so different from what we have done today. When you think of all the burdens you carry with you, your first reaction is to shut down. To run away. To let the problems intensify until they seem bigger than anything you can face. Today, I sought to change that. Today, you deconstructed your demons one by one, separated the facts from the fictions you built." He holds his palms out helplessly. "It would be irresponsible of me to suggest to you that you could relieve yourself of all burdens just by meditating for a day. As I said earlier, this is a tool to a lifelong practice. In time, you will learn how. It is not for me to teach you how to conquer yourself. That, you will learn to do on your own."

"And what about our bending?" Aang asks, somewhat boldly. His pale face is flushed. "When do you think we'll be able to bend again?"

General Iroh eyes him appraisingly for a moment. He raises a hand to stroke his beard in thought.

"A fortnight," he says at last. "Provided you show up every day and follow my guidance without fail."

"That's not so bad," Aang concedes, looking around at the others. Zuko and Toph nod in reluctant agreement.

Katara has other concerns.

"You mean I can't heal for two weeks?" she demands. "Wouldn't that be putting Chan back into danger?"

"Healer Jia tells me that Chan has regained consciousness," General Iroh tells her kindly, "and that much of the damage in his lungs has been healed. She assured me that she would be able to treat him and keep him stable while you embark in this exercise."

Katara appears doubtful.

"She promised that if he was to demonstrate a sudden decline in health, she would send for you immediately," Iroh continues. "And if that was the case, I would not object if you had to use your bending in such an emergency. Does that sound fair to you, Sifu Katara?"

She nods, apparently satisfied.

"But how is this supposed to make our bending stronger?" Toph queries, still unconvinced. "I mean, it's very nice of you, trying to solve all my problems and stuff, but we're here to bend. I still don't see the relevance."

"Don't worry, Sifu Toph," General Iroh assures her. "Soon enough, you will."

He squints, glancing at the position of the sun in the sky, and claps his hands together.

"Can you believe that it is already lunchtime? Go, feed yourselves, take a break, and return back here in one hour. Thanks to music night tonight, we have a shorter afternoon than usual –"

"Music night?" Toph echoes suspiciously, narrowing her eyes.

Beside her, Zuko claps a palm to his face, muffling a sound that sounds suspiciously like a groan.

"Yes, Sifu Toph. Music night," Iroh elaborates, and there isn't an ounce of humour in his expression now. "It is a tradition I take very seriously, and it is compulsory for everyone, including you. So take your break and hurry back here on time, because we are on a tight schedule and I have a great deal to teach you about the chakras…"

"…on top of that, it sounds stupid, do we really have to go?"

It is late in the evening and the sun has disappeared below the horizon. The sky is lit with bands of brilliant orange and pink and pale blue in its wake, but overhead, the stars begin to twinkle as one by one they flit into appearance.

Katara barely has time to appreciate them as she traverses the well-worn path from her quarters to the canteen's front lawn, one hand clenched into a fist at her side, the other wrapped firmly around Toph's wrist. Her bone flute, unearthed from the bottom of her satchel, is tucked into her belt almost as an afterthought.

"General's orders, Toph," she says briskly, leading the blind earthbender along the walkway. "Music night is compulsory, after all."

She is fairly certain that even without her seismic sense, Toph could still navigate her way through the campsite as well as anyone else there. But better safe than sorry, and orders were orders, and if it weren't for her insistence, the girl probably would still be bending at this moment.

So, she feels some small measure of responsibility.

Small.

"Music night," Toph sniffs disdainfully, rubbing beneath her nose with her free hand. "What the heck am I supposed to do there? I can't play anything if I can't see!"

"Maybe he expects you to sing," Katara suggests, her voice uncharacteristically mischievous. "With that lovely voice of yours."

She smirks at the look of utter horror that crosses Toph's face, as they round the bend and the evening bonfire roars into view.

"If that loopy old man thinks that he's going to get me to sing," Toph vows darkly, "it will be the last thing he ever hears -"

"Whoa, careful –" Katara grabs Toph by the shoulders and halts her in her tracks, preventing her from walking straight into Mai.

"Sorry about that," Katara says apologetically as Mai turns her head imperiously to face the two of them, an eyebrow raised fractionally. "She – couldn't see you," she finishes rather lamely.

"That's usually the case, I thought," Mai answers, her unsettlingly pale eyes scanning over the two of them coolly.

"Yeah well," Toph speaks up brashly, her face turned roughly in the direction of where Mai's voice comes from, "we're working with some new orders now. You can take it up with Grandpa if you have a problem with it."

Mai's eyebrow raises even higher. "I don't understand," she says flatly.

"Don't worry about it," Katara says quickly, awkwardly, feeling incredibly and increasingly uncomfortable in Mai's presence. "I'm keeping an eye on her –"

"I wasn't worried," Mai says slowly, her pale eyes meeting Katara's blue ones freely.

Katara blinks. "My mistake," she answers steadily. She swallows, clearing the lump in her throat that she didn't realize was there until it disappears. "Of course you weren't."

"Of course," Mai echoes, and she looks away. There is a plaintive little smile playing across her thin lips. "After all, I'm not like you."

Katara frowns at the undisguised scorn in Mai's voice. "What's that supposed to mean?" she parries, only a little defensive.

The smile on Mai's face widens fractionally as she returns her gaze, and the effect is more unsettling than it is reassuring. "It means," she emphasizes slowly, "that I'm not like you."

She gives Katara a lingering once-over, her gaze somehow contemptuous and wistful at the same time, before she turns on her heel and walks away.

Katara lets out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "What the hell was that all about?" she splutters, indignation overwhelming her. "What did I ever do to that girl? Spirits, I swear she hates me or something!"

"Nah," Toph dismisses Katara's outburst with a serene wave of her hand. "Looks more like jealousy to me."

"Jealous?" Katara lets out a bark of laughter. "Her? Of me? That's crazy! What makes you say that? She has everything. And I'm –"

Just a nobody, she finishes quietly.

Toph lets out a sigh. "Sometimes, you're blinder than I am, Sweetness," she observes, shaking her head.

"How am I blind? I don't get it. Am I missing something?" Katara complains. "You're so candid with everything else, Toph, don't hold out on me now."

Toph pats Katara on the shoulder, a strangely comforting gesture. "Don't worry about it, Sweetness." She leans her head against Katara's arm. "It's not that big a deal anyway

But Katara remains unsatisfied. "How about you tell me, and I can decide for myself if it's a big deal or not –

"Sifu Katara! Sifu Toph!" booms General Iroh's voice over the din. Katara stops midsentence as the Crown Prince approaches them. He is dressed in red velvet trimmed with gold brocade, but wears his plain brown cloak over top. Tucked against his left arm is a giant brass horn. A few paces behind him stand Zuko and Aang. "We've been waiting for you! Come, sit – is that a flute I see, Katara? Excellent, excellent…"

Zuko's head hurts.

For the last hour, he's been sitting dutifully at his uncle's side, watching the evening bonfire roar, stomaching the cacophony of discordant instruments warming up in anticipation of one of General Iroh's music nights.

Uncle Iroh alternates between blowing a deep, melancholy dirge on the brass tsungi horn and belting out raucous love ballads in his warbling voice. Next to him, Aang beats at an animal-skin drum with a pair of mallets, striking up an impressive rhythm that only slightly clashes with Uncle Iroh's voice.

It is no wonder that the insides of Zuko's head are fit to burst.

"Where are Katara and Toph?" Uncle Iroh inquires, looking around with a frown. "I told them to be here."

"Knowing Katara, she would have been here by now," Aang replies thoughtfully. "But she probably had to fight Toph tooth-and-nail to get here."

Zuko privately agrees, and when the pair of them turn up unannounced a quarter of an hour later, Katara's fingers are tight on Toph's wrist.

Guess Aang was right, Zuko notes inwardly, his eyes lingering on the waterbender against his better instincts. She's wearing the blue robe, as she always does, and even though it's only a few weeks old, it's already getting a little worn. She guides the blind earthbender carefully, attentively, and when Toph nearly walks into Mai, Katara is quick to pull her out of the way.

So dutiful, so loyal.

To his surprise, Mai doesn't walk away from them but instead lingers. He watches them exchange words – perhaps pleasantries, perhaps something more substantial? Mai is impassive as usual, Toph is defiant, Katara torn between politeness and confusion.

Something stirs in his gut as Mai glares at Katara in a way only he truly recognizes.

What is she telling them?

And when Mai turns her head away from Katara and toward him, her pale gaze catching his across the length of the lawn, her eyes are amused.

Zuko flinches. Mai's thin smile widens imperceptibly.

Then she turns back to face Katara, her posture a little straighter. She says something. Katara's face falls.

What does she want from me? And why is she taking it out on Katara?

Mai walks away, all triumph and poised confidence.

Zuko stands up.

"Where are you going?" Uncle Iroh inquires.

"Katara and Toph are here," he says, nodding his head toward where they stand at the periphery of the lawn. Katara appears indignant, Toph curiously nonchalant.

"They are?" Uncle Iroh's face lights up as he spots them. "Well spotted!" To Zuko's dismay, he too gets to his feet. "Quick, before Sifu Toph has a chance to run off again!"

Zuko lets his uncle lead, at risk of drawing attention or appearing too eager.

"Sifu Katara! Sifu Toph!" Uncle Iroh greets them warmly, still holding his tsungi horn awkwardly. "We've been waiting for you! Come…"

His uncle's words wash over him vaguely as Zuko studies Katara's face. She appears a little ashen, a little unnerved, but otherwise unperturbed. Toph on the other hand, is being uncharacteristically affectionate toward her, and that worries him.

He falls in step with the two girls as they follow Uncle Iroh back to where he is seated by the bonfire.

Katara gives him a small smile. Toph scrunches up her face at his approach. "Is that you, Sparky?" she asks, frowning.

"It is," Zuko answers, wondering if Toph is secretly still using her seismic sense, Uncle's instructions be damned. "How did you know?"

"You walk funny." She grins. "I can hear it."

"Oh." He wrestles with the next words brimming on his tongue. What did Mai say? Did she bother you? Did she threaten you?

But Katara, perceptive as ever, speaks first. "Are you okay?" she asks him, her face alert.

"I am," he replies, a little too quickly, a little too defensively. He trains his eyes on hers, willing himself to pick up on anything strange, anything at all. "Are you?"

Katara appears surprised by his query, and she opens her mouth to speak.

"Come on, Katara –" calls Aang, seated behind his drums, "we don't have all night!"

"Coming!" Katara calls back, and she glances tentatively at Zuko. "Sorry."

Zuko shakes his head. "It's okay. Go ahead."

She smiles at him apologetically, and turns to face Toph. "Toph, are you –"

"I'll stay here with Sparky," Toph tells her breezily. "You go have fun, Sugar Queen."

Katara glances at the two of them uncertainly. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," Toph sings, wrapping her hand around one of his. "Sparky isn't a singer. He can look after me, no problem."

"It's fine," Zuko mutters to Katara as she looks at him questioningly. "Don't worry about it."

"Well…" Katara trails off. "Okay, then."

"Katara!" Aang's voice calls again.

"I said I'm coming!" Katara barks in reply, before shaking her head. "Spirits. Thank you, Zuko. Toph, behave. I'll be back."

And she rushes off.

"Toph, behave," Toph imitates in a high-pitched voice, before she scowls. "I'm not a child and she's not my mother."

"There are worse things," Zuko points out, not unhelpfully.

"You're probably right. And hey, Sweetness is probably a better mom than mine ever was, so there's that."

Toph allows Zuko to lead her away from the bonfire, back to the periphery, where they are out of earshot.

"Toph," Zuko begins wearily once he's sure no one can overhear them. "What did Mai say to you guys?"

Toph suddenly appears very smug. "Oh, you noticed, did you?"

"Cut the crap," Zuko warns her in a low voice. "I'm not her. I don't buy the innocent, helpless blind girl act. What did Mai say?"

"I'm pretty sure she doesn't buy it either," Toph says leisurely, picking at the undersides of her fingernails. "But I think having someone to take care of calms her down –"

"Now you're avoiding the question," Zuko points out. His anxiety swells. "Was it that bad? Did she threaten you two or something?"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Sparky," Toph sighs, and that annoyingly smug look is back on her face. "Your ex-girlfriend is harmless. She just got in our faces a bit, said some stuff, and walked right off."

"Said some stuff like what?" Zuko demands suspiciously, his nerves on high alert. He remembers that look Mai sent him, knowing and triumphant and full of fire. "Toph, Mai has powerful family connections. I need to know if she's trying to target you or –"

"Oh, give it a rest, will you?" Toph yawns dismissively. "Target us? She knows just as well as you do who my parents are. She may be a governor's daughter but the Beifong name goes back a long way."

"Your parents don't know you're here, Toph," Zuko tells her quietly. "If you get on the wrong side of her, Mai might take it upon herself to change that."

"She'd do no such thing," Toph bristles. "Get on the wrong side of her? Who do you think you're talking about? She isn't some wily, scheming political grandmaster, Sparky. She's a just a girl who misses having her old boyfriend around. That's all. She's blowing a lot of hot air because she's jealous."

Her words hang in the air between them.

"Jealous," Zuko echoes, his voice cautious. "Why?"

Now Toph crosses her arms and gives him a piercing stare, made all the more unsettling because he knows she can't actually see him. "You tell me."

Zuko gapes at her. "I –"

He's suspected that Toph knows, or at least has guessed. He's even been bracing himself for an uncomfortable confrontation or two about it with her. But Toph, brash and bullish as she is, is also loyal to him, in her own way. He's never had to worry about her betraying his confidences – not to her roommate and certainly not to the wrong sort of people.

But Mai knowing – guessing – suspecting, probably – is another thing entirely. Mai is unscrupulous, with no great love for Katara and, of late, no great loyalty to him. Worse still, even before she was his girlfriend, she was a confidante of Azula's.

Suddenly, he is very worried.

"Whatever it is that you're figuring out, I don't really care," Toph continues, unaware of the mental struggle unfolding in Zuko's mind. "You like her, she likes you, who gives a shit? I don't. But other people are starting to notice, and maybe they do." Her voice drops, unusually gentle. "So be careful, Sparky."

His heartbeat pounds an echoing rhythm in his ears. Across from him, Toph appears concerned.

"Thanks for the warning," he says at last, his mouth dry. "I appreciate it, Toph."

In the past, he has never known where he stood with her. Not exactly. But as the blind earthbender inclines her head gruffly, it strikes him that perhaps this is it.

In this moment, they are friends.

"And – and what did you mean, she likes you?" he blurts out, the rest of Toph's words processing through his mind belatedly. "Do you know something or are you just jerking my chain?"

Toph's face splits into a wicked grin. "Sorry, Sparky. My lips are sealed."

"Oh, come on…"

After trying and failing for an hour to pry more from her, Zuko finally gives up. "You're the absolute worst, do you know that?"

"Yup," Toph replies, unscathed.

"I'm really wounded, you know. I thought we were friends. I thought we had an understanding."

"Of course we are and of course we do," Toph answers briskly. "The understanding is, 'No using our friendship to blackmail each other'. Works like a charm."

"I'm not blackmailing you," Zuko points out, his voice growing petulant. "I just think you're withholding valuable information, and you're more loyal than that.

Toph whistles. "Wow, Sparky. That's a low blow, coming from you. Are you sure you want to go there?" She bares her teeth in a feral grin.

Zuko reconsiders. "No," he admits. "No, I don't think I do."

"Attaboy," Toph says reassuringly. "Don't worry about it. If there's something to talk about…she'll talk about it."

"Will she, though?" Zuko sighs, his voice skeptical.

Toph shrugs. "I don't know. I'm not her." She shakes him by the shoulder roughly. "It could be worse. She could still hate you. At least she talks to you now. That's an improvement, don't you think?"

"You're right," Zuko agrees.

"Of course I'm right. Now stop pouting and get it together."

It is later into the night that Zuko spots his chance.

Ty Lee, stumbling out of the circle of dancers rotating by the great bonfire, joins them at the edge of the lawn.

"You guys have just been sitting out here the whole time?" she asks, bug-eyed. "You're missing out on all the fun!"

"I think we'll decide for ourselves what fun is, Circus Freak," Toph retorts with a grimace.

"If you want," Ty Lee concedes in a placating voice. "So according to you, what is fun?"

"Not that." Toph points at the scene before her: the roaring bonfire, the slightly out-of-tune band led by General Iroh's booming tsungi horn, the circles of dancers who are out of rhythm and out of sync with each other.

Chaos.

"Quit being such a wet blanket, Toph," Ty Lee pouts, jamming her hands on her hips. "You're too young to be such a granny."

Toph lets out a belly laugh at that. "Are you calling me an old lady, Circus Freak?"

"Why," Ty Lee flutters her eyelashes innocently, "why yes, I am. You're just going to have to prove me wrong, now."

Toph grits her teeth. "I don't have to prove anything to you."

"I get it," Ty Lee sings, a grin spreading over her face. "I do. It's okay, it must be hard to come and dance with everyone else when General Iroh's forbidden you to bend. I understand."

Zuko inhales slowly through his teeth as Toph's face mottles to an impressive shade of purple.

Challenge set.

"You're on," Toph growls, thrusting out a hand for Ty Lee to take. "Sparky, hold down the fort. I'll be back."

And challenge accepted, Zuko thinks to himself wryly as Ty Lee leads Toph into the dancers' circles.

His eyes wander back to where the band sits, on rows of benches piled up against the wall of the mess hall. His uncle is singing a ribald ballad about fireflies in spring. A couple of seats over, Aang and Katara are engaged in some sort of odd competition. They take turns: Aang pounding out an increasingly complicated rhythm on the drumskins, Katara responding with quickening trills of greater and greater complexity. Her eyes are closed in concentration and her fingers move over the carved holes deftly, and he watches the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathes in time to the music.

With some effort, he turns his gaze away, realizing he's been staring.

A flush jumps to his cheeks as he remembers Toph's earlier warning.

People are starting to notice.

He scans the crowd, spotting the subject of his concerns almost immediately.

Quietly, he moves to intercept her as she makes to leave the chaotic scene behind them. "Going somewhere?" he asks, his voice rasping quietly in the night.

Mai turns her head slowly, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. "I didn't think it'd be any of your concern," she replies coolly.

"Mai," he groans. "Just because I broke up with you doesn't mean I don't care."

She raises an eyebrow at that. "Is this the part," she asks as she turns to face him, her hair and red silks swishing soundlessly, "where you try to convince me that we can still be friends?"

She smirks.

Zuko is taken aback, but holds his ground nonetheless. "That's up to you," he says to her. "If you want."

A moment of silence descends upon them, punctuated only by the sounds from the band echoing behind them.

"Gee," Mai says sarcastically, crossing her arms across her chest. "That's a generous offer. But – no thanks."

Zuko is on edge now. In all the time that he has known Mai, he's been able to understand her. Her anger, her indignation, her listlessness, everything. But this new, detached condescension is strange to him. It unsettles him.

"I understand," he forces himself to say, feeling a sense of foreboding wash over him, as though he and her are both standing on the edge of a great big precipice and any wrong word could send them hurtling over.

"Do you?" Mai cocks her head to the side. "I don't think so."

Zuko swallows slowly. Her pale eyes are fixed on him. "I think I do," he offers, but worry starts to fray at the corners of his mind. "You don't owe me your friendship. I was the one who hurt you. If it's too hard, then –"

"I don't want to be friends, okay?" Mai cuts across him crisply. "Spare me your pity, I don't want it. I have my own friends now, I don't need you."

And there it is, the camelephant in the room. The thing that's been tickling his worries all night long.

"Your own friends," Zuko echoes, meeting her pale gaze with his own. It doesn't take a genius to guess her meaning. "Azula."

Mai doesn't reply.

Zuko can't verbalize why this worries him to the core. "You're in touch with her now, aren't you?" he ventures carefully, knowing that at any moment, he could set her off.

Mai tosses her head imperiously. "What does it matter to you?" she asks him scornfully.

"You said you were done with her," Zuko reminds her gently. "After you told her about us, you – you said you couldn't stay friends with her after what she said about you."

Mai's face is unreadable. "That was a long time ago," she says at length. "If things could change between you and me, I don't see why they couldn't for me and Azula. She's one of my oldest friends, you know."

"She insulted you." Zuko's voice is stronger now, disbelieving even to his ears. "And your family. She said that you had to choose, her or me, and –"

"I've made my choice," Mai says flatly, and her face is set. "Now I have to live with it, not you."

"Don't trust her," he warns. He doesn't mean for it to sound like a plea, but it does. "Don't –"

"Azula is my friend," Mai whispers, outraged. "Who are you to say otherwise?"

"I grew up with her, Mai. She's my sister." Zuko chances a step closer, willing her to listen. "I know her."

"You haven't seen her in years," Mai scoffs. "You don't know that anymore than I do."

"People don't change, Mai," Zuko insists wearily.

"Oh?" Mai steps up to him too. "They don't, do they? Then, I suppose you're always going to be a coward and a traitor. Azula is always going to be the stronger of the two of you. And keeping that in mind, I have to decide what is important to me in life."

He closes his eyes.

She won't listen.

"She uses everybody," he forces out at last. "Even if she's your friend. In the end, she'll use you too."

Mai glares at him and for a moment, he knows his words have struck a nerve.

"Go chase after that waterbender," she dismisses him witheringly. "And leave me alone."

She marches away without a second glance back.

Zuko closes his eyes and sighs.

But there is not much to reassure him.

If Mai knows, then sooner or later Azula will too.

Toph's voice echoes in his mind again.

Be careful, Sparky.

Zuko opens his eyes.

She's right after all. He's been careless.

In a time where members of the royal family are being picked off one by one, where alliances appear to be shifting and lines are being drawn in the sand, he cannot afford to have it known that he –

What? That you lust after a lowly waterbender? That you think about her all the time? That you've fallen so far for her that you have lost all sense of direction or purpose that doesn't lead back to her?

His heartbeat is steady in his chest.

Emperor Azulon could breathe his last breath any moment. Ozai sits by his side, consolidating support among his court. Azula is probably tapping any support she can gather to his side. Why else, after all this time, would she welcome Mai and her family back into the fold? Iroh and Lu Ten have the might of the military and the will of the people behind them. What do you have? You can't even bend lightning yet.

He's just a loose end that, eventually, would need to be tied off. And if he's lucky, his father or Azula would scarcely deem him worth the effort. The most he could expect would be a silent killer in the night, a blow to the heart while he slumbers.

Why anyone would bother with the effort to dig up slanderous material against him is beyond his understanding. Maybe it's his paranoia speaking, his overstated sense of self-importance. Maybe it's the years he spent living in the palace as a prince of the Fire Empire.

But if Azula got wind that her brother, whatever relation he had with the rest of his family, was pining after a common girl from the Water Tribes…

He swallows nervously, trying not to think about what Azula would do about that. To him. Or worse…

He imagines what it would feel like, to learn that Katara got hurt or worse, just because of how he felt about her. That after all she's been through, all she's capable of, in the end, it'll be because of him that she'll have a target on her back - whether she realizes it or not.

I can't have that.

Zuko clenches his fist surreptitiously.

I have to protect her.

Even if it means keeping his distance. Closing himself off. Pushing her away.

The thought of it makes his heart hurt. But that's not important, he resolves.

Keeping her safe is.

Chapter 18: falling so slow (pt. iii: gravity)

Summary:

Uncle Iroh tells a story. He finds it amusing. Zuko and Katara disagree.

Chapter Text

disclaimer. atla & all associated content belong to bryke, i gain nothing from writing this but brownie points and self esteem.

author's notes. aaand we're back with another one! after a vacation and some unanticipated technological fuckery, i slaved over this part to make up for the delays. the result is this rather lengthy, very angsty, and altogether lacklustre instalment.

following some questions i've gotten not infrequently, i'd like to clarify a few things:

1) in this universe, the avatar was killed in the avatar state many generations ago (like, hundreds to thousands of years ago). people only vaguely know of the avatar as a myth. this information appears at the start of chapter five.

2) as the cycle was broken, characters that we know from canon as previous avatars were simply born as regular benders. aang is just an airbender, roku before him was a firebender, kyoshi before him was an earthbender, etc. so, they existed but they weren't avatars. (this information appears in snippets throughout chapter two and nine)

3) because aang was not frozen in an iceberg for 100 years and appears as a teenage boy, the air nomads are the same age as they would have been if aang hadn't run away (obviously). thus gyatso and the other elderly monks would be about the same age as (or a bit older than) iroh and pakku.

hope that clears things up!

a giant thank you to everyone who's been reading and reviewing! watching some of you read so carefully (and make very good guesses about what's coming up next) is such a daymaker!

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter xviii. falling so slow (part iii: gravity)

sometimes i think you're my twin
sometimes i'm so confused

"somebody desperate"/ the national

"Easy, Nyla," Jun cautions, reigning in the anxious shirshu and bringing her to a halt. "I'm going to be a while. Wait out here for me. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

Nyla pulls her lips back over her teeth in an unquestionable grimace.

"I know, I know," Jun soothes, swinging off the shirshu's back and rubbing her hand against her mane affectionately. "This is a crappy part of town and the view sucks. But what can I say? I'm on a mission, and so are you, I guess."

Nyla whimpers and scratches at the ground, kicking up dirt and gravel.

"Ugh." Jun shakes her head and reaches into her satchel. "Every single time. I'm spoiling you, do you know that?"

She tosses a sizable chunk of dried meat at the jittery shirshu. With a snap of her teeth, Nyla stops whining and begins to slaver instead.

"Good girl." Jun pats Nyla's stringy fur. "Stay here. I'll be back."

Nyla doesn't reply as she chews at the tough jerky.

Jun shakes her head and sighs as she walks away from the stable and into the dilapidated old bar. It is a seedy establishment, serving cheap beer in dusty mugs and greasy snacks on dirty dishes. The peeling walls and splintered, stained wooden benches housed an unsavoury crowd of pickpockets, gamblers, and general lowlifes. She catches the glint of daggers tucked away, available at a moment's notice, and the clatter of coins on the countertops as people place bets. Walking through the crowded aisles, she eventually makes her way to the back of the room and sits at her spot by the bar.

"The usual?" calls the bartender from where he stands, wiping at a cloudy glass with a damp rag.

"That would be great, Wei," Jun answers with a nod. She runs a hand through her hair, brushing it out of her face and behind her ears as Wei walks over with a tankard of foaming ale and sets it down in front of her.

"Thanks." Jun nods and picks up the tankard.

"Anytime," Wei returns, with a smile that reaches his eyes. "Good to see you, Jun. Haven't seen you around here in a long while."

Jun shrugs and takes a deep sip of her ale. It is dark and nutty and slightly spicy. "I've been busy," she offers in turn. "I have to go where the bounty is, you know?"

"Don't I know it," Wei replies with a snort, resuming drying his glassware from where he stands across from Jun. "Seems like the marks are all disappearing further and further from town. The last few weeks, my bar's been overrun by complete strangers."

"Really?" Jun sets down her drink. "How so?"

"Damned if I know." Wei shrugs. "But they're all strange types, you know? From out of town more often than not. Wealthy too, looks like. Now why folks with money would drag their feet through my watering hole is beyond me, you know?"

"Mm." Jun thinks hard. "How do you know they were out-of-towners?"

"You think I can't tell my folk from these outsiders?" Wei bristles. "Look around you, Jun. These gold coins they're gamblin' are way too shiny to be from hereabouts. They talk funny too." The bartender scans the floor before dropping his voice. "Most of them don't do no harm though, they're quiet and just passing through. But some of them are looking for people."

"Looking for people?" Jun repeats, her brow furrowing. "You mean bounty hunters?"

"Looks like it, except I didn't recognize any of them," Wei confesses, looking worried. "Crime don't scare me, Jun, you know that. Any place down here wants to turn a profit, you learn to look the other way. Be discreet, you know? But when the usual suspects start to vanish and new guys come in from outside to take their place? Mite unsettling for a small-time guy like me."

"I'll bet," Jun muses, picking up her tankard again. She pauses for a moment, weighing her next words carefully.

"So what brings you back in this corner of town?" the bartender asks. "Not that it isn't a pleasant surprise, seeing your pretty face 'round these parts."

She senses her opening and takes it. "I was actually hoping to run into some of the usual suspects," she answers carefully. "I guess you haven't seen them around lately?"

Wei shakes his head slowly. "Afraid not. Been more than a few weeks now, I'd say."

Jun frowns. "That…is odd," she comments. "No one?"

"No one," Wei repeats, a hapless look flitting over his features. "You're welcome to stick around and look. After all if you're back in town, it's not impossible that the others could come back too."

"It's possible," Jun comments, pursing her lips. She shrugs. "But could you keep an eye out for me? I'll be around for the next little while and it's…important to me."

Wei's eyes widen. "Well, I can definitely keep my eyes open for you," he acquiesces, nodding his head. "If I hear or see anything, I'll let you know. Which of the usuals are you trying to find?"

"You haven't seen Lee around lately, have you?" Jun asks conversationally.

Wei shakes his head. "Not for a while, I'm afraid. But he goes out to the country for months at a time, don't he? I expect he'll be back sometime or another."

"Right," Jun comments. She glances around, trying to make sure nobody is eavesdropping. But the bar is noisy enough to drown out her words.

She lowers her voice anyway.

"What about Jet and his boys?"

The room goes quiet.

Every morning, the four of them rise before the sun.

By the time dawn has painted bands of bright orange and pink and pale blue along the horizon, they have assembled in the clearing by the river, seated side-by-side with their eyes closed and minds trained to focus, General Iroh's soft voice the only sound that punctuates the silence.

"Think about yourself. Who are you? Who are you now? What about in the future? Who do you want to be? And what separates the two?"

He continues to ask questions until the sun is high overhead. Sometimes he even goes until the night falls.

They have learned by now to not complain when he does.

Every day is a new lesson, a new exercise, a new frontier.

By now he has instructed them in the placement and function of the bodily chakras. He has taught them how to sense them, how to feel for blockages. How different emotions choke different chakras.

He tells them he cannot teach them how to clear them, but can only guide them.

"I could no sooner teach you how to conquer your basest instincts," he explains, to their dismay. "To transcend guilt, fear, shame, anger, greed… To look past the lies we tell ourselves, the illusions the world places before our eyes – many a spiritual master has sought in vain to overcome such mortal tribulations."

He sighs and shakes his head.

"To clear your chakras is a process as unique as you yourself are. No one of you is the same as the other, and the demons that haunt you are likewise. Even among the spiritual masters, there is disagreement. The Air Nomads would argue that detachment is the best way to enlightenment. But I disagree with that. How can you confront the troubles in this world by running away from them? Better to face things and accept them as they are, no? What is the purpose of pain but to make us stronger for suffering it?" He shrugs. "But an Air Nomad would argue that only distance and time truly make the world's burdens small. Who is right and who is wrong? The answer, as always, is for you to find and you alone."

Aang frowns through Iroh's words, but says nothing.

Every day, Zuko sits as far away from Katara as he can reasonably excuse. His interactions with her are oddly distant and short, his words reduced to the bare minimum.

The others try not to notice.

Katara pretends that it doesn't hurt. But to her surprise, it does.

By week's end, they have learned how to guide themselves through the meditations.

General Iroh's questions reduce to a handful of prompts.

Every now and then, if their sessions end early, General Iroh invites the four of them back to his tent later that night for a game of pai sho.

None of them are brave enough to refuse him outright.

Toph, however, finds no shortage of reasons to retire early.

Inexplicably, she always makes Aang walk her to her room.

"Is there something going on there?" General Iroh inquires one evening, the fifth in a row that Toph has dragged Aang out of the room with her.

"I have no clue," Katara confesses, her eyes wide and her face confused. Her voice drops to a hush. "Toph has a type and Aang is not it."

Zuko just presses a hand to his forehead and says nothing.

"What do you think, my nephew?" his uncle inquires, turning his mischievous gaze onto him.

As though on cue, Zuko stands up. "I have a headache," he says dully. He nods his head at his uncle, and then curtly at Katara as well, as short and meaningless a gesture that he can make. "Excuse me."

"Again?" Iroh asks, somewhat incredulously as Zuko makes his way to the door flap and pushes it aside.

As the curtain flutters shut behind him, Katara's voice, lowered to a hush but still somehow miraculously audible to his ears, echoes behind him. "Did I do something to offend him?"

His heart sinks but he walks away anyway.

"Before you have a chance to develop yet another mysterious headache, my nephew," Uncle Iroh remarks airily one evening, as the door flutters shut behind Toph and Aang, "I have some news that might interest you."

Zuko starts, and his face colours only slightly at his uncle's thinly veiled jibe. "What is it?" he asks, alert for the first time that evening.

"It's about your cousin. My son, Prince Lu Ten." Uncle Iroh's face breaks out into a large smile. He glances at Katara, and then at his nephew before continuing. "I have just finalized his betrothal to the only daughter of the Mao family."

Zuko's eyes widen as Katara offers her congratulations. "You did? How did you manage that?" he asks bluntly. "The Maos are a very old and proud clan."

"Let's just say your uncle knows how to negotiate," Uncle Iroh replies slyly, but he beams nonetheless. "Bringing the Maos into the fold is something no one has ever achieved before. Needless to say, everyone is very happy with the match."

"What about Lu Ten?" Zuko asks, his face still somber. "Is he happy too?"

Iroh shrugs. "I suppose so. Why wouldn't he be?"

Zuko falters but makes himself speak anyway. "The Mao girl – he's never met her. He doesn't even know her. He's marrying a complete stranger."

Even for royal alliances, that strikes him as odd.

But Uncle Iroh laughs heartily. "That is probably for the best," he admits jokingly. "After all, nothing is surer to nip romance in the bud than actually getting to know the person!"

Zuko pauses, considering his uncle's unusually snide remarks and wondering whether he's been going about this all wrong.

Maybe instead of keeping my distance from Katara, I should actually learn as much as I can about her, he reflects with no small amount of irony. Then I'll find something I hate about her and that'll be the end of that.

"That's not true!" Katara protests, and both Zuko and Iroh turn their heads to face her. Even she looks surprised at her outburst, but endeavours to continue doggedly. "My parents were always honest with each other and they fell more in love with each day, not less."

So much for that thought, then.

Uncle Iroh appears taken aback by her declaration.

"Were…" he hesitates, and Zuko understands why, because she never talks about her parents, ever, "were your parents an arranged match, Sifu Katara?"

The realization hits her at that moment as well. She falters for a moment, fighting to choose her next words very carefully.

"They were," she answers softly, her voice barely a breath of sound, and she's fighting bravely to keep the unsteadiness from it.

Uncle Iroh strokes his beard in thought.

"That's very unusual," he remarks thoughtfully. "I was under the impression that people in the Water Tribes married for love. Unless it was for strategic purposes."

"That's right," Katara acquiesces, her voice a little stronger now. "It isn't that different from what you do. I'd guess that your common people marry for love too, don't they?"

Iroh's eyes widen. "Well, I would suppose so. To be honest, I don't really know…" He trails off. "But even among the common people, marriage has always been about power, long before it was about love."

Katara shrugs defensively.

"It was a political match," she explains. "My mother and father were so different from each other, they didn't get along at all at the beginning of their marriage." Against her better instincts, she smiles and her face lights up as she remembers it all. "Dad had a very traditional mindset, and Mom couldn't have been any more different. She wanted more from life than to just sit at home and be a dutiful wife and mother." She clears her throat. "Dad wasn't too impressed, but Gran-Gran," she breaks off with a chuckle, "Gran-Gran backed her up. See, she grew up in the Northern tribe and over there, it was really backwards for women and my grandmother didn't want any of that. So she ran away and made her home in the South and well – she was really impressed by Mom's ideas. So, what else can you do when your wife and your mother team up against you?" She lets out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. "Dad caved. In time, they respected each other and loved each other. And Dad learned to be a better person, and together with my mother, they made the Southern tribe a better place - for women and for everyone else, too."

She breaks off from her rambling narrative, pauses, and shakes her head slightly. "I'm sorry," she apologizes, clearly embarrassed. "I guess I got carried away…"

"No," General Iroh corrects her. "Don't be. That was quite a story. Wasn't it, Prince Zuko?"

Zuko feels like he's got a spotlight shining on him as his uncle fixes his mild amber gaze upon him.

"It was," he forces out, trying not to look at Katara and see the glow on her face, the pure joy that grips her from talking about her parents because it's not fair, it's not, that her parents, who loved her and treated her so well, are dead and gone while his are still alive. He'd give anything to trade, but what use would that be?

"It is curious, however," Uncle Iroh remarks and even though his expression is calm, there is an alertness that catches Zuko's attention and puts him on his guard, "the type of marriage your parents had, and the sheer influence that they had in what you described was a relatively unstructured community…"

The glow suddenly fades from Katara's face.

"Your father would have had to be a chieftain," Iroh concludes lightly, casually, as though discussing something trivial like the weather or tomorrow's breakfast. "Would he not?"

There is no other way to describe it. Katara appears unnerved at best, shell-shocked at worst, at Iroh's simple deduction.

That was some trap, Zuko notes wryly, his eyes scanning the pieces on the board before him, now abandoned for a continuation of the game at a higher level. She didn't even see it coming. Poor girl.

Katara's jaw works slowly as she weighs her next move carefully. "He was." She cedes the point grudgingly, reluctantly. "But – that didn't really mean anything. There were loads of chieftains in the South Pole, it was fairly unstructured –"

"I am aware," Iroh acquiesces, nodding his head. "I had the fortune of attending an all-chieftains' summit in the South Pole, many years ago. The community was structured rather loosely, I thought, and the hierarchy somewhat limited compared to what we have in our nation's Imperial Court. But even so, I would hardly argue that a chieftain of the Southern Water Tribe was unimportant." He leans forward to ask the question that Zuko knows he has been itching to broach. "Who was your father, Katara?"

To her credit, Katara fights to keep her face neutral and expressionless. She mostly succeeds too. Only her eyes, wide and blue and roving across the surface of the wooden table in tiny staccato jumps, give her away.

Zuko can only imagine the tactical dilemma going on in her mind. To lie or tell the truth? Although, he can't imagine what danger revealing her parents' names to his uncle would entail. As she's insisted time and time again, she's a nobody. Her tribe is gone and so are her parents, and lineage is not something to stand on in her culture anyway.

So, why hesitate if there's nothing to hide?

The light goes out in her eyes just a fraction of a second before her shoulders slump in what she knows is defeat. "Hakoda," she mutters at last, exhaling sharply through her teeth as though saying the name is painful.

It probably is, too.

Zuko has never heard the name before, so to him the admission seems somewhat anticlimactic. But as he turns to observe his uncle's reaction, he can see that the same cannot be said for Iroh.

"Your father was Hakoda?" General Iroh asks sharply, his eyes widening. "The Hakoda? You were his daughter?"

If Katara had appeared shocked before, that is nothing compared to the expression that spreads across her face now. "You've heard of him?" she asks apprehensively, wonder mingling with fear in her words.

"Heard?" Iroh repeats, somewhat incredulously. "Why - he was the most powerful chieftain in the Southern Water Tribe at the peak of its influence. Surely you must have known that."

Katara's gaze drops and she fidgets somewhat uncomfortably. "I barely remember him now," she confesses at last, and for the first time since the conversation started, she looks miserable. Zuko wants to curse his uncle for bringing the whole sorry affair up. "I was so young when he - and I thought Sok - I mean, I thought people were just exaggerating about how great he was. Making up stories to get through the bad times that came afterward. I didn't know if any of it was true...and even if it was, what would the point be?"

"My apologies, Katara," Uncle Iroh says gently. "I - forgot - that this must be a difficult subject for you to talk about."

Zuko can't help but wonder if his uncle is being sincere with his condolences, or if this is yet another calculation. "But for what little it's worth to you now, your father was a great leader. In his time, everyone regarded him with immense love and respect. To this day, he is still remembered with reverence. His name still means something, even after all these years of bloodshed and division... And Kya - she was indeed a formidable woman, just like you described." He inclines his head, while Katara slowly raises her gaze to meet his. "It does not surprise me that you are their daughter."

Katara doesn't blink and when she inhales, her breath is shaky. "You sound like you knew them."

Iroh closes his eyes, remembering. "I met them once. A very long time ago, when I attended the all-chieftains' summit. Back when the Water Tribes and the Fire Empire were still on diplomatic terms and negotiating an alliance. Your father presided over the deliberations and afterward, invited me as an honoured guest in his home." He opens his eyes and smiles at a flabbergasted Katara. "He and your mother had just welcomed a child. Their second, after their infant son. A daughter."

The silence that follows his words is deafening.

"Me?" Katara breathes in disbelief, her jaw dropping. "You - we've met before?"

"That appears to be correct," Iroh agrees, and the wonder of the situation is not lost on him. "Your mother wasn't so much older than yourself at the time. You look so much like her - I admit, I always wondered if there was a connection but I never thought…"

"I had no idea…" Katara murmurs breathlessly. "I can't believe it. You knew my parents. You stayed in their home. My home. You...this is so weird."

She presses her fingers to her forehead, as though trying to make sense of it all.

Uncle Iroh laughs. "It is quite a coincidence, isn't it?"

"Forget coincidence. I have so many questions!" Katara realizes, her eyes opening wide. "Why were you there? And why were my parents so important to you, anyway? What were they like back then? Did they still hate each other? Was that back when Dad still had his funny moustache?"

Uncle Iroh looks surprised for a moment before he lets out another laugh, deeper this time. "It is not my place to say if it was funny or not," he says affably, "but he did have a moustache, yes."

"It bugged Mom so much! The day he shaved it off was one of the happiest days of her life. Not mine at first, I couldn't recognize him and cried whenever I saw his face."

"That is quite common among young children," Uncle Iroh agrees, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Why, my son Lu Ten hated my beard for the longest time when I started growing it out. He eventually got used to it, but that was one of the hardest transitions of my life!"

Zuko fights the wry smile that threatens to spread across his face.

Truth be told, he feels like he's stumbled across something private, something precious and secret that he has no right to witness. Watching his uncle and Katara laugh and reminisce over a past that they didn't even know they shared until minutes ago was…

Nice, his mind whispers to him, even as he tries to force the thought away. It's really nice.

A strange sensation thrums in his chest as he takes it in - the glow on her face, the lines forming in the corner of his uncle's eyes as he laughs. All of it inexplicable to him and yet it's blinding in its simplicity.

He's happy.

Here, he is not brooding about his past or dreading what the future holds. He is not resentful of his sister, wary of his father, fearful for his life and the mysterious faceless enemy targeting him. He doesn't ruminate on the myriad ways that he's failed himself, that his existence is a waste of potential, he doesn't think of any of that.

He is simply here, as he is, with them. And everything feels right.

"And as for why I was there," Uncle Iroh says heavily, as though the words carry a great burden. He sighs. "I told you before that the Fire Empire and the Water Tribes were on diplomatic terms back then. We were negotiating a...change of terms."

"Why?" Katara asks, furrowing her brow in confusion. "What kind of change? What for?"

Iroh shrugs. "It was not my place to probe too deeply. From my understanding, your father and the other chieftains had a long-standing non-aggression treaty with the former Earth kingdom and with the Fire Empire, as well as several trade agreements. To retain Water Tribe sovereignty in the face of the Empire's expansion, you understand. And it suited their purposes for a very long time. However…"

"Something changed," Katara guesses, and her face is alert now, hearing the story perhaps for the first time. "Those agreements weren't enough to maintain the peace?"

Iroh nods slowly. "I told you before, Katara. Slowly, the citizens of the Empire began to grumble. Long years of infighting and taxes and tributes, combined with an unprecedented period of famine, meant that under the existing terms of their agreement, the Water Tribes found themselves...vulnerable. To trade shortages, undermining of their sovereignty, attacks even…" His voice trails off.

"So what happened?" she asks sharply. "What did my parents do?"

"Your father was the head chieftain of the South Pole at the time," Iroh explains. "And he saw where the wind was blowing. He saw that their current situation would lead them to a dark place. He sought to change that, Katara. He brought all of the other chieftains on board - from the south and the north - yes, I know," he pauses to acknowledge the wonder spreading across Katara's face. "It was an unprecedented display of leadership and unity, the likes of which has never been seen in the Water Tribes. But Hakoda knew that if the Tribes wanted to survive in this post-Empire world, there would be a price to pay for it. You cannot maintain freedom without risking your safety, and in the face of a much larger, stronger adversary, Hakoda decided that the Tribes could afford to give up a little bit of their freedom."

Katara's gaze sharpens. "He wanted to surrender," she realizes flatly.

"Not exactly," Iroh corrects her. "But he did see the sense in strengthening ties with the Empire. An alliance. The Tribes would enter the Empire as a protectorate of the Empire, similar to what the former Earth kingdom experienced under the rule of Sozin. They would pay their taxes to the seat of the Emperor, send a portion of their young men to fight in the army. And in return, they would be protected, fed, developed. Represented at court with a stronger voice than their current ambassador could provide. It was not a bad deal."

"The other chieftains would never have agreed to that," Katara comments grimly. Her lips are pressed together tightly.

"Many didn't," Iroh admits, nodding his head sadly. "Several from the Northern tribe, in fact. They withdrew from the negotiations, convinced that their far-flung location was protection enough. But the rest - Hakoda managed to convince them that it was time to evolve. Just because something had been one way in the past didn't mean it was right for the present and certainly not for the future."

"Mom used to say that," Katara recalls, her eyes misting over.

"Either way, it caught their attention. As the Heir Apparent, I was sent to treat with Hakoda and the other chieftains," Iroh explains. "We had been in contact beforehand regarding other matters of state. And my father wanted to send a message to the Tribes - that we were serious about bringing them into the fold. After all, Hakoda wanted the same thing we did." Iroh smiles grimly. "Peace in the empire."

"So what happened?" Katara presses, the colour draining from her face. "How did it all go wrong?"

Iroh sighs heavily. "My brother happened," he says bitterly, and Zuko feels his skin beginning to crawl. "My father and I chose the wrong time to initiate his career in diplomacy." His voice grows dark with regret. "It was a straightforward task, we thought. The terms were finalized already. All he had to do was sign the wretched thing and declare the alliance." He rubs at his forehead. "But he had to go and show initiative, for Agni's sake…"

"Terms?" Katara frowns. "Like what?"

Iroh shrugs. "Details of trades, taxes, resources, that sort of thing," he says vaguely, before his face brightens somewhat in amusement. "Oh, and how could I forget - there was a betrothal too."

Katara blinks. "What?"

"Well, didn't we just talk about how marriages were about consolidating power? Take this for example." Iroh casts a sidelong gaze at his nephew before his face turns sly as he relishes his own personal joke. "To seal the alliance between his people and mine, Hakoda and I thought a marriage would be appropriate. But between who? Hakoda didn't want to relinquish his only son to a foreign land, and I was inclined to agree. But he had a daughter - never underestimate the value of daughters, I've always said. So we decided, Hakoda's daughter would do, but for who?"

Katara's back stiffens as Iroh continues to recount his tale with increasing mirth. "My son was a bit too old for her and as much as we wanted to bring the Water Tribes into the picture, it would have been inappropriate to betroth a direct heir of the Empire to the daughter of a Water Tribe chieftain. However…" and here he grins, "I did have a nephew that was suitable for the job."

Katara and Zuko exchange a look of mutual horror, just before realization finally hits.

"Are you kidding me?" Katara shrieks, the first to find her voice. She flushes an impressive shade of purple. "You guys tried to set me up with Zuko?" And now she is pointedly avoiding looking at him, inching away uncomfortably in her seat.

But Iroh is barely coherent over the force of his booming laughter. "I...I probably have it in writing somewhere back at the palace..."

For once, Katara's indignation doesn't fill Zuko with despair. In fact, he empathizes with it because -

"You wanted me to marry Katara?" he echoes, his voice hoarse but no less indignant. "But - but -" he pauses, everything becoming more upsetting by the second. "I was just an infant at the time!"

"Not exactly," Iroh clarifies, still looking highly amused. "The negotiations went on for years afterward - it took Hakoda quite some time to unite the chieftains, you see. The betrothal was discussed, of course, but only really finalized near the end, maybe a few months before your father got involved and the polar wars started. You would have been about eight, nine, maybe ten years old -"

"When I was a child, then." Zuko's tone is a knife thrust, and he doesn't even know what part of the revelation upsets him the most. "You were going to use me, like I was just some piece on a gameboard! And now you're doing the same thing to Lu Ten -"

The amusement slides off of Crown Prince Iroh's face instantly. "How did you expect it to go?" he challenges, his voice like thunder. "Do you think I got to pick and choose who I married? Do you imagine for a moment that your mother and father got a say in the matter? We did what we were told and when the time comes, so will Lu Ten. And Azula. And you." He crosses his arms and sternness radiates from him, in stark contrast to his usual gentle demeanour. "Being born into the royal family means fulfilling your duty to your country, whatever it takes."

Zuko's breath hitches in his throat. Uncle Iroh's words are like a knife to the heart, twisting and stabbing with each passing second.

He has always known that somewhere in the distant future, an arranged match has awaited him. But with each passing year away from court and his increasing acceptance of his irrelevance in the line of succession, he'd somehow managed to fool himself that perhaps he would never return home. Perhaps he'd be able to choose for himself and escape the princely duty of marriage and siring royal children. Perhaps no one of importance would want to marry their daughter to a disgraced, exiled prince - not unless they wanted to mould him to their expectations and ambitions, like Mai - and he, miraculously, would be able to live a life of his own choosing.

But Uncle Iroh's words have thrown cold water on that vague hope, exposing it as no more than another feeble delusion.

Against his better instincts, he casts a fleeting sidelong glance at Katara, who still appears indignant and outraged, but also stricken.

He feels his heart shudder at the cold reality of it all, the impossibility of her and him ever -

"Anyhow," Uncle Iroh continues, perhaps misreading Zuko's silence as incredulity or maybe even youthful, petulant resistance, "it is not so bad. My late wife and I learned to love each other, and I see Sifu Katara's parents were able to do the same. It is possible to breed joy from duty, with enough time and effort." He intercepts the glance that Zuko sends Katara, and he raises an eyebrow. "I am not entirely convinced that you two would have been unhappy with the arrangement."

Zuko is not sure if the choking sound filling the air is coming from him or from Katara. Maybe both.

He makes himself stay very still, his eyes resolutely fixed on his hands and his face completely expressionless. He can't give himself away.

He can't.

He therefore misses the strange, soft expression that flits across her face. But he doesn't miss the weight of her gaze as it comes to rest upon him. Perhaps trying to catch his eye and gauge what he's thinking, perhaps assessing him and coming up with a list of all the ways he falls short in her expectations for a future partner -

"But there's no point speculating about it, because it doesn't matter now," his uncle dismisses the awkward subject with a wave of his hand. The regret returns to his voice. "Ozai barged in and thanks to him, all of Hakoda's hard work - and mine, for that matter, went up in flames with the rest of the southern tribes."

And of all the tragedies unearthed from Uncle Iroh's revelation, this one manages to wound Zuko most deeply.

He tries and fails to stop himself from picturing a life where his father hadn't succumbed to ambition and brutality. A life where Katara was able to grow up in the South Pole with her parents and brother, and be happy.

He imagines a life, snatched away by his father's long, dark shadow, where his grandfather informed him once he came of age that long ago, he'd been betrothed to the daughter of the Southern Water Tribe's chieftain and that they were to be wed. He imagines being miserable at the prospect of spending a long life together with her.

His stomach twists at the thought of that possible future lying shattered beyond repair. Just another dream among countless others, dashed to pieces by his father's cruelty.

"He probably wasn't too happy at the thought of losing his only son to some commoner from the Water Tribes," Katara muses at length. Her face and voice remain solemn but her mouth quirks up at the corners. Like she finds the whole thing funny, like it was all a big joke to her now.

"But you weren't just some commoner," Iroh interrupts. "You were Hakoda's daughter." His voice grows quiet as he pauses, clearly distracted by some new thought or other. "You still are."

Katara shrugs. "Like that makes a difference now," she points out, and her voice is flat and sullen once again. "Dad's been dead for years and whatever's left of the Water Tribes up north wouldn't really take to a woman…" She clears her throat and shakes her head. "Like I said, lineage isn't so important to us."

"Then what is?" Uncle Iroh inquires, frowning but clearly thinking hard. Perhaps coming up with his next gambit or pai sho move.

"Strength," Katara answers bluntly. She shrugs again. "I guess it really wasn't that different from you guys and your court."

"I suppose," Uncle Iroh allows, and the smile he gives her is very kind. "But I think you underestimate yourself, Sifu Katara. I can't imagine many other Tribesmen out there who could best you in a fight."

"There are other types of strength," Katara points out delicately.

"All the same," Uncle Iroh presses, and he gives her a searching look. "You should consider your options carefully before making any decisions. You will not be here forever, after all."

Katara sighs and her face closes off. "Maybe. You're probably right." She stands up. "I'm tired. This all was, uh..." she pauses, gesturing vaguely, "it...it was a lot."

"Of course," Uncle Iroh concedes understandingly. "We can easily continue our game some other time."

Katara nods her head at General Iroh and turns to the fireplace. She grabs a wooden torch hanging on a sconce by the mantel and lights it.

"Prince Zuko," his uncle calls him, and Zuko snaps out of his reverie. "Where are your manners? Aren't you going to offer to walk Sifu Katara to her room?"

Zuko feels the trap snapping shut around him as Katara, nearing the door, freezes in her tracks.

"I…" he fumbles for an excuse, anything, "I thought...wouldn't she rather be alone right now?"

His question hangs in the air, not dangerous, not impudent, just…

Uncle Iroh turns to face Katara where she stands, her face obscured from Zuko's view. He raises his eyebrows. "Would you rather be alone right now?"

Katara turns on the spot to face them. Her face is still inscrutable. "Not really," she replies carelessly, with another shrug. "But if he doesn't want to, that's fine."

Her voice is cool.

Zuko lets out yet another exhale between his teeth, before intercepting the expectant gaze that his uncle sends him.

Cursing his uncle to Agni for all his meddling, he admits defeat and gets to his feet.

"It's no trouble," he forces out with a sigh. "Let's go."

They walk away from General Iroh's pavilion in silence. The moon hangs overtop of them, past its fullness and already starting to wane again. The night is cloudy, and the light shifts around them, accompanying the lively flicker of the torch in Katara's hand.

As they round the bend in the path and are well out of earshot, Katara turns her head to face Zuko with a scowl.

"Why are you avoiding me?" she asks him directly.

It takes more effort than Zuko would care to admit for him to keep walking blithely, to pretend to be ignorant.

"I'm not avoiding you," he mumbles, not meeting her gaze.

Katara scoffs, clearly unconvinced. She stops in her tracks, jamming her free hand on her hip as he walks past her. "You're a lousy liar, you know that?"

Zuko lets out a heavy sigh and pauses as well.

"Was it me?" Katara persists, misunderstanding his silence. "Did I do something wrong?"

Zuko places a hand to his forehead and shakes his head.

"Then what?" she presses insistently. "What's wrong, Zuko? Why…?" and here, her voice falters because here they are again, on this strangely inconsistent border of what feels right and inappropriate, shifting beneath their feet without any regard for sanity or reason.

She pushes past it and tries again. "...why are you shutting me out?" Her voice drops. "I thought we were trying...I thought we were friends."

She sees Zuko stir at the last word. "Friends," he echoes, sounding like he's coming from very far away. "I thought so too. I thought we could be. But -"

"But?" Katara's eyes have narrowed now. "But what?"

He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture that by now she has recognized to betray his agitation.

"I don't know." His voice is so quiet, Katara has to take a step closer to hear it over the night air. "It's...it's a lot harder than I thought it would be."

The admission catches Katara completely off-guard. To her surprise and horror, it hurts. "What?" she stutters. "Why?"

Zuko closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I don't know," he mutters. To her ears he sounds miserable. "It's...it's complicated, okay?"

Katara raises an eyebrow at the word.

"Complicated," she repeats after him, sounding the word out skeptically. "Like...like befriending someone who's nice enough but whose father killed your parents and destroyed your home and deliberately ruined your childhood, and then finding out that if that all hadn't happened you might have ended up married to him?"

Her voice by the end has risen sharply.

Zuko turns his head to face her at that. "Not quite," he relents.

"Then…" Katara is struggling and she doesn't know why. "Then what? What's going on? I...I don't understand."

"You don't have to," Zuko tells her bitterly. "Okay? You just have to accept it."

He begins to walk away, but Katara isn't ready to let go.

"Like hell I do," she spits out, and at this point even she is surprised by her conviction. She rushes to catch up with him. "Look - we haven't been trying this friends thing for very long, Zuko but - but -" the words come tumbling out of her mouth, without a second thought, "I know you. I know what you're like. You wouldn't just walk out like this without…"

"A reason?" Zuko finishes for her sardonically. "You gave me even less when we first met."

His words are like a cutting blow. Katara stumbles backward, unsure of when exactly she'd given him the power to hurt her with a statement like that. "Is that what this is about?" she whispers. "You're just - trying to get even with me now?"

"I'm not trying to get even," he counters wearily. "All I'm saying is - is -" his voice gives away and he winces before forcing himself to speak, as though it's a great effort for him, " - it's tough for me too. Okay? You used to be so angry with me and…"

"So I ruined it," Katara says flatly. Guilt pools in the pit of her stomach. "Is that what you're trying to say? That it's all my fault?"

"No," Zuko insists, exasperated. "That's not what I - Agni, this is going nowhere -"

"That's because you're talking in circles and confusing me!"

"You can't just be friends with someone overnight after hating them," Zuko explains, and his voice is tired, defeated, sad. "Okay? That's why it's complicated. And...it's weird, having you on my side and being nice to me and…" He trails off uncertainly.

"Do you -" Katara hesitates with her next words now, because she's not sure if she wants to hear the answer at all. "Do you just not like me, Zuko? Is that it?"

He inhales sharply, as though the suggestion wounds him to the core. "No!"

"Okay." Katara wavers now, momentarily stunned by the relief that floods through her at his admission. "Okay so...you don't not like me and you want to be my friend, and I want to be your friend because I guess I like you too, but there's too much baggage from...from before and you need more space? Is that what you're trying to say?"

"I…" Zuko runs another hand through his hair. "Something like that, I guess..."

"Well, why didn't you just say so?" Katara demands, shaking her head. "Spirits, instead of being all brooding and quiet and mysterious, why couldn't you just tell me?"

The most curious expression spreads over Zuko's face, as though he'd never heard of such a thing. "I don't know," he replies at last, somewhat evasively. And then, as though against his better instincts, he mumbles, "I didn't want to hurt you."

Katara scoffs again before marching right up to him and punching him squarely in the upper arm with her free hand.

"Ow!" Zuko complains, rubbing his arm. "What was that for?"

"That," Katara declares hotly, "is what you get for trying to protect me. And hurting me anyway. See how that works?"

"No," he says blandly, before continuing to massage his arm.

"I'm serious, Zuko." The levity disappears from her tone and she fixes him with her piercing blue gaze. Her voice is fierce. "Don't try to protect me. I can take care of myself, I don't need you to keep me safe. Do you understand?"

Zuko opens and closes his mouth, momentarily speechless. "I understand," he mumbles at last, still sounding miserable.

"Good." Katara's eyes soften. "So...uh...where does this leave us?"

"Why do you even want to be friends?" Zuko blurts out, his voice taking on that strange darkness that she's heard once or twice before.

Katara frowns at him. "I told you," she replies patiently. "You're - you're different from the others. And - if I'm going to move on from all this, I have to start somewhere."

"That's an awful lot of effort," Zuko challenges her stubbornly, bluntly, the self-loathing returning to his voice. "What if you're wrong about me? What if I am no different?"

Katara eyes him directly. "Then you wouldn't be here with me," she tells him softly. "You'd still be sitting in your uncle's tent, finishing up that game of pai sho like you wanted."

"You only think that because you don't know my uncle as well as I do."

Katara pauses again as they reach the doorway of her room. She turns to face him, studying him closely in the firelight. And for the first time does she really see him, as he is.

It strikes her then, just how sad he looks. She'd always thought of it as a borrowed affect - the same way that Toph acted brash and tough and unassailable, but was completely different under that facade.

It's never occurred to her until now that maybe Prince Zuko is exactly as sullen and miserable as he appears.

"Zuko?"

"Mm?"

She hands him the torch. "What's really going on?" she inquires, looking him right in his averted eyes. "Are...are you okay?"

He doesn't answer her.

She hesitates, wondering if she even has the right to pry anymore.

But he speaks up at last, surprising her. "Do you ever wonder," he starts, his words barely rising above a whisper, "about what could have happened? If...if things were different…"

His question takes her by surprise. Whatever she had been expecting him to say, this was a far cry from it.

She realizes then how little she really does know him. How poorly she reads him.

"Zuko," she says softly, but firmly, "if I started thinking about the past and...and how everything went wrong and what if they hadn't…" her throat closes up and she swallows, attempting to compose herself again. "No," she begins again, more directly. "No, I don't. I couldn't afford to."

Zuko is silent, perhaps contemplating her answer. "You're probably right," he sighs.

She hesitates again, before her curiosity gets the better of her. "Do...do you?"

He looks up to meet her eyes. "All the time."

"But...but why?" Katara stammers in confusion. "Why would you do that to yourself? Spirits, if I did that I'd…" she pauses, thinking, "I'd lose my mind."

Zuko shrugs.

"You'd have to really hate yourself to keep doing that," Katara points out.

Once again, her words are greeted by an unreadable silence. Zuko's eyes fall to the ground again and she wonders if she's taken a stab at the truth. "You don't...do you?"

He lets out a small scoff at her words. "Why shouldn't I?" he asks her scathingly. "You heard my uncle. You know what my father did. You were right about him, he's a monster. And his blood runs through my veins - what if I'm no different? After all, even after everything he's done, I -" His voice breaks off abruptly.

"You what?"

He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

"You hate him?" she guesses, carefully watching for a reaction, a shift in expression, anything. "You love him?"

She sees the change come over him at that. The guilt, the resentment, the self-loathing...everything he's been tiptoeing around, trying to avoid, all of it comes crashing back. "My father was a monster and I can't even hate him for that," he mumbles. "What does that say about me? After everything he's done, I...a part of me still wants to forgive him! Can you believe that? How...how can you want to be my friend?"

Katara stays very still. Truth be told, she feels out of her depth again, as she does whenever she sees this side of Zuko. She wonders what someone else would do if he confided in them about it. Surely his uncle, or even Mai, for all her cold bluntness, would have known what to say.

"Well," she begins at length, testing the waters. But Zuko doesn't seem as adversarial or defensive as he had the last time they'd had a conversation like this, and so she presses forward, searching for the right thing to say. "Not too long ago, I didn't. As you recall. But…" she frowns, trying to put it all into words, "but I guess I learned that people are complicated. And good people do bad things all the time, and bad people do good things, and sometimes, it's not enough to be good or to be bad. You have to mean it. And...sure...your father was a monster. A bad person who did bad things because he wanted to. And you...happen to be his son. But that isn't all you are? Sure, you love your father - who doesn't? That doesn't make you a bad person, that just makes you a good son, better than he deserved…"

She trails off, watching the amazement spread across his face in response to her words. "Am I rambling again?"

Zuko shakes his head. The look on his face is delicate, a cross between amazement and hope and...

Katara realizes then, that Zuko is not used to hearing good things about himself. Something inside her breaks a little at the thought.

"You -" Zuko's words catch in his throat and clearly, he's overcome with something, Katara can't quite put a finger on it. "How ...how are you so strong?"

Her words die in her throat at his question.

The way he looks at her - like he's looking at her but also through her and up at her even though he's a good head taller and -

She fights to find her voice again. "I wish I didn't have to be."

He sighs again. "Me too."

For a second their eyes meet and something changes. She can't describe what it is, but there is something that tugs at her senses, that whispers that nothing will be the same, and then she blinks and it's gone.

"But it's not all that bad," she tries for humour, anything to break this heavy cloud hovering over him. "If it wasn't for your dad...I mean it might have resulted in the complete annihilation of my family and home, but hey, at least we don't have to get married now."

Her laugh sounds forced even to her ears, so she is not completely unsurprised when Zuko doesn't smile. "What a relief," he bites out at last.

"Not that I'm complaining," Katara corrects, wondering if her words are coming across as tactless and he's taking it as a personal slight. The longer she thinks about it, the more she begins to understand that unlike her, Zuko has taken this whole thing really hard. "I think I could've done way worse, but - "

"Worse?" Zuko echoes. His gaze is no longer distant and unfocused, but alert and cautious, as though she's said something earth-shattering.

Katara shrugs. "Well, yeah." You should have seen what some of the other chieftains were like... and their sons too.

"How?" Zuko demands disbelievingly.

She pauses, tilting her head and looking at him carefully once more.

Just for a moment, she allows herself to indulge.

She imagines an alternate life, an alternate version of herself, where Crown Prince Iroh and her father were able to reach an agreement. Where her father was able to usher in a new era of peace and prosperity to the Southern Water Tribe. Where she had grown up not in the company of menacing Fire Empire guards and frightened, broken children, but as the daughter of a chieftain. Where her brother spent his days learning to fight, sail a boat, hunt, rule and lead, like his father before him. Where, maybe, she would even have found a bending master from her own tribe to help her nurture her talents…

She imagines her parents, sitting her down on her sixteenth birthday and telling her that she was promised to a prince of the Fire Empire and that she would be spending the rest of her life with this stranger in a foreign land. That it was necessary to uphold the peace and prosperity of her people, that as the Chief's daughter, it was her duty to do so.

She is not indulgent enough to fantasize being upset about it. She imagines being somewhat nervous, at being so far away with no one familiar around, but on the whole, rather resigned about the whole thing.

She imagines that version of her, meeting him for the first time. She tries to envision him as a complete stranger (and that still isn't too far a stretch of the imagination). She wonders what her first impression would have been like.

But as much as the idea seems far-fetched and alien to her, as she studies the contours of his face - his thick black hair, features chiselled as though from stone, striking golden eyes - she can't imagine being disappointed by him.

In fact, something about the whole scenario resonates oddly with her. Maybe it was the inevitability of it all. That no matter how the circumstances changed, some things were certain. And if she and him were fated to cross paths, it would have happened no matter how everything else in their lives unfolded...

"Well…" she says at last, trying not to think too much about that last thought, unsettling as it is. "You're kind. And loyal. And you listen. That would have been enough."

He appears staggered by her words. "That's it?" He blinks, appearing underwhelmed. "You have really low standards."

She bristles, clearly affronted. "I just don't have the luxury of being a romantic, okay?"

He appears torn at that, enmeshed in some internal quandary that she doesn't even want to begin to pull apart.

And she's tired. Spirits help her, but she is. All this talk of friendship and fathers and past lives - and that too with Zuko, the thought of whom brings on an onslaught of feelings that is slowly becoming more complicated the more she gets to know him.

Being friends with him - if she can even call it that - is trickier than she'd ever imagined. He's a maze of different hidden things, who makes her curious and happy and sad all at the same time.

How they've stumbled across this when they've barely been friends for a few short weeks is beyond her, yet here they are.

She sighs heavily instead. "I'm tired."

He nods. "Okay." He steps away. "Goodnight, Katara. I'll see you in the morning."

"Right," she says. And then, because she's unsure of everything now, she calls after him. "Are we okay?"

It shouldn't surprise him so much, she thinks to herself somewhat vehemently, that I'd care to clarify.

But it does, nonetheless.

"I guess so," he mumbles diffidently, before walking away, the light of his torch disappearing into the darkness of the hallway.

And after what feels like an age, she opens the door, enters her room, and closes it behind her.

She lets out a sigh.

The fire is roaring in the grate and Toph is sound asleep in her bed. Or at least she appears to be. Katara wonders if she's awake, if she heard anything at all.

And then she decides it doesn't matter.

She shouldn't feel frustrated by his ambivalence. She shouldn't feel hurt by the fact that there are some parts of him beyond her help. And she certainly should not be focusing on how to help heal him, not when she herself is hanging on by a thread.

That's not your job, she tells herself sternly. If he doesn't want to help himself, it's simply none of your business and that's that.

Or so she makes herself think as she climbs up into her bunk and settles in under the covers.

But as she drifts away to sleep, it occurs to her that perhaps she is not being entirely honest with herself, and that a part of it has gotten under her skin.

A sound catches Zuko's ears as he traverses the all-too-familiar path back to the boys' dorm.

He stills, his senses on heightened alert. Who on earth would be wandering around at this hour?

He doubles back, previous stealth training rendering his movements silent as a shadow in the night. The sounds lead him back to the girls' dorm, where near the entranceway, waiting with three ostrich-horses and two men holding lighted torches, is -

"Mai," Zuko says, surprised. "What are you doing?"

She stiffens and turns to face him, the men beside her drawing themselves up to their full height in what appears to be the start of an obvious challenge.

"Oh, don't bother with that," Mai tells the men - guards, presumably - witheringly, before arching her eyebrow. "I could ask you the same thing, Zuko. Did I interrupt your nighttime stroll?"

"Uncle Iroh knows I'm out here," Zuko rebuts, the hairs on the back of his neck beginning to stand on end. "That's - I assume that's not the case for you. You could get in trouble if he found out -"

"No I wouldn't," Mai dismisses his point with a nod to the ostrich-horse nearest to her. "I'm leaving."

Zuko freezes, his eyes fixed on the bags loaded onto the animal's back. "Leaving," he echoes slowly, unable to understand.

"Yes," Mai answers impatiently.

"Now?"

"More or less." Mai shrugs, exchanging a glance with one of her guards.

"Why?" Zuko forces out at last.

"Why wouldn't I?" Mai counters, crossing her arms across her chest. Even though her voice has not risen in volume or tone, her words are forceful. "There's nothing left for me, Zuko. I have no future here."

"Because of me," Zuko realizes flatly.

Mai doesn't answer.

"And all this -" Zuko gestures to the setup, the quiet getaway in the middle of the night, "- you were just going to get up and leave, in the middle of the night, without saying goodbye?"

Mai shrugs again. "I told General Shinu that I was leaving earlier today, and I told Ty Lee that I was going home. What more was there to say?"

"Home," Zuko repeats slowly, the memory of their last conversation all too fresh in his mind.

The word, loaded with all its implications, hovers in the air between them.

"Home," Mai echoes, her face giving nothing away.

Zuko lets out a sharp exhale.

It's like a nightmare, coming true. Mai is going home - back to the capital, undoubtedly to join Azula in whatever plot she's cooking up.

And he can't stop her. He's lost all power over her the day he broke up with her.

"Mai," he says, softer now.

"Don't," Mai stops him, her voice still steady, but her eyes are stormy. "Don't make this any harder than it needs to be, Zuko."

He stiffens and takes a step back.

He knows when he's outmaneuvered. "Take care of yourself, then," he says instead, fighting the warning that springs to his lips. Azula will use you and discard you, like she always does.

"Thank you," she replies formally, politely inclining her head.

Without another word, she grabs onto the bridle of the ostrich-horse and slides onto its back in one swift, precise motion.

"Let's go," she tells her men, who proceed to clamber onto their mounts.

"And even though you don't believe me," Zuko calls after her and he watches her slow her mount to a steady trot, "I'm sorry, Mai. I'm sorry it has to end this way."

She slowly turns her head to face him at that.

A shiver runs down his back at the small smile on her lips.

"But this isn't the end," she corrects him quietly. "This is the beginning."

"Back again?" the bartender asks as Jun slides into her seat by the bar, his face spreading into an uneven-toothed smile. "That's the fourth time in a fortnight!"

"Well, it seems like all of my friends are still out of town," Jun quips, her face twisting into a grimace. "The usual, Wei."

He nods and produces a tankard of foaming dark ale for her.

"Not that I'm complaining - or even judging, hell," he tells her somberly. "It's nice to see a friendly face 'round here." He pauses, weighing his next words carefully. "Seems like most o' my friends are out of town too. You're - you're the only one that stuck around, Jun."

"Yeah well," Jun takes a deep swig of her drink and swallows with relish. "The way things are going, I'm probably sticking around here for a while."

"Still waiting on Lee and the others, huh?" Wei asks sympathetically.

"Mhm."

He scratches at his chin.

"Tough luck, running into a dead end like that," he comments. "If I see them, or hear anyone who does -"

"I appreciate it," Jun says, flashing him a quirk of the mouth that doesn't fail to make him redden a little.

Another patron catches his attention and he shuffles away, leaving her to drink in peace.

She can't believe it's come down to this. Nyla hadn't been able to uncover many real leads from that knife beyond the old palace - and that place was crawling with Dai Li. A couple of other houses had turned up in her search. One had belonged to an upper-ring nobleman who stammered through his responses to her questions and kept sneaking furtive glances at his door, behind which Jun could only assume a Dai Li agent watched silently.

Needless to say, that had been unhelpful.

The other house interested her more. She was familiar with it, and with its occupants. It was something between a halfway-house and an orphanage. But Jet and his infamous freedom fighters had sheltered there during their occasional stints in the city.

To her chagrin, the house was empty. And a quick survey of the neighbours confirmed that it had been unoccupied for some months now.

She'd tried breaking into the house and stealing something - anything - to put Nyla back on the scent. But no matter what she used, the blind shirshu would lose the scent the moment they reached the lakeshore.

It was as though the water had swallowed them up and cut them off from the world. The thought of it sends shivers down her back.

And so that leaves her here, pitifully frequenting all the seedy pubs she knew of, leaving messages and asking questions of people who should have known them, either by name or reputation.

But Wei had been right, that first time.

The usuals are all gone.

"Something weird is definitely going on," she mutters to herself.

She's almost finished her drink when the bartender slides across from her again. "Another?"

Jun contemplates it before shaking her head. "Nah. Just one for me tonight."

"Right," the bartender says, and then casually leans forward. For a moment, Jun thinks he's going to make a pass at her, but then he whispers in her ear. "Don't look now, but that man in the corner's been watching you all night. Today and last time you were here. Came in jus' after you did, and he'll probably leave a couple of minutes after you do."

Jun lets herself be perfectly still while she processes his words.

Her eyes scan the bar quickly, almost imperceptibly.

"Brown cloak, long braid, big forehead?" she mutters back, her lips not moving.

"That's the one."

"Right." She thinks quickly, wondering how to throw the strange man off of Wei's scent. After all, he may own a pub of some disrepute but he was still innocent. And if that man was, as Jun suspects, Dai Li, there was no need to put him on the bartender's trail.

"Thanks for the heads-up," she hisses into his ear, before pecking him on the cheek and leaning back, her face feigning an expression of some amused interest.

Wei flounders before her, clearly taken aback. "No...problem," he stammers, clapping a hand on his cheek. "Uh…"

She slides a handful of coins across the countertop. "Keep the change," she says with a wink.

"Be careful now," Wei warns her mildly, scraping the coins off the bar.

"I always am."

She gets out of her seat and slowly ambles toward the door, the long-haired man in the corner within her line of peripheral vision.

She decides against confronting him in the pub. Too many witnesses and she didn't know how many of them had also been bought by the Dai Li. Maybe all of them. And there was the off chance that someone innocent could get hurt, and that would raise all sorts of questions.

No, the best way to do it would be to slip outside and wander slowly within earshot of the stable. If he was a tail sent by the Dai Li, he'd come to her.

But just as she takes a step out of the pub and into the cool night air -

"Excuse me, miss," interrupts a wheezy male voice in her ear. "Would you mind helping us for a moment -"

"Not particularly," Jun mutters, still trying to keep the long-haired man in her line of sight - she sees him getting up, slowly, and -

"You call that convincing, old man?" drawls another voice, deeper and rougher. "Let me handle this."

A hand closes around her forearm in a vicelike grip.

Jun wrenches her arm free and elbows her assailant viciously. A crack and a howl later -

"You bitch! You broke my nose!"

"Yeah well, you asked for it," Jun answers, thoroughly unintimidated. Wrenching her gaze away from the counter where the long-haired man is paying for his drink, she stares down the two unfortunate men standing in her way.

One is dark and sallow, with greasy dark hair and a muscular build. At the moment, he is doubled over with his hands cupping his profusely bleeding nose.

The other is older, slighter, and has a more refined, almost pompous air. He's dressed in much nicer robes than she's seen on most people around the lower ring. He has long black hair, and a thin beard and moustache to match. At the moment, he is clapping his hands together in what appears to be a mocking gesture.

"Oh, you handled that well, Xin Fu. I'll remember to defer to your expertise the next time I want my nose broken by a beautiful lady!"

"Ugh." Jun rolls her eyes impressively and tries to push past the two of them. "Spare me."

Much to her irritation, the older man blocks her, smiling at her unctuously. "I apologize for my...colleague's behaviour," he announces. "We just thought you could help us."

"The senior's home is down the corner. You're welcome," Jun retorts witheringly, chancing a glance behind her to regain sight of the long-haired man.

But to her dismay, she can't spot him anywhere.

It's like he just up and vanished. What the hell?

"We're not looking for a senior's home!" roars the man with the broken nose, Xin Fu. His words are barely intelligible to her ears.

"Be quiet, you're embarrassing yourself," the older man snaps imperiously, before turning to face Jun crisply. "We would greatly appreciate your help in finding someone for us. With your shirshu, it would be a very straightforward task -"

"Look here, old man," Jun cuts him off in a menacing voice. "You two idiots have already lost me my mark for the night, so I would think twice before wasting any more of my time."

"The bounty is quite substantial," the old man assures her, procuring a paper scroll from his sleeve and unfurling it. "Take a look. Will you help us find her?"

Jun's eyebrows lower to an impressive scowl as she takes in the portrait. It's of a girl, maybe twelve years old, and cute, with fair skin, black hair and light green eyes. "Sorry. I'm not into little girls," she quips witheringly, before arching an eyebrow. "Bit young for the two of you, no? Naughty."

The old man looks affronted. "She ran away from her parents!"

"Yawn," Jun dismisses him. "Not interested."

"Her rich parents!" the man continues, and there's almost a pleading note in his voice. "Filthy rich. And if you were to, say...help return their daughter -"

"Yeah yeah yeah, I'm sure they'd be very generous and pay me enough to buy the entire upper ring. I'm still not interested." She frowns, gazing at the portrait again. Something catches her attention. "Wait, is she blind?"

The man nods fervently. "She is. She's blind and a brilliant earthbender and way too smart for her own good-"

Jun lets out a snigger. "I'll bet. Though it's not saying much, giving you two bozos the slip." She smirks at the two of them mockingly. "You two can't even find a blind kid. That's just sad."

"So you won't help us," the old man says, finally cluing in.

"Nope," Jun walks past the two of them. "I'm feeling very unhelpful. Very not in the mood to chase down some little rich kid that's run away from home." She pauses. "Actually, I kind of like the sound of her. So, I don't think you'll mind if I don't wish you luck, either."

She turns the corner and forgets about them the instant they fall out of sight.

A quick scan of her surroundings confirms to her that the long-haired man is nowhere to be seen either.

"Damn it," Jun swears under her breath. Her fists clench. The first headway she'd made in weeks and she'd lost him thanks to a pair of clowns.

Rubbing her forehead, she wonders whether marching back to the pub and beating the shit out of the two of them would make her feel any better.

She entertains the thought for a while, before shaking her head and whistling softly instead.

Nyla comes bounding to her side a few short moments later.

"Good girl," Jun says soothingly, running a hand through her mane before swinging onto her back. "It's getting late, isn't it? Come on, let's go home…"

As they slip through the dark streets of Ba Sing Se's lower ring, it strikes her that it's still not a complete loss.

After all, if the man had showed up twice at Wei's looking for her, he was bound to appear again.

And when he did, she would be ready for him.

Chapter 19: falling so slow (pt. iv: fly)

Summary:

an experiment gone awry leads to some unexpected consequences. meanwhile, jun draws nearer to the heart of the dai li conspiracy.

Chapter Text

disclaimer. atla & all its associated content are property of bryke, i'm just writing this because i have way too many feels and needed to share them all.

author's notes. look who's back with another chapter inside of a month! i didn't plan for this one to get so long, but a lot of little things snowballed out of control and before i knew it, this turned into the longest instalment to date(?)

yeah...i should really start imposing word limits on myself *sigh*

thank you to everyone who's been leaving such lovely feedback! your comments mean everything to me and have been helping me power through the slow burn!

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter xix. falling so slow (pt iv: fly)

we've got forever slipping through our hands
we've got more time to never understand

"between two points"/ the glitch mob

By the time General Iroh concludes the day's meditation session, the sun has already dipped below the horizon. The scent of change is heavy in the air. The evening breeze carries with it a dry chill and the last of the brightly coloured leaves. In the dusky glow, the bare branches of surrounding trees stretch into the sky like a thousand knobbly, skeletal fingers.

The old General levels his four disciples with a serene smile as they open their eyes.

"How do you feel?" he asks, his voice the only sound in the quiet clearing.

The four of them quietly consider the implication of his question. It has been a little over a fortnight since General Iroh had forbidden them from bending and committed them to his strict spiritual discipline. Every day since has stretched out before them, each minute passing by slowly, trading fulfilled promise for wasted potential.

"The same," Aang admits, a slightly hapless expression shifting over his face. "But…different."

He's had adequate time to reflect upon this over the past weeks. By now, the excitement and trepidation of the first days have worn off. Though his circumstances have not changed in the slightest and his communications with his mentors back at the temple give him no greater satisfaction than previously, he supposes he has become more at peace with the discord around him. And with the confusion inside him.

Looking back at the ambitions that had motivated him – and the rest of them – to undergo General Iroh's challenge, Aang can't help but feel slightly embarrassed at their ignorance. Their arrogance. To even think that a fortnight without their bending would be enough to unlock the secret talents of bending! When generations of airbending masters who had dedicated their lives couldn't achieve Laghima's feat. He marvels at the lack of humility that had brought them to this spot, humbled and exhausted and hollow.

He supposes that it's no more than he deserves.

"What Twinkletoes said," Toph grumbles from beside him, shifting uncomfortably where she sits.

The same. But…different.

She reasons it's an adequate enough summation of how she feels. Looking back at two weeks prior, she considers her old fear. Her abject refusal to return to the darkness of the cage. The isolation and emptiness and helplessness of it all.

It feels no less strange to be cut off from the world now, even after all her meditations. Though her other senses are sharper than ever, it only emphasizes the glaring void in her mind where her bending used to be. But she has also learned another important thing.

That even in the darkness, she is not lost. She is not alone.

And though the old fear persists, it is tempered by something else. Something she can't quite put a finger on. If she hadn't known any better, she might have mistaken it for confidence but the word seems woefully inadequate to describe the pulsing, steady calm that reigns within her.

How this is supposed to make her a better bender, she's not quite sure. But if she's confused about it, at least she's not the only one.

She supposes that it's no more than she deserves.

"Yeah," Katara agrees uncertainly, seated cross-legged next to Toph. "Like we've gone nowhere and everywhere at the same time."

By now, Katara is no stranger to self-reflection. Her stint in solitary not so long ago provided her with ample opportunity to take a critical look in the mirror. Her mind, so used to devising action plans and strategies, now strangely suited to the quiet art of self-refinement.

She has had more than enough time to confront her regrets and her shame. Time to fix what she can change and accept what she cannot. Time to, if not transcend the hurts of her past, then to at least envision the path there. Many a long day, she's imagined the burdens of the past like anchors tied to her body. She's imagined cutting them loose and letting them sink down to the bottom of the ocean, while floating away on the waves, cool, serene, weightless.

The memories make it difficult. When she had harnessed the grief and hatred in her heart to hurl as a weapon against those that stood against her, the painful memories of home and family burned hot within her, lending her strength and ammunition and drive. But now…now that she is trying to distance herself from it, the memories and the hurt weaken her. It all comes crashing back, everything she's been trying stoically to hold within so that nobody sees the girl inside – all of it, on display through the tears that escape and trail down her cheeks during the meditations.

She tells herself that in time, the ache will vanish. The anger and the grief and the loss will all fade away, transmuting into cold, steel purpose. Already, she begins to feel the alchemy silently taking root in her heart.

She only has to wait.

And she supposes that it's no more than she deserves.

Zuko doesn't say a word. He only nods his head quietly as the others speak.

The same. But…different.

Going everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

The last couple of weeks have felt, to Zuko, like he's been running on a giant wheel. He tries and tries with all his might to escape, only to find himself in the exact same spot where he started.

In fact, with Mai's departure earlier that week, he might even have moved backward.

Azula and his father are probably orchestrating something back home, beyond his reach and comprehension.

Uncle Iroh is no closer to solving the mystery of his botched assassination.

And he can't even keep Katara safe if he tries.

But if the past couple of weeks have taught him anything, it's that dwelling on these failures will do him no good.

Correction, he notices and it takes an overwhelming amount of effort to keep his inner voice calm. These are not failures. These are not my failures. They are obstacles and I'll find a way around them.

It sounds feeble and unconvincing even to his ears, and if his father heard it, he would sneer at it.

But his father is miles away in the capital, and Zuko is here. And so is Uncle Iroh, who believes in him. And miraculously, so are Aang and Toph and Katara – who believe in him too.

And strangely enough, through the shame and resigned futility that weigh down his every waking thought, he can feel something else – something crazy and defiant, a spark of something like optimism or hope. For the first time, Zuko sees.

And even if he is doomed to fail at everything, like he's been told all his life, well – at least he'll have his head facing forward instead of fixed to the ground.

And he won't be alone.

"I suppose," he says quietly, and the others turn to face him as though he's reading their thoughts, "it's no more than we deserve."

General Iroh's smile broadens at Zuko's words, as Aang exclaims that he'd been thinking the same thing and both Toph and Katara chorus that they had too.

"Well done," he speaks over them, and all four of them fall silent. "I see you have finally learned the one thing that is the most important of them all. Humility."

He beams at their ensuing confusion.

"Think of all the worldly troubles you faced in these past exercises. Think of all the things that weighed you down and blocked your chakras and stopped your chi from flowing. And think of what the key to conquering them was. Not pride, not anger or stoicism or bravado – but just true humility. It is the first step that separates novice from master, child from adult, amateur from expert. And you have all done far more than what I expected of you. You should be very proud of yourselves."

There is pride in his eyes as he surveys the four of them.

"My part in this particular journey of yours is over, for now. I am confident that you have learned what you need to carry on this path alone. Remember that you will only reap the fruit after sowing and nurturing the seed."

The silence that follows his words is heavy with expectation and tentative disbelief.

"Wait," Toph says suddenly, realizing the implication of the General's words. "Does – does this mean –" her face lights up as Iroh makes no effort to correct her, "- that we can bend again?"

"Yes," General Iroh says emphatically, with a grin and an earnest nod. "Yes, you've more than earned that privilege by now –"

His words are cut off by a loud, deep rumbling sound.

"Yes!" she all but yells, sliding immediately into a deep-seated stance and pulling her hands into two fists at her side. She closes her eyes, breathes in deeply, and sighs happily. The ground beneath them ripples and quakes, before coming to a standstill.

"I can see again," Toph sings, and even though there is a look of pure delight on her face, her voice has a slight tremor to it. She flops down onto the ground, spread-eagled in the dirt, and flails her limbs around as though making a snow angel. "Oh sweet, beautiful dirt, I've missed you –"

Fighting the smile that springs to her lips, Katara flexes her fingers tentatively.

At once, water empties from the stalks of grass within a fifteen-foot radius of her, rushing to her fingers in the span of a breath.

"Whoa," Aang comments, casting a sidelong glance at the withered ground beneath her feet. "Could – could you always do that?"

Katara shrugs, inhaling deeply and feeling the pull of the water on her and realizing how much she missed it.

"I guess," she replies uncertainly. She moves her hands slowly, tentatively, and the water follows the steady motion of her hands like a silhouette. "I try not to, usually. But I guess I couldn't help it."

Spirits, it feels good to bend again.

"I get that," Aang remarks, promptly pulling his wrists together and hopping onto an air scooter. His face slackens in pure bliss as he balances on top of the whirling ball of air, relishing the familiarity. "I missed this."

Somewhat to the side, Zuko inhales deeply and when he exhales, twin jets of hot, bright yellow flames erupt from his nostrils. He stills for a moment, watching the flames flit out of existence and the leftover smoke curl upward into the air, thinking hard –

Then he begins to lob fireballs into the air, one after another, watching the small, brightly yellow flames follow his motions with more fidelity than they used to –

"It feels different," he marvels, stopping and turning his hands up to gaze at his palms. "It – feels easier."

All four of them stop, glance at him, and then turn their inquiring eyes to where General Iroh still stands in wait before them.

"That is probably true," he agrees, nodding slowly. "With the flow of energy cleared out for the first time, you will find your abilities somewhat enhanced."

"Really?" Toph pauses, scrunching her face up and focusing. "Hey, you're right. I can see more now! This…" Her face lights up. "This is awesome! To be honest, Grandpa, I had my doubts about this meditation stuff, but I gotta admit. This is pretty neat. You really pulled through."

"Oh no, Toph," General Iroh corrects her, shaking his head. "It was you who pulled through. I merely guided you, and on occasion had to beat you into submission with a stick."

"No you didn't," Toph points out, momentarily confused before comprehension dawns upon her face. "Wait, was that a joke, Grandpa?"

"It certainly was," General Iroh agrees, smiling slyly. "Nonetheless, I would caution the four of you to be careful. While there is certainly a time and place to explore the new limits of your bending abilities, I would ask you to consider the safety of the others at this base and restrain yourselves at least for tonight."

He directs the last bit at Toph and Zuko, eyebrows raised.

Toph hangs her head.

"We'll behave," Zuko promises, his voice resigned.

"Good," General Iroh approves with a nod. "Now go, have your dinner, take a bath, and relax. You've earned it. Tomorrow we will start again after breakfast."

"I thought I was never going to bend again," Toph confesses later on that night. "Or see."

She carelessly lifts a large rock from the wooden bucket by the door and floats it onto the stove in the middle of the dry wood-and-stone room.

"I hear you," Katara agrees, streaming a generous quantity of water on top of the stove. As the water sizzles on contact and fills the room with heat, both girls lean back on the wooden bench and sigh.

It is sometime after dinner and Toph decided that it had been too long since they'd gotten any use out of their sauna.

Katara agreed, surprising the blind earthbender. Usually, she'd been too shy in the past.

"This is the stuff," Toph breathes, feeling the wet heat work into her stiff muscles. "Who knew sitting on the ground and doing nothing could be so exhausting?"

"That's for sure," Katara says, not moving her head from where it rests against the wall. "That was one of the hardest things I've ever done."

"You and me both," Toph acknowledges. "But we're on the other side now. Do you think you're going to keep doing Grandpa's meditations from now on?"

Katara shrugs, her eyes closed.

"I suppose I owe him that," she comments abstractly, too relaxed to give the matter much immediate thought. "It's not so bad if it really makes that big a difference in your bending, right?"

"I guess," Toph says diffidently. She wiggles her toes against the floor. "We'll probably just play it by ear, right?"

"Mm," Katara acquiesces wordlessly.

"Thought so." Toph hesitates, before sightlessly turning her head to face the waterbender sitting next to her. "And Sweetness? Thanks for looking out for me."

Katara's eyes open in surprise, as she faces Toph, expecting a quick, witty retort.

"Oh," she replies when she sees the blind earthbender is sincere. "Don't – don't worry about it, Toph. I could hardly have left you when I was the one who talked you into it."

"Yeah, well…" Toph remarks slowly, trying to make her voice airy as a small smile spreads across Katara's face. "In retrospect, it would have been boring being the only one not doing Grandpa's crash course anyway."

The more he tries to avoid it, the worse it gets.

This is the conclusion that Zuko arrives at early the next morning, flushed and sticky and uncomfortable under his tousled bedsheets, following a long and confusing night of self-defeat and resignation.

It all started with him swearing, as he climbed into bed the night before, that he wouldn't, he couldn't avoid her anymore. It wasn't right, and she'd already called him out on it once and by the dragons he was being so obvious and awkward about it –

So instead, he resolved, he'd just fake it till he makes it. He would be courteous during their bending training, reasonably polite during pai sho, and otherwise, remain his usual, silent self, and hopefully she'd be none the wiser and he would be able to move on from this – this obsession –

But that didn't quite work, because he remembered then that other people knew – Toph knew and Mai, Mai had guessed, and was probably whispering it straight into Azula's ear by now and then –

Then nothing. He couldn't protect her without hurting her and he knows by now that isn't an option. Worrying himself sick might be, but she wouldn't ever let him do anything about it, and he certainly couldn't tell her –

But then his mind ran away with him and he slipped back into the possibilities of might-have-been and then he was lost all over again.

He imagined telling her, just blurting it out one day, maybe after a charged training session or walking back alone from yet another pai sho match drawn out too long, or some other vague, unsubstantiated setting. He imagined her eyes widening as she heard it from his lips and looking surprised, or uncomfortable, or disgusted, even, that he could even think of her like that. He even lived through a rejection or two in his mind before envisioning a possibility where she said yes.

He drifted off to sleep trying not to fixate on that last one: about pulling her in and kissing the living daylights out of her, running his fingers along her face and neck and through the thick curtain of her hair. What would she even look like without her hair tied back in its sensible, practical braid? What would her hair feel like? Or her skin? Or her lips, against his own? And what else… What would her body feel like? What would it even look like? Her uniform was several sizes too large for her and even the robe they'd gotten her draped loosely around her, leaving plenty for the imagination to guess at – would she be curvy? Muscular? Willowy? He has no idea and it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter that, objectively speaking, she isn't the prettiest girl he's ever laid eyes on – that her features are a little too sharp and strong in an otherwise soft face, that her hair coils and frizzes against the strict confines of her braid instead of sitting perfectly smooth, that her skin isn't pale and soft and unblemished but callused and dark as the shell of a nut, that she has a temper and when she's angry, it makes her blue eyes flash and seem larger than they are .

Because if she isn't the prettiest girl he's ever seen, there's still something about her that's striking and that's struck something in him. Leaving him stuck here, wondering what if, what else, if she let him…if – she wasn't a maiden after all, what if she let me –

Things spiral out of control from there.

And by the time the sun rises over the horizon, he is not entirely sure which of his fantasies are deliberate and which are just his subconscious whispering to him in his dreams again. But as his heart drums in his chest and the uncomfortable tightness curls somewhere in the pit of his stomach and his hand closes around the swelling erection that greets him in the morning, he knows he's fighting a losing battle.

That morning, after breakfast, General Iroh meets them in the clearing.

He walks them through some basic forms, watching the four of them carefully rediscover their mastery over their respective elements.

"Good," he encourages them warmly, watching how even without trying, their movements start to take on similarities and synchronicity. "Very good."

He stops them an hour later, and strokes his beard thoughtfully.

"We are entering uncharted territory today," he tells them. "From here on in, we are only testing theories. From here on in, my guess is as good as anyone else's here. Do you understand?"

"Yes," all four of them chorus, exchanging curious glances with each other.

"Good," General Iroh says with a nod. "Then it is time to impart a bit of theory. Prince Zuko is already familiar with it and can help demonstrate. Zuko, step forward."

Zuko, looking somewhat taken aback, complies nonetheless. He casts a questioning glance at his uncle, who smiles at him.

"Today, you are going to show your friends," his uncle instructs, "how to generate lightning."

Zuko freezes, staring at his uncle in growing apprehension. "But –"

His uncle raises a hand to silence him. "Last time was different. Now, you are more in tune with the energy within you – and around you – than ever before. I believe you can do it." He smiles serenely, tucking his hands into his sleeves. "And your friends do too. Don't they?"

The others nod in agreement.

Zuko sighs, and assumes the starting position.

He dutifully walks the rest of them through the motions, Uncle Iroh occasionally interrupting with a correction or a pointer.

"That's weird," Toph comments, taking on the stance and frowning. "I don't really feel it, though."

"Me neither," Aang admits, worry spreading over his face. "I…I don't know, sometimes I think I feel what you're talking about, Zuko, but – but not exactly…"

"Same," Katara agrees, her face screwing up in confusion. "I – don't really feel it in my stomach, but sometimes, if I go lower, I feel it there –"

"I feel it higher," Aang counters with a shrug. "I don't know, Toph – maybe you can try experimenting and see if you feel the energy collecting somewhere else?"

Understanding dawns on Uncle Iroh's face.

"Perhaps," he exclaims, a look of pure delight crossing his face as he claps his hands together. He tosses a triumphant glance at his nephew. "Prince Zuko, I think your earlier deduction may have been correct."

"Huh?" Zuko breaks out of position, confused.

His uncle beams at him. "You asked a question once – about whether different benders employ different chakras to power their bending. I think you might have been on to something." He points to Aang. "The air chakra, located in the heart – just above the stomach." He then points to Katara. "The water chakra, located in the pelvis – just below the stomach."

"You mean," Zuko faces his uncle, bewildered, "that different benders have their energy pooling in a different chakra?"

"It makes sense," Uncle Iroh mutters, stroking his beard in deep thought. "Everyone has the same seven chakras, without a doubt, but perhaps their importance varies between bending types. After all, when bending forms vary so intrinsically, of course the distribution of energy would be different as well…"

He looks sharply at Zuko.

"I have always told you, Prince Zuko, that firebending comes from the breath. From the air through your nostrils through to the stomach, where pure energy pools and is transmitted to your limbs in the form of fire." He glances at the others and shrugs helplessly. "But I cannot say the same for earth, water, or airbending."

"Um…" Aang thinks, tapping at his chin thoughtfully. "Airbending doesn't really work like that. Your center has to be a bit higher, because you're always moving and the motions are so cyclical…you essentially have to be weightless, like becoming air."

"Yeah, but earthbending is completely the opposite," Toph points out. "You have to be low, rooted right to the ground so that nothing can knock you down. If the ground moves beneath you, you stop it, and if something comes at you, you go through it. The earth becomes a part of you, it supports you like…" she struggles, trying to describe it, "like it's your backbone."

"Waterbending doesn't really work like any of that," Katara says wryly. "It's all about pushing and pulling. Water exerts a force on us, and we push it back. We focus on flow and balance and – " she frowns, trying to come up with the proper words to describe something completely indescribable, "I don't know? It's all about yielding, in a way? Like surrendering? Like…you bend with the water but you have to be flexible, you can't break. You just sort of…channel it."

Iroh raises his eyebrows.

"Interesting," he remarks, and he looks like a child who's discovered the dessert table. "It is a thing of great fascination – how different your bending is – in spite of some few, common, overarching themes." His gaze roves between Aang and Katara. "The weightlessness of airbending and the – the surrender of waterbending, as you describe, they…" and here he rubs at the side of his face, thinking hard, "they sound so different from firebending and yet… so similar to what is required for generating lightning…"

He stills, as a new revelation breaks over him. "Prince Zuko, you still have trouble separating the energies in your body, do you not?"

Zuko looks up, momentarily distracted, and colours slightly while nodding.

"Perhaps…" Uncle Iroh muses, talking to himself now, "perhaps…an opposite…"

He looks at Katara for a moment and Zuko's heart quails, before his uncle turns his gaze to Aang instead.

"Sifu Aang," he instructs, and Zuko fights a sigh of relief. "I want to try something. This is purely theoretical. Based on the complementary yet different nature of air and fire, as well as the common themes of detachment and weightlessness between air and lightning, I…" he draws a breath and his voice becomes more firm. "I would like you to step forward and join my nephew."

"Uh…" Aang looks confused but does so anyway. "Okay?"

"I would like the two of you to coordinate and synchronize your movements," Uncle Iroh continues. "The motions required for producing lightning. You may alter them to suit airbending instead of firebending, as per your convenience."

"Okay…" Aang falters, somewhat uncomfortable. "Um, why though?"

Uncle Iroh shrugs. "Perhaps what my nephew needs is a boost. The same way different poles of a magnet draw at each other, perhaps having a complementary bender can…influence the separation of energies within him." He shrugs. "It is a far-fetched theory but we may have seen evidence of this earlier, with the accidental bending fusion – so please, if you will, indulge this crazy old man."

"Uh…" Aang struggles, before exchanging a quizzical glance with Zuko. "Sure? No problem."

He moves to stand across from Zuko, facing him. Both of them close their eyes, take a deep breath, and assume a wide, low stance, Zuko's hands at the level of his stomach, Aang's a bit higher, at the level of his heart.

They try moving in synchrony, mirroring each other's movements, forming the opposing circular rotations with their right hands, and then their left, over and over, slowly at first. Zuko's motions are more firm, while Aang's are softer, but as they concentrate, occasionally cracking an eye open to peep at the other's motions and check if they're still in sync, slowly, sparks begin to trail from Zuko's fingers.

"You're doing it, Prince Zuko," his uncle calls, and Zuko fights the excitement that builds within him. "Focus and let go."

He takes another breath to calm himself, and for the first time does he really feel it – the pull of his hands against the pulsing energy in his stomach, the crackling as it divides further and positive and negative both grow unsteady, the calmness, the sureness that settles over him – he's just empty, weightless like air – and for a second, he wonders if the air nomad's presence is actually working –

"Now," Uncle Iroh commands, and the word strums like a plucked string in Zuko's consciousness.

Now.

Zuko brings his hands together and lunges forward, unthinking, unfeeling – the crackling energy coursing through him as in front of him, Aang does the same.

A single, bright, painful spark emits from his fingertips, sharp and stinging and as quick to flit out of existence as it was to appear.

"Ow," Zuko winces, cradling his stinging hand.

"That hurt," Aang complains, shaking his fingers out to relieve the sharp, sudden pain.

"What happened?" Zuko rounds on his uncle, his frustration mounting. "I did it right, I felt it, it should have worked."

"Mm," Uncle Iroh frowns. "You did."

"I know I did," Zuko insists. "Then – why didn't it work?"

Uncle Iroh thinks for a moment, before he sighs. "Static," he says simply.

"What?" Zuko and Aang chorus.

"In hindsight, it makes sense," Uncle Iroh mutters, shaking his head. "When you accumulate two opposite charges in the presence of air, you get static. You did do it, my nephew, but the medium was wrong. Interesting."

"What?" Zuko repeats, disbelief coursing through him. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that it worked in theory," Uncle Iroh insists, more firmly. "Clearly, the presence of an opposite energy mirroring your own helped you in sustaining the separation. But not in transmitting it. I should have guessed." He shakes his head again, as though stating the obvious. "Air dissipates electricity. You need something that conducts it." He sighs. "Water it is, then."

He turns his gaze to Katara. "Sifu Katara, if you and Aang could switch places."

"This probably," Katara admits wryly, an apologetic smile flitting over her face briefly, "wasn't the best idea your uncle's had in a while, is it?"

He groans and shakes his head.

They are standing face-to-face, a couple of feet apart. After he'd tried and failed a couple of times to make lightning with her accompanying him, General Iroh had granted him a break to gather his focus.

She wonders at his obvious discomfort, before remembering that he's an incredibly closed-off person and that this sort of…closeness was clearly uncomfortable for him.

To be honest, it freaks me out a little too.

"It's not you," he mumbles, his fingers twitching, a hand running through his mess of hair in frustration. "It's me. I can't do this."

"Of course you can," Katara argues gently. "We've done this before, haven't we?"

Against her better judgment, her hands reach out to clasp his reassuringly.

Something judders deep within her as she does, somewhere in the region of her unsteady water chakra, that floods her with something electric, snatching the air from her lungs so that her breath catches in the recesses of her throat. His hands are rough and callused against hers, and shockingly warm in the crisp air, radiating heat but gently, deceptively, as though hiding the fire that lies in wait…

"We have?" Zuko glances at her quizzically, nervously, and she can feel his heartbeat skyrocketing at the prospect – spirits, he's so scared of trying – his pulse drums against her senses – or maybe it's just her own, she can't tell anymore, she's on edge, gripped by vestiges of the old fear and discomfort that his presence elicits –

"Not with lightning, maybe," Katara allows, tilting her head a little to the side. Her breathing is a little heavier than she'd care to admit.

"Right," he admits, his posture relaxing somewhat. His pulse – it must be his, there's no way her heart is pounding so frenetically right now – is still loud in her ears, too loud, and she can't really blame him for that – the last time their bending had accidentally fused, a lot of complicated things happened. But none of them were his fault exactly.

"You just need to find your space," she assures him in a deceptively steady voice, her hands withdrawing from his but still impossibly warm (were all firebenders this hot?), resting them at her sides.

"I'm trying," Zuko points out, frustration colouring his voice. "But I don't know if I have one."

"That's rubbish," Katara counters. "Everyone has one. But it's not always what you expect. Some people are like monks, you know, they're most themselves when it's quiet inside, and then some people are only like that when they're fighting for their lives." She shrugs. "You just have to figure out which one you are."

"What do you think I am?"

The words slip out of his mouth almost without his realization, she thinks, the way his face colours afterward.

She surveys him, weighing everything that he is, everything that she knows about him, everything that she doesn't know…

"I'm not sure," she falters as his gaze meets hers. "But you seem like you'd be pretty useless as a monk."

There's a pause, before Zuko nods his head sharply. "Lousy," he agrees in a deadpan voice.

They both laugh nervously.

"It's so nice to see them getting along," Aang remarks to Toph as he watches Zuko and Katara laugh quietly in the distance. "Right?"

Toph fights the exasperation that threatens to show on her face.

"Yeah, it's real cute," she quips lightly instead, tapping her foot against the ground idly. "Any more and I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Alright," General Iroh calls out, clapping his hands together. "Let's try again. Prince Zuko, Sifu Katara…"

"I guess that's our cue," Katara says, her hand touching her braid absently. She smiles at him. "You can do it. Just find your space."

Then she steps back, so that there's a couple more feet of space between them.

"Right," Zuko stammers. "Thanks."

Then she watches him take a deep breath, close his eyes, and settle into position.

She takes a breath before mimicking him, keeping an eye slitted open to monitor his movements. Her stance is a little lower than his, her hands held a little looser, her motions at the level of her pelvis instead of her stomach. Otherwise, they are completely in sync, a mirror to each other.

"You're doing well," General Iroh notes in approval as sparks begin to trail from Zuko's fingers. "Keep it up."

The funny thing is, sometimes she feels it too. Not the sparks or the electricity that the firebenders must feel, but something stirring inside her, coursing, pulsing, dividing…

"You're almost ready," General Iroh says, his voice rising in anticipation. "Focus, Prince Zuko."

Her eyes are trained to his motions, growing steadily quicker and firmer. The hesitation and uncertainty that had gripped him just moments earlier are gone, and though his face is scrunched up in concentration, he doesn't look like he's fighting it anymore.

Good old Sifu Hotman, she thinks fondly, with just a trace of irony. That's the spirit.

Still, they've reached this point before and it hasn't worked, so she forces herself to breathe and calm the jitters that are taking over her –

"Now," General Iroh commands, his hands clasped together. Next to him, Aang is watching with his fingers pressed against his mouth, and Toph is alert, her fists clenched in anticipation.

Now, Katara thinks, her mouth dry watching as though in slow motion, across from her, Zuko brings his hands together and lunges forward, and then –

She feels it in her skin long before she sees it, the great current of bright blue lightning erupting from his fingertips – he did it, he did it – crackling and snapping loudly in the air – I can't believe it – crashing directly toward her –

"Shit," is all Katara has time to say, the word somehow squeezed out of her by the elastic band of tension snapping shut across her heart, propelling her to react – the lightning bears down on her faster than her paralyzed limbs can register –

Someone's shouting, screaming, in the distance – but she can't hear it –

There's no time to move, or jump out of the way, or think even –

Her eyes squeeze shut and instinct takes over. Her hands shoot up instantly, reflexively assuming a form that is foolish – she would have laughed if she'd been thinking at all – why on earth would you do such a useless thing you poor dead idiot, her mind would've whispered mournfully as it strikes her, you can't waterbend with lightning…

Except somehow – miraculously –

The lightning is freezing cold to the touch somehow – both ice-cold and white-hot all at the same time – the cold-blooded fire, she remembers numbly as it licks a path straight through her body – her arms, her stomach, her pelvis…

– and it makes sense even though it's all wrong - I'm a waterbender, I can't bend fire –

But it flows through her like water – and the feeling is as unnatural as it is right and then –

She lunges, pushing the way she would if it was water.

And to her unending shock, the lightning obeys.

The silence that descends upon the clearing after the lightning fizzles out of existence somewhere in the sky is tinged with varying degrees of horror, disbelief, and awe.

"What," Katara musters, breathing heavily as she opens her eyes to survey the world around her, as though searching for a hint that she's imagined it, "just happened?"

Then there are feet pounding against the ground, footfalls rushing toward her, hands cupping her face –

"You're okay?" Zuko demands disbelievingly, his fingers still impossibly hot – probably from the lightning – he bent lightning, he did it – pressing hard against the sides of her face.

"I…think so?" Her body trembles, her senses are sluggish, her mind racing a thousand miles ahead of the world as she perceives it. I'm okay, I'm okay, there was lightning and…I'm okay…

"I don't believe it," he mutters, his face is only inches away and his hands are shaking her now, "I could have killed you – I could barely control it – I'm so sorry –"

"Please stop that," she tells him gingerly, wincing. Her head is pounding something fierce and her skin feels too hot – every hair of hers feels like it's standing on end –

Without another word, he lets go and stumbles away, his hands raking through his hair in obvious devastation.

"How?" he demands, and she's able to process him more clearly now: his face stark white, his golden eyes so scared… "How did you do that?"

She tries to swallow, but her mouth is too dry, her tongue feels too big for her mouth…

"I think we would all like to know that," comes General Iroh's resonant voice from some distance away, and she turns her head to see him approaching too, him and Toph and Aang, drawing closer but hesitating too.

"Know what?" She is confused and shaking now, her entire body quivering and trembling as though a thousand volts of electricity have passed through her and left her unscathed.

General Iroh regards her with wide, disbelieving, awestruck eyes and it hits her then that this is real - it happened –

"Zuko!" she turns to face the hapless, devastated prince with his ashen face. Delight enters her voice. "You did it! You just bent lightning! Spirits, you should be happy, why are you so sad?"

"I think she's in shock," Aang whispers worriedly, his face almost as white as Zuko's as she laughs.

"Sifu Katara," General Iroh starts delicately. "Do you…realize what just happened?"

She turns to face him, her face still bright.

"Zuko just bent lightning," she answers, the image of it still fresh in her mind, the bright current of electricity rushing forth from his fingertips as though it was an extension of him…rushing toward her…at her…

"Yes," General Iroh acquiesces, watching the realization dawn over her face. "And so did you."

It must have taken General Iroh all the self-control in the world, Katara reflects a little while later in the healing tent with a cooling mud poultice covering her body and hair, to stop their training just as they stumbled across the biggest development to date.

Zuko bent lightning, she thinks, a small glow of pride swelling within her. And I did too.

The thought of it sits strangely with her.

She bent lightning. She's a waterbender and she bent lightning.

"I'm fine," she tells the healer, Jia, some time later as the old woman washes the poultice off, wraps her in a thick warm robe and several blankets, and then examines her critically. "I swear –"

"I believe you," Jia says firmly, her fingers checking Katara's pulse at her throat, wrists, chest, ankles… "It's certainly a miracle. I have never heard anything like it. So, if you could kindly let an old healer do her job and look after her patient who was just hit by lightning…"

Katara sighs and lets the old woman fuss over her. Truth be told, she doesn't mind so much: the bed is comfortable and the little room is cool and dry, and the blankets are so warm –

She doesn't even realize that she's dozed off until she opens her eyes and sees that the light outside the window is dim. Aang and Toph hover by the bedside and on the opposite side of the room, Zuko fusses over the fire in the hearth.

"How are you feeling?" Aang asks, his grey eyes wide and concerned.

"Fine," she insists. "I'm just fine." She glances at them and shuffles under the blankets, feeling somewhat vulnerable and exposed even though she's completely wrapped and covered. "How long have you been here?"

"The healer lady didn't let us in until she was done examining you," Toph says breezily. "Maybe an hour or so?"

"An hour," Katara echoes sceptically. "You've been watching me sleep for an hour." She quirks an eyebrow. "Didn't you have anything better to do?"

"We were worried about you," Aang says, somewhat reproachfully. "It was – really scary –"

"Even Grandpa was scared," Toph says, her voice uncharacteristically solemn. "He said he'd never seen a thing like it and if he'd even thought such a thing was remotely possible, he'd never have put you in such danger."

"Yeah, well…" Katara squirms uncomfortably, the idea of everyone fussing about her sitting a little oddly. "I'm okay, alright? I'm fine and was just a little rattled and uh, everything's good. You can all relax now, okay?"

Toph visibly relaxes, Aang less so.

"We just," he tries to explain, "we thought – I don't think you really understand, Katara, what it felt like to people who care about you, seeing that happen…"

Her expression softens and her heart wobbles uncomfortably in its cage in her chest at that.

He cares. Everyone cares.

The thought is wrenching. Here, so far from home and family, for the first time, people actually care about her. It is so unlikely a thought, and so very –

For a moment, she puts herself in Aang's shoes, wondering what would have run through her mind if she saw him hit by lightning. Or Toph. Or her brother.

"I'm sorry, Aang," she says softly. "Of course you – you all," she watches them grapple with it in their own way. Aang's worry shining like a lamp in the dark, Toph's hidden behind her tough veneer along with everything else that made her vulnerable, Zuko in the corner working at the fire trying to be helpful, his back to her, unable to face her because he shot lightning at her accidentally –

"Thank you," she says instead, her voice catching at the lump building in her throat. "It means a lot. And I'll be fine."

"I still can't believe it," Toph remarks, shaking her head. "It was unbelievable, Sweetness, how –"

"I redirected it," Katara concedes, closing her eyes. "I don't know how – or why – " she struggles to remember what happened, but it's all a blur in her hyperactive mind, "- but it worked, I bent it like I'd bend water and it worked…"

"It must be something to do with General Iroh's theory," Aang muses, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully. "With the different bending energies interacting with each other. There must be something in waterbending that acts on lightning, we just have to figure it out –"

"No."

The three of them turn their eyes to look at Zuko, who's spoken for the first time that evening. He turns to face them, and there's something firm in the set of his jaw as he crosses his arms.

"We're not figuring anything out," he continues, his gravelly voice low and fierce.

"What?" Aang asks, somewhat deflated. "What do you mean, Zuko?"

"I mean we're done. With all of this." He marches up to them, his long, thick hair falling in his eyes, shadowing the sharp lines of his face. "No more cross-training or fusion bending or any more of Uncle's gopherbear-brained theories. We're done."

"But –" Aang hesitates at the unusual display from Zuko, usually so silent and impassive. "But we're onto something, Zuko, we've made more progress today than we ever had –"

"I don't care," he snaps, his jaw tightening, eyes blazing. "It's too risky. No amount of progress is worth putting any of you into the healer's tent."

"Especially not Sweetness," Toph mutters mockingly under her breath as she rolls her eyes, her voice barely audible to Katara's ears. She turns to face Zuko, her arms crossed as well. "I get it, Sparky, you're freaked out. We all are. But Twinkletoes is right. We started this – all of us – and we decided to give this a go. And you want to make an executive decision to stop, just now when things are finally going somewhere?"

"Going where, Toph?" Zuko counters, with a darkly derisive laugh that sends a chill down Katara's spine. He points at her, supine on her bed underneath the stack of blankets. "Today, I put Katara in the healing tent. Tomorrow, what next?" He scoffs, his voice mockingly sceptical. "Am I going to have to keep shooting her with lightning until we figure out what caused it? Is that what you want me to do?" His fingers rake through his hair in agitation. "Is someone going to have to die before anyone else thinks this isn't worth it?"

"Calm down, Sparky," Toph orders, her jaw set almost as formidably as his. "Nobody's dying. And nobody's asking you to keep shooting lightning at Sugar Queen here – how on earth are you being this dramatic –"

"Oh, so you think I'm being dramatic, do you?" Zuko's voice is angry.

"No, I think you're scared," Toph retorts, her voice softening just a touch. "And more than a little guilty. But it was an accident and it's not your fault, Sparky, and nobody blames you, okay? Not me, not your uncle, and definitely not Sweetness over here – who, I notice, didn't seem too keen on your suggestion of pulling out even though she's the one in the healing tent." She tilts her head, sightless green eyes piercing into Zuko's feral golden ones. "So you can stop blaming yourself now, okay?"

"I'm not blaming myself."

His voice is too loud in the small space. Katara wrenches her eyes shut, her discomfort evident.

The motion does not go entirely unnoticed, as Aang turns to Zuko and hisses an audible "shh", finger to his lips.

"I'm not –" Zuko fights to compose himself, visibly struggling with the effort to keep his voice down. "I just – "

"Katara, what do you think?" Aang turns to face the waterbender. His voice is firm and even. "If anyone should be talking about stopping, it's you. After all, you're the one who got hit by lightning."

"I didn't get hit by lightning," Katara retorts, with just a hint of annoyance. "I redirected it, remember?" She turns her eyes to face Zuko's, standing next to her at the head of her bed. "Zuko, I think you're overreacting."

"You didn't see yourself," he counters hotly, but his voice is quiet now and she supposes she should thank him for that at least. "And what if that was a fluke? Are you really going to gamble your safety on it?"

"If I do, that's a risk I'm willing to take and it's my decision!" Her eyes flash and the words blurt out of her before she can stop them. "I told you before. You have to stop trying to protect me."

He gapes at her as though she's slapped him across the face and at once, she feels guilty for lashing out at him.

Toph, sensing the tension rising in the air, takes a quick, sharp breath and cracks her knuckles loudly. "Aaaand that's our cue," she announces, marching over to Aang and grabbing him by the arm. "C'mon Twinkletoes, let's go."

And she drags him out of the room, his confusion visible and more than audible. "Toph, what are you doing? Get off me!"

"No chance," Toph remarks grimly, pulling him along as she exits with him in tow. "They're going to be a while, looks like…"

And then there were two.

Silence descends upon the room, thick and heavy with shades of awkwardness, guilt, and anger.

"Sorry," Katara cedes first. "I shouldn't have lashed out at you. I was just frustrated."

"I shouldn't have tried to protect you," he mumbles, accepting her apology by issuing one in turn. "You're more than capable of taking care of yourself. I just – I just can't stop seeing it in my head."

Her eyes soften then as his gaze drops.

"You were really scared," she realizes, "weren't you?"

"Scared?" He repeats the word with a bit of a scoff. "That doesn't even come close. I - I thought I killed you! I could have! By all rights, I should have." His voice, rising in intensity, drops even quieter as he leans a bit closer, a hand bracing his weight against her pillow. "Just because you're okay doesn't take that away."

Now it's her turn to gape.

He really does care.

It is such a tragically foreign sensation to her – the feeling of being cared for – that something lurches within her. Some instinct that is somehow primal yet vulnerable, silent yet powerful, overwhelms her in its grasp. You're safe here, it whispers.

Her eyes flicker to where his hand rests, dipping into the soft surface of her pillow, just inches from where her head lies against it. She can feel the heat radiating from it, grazing her cheek – there's warmth emanating from all of him, come to think –

"I know." Her soft, solemn admission surprises him, but he doesn't pull away. "You're right. This is probably a lot harder on you."

He scoffs again, shaking his head slightly.

"But it was just an accident. Like Toph said. You just need to forgive yourself." Her hands twitch underneath the mass of blankets, and if they hadn't been so heavy, she would have reached out to him... "You bent lightning today, Zuko. You've never done that before. This – this was a good thing. Don't let this take that away from you."

"I never want to bend lightning again," he murmurs, his eyes closing shut.

Hers widen in response. "Oh no. Don't you dare," she warns him, her voice sharpening. "We didn't go through all those weeks of meditating and not bending and me ending up here so that you could just give it up. You're going to figure this out, I know you will."

His eyes open again and he glances at her in puzzlement. "How do you know?" he asks her sceptically. "How can you know?"

"Because you always have." She chances a bit of a smile at him. "It's what you do."

He sighs. His face is so close to hers that she feels the brush of warm air against her skin. "I don't want to hurt you again," he admits.

"I know."

"I never meant to hurt you," he continues, his voice a quiet rasp in her ears. His hand twitches against her pillow, twisting at the soft fabric. She remembers the feeling of them, his strong, warm fingers firm against her face, pressing into her skin the way they press against her pillowcase now – and a part of her wishes wildly, for a fraction of a second – "I'll never hurt you again."

She is momentarily distracted by the silent ferocity of his promise, all thoughts flying from her mind as she tries to swallow, her mouth dry, her heart beating with something that couldn't just be adrenaline –

"I know," she whispers instead, her voice unsteady.

They regard each other warily, uncertainly. His face is still close, she realizes, and his lips have pressed tightly together in a firm line and his eyes, still trained on hers, burn with all the flickering hues of an evening fire and –

He pulls away instead, backing off toward the door slowly. She lets out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, surprised by the disappointment that floods through her.

"Zuko," she calls after him, her voice a small uncertain thread. He freezes by the door and turns to look at her questioningly.

She struggles, wondering what to say as suddenly the heavy silence becomes oppressive.

"I'm proud of you," she says instead.

Now he really looks confused.

"For what?"

Meeting his gaze now is a struggle, she reflects as she makes herself reply.

"For finding your space."

He remains silent, as though he wouldn't know how to respond to that. In the end, he just inclines his head at her in acknowledgment before exiting the room.

And then there was one.

Katara turns onto her side, alone with her thoughts and the thick, heavy silence and the feeling of her pulse slowly returning to normal, lungs learning how to breathe again.

The fire crackles loudly in the corner, the only light in the dark room.

And then –

She wishes, for a moment, that he was a bit more like the others. Anyone else wouldn't have hesitated – a small gesture of comfort, perhaps a touch to the wrist or a clasp of the hands or even a caress of her hair – anything. She knows that if the tables were turned, she wouldn't have hesitated.

But to him, touch was elusive. He's always been a little distant, a little wary. Even with all of his concern, he's always just out of reach.

And that's just as well. He's a prince, after all. This is crazy.

She isn't sure of the thought that eventually relaxes her and sends her back to sleep. Perhaps it's the sound of the fire licking at the kindling and spitting faint sparks into the cold night air. Or the weight of the blankets, soft and comforting and safe, enveloping her like a warm cocoon.

It certainly isn't the memory of his hands, hot against her skin.

"How is she?" Uncle Iroh asks gently, his face creasing with concern as he turns to face his nephew, who has just entered his pavilion.

"Fine," Zuko replies shortly. "She's just fine."

"That's good," Uncle Iroh allows, setting down a sheaf of parchment paper onto the pile on his desk. For a moment, Zuko thinks he can hear the exhaustion in his uncle's voice. "That's very good, then." He pauses for a moment, before clearing his throat. "Thank you for letting me know."

He turns back to the papers on his desk – the scrolls, the maps, the tactical plans –

"Did you know?" Zuko ventures to guess as his uncle busies himself with his strategizing. "That this might have happened?"

His uncle stills momentarily, but does not face his nephew.

"Because if you did," Zuko continues, his voice level despite himself, "you could have warned us, you know. We would have still done it. But it would have been nice to know."

"I didn't," his uncle finally admits, and then he turns to face his nephew. His face is ashen. "I should have. But I didn't."

Zuko takes a moment to consider this.

His uncle knows everything. He plays people and manipulates situations as though they're nothing more than pieces on a pai sho table. He plots chains of actions and reactions so far ahead in advance that sometimes, it can seem to the uninitiated, that General Iroh is omniscient.

But sometimes even his uncle forgets that the pieces are people – living, breathing, feeling people.

It would appear that now was simply one of those times.

Otherwise, he wouldn't appear so shaken at the revelation that testing his theories would have a price. That sometimes, innocent people could get tangled up within his schemes and get hurt.

"Okay," Zuko says instead.

His uncle gives him a searching look.

"Do you forgive me?" he asks gingerly.

"Yes," Zuko answers, truthfully. "But you should be more honest next time."

"I know," his uncle acquiesces. "This whole ordeal has certainly sapped today's discovery of the excitement it deserves." His face breaks into a small smile, as though he's unsure of whether he's allowed to celebrate. "You were finally able to control lightning, my nephew. I am very proud of your development. It cannot have been easy."

"No," Zuko concedes, his gaze falling to the floor briefly. "No, it wasn't."

"You must promise to keep practicing," his uncle tells him, as though guessing at his earlier reservations.

"I will," Zuko promises, raising his gaze again to meet his uncle's with a trace of defiance. "But I'm going to do it alone. I'm not putting her in danger again."

Uncle Iroh falters for a moment at the steely resolve in his voice, unusual in its unhesitating certainty.

"That is probably a wise decision," he acknowledges, his own shoulders slumping. "Have you discussed it with the others?"

"Somewhat." Zuko doesn't back down. "I know they all want to keep exploring this – bending experiment. I can't take that away from them. I want to know where this goes too. But," and there's a note of authority in his voice now, as he continues, eyes fixed on his uncle's, "we're going to do it safely. I'm not going to have the others throwing themselves in front of lightning until I know I can control it."

His uncle surveys him appraisingly.

"That seems like a fair compromise," he agrees at last. "I think that is a responsible course of action from hereon in."

"Good." With the conclusion of the conversation, Zuko's resolve bursts into a million tiny pieces. He inclines his head shortly. "Good night, Uncle."

He turns to leave.

"Zuko, wait." His uncle has turned to face his desk again, and shuffles through a pile of scrolls. "I have a letter for you."

Zuko turns to face his uncle with mounting curiosity. "For me?" he echoes in confusion as his uncle turns back to him and presses a scroll into his hand.

"Yes," Uncle Iroh says, his tone giving nothing away. "It appears to have gotten mixed in with my messages."

Zuko examines the partially unfurled scroll of heavy parchment, its red wax seal cracked, the royal flame insignia broken but still clear –

"Did you read it?" he asks his uncle, eyes widening, heartbeat racing as he realizes what it must mean –

His uncle shrugs. "I thought it was one of mine until I realized it was not. Then I stopped."

A letter from home. Whenever Zuko gets one of those, they're usually from his uncle.

"Is everything okay?" he asks cautiously, his fingers shaking as he unrolls the parchment and smooths it out.

"For now." His uncle turns his gaze away.

Lighting a flame in his palm, Zuko brings it closer to the letter, illuminating the fine script traced in black ink.

His heart pounds as he begins to read its contents.

My beloved son,

I hope that you will at least read the contents of this letter once before consigning it to the bottom of your hearth.

I know there is nothing I can say to convince you that these last years have been almost as difficult for me as they have been for you. Nor is there anything I can tell you to express how deeply I regret losing you. The fault is mine and mine alone. But for what it's worth, whether you believe me or not, I am sorry.

I am so sorry that I wasn't a stronger mother, sorry that I couldn't protect you better. Everything I did, everything I've done, has been for you and perhaps, selfishly, for me, in hopes of atoning for what I couldn't do back then.

I wish I could have fought back against him and his decision, I wish I could have stood up for you like a true mother should have, and above all else, I wish that you did not have to spend the better part of your adolescence convinced that your family does not love you. I know from your uncle's communications that you have not gone completely without love, but my guilt still won't let me sleep at night.

Maybe one day, you'll understand and in understanding, forgive me.

But that is another matter. I write to alert you to another, perhaps of which you remain unaware.

Your grandfather, Emperor Azulon, was poisoned some time ago. It was an assassination attempt that did not go as planned. The chief healer was apprehended and found guilty, due to his ties with the resistance based in New Ozai. Nevertheless, your grandfather was severely incapacitated. I understand that the poison used was extremely complicated and lethal, and the healers have been working hard to delay the inevitable. But there is only so much they can do, my son. And as time passes, the inevitable draws ever nearer.

Things are tense here and I wish that you did not have to be so far away. Whatever happened in the past, we can work past it. Your father's hours are occupied with matters of state and he is not the same hot-headedly irrational man he was so many years ago. Ruling has changed him and made him a man that could maybe be worthy of being your father. If you came back home, perhaps you could decide for yourself.

The worst is coming, Zuko. No matter what has happened, now is not the time for family to be divided. Come home and everything will take care of itself.

I love you more than words can reliably convey, more than you can possibly know.

Yours,

Mother

His fingers crush the parchment almost instinctively. Water wells in his eyes, instantly blurring the world around him.

He dashes at his eyes with the back of his hand before they have a chance to weep. "It's –" he struggles, trying to wrestle with the whirlwind of emotion swirling inside him, "it's from Mother."

"It would appear so," his uncle says, nodding.

"They want me back," he rasps, his voice hoarser than usual for the lump growing in his throat. "She wants me back home. She says she…she says that it'll be okay. That my father – he –"

The idea sits so uncomfortably within him that for a moment, the world sways dangerously around him.

"Take a seat," his uncle suggests kindly, helping him into a plush armchair across from his desk. "I understand that this comes as a shock to you –"

"A shock?" Zuko echoes incredulously. "My father – after everything he did – " his voice rises in indignant protest, "- and they just want me to come back? To forget?"

"I thought that was what you wanted," Uncle Iroh tells him solemnly, settling into another chair across from him. "To be reconciled with your family after all these long years apart?"

"I –"

All this time apart and now, suddenly, everything is moving too fast for Zuko to think straight. His body trembles violently and his thoughts are whirling around in his head, too fast for him to process.

"I thought I did too," he whispers at last, burying his face in his hands. "All this time –"

This was all I ever wanted. To go home and forget this all ever happened.

Hell, a part of him still does.

"But –" he forces out, the realization washing over him with the cold slap of reality, "I – I can't go back like this. I did nothing wrong, why should I wait for them to forgive me?" His reservations coalesce around this kernel of truth, this one, hard, cold fact that not even the voice in his mind that sounds like his father can twist and take away from him. "What about me? My forgiveness? What if I don't forgive? Doesn't that matter?"

"It should," his uncle says heavily. "But if you are holding your breath waiting for an apology from my brother, Zuko, you will have to wait a while longer yet. I have never known him to regret anything."

"Then –" Zuko's fingers crumple the parchment even more. "Then what is this? Why does she want me to come home now?"

His uncle levels him with a very piercing gaze. "Because Princess Ursa is your mother," he says calmly, maybe even a little sadly, "and your mother loves you."

"Bullshit," Zuko all but snarls back, his face darkening. "She never loved me, she only ever did what my father told her to do –"

"Your mother was never raised to be a woman of the court," his uncle reminds him gently. "The day my father plucked her from the healer's academy and set her by my brother's side as his bride was as much a surprise to her as it was to all of us. She was never strong enough for your father. Whatever she felt in her heart may not have been enough to remove whatever compulsion drove her to –"

"She's weak," Zuko cuts him off, his voice shaking, "she's weak and scared and –"

And I'm just like her.

"She couldn't even write to me properly," he complains, his ire raging within him now, "she had to accidentally send it to you. Like a coward."

"Consider the possibility that it might have been part of the message," Uncle Iroh points out shrewdly. "A letter addressed to you may have been intercepted on your father's behalf. This may not have been your mother's first attempt to contact you."

His words ring pointedly in the air.

Zuko tries to imagine it – his mother, writing letter after letter to him, only for the messages to be intercepted and redirected to his father. He imagines the extent of his father's displeasure at her disobedience, the desperation it must have taken for her to reach out to his uncle –

A part of him feels sorry for his mother. She was a delicate soul, too gentle by half for the palace and certainly more so for his father. But the rest of him recoils at the pity and can't help but resent her for it.

I could have been strong like Azula and my father. Instead I turned out weak, just like Mother.

"You said my father had her confined to the tower," Zuko speaks at last, facing his uncle. "Because she was having night terrors?"

"Among other things," Uncle Iroh agrees with a slow nod. "I have never seen your father so concerned with her well-being."

"Mother says that he's changed." Zuko's voice is bitter. "That ruling has made him a better man." He cannot disguise the contempt that enters his voice. "That he isn't as hot-headed and irrational."

"Did she?" His uncle raises an eyebrow and his tone gives nothing away. There is no indication, none, about how he feels about his younger brother's grasping ambitions, and yet… "That is a credit I would not have thought to award him. My brother is not known for being level-headed."

"You're telling me," Zuko grumbles darkly. "Mother says that the worst is coming. That I should just go home and everything will take care of itself." He scoffs in disbelief. "Have you ever heard of such a thing?"

"So you will not return home then?"

"No." Zuko can't say what compulsion drives him to deny his mother's invitation with such certainty. He can't describe if it's obstinacy, petulant indignation, or sheer outrage that the request hadn't even originated from his father. "I won't."

"That is probably wise," his uncle agrees. "At any rate, you are safer here. I have also instructed Lu Ten to stay away from the capital. As is with our family, things are not always what they seem and until the facts become more apparent, I think you are safer here, surrounded by your friends."

"I did almost get assassinated here though," Zuko points out wryly.

"Yes, and it would have succeeded. Fortunately for you, your attackers reckoned without the interventions of Sifu Toph and Katara," his uncle counters. "I hesitate to think of what might have happened had you been in the palace when the assassin attacked you."

"Probably the same fate that awaits the emperor," Zuko sighs heavily. "I assume that nobody back home is pulling for him to make a miraculous recovery?"

"Mm." Uncle Iroh's face is grim now. "On that account, your mother is correct. My father's health is not improving. The palace healers have confirmed to me in their reports," he gestures at a pile of papers behind him, "that he is declining, and quickly. They urge me to return home."

"Then why are you here?" Zuko demands. "Why aren't you going home?"

His uncle does not meet his gaze.

"I am needed here," he replies insubstantially.

"You're needed at home too," Zuko counters, his voice hot. "I don't get it. Things are bad. Don't you…don't you want to see your father one last time?"

"I already have," Uncle Iroh says wearily. "Do you imagine your father will let me near him now? My father is as much a prisoner to him as your mother is." He sighs sadly. "I cannot help but think that when the end comes for my father, it will be a blessed release."

Zuko struggles, trying to find something to say in response that would be appropriate without sounding trite or insensitive.

"There is nothing I can do for him now," his uncle continues doggedly. "But here, at least, I – I know I am doing a service of some good."

"Until you get recalled to the capital when he dies," Zuko realizes, his eyes widening. "You – you want to see this Avatar project through personally, as much as you can, before you get called back to rule."

"That, among other things," his uncle agrees, inclining his head.

"But – but why? Why this? Why now?" Zuko has been wondering for months now, what this has all been about, and still can't come up with a good reason. "We won. Sozin conquered the Earth kingdom and Azulon won over the Air Nomads and my father brought the Water Tribes under his heel. There's nothing left to conquer. Why – why the army? Why this sudden interest in the Avatar? What's the point?"

"The point?" His uncle gives a dark chuckle, shaking his head. "What is the point of anything at all? What is the point of power, of fighting, of order? Conquest is simple. But ruling is hard. Do you think it is easy to maintain such a large empire, with such different people with their own tensions, all under one person's rule? War is easy, Prince Zuko. But peace is something else altogether." He looks away. "I thought that by striving for balance, I could show them a different way. Perhaps I have been misguided. Perhaps it is our lot to squabble and fight among ourselves until our end. But when you see the end within your grasp, do you not try for it?"

"Not if you have to compromise everything else to get there," Zuko parries uncertainly, starting to feel out of his depth as his uncle grows more remote.

"But what if that's the point?" his uncle presses. "The lessons of mastery in everything teach us that only by sacrificing all that binds you can you transcend. Think of meditation. Think of lightning. Think of the white lotus –"

"Are you honestly basing your entire strategy off a gambit in an old person's board game?" Zuko bites out in frustration. "This isn't a game of pai sho, Uncle, this is real life –"

"I have always said," his uncle cuts him off firmly, "that pai sho is not just a game."

"What, so," Zuko can't fight the incredulous laugh that erupts from his mouth as he shakes his head, "you think that everything is going to fall in line like we're all just pieces on your board? That we're all just light and dark tiles and one day, you're going to have us all arranged neatly in your pattern so that you can magically play your white lotus tile and just like that, everything will be okay?"

"It's worked so far." But despite the confidence of his assertion, Zuko can hear the doubt in his uncle's voice.

"You believe it," he whispers, aghast. Mai was right. He is a crazy old man. "You – you actually believe it. You're gambling everything on it."

"What are my other options?" his uncle counters sharply, his voice like thunder. "What do you think? Should I be more like my father? Like your father? Should I close my ears and blindly maintain the way things are, ignoring the increased suffering of those in our territories and our colonies because even though they are part of our empire, they are not equal to our Fire Nation citizens? These are the countrymen of your friends, of my friends. Should I allow them to rot in their despair and their anger, crushing rebellion after rebellion with fire and violence, all so that you and yours can enjoy a life of prosperity back in the capital? Is that what peace looks like to you?" He fixes his nephew with a fierce stare. "Because if it is, you have learned nothing from me."

"That's not what I…" Zuko quails under his uncle's iron gaze, because even though he's a crazy old man, he's right and Zuko has spent far too much time with people who aren't Fire Nation to know that. "I just meant…it won't be easy…you're taking a huge risk –"

"Of course I am. Do you think I haven't considered the cost? I only said that this was something that had to be done. I never said it would be easy." Now it is his uncle's turn to shake his head.

"I'm just trying to understand, Uncle. Is this really that important to you?" Zuko asks him quietly, sincerely. "More important than the throne?"

His uncle shrugs.

"What good is the throne if you must sacrifice all that it serves?" he replies, shrugging. "Save the kingdom and the crown will follow, that has always been my philosophy."

"I don't know if that'll be enough," Zuko observes doubtfully. "You think my father will just hand you the crown without putting up a fight?"

"Of course not," his uncle retorts confidently, a hand running through his beard. "But your father's ambition is petty and stale. He will not jeopardize the empire to put a crown on his own head. He will never allow the stakes to rise that high."

"He's done it before," Zuko can't help but point out. "With the Water Tribes. He allowed a peaceful negotiation devolve into all-out war and cultural genocide because of his ambitions."

"And look at what that cost him," Uncle Iroh replies calmly. "I would not gladly repeat such a mistake again, if I was my brother."

"But you're not," Zuko argues. "You know him. You know he's a monster."

"Yes," Uncle Iroh allows. "But he is also only a man. And I happen to know that this man became a monster out of fear and spite. He will fall in line because I will not give him a choice. And he knows it. This is a zero-sum game we are playing, after all. He bares his teeth like a feral creature in captivity because he knows he is trapped. And because I have trapped him, I let him bare his teeth. It is a vicious but predictable cycle."

"Well," Zuko comments, now at a loss for words in face of his uncle's serenely ruthless assessment of the situation. "As long as you're sure."

"Of course I'm sure. He's my brother. I have known him longer than he has known himself," his uncle insists. "When the time comes, he will back down. I promise."

"And then what?" Zuko inquires, his tone dubious. "You get your crown and we all live happily ever after like one big happy family?"

He doesn't fight the sarcasm that drips from his words.

Uncle Iroh sighs and raises a hand to rub at his temples. "Not exactly."

She wakes up in the healer's tent the next morning, feeling oddly restless.

"Can I go?" she asks the healer, Jia, as the grizzled old woman feeds her breakfast with a spoon. "I'm fine. I feel fine. There's no damage to anything."

"That appears to be correct," Jia allows with a sigh. "Very well. After breakfast, you may resume your regular duties. With caution."

"Yes ma'am," Katara bobs her head vigourously in response. "Thank you."

I'm going crazy cooped up in here.

"Remember to be careful," Jia warns her as she jumps out of bed and strips out of her infirmary robe and back into her oversized army uniform and blue robe. "And for Agni's sake, the next time someone bends lightning at you, move out of the way."

"Yes, ma'am," Katara echoes, surreptitiously crossing her fingers behind her back so that the healer can't see her duplicity. "Absolutely."

She undoes her hair and then re-braids it, wishing for a comb to better tame the thick, wavy strands.

"You really do look fine," Jia marvels, watching Katara's fingers move dexterously along her long, dark braid, weaving the strands into place. "It is unbelievable."

"It really is," Katara agrees, tying the end into place and flipping the braid over her shoulder so that it hangs back down at her waist. "Yet, here we are."

"I really have never seen anything like this," Jia confesses, somewhat haplessly. "I don't really know what to expect."

"Well, join the club, then." Katara can't say where this restless, upbeat attitude has come from, only that it's a new day and the air tastes different and everything seems like it'll be okay. "Thank you very much for looking out for me, though. I really do appreciate it."

By now, she's known Jia long enough to know that the old woman wouldn't let any of her preconceived notions get in the way of doing her job, and that, she supposes, is admirable in its own way.

"I was only doing my duty," Jia says with a shrug. "I am glad that you're alright, though."

Katara nods at the old woman again, as they step out of the little room and into the hallway.

"Thanks again," she calls after the healer as Jia walks the other way, back to the entrance of the healing tent.

Jia waves her hand in acknowledgement.

Katara sighs, before she remembers.

Well. Since I'm here anyway…

She turns and walks along the hallway, stopping in front of another room whose location she's memorized by now.

Feeling a little guilty for not even checking in until now, she pushes the door-flap aside and steps into the doorway.

To her surprise, Chan is out of bed and upright, holding himself up gingerly using a set of parallel bars that certainly had not been there the last time she'd seen him.

"I see you're on your feet again," she remarks, before she can stop herself.

Chan's head whips around to the door in surprise, his eyes widening as he sees her standing there.

"Ah!" he lets out a scream, clearly caught off guard, before losing his balance and toppling over onto the ground.

Katara winces as he goes down.

"Well…barely." She makes her way over to his side, kneeling down beside him as he struggles to right himself.

"You startled me," he gasps in reproach, shifting his weight to his center.

"Ah well," Katara concedes apologetically, holding out her hand, "I guess I have that effect on people."

He grumbles, but accepts her hand anyway. "You're one to talk," he mutters, frowning as she helps him get onto his feet and regain his balance using the bars. "What brings you back here all of a sudden?"

"What do you mean?" Now it's Katara's turn to frown as she watches him practice how to walk with support and breathe at the same time. "I'm supposed to be healing you, remember?"

"Do I remember?" he echoes, and his sullen voice is filled with indignation now. "I'd ask you the same question, but you haven't stopped by in ages."

She winces again at the accusation in his voice, and the guilt returns.

"Sorry. General Iroh's orders," she explains shortly, apologetically. She shrugs helplessly. "I couldn't even use my bending until a day ago, I'd have been useless help, and then uh –"

"Yeah, you got hurt in some training accident, the healer told me," Chan finishes for her, somewhat carelessly. He tilts his head, suddenly staring at her as though in a new light. "Wait, so you spent all night here and you still came by to see me?"

"Well…yeah," Katara is taken aback by his apparent surprise, "obviously."

"Why?" Chan challenges, bewildered.

"Because…I was supposed to heal you," Katara answers in confusion, wondering where this is all coming from, "and I hadn't checked in on you in a while and I thought I should, so I did."

Chan is silent for some time, taking his time to digest her words.

He never was the sharpest spade in the stack, she thinks to herself dismissively, before –

"That's…" Chan stammers at last, breaking the silence, "…that's really nice of you."

Katara turns her gaze to meet his sharply, but to her astonishment, he looks touched.

Spirits damn it all, he's serious. She doesn't know why that irritates her so much.

"I didn't do it to be nice," she retorts, spitting the word back in his face and crossing her arms defensively.

What did he think? That she was doing this out of the generosity of her heart? Spirits, she was only doing this because General Iroh told her to –

And because it makes you feel less guilty, she remembers. You're doing this for you, not for him.

The distinction doesn't make her too sure about which of the two of them is being more selfish.

"Probably makes you nicer," Chan admits, uncharacteristically sombre. He pauses, his gaze briefly dipping to the floor. "Not like me."

Huh?

Katara surveys him critically. Is he…? "No," she agrees, shifting her weight as she takes a step back. "Definitely not like you."

Chan's grip on the bars tightens, knuckles turning white and suddenly it clicks –

"Wait," she says slowly, carefully. "Are you saying that you…missed me?"

Chan snaps out of it like she's dashed cold water all over his face. "No!" he retorts reflexively, his voice almost a sneer before he gives way, just a little. "Well, okay fine maybe a little – but – do you have any idea how slow it is, being healed by someone else?"

"Oh, is that what it's all about?" Katara can't help the scoff that enters her voice as she tosses her head imperiously. "And here I thought you were, I don't know, apologizing."

Chan's handsome features twist incredulously, but his voice lacks conviction, "Why – why on earth would I apologize to you?"

He's full of it, Katara realizes slowly, watching the discomfort spread over him as he grapples with it too, it's total bullshit and he knows it.

"I could think of a few reasons." Her hands shift to her hips, and her voice is calm.

"Yeah – yeah right," Chan parries feebly, looking away now. "In your dreams."

"Oh?" Her face splits into a smirk, sly and gloating as she steps closer to him and he tries to shuffle back, unable to meet her knowing gaze. "Then why'd you miss me?"

"I didn't miss you," he tries to counter, trying to hang on to a thread of the old attitude she found so irritating before, "I just – I – you're just much better looking than the other healer, that's all."

He crosses his hands across his chest stubbornly, loses balance again, and promptly falls over again.

Katara presses a fist against her mouth to stifle the giggle that's making it's way out of her throat.

"Yeah. Uh-huh. Sure," she agrees incredulously, shaking her head. "That must be it. Thank you for the compliment."

"That wasn't a compliment!" Chan squeaks, now trying to crawl away.

"You just said I was pretty," Katara reminds him, kneeling down to his level again. She tilts her head, unsure of why she feels so very triumphant right now. "If that's not a compliment, Chan, you should probably work on your insults."

"I just said you were better looking than that other old woman," he grumbles, curling into a ball, pathetic and sad and vulnerable like a sulking child. "I didn't say you were pretty."

"Right." Katara lets it slide and decides to be gracious, because that's what winners did and Chan was detestable but some part of him is already sorry and she's more than happy to divide and conquer. She glances at him and the flush on his face, and then at the set of bars above them, and then lets out a sigh. "Well…let's see if we can get you off those bars soon then, yeah?"

She holds out her hand.

Grumbling and muttering under his breath, he takes it.

She grins.

The next chance she gets, Jun all but marches into the seedy pub on the lower ring. She takes her usual seat by the bar and flips her long black hair over her shoulder, as though in an act of defiance.

A quick scan of the area tells her that her pursuer is nowhere to be found. Yet.

She forces herself to act relaxed, even as the bartender sidles over to stand across from her.

"What can I do you for, miss?"

Jun's eyebrow furrows as she looks up at the unfamiliar face.

"Where's Wei?" she asks with a scowl.

The bartender shrugs.

"Dunno. No one's seen him the last few days. My uncle knows someone who owns the place, thought I'd be okay minding the bar in the meanwhile."

They must have taken him, Jun realizes, staring the new guy down with a blank look in her eyes. Something like guilt twists in her gut. Those Dai Li bastards must have gotten to him.

"Maybe he's sick," she says absently, twirling a strand of shiny black hair around her finger.

"Could be," the new bartender agrees. "What did you say you wanted, miss?"

The usual, Jun wants to say, but Wei is nowhere to be found and it's her fault for getting him mixed up in all this unsavouriness.

"A pint of dark," she says instead, and then glares at him. "And don't you miss me. Name's Jun."

"Jun, huh?" the bartender repeats, a smile crossing his face. "Well, you're a pretty one, anyone tell you that?"

"No," Jun retorts sardonically, looking away. Her tolerance for the new bartender, young and cute as he is, plummets with every passing second. "No one ever. I'd never have known without you, you know."

He smiles at her, evidently mistaking her snark for interest. "You can call me Pang," he introduces himself.

"I'll call you the guy who gets my beer," Jun interrupts him. "Speaking of which – where's my beer?"

He smiles at her again. "Which one did you want again, miss Jun?"

She rolls her eyes. "The dark," she repeats herself, trying not to think of Wei and whether he was lying dead in a ditch somewhere, or if the Dai Li had spared him and kept him alive –

"I heard you," the bartender who called himself Pang admits tritely. "Which one's the dark one?"

She looks at him frostily as he hovers haplessly over the three polished brass knobs.

"The dark one's the dark one," she tells him witheringly. "It's literally the darkest knob – ugh, forget it, just give me whatever –"

He bobs his head apologetically at her, proceeds to fill a cup with something that's half foam, half golden liquid, and sets it down before her.

"Sorry about that, miss Jun," he says, but she waves him off.

"Get lost," she orders without looking at him.

He hesitates for a moment, before finally complying.

She lets out a long, exasperated sigh before taking a swig from her cup and wincing at the watery taste of its contents.

The fool gave me a blonde. I can't drink this piss.

She regards the drink critically, wondering if it was even worth consuming, before deciding that it wasn't. Reaching into her pocket, she withdraws a few coins and slides them onto the bar – that bumbling idiot wouldn't be getting a tip for screwing up her beer – before sliding out of her seat and making for the door.

Perfect, she thinks to herself sourly. This is shaping up to be a real promising night. No Lee, no Jet, and now, no Wei. Even that Dai Li tail –

"I beg your pardon," says a man's voice directly in her ear and she freezes at the sound of it, deep and quiet and smooth, like cultured silk. "You must be the infamous Jun."

She turns slowly to face the man who's materialized by her side.

A glance at his posture and the way he stands solves the mystery of how he'd disappeared the other day without her noticing. The man's an earthbender, and a damn good one at that.

"That's me," she replies, deliberately unaffected. "And you are…?"

The man smiles. Up close, he is darker than she'd initially guessed, with small green eyes, slanting eyebrows, and a broad nose in a strong-jawed face. His moustache and goatee are severely and precisely trimmed, as though to not detract from his receding hairline and long dark braid.

"Call me a friend," he says, and though his voice is amiable enough, he still sets Jun's nerves on end.

"That's awfully presumptuous of you," she parries, placing a hand on her hip and brushing the hilt of her whip, tucked out of sight by her belt. "What makes you say that?"

The man inclines his head. "Friends look out for one another," he illuminates, his hand gesturing vaguely as he speaks. "They warn you when your actions put you…close to danger."

Jun raises an eyebrow. "And am I?" she asks lightly, casually shifting her weight on her feet. "Close to danger, that is?"

The man tilts his head slightly to the side and smiles without warmth or humour. The sight of it is blood-chillingly sinister.

"Would I be here if you were not?"

By now, Jun is convinced that something is up. Ever since she started investigating into the origins of the Grand Lotus's knife, she has been tripping head and foot into the Dai Li. While she can't put a name to the owner of the knife, by now she would be prepared to bet a very large sum of money that it was Dai Li property – and worse, that it was implicated in some very illegal activity. All the inexplicable disappearances – Jet and his freedom fighters, Wei, the rest of the lower ring regulars – it all stinks of Dai Li and Jun curses the day she ever got mixed up in all this.

But this – this brazen, open display of aggression by the Dai Li, to intimidate her and tell her to back down?

Not on my watch.

"I don't know," Jun counters indifferently, with undisguised contempt in her voice. She shrugs. "It's not my business how you spend your time."

She tries to walk past him, but he sidesteps to cut her off and block her path.

"You've been asking a lot of questions," he says quietly, "about certain individuals of – of considerable disrepute." The false, unnerving smile vanishes from his face. "As a friend, I would advise you to end this."

Jun meets his glassy eyes with her own. "Thanks for the concern," she answers coolly. "But as a rule, I don't tend to take a lot of advice from strange men in bars."

The man doesn't budge. "I would advise you to reconsider," the man says, his thin lips twisting into a smirk. "Or would you prefer the fate of the unfortunate young man who tended the bar?"

His eyes glitter malevolently in the dim light.

Jun sees red at his taunt.

"Listen, friend," she hisses furiously, marching right up to the man and shoving her face so close to his that they are almost nose-to-nose. "I don't tolerate threats, I make them." A beat, while she lets him digest her words. "So you can skulk back to whatever skunkrat-hole you crawled out from, and if you're not out of my sight within the next ten seconds, I'm going to teach you exactly what close to danger means."

The man's eyes widen slightly, as though her boldness surprises him.

"That was a mistake, Jun," he says quietly, the smirk vanishing from his face. Without it, he appears austere and completely without compassion. "I would watch my back if I were you. This isn't over."

And with those chilling words, he sweeps the hood of his cloak over his head and walks away.

Jun follows him with her eyes, noting how the ground swallows him up outside the door. She lets out a shaky exhale and her hackles lower.

She'd been tailed and marked by the Dai Li as an official disturber of the peace. And she'd gone and threatened one of their agents while she was at it.

"Well, I'm in trouble," she murmurs to herself, feeling uncharacteristically nervous for once.

Replacing the vial at her belt, she brushes her hand against the neatly-wrapped green knife, the source of all her current troubles.

Oh Grandpa, she thinks tensely. What have you gotten me into?

Zuko rises early the next morning, well before the sun begins its slow ascent along the line of the horizon. He pulls on a dark cloak to protect against the cold air of the early morning and slips out of his room.

His feet tread the path silently, by memory. His thoughts are a whirl but strangely, a quiet one. The grounds are empty, silent as the grave.

He makes his way to the clearing, pulling the cloak tighter around him as the air chills. The breeze is more insistent at this time of day. It nips at the exposed skin on his cheeks, his fingers. His breath fogs before him.

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, feeling the cold vanish as within him, the air turns to heat.

There is a fire in you, he tells himself quietly, gently, with a certainty that he's lacked before but has somehow stumbled across, perhaps quite by accident, that he can't take away.

The confusion rages in him. The conflict threatens to tear him apart. And yet, his mind is still.

Whatever happens from now, he thinks, is out of your control.

It's the same thing he's been telling himself all along, the same thing his father's voice has whispered to him all these dark years. And yet, it doesn't fill him with despair now to hear it, not so much as –

And whatever happens – he settles into a low, grounded stance, feet wide apart, hands level with his stomach, - you will manage.

Because that's what this has all been about, and that's what's separated him from Azula, and that's what he can no longer rely on others to provide.

You won't be alone – his hands rotate in opposing circles, slow, steady, assured – you've never been alone. You could have given in at any time. Swallowed your pride, begged for forgiveness, and crawled back to them. But you didn't.

Conviction. He has been running from it all these years, chasing one avenue of escape after another to avoid the truth staring at him in the eyes.

You're here, you've always been here, not because you had nowhere else to go, but because you chose this.

He's let too many people get hurt trying to help him find it. Mai, his uncle, Katara –

No more. Enough is enough.

If his father thinks that he can use his mother as a mouthpiece to manipulate him – dangle the carrot from a line and expect him, half-starving, to jump for it without any heed for the consequences, he has another thing coming.

The quiet resolve floods within him, as he channels it into feeling the separation within him.

I don't forgive him, he thinks and the epiphany is almost blinding in its resonance, my forgiveness is not for him to command.

His father was wrong and even if he never apologized for it, Zuko realizes that this is one thing he will always have over him.

He might have disgraced me in front of everyone. Humiliated me. Exiled me. Taken everything away from me. Everything except -

The raw power of the divided energies within him mounts to its zenith. He doesn't grow excited, doesn't try to fight or control the inevitable, doesn't project anything at all.

In the moment before he lunges forward, he just is, and everything makes sense.

His honour is his own, his destiny is his to choose, and whatever hell the future holds for him in its clutches, he will fight it with everything he has because that is what he has always done. It's never held back, not once, and this time, from now on, he's ready to give it back.

And as he lunges forward, hands crashing together, he accepts it all and surrenders.

And then –

Lightning erupts from his fingertips, a crash of fearsome blue light bright in the dark sky.

He opens his eyes.

A single tear rolls down his face. He dashes at it slowly with the back of his hand.

You can do this. Everything will be okay.

And for the first time since he can remember, he believes it.

Chapter 20: falling so slow (pt. v: moments)

Summary:

anticipation and excitement run high as a major fire nation holiday approaches.

Chapter Text

disclaimer. atla & all its derivations are property of bryke. i'm just a girl who needs a better hobby.

author's notes. and here it is: the titanic, long-winded, light-heartedish, teens-will-be-teens, tying-up-old-loose-ends, wannabe tales of ba sing se nonsense chapter you've all been waiting for! (with some elements of the waterbending scroll, the beach, and the headband sprinkled in as well, because i am nothing if not a glutton for punishment)

…just kidding. this is so radically outside of my comfort zone, i'm almost relieved to jump back onto the angst train next chapter when the plot returns. almost.

a strong mature content (and cringe) warning as this chapter contains several rather frankly detailed (though sorely needed imho) discussions about sex, sexuality, and sexiness...in case that sort of thing makes you uncomfortable. some parts are so far gone they may even be considered downright trash. such conclusions i leave for you, discerning readers, to draw on your own.

i apologize in advance...but also am not sorry.

anyway,

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter xx. falling so slow (pt v: moments)

this is for the ones who stand
for the ones who try again
for the ones who need a hand
for the ones that think they can

"it comes and goes (in waves)"/greg laswell

THE TALE OF: AANG

or,

(losing my religion)

"Right, let's take that from the top. Again."

Aang sighs as he trudges over to the scuffed spot of earth in the clearing, the site of the target. He stretches his arms out up above his head, feeling the joints in his shoulders and elbows pop and groan.

Yeah. I feel you too, he thinks glumly.

He tries not to focus on Zuko who's taken up his spot directly across from him, several feet away – partly for accuracy's sake ("if someone's going to attack you with lightning, they'll probably do it from some distance away, not point blank"), and partly because he just doesn't want to think about it.

"Remember," Katara is saying to him tersely, bundled up in layers and layers of oversized uniform in the biting cold air, "to not let it hit your heart, Aang."

"Yup," he nods briskly, "got it."

"You need to direct it to the next closest chakra," she continues her instruction, tracing the line of the path for him to see, "probably your stomach, or even lower, if you can –"

"I'll try the stomach," Aang says quickly, outlining the pathway with his finger for her to see, to help him visualize the flow, "I don't know if I'll be able to hold onto it longer than that."

"And remember to just let it flow," she reminds him, "don't fight it and don't run from it. Just let it flow through the pathways in your body. And if you feel uncomfortable or like you're going to lose control, just drop your palms to the ground and let the earth do its thing."

"Yup, I got it," Aang replies automatically. Mentally, he is a wreck of nerves.

Sounds like a piece of cake. No problem. I can definitely stand my ground and be okay with lightning being passed through me. That's not scary at all.

It's felt much longer than a few weeks since Katara first accidentally redirected lightning. Somehow in that time, a new focus has gripped the four of them. Zuko works twice as hard as before to practice manipulating lightning with increasing dexterity. It took him the better part of a fortnight before he was confident enough in his skill to let Katara try redirecting it again.

Aang doesn't know how Katara was able to pin it down – the exact motions to redirect lightning. But soon enough, she'd walked the General through the motions, enough for him to try it too. And since it worked for General Iroh, and then for Toph, he supposes that it should work for him too.

In theory.

"Ready?" Zuko calls from across the clearing, settling into his lightning-generating stance.

"As I'll ever be," Aang calls back, fighting the gulp that belies his nervousness.

"He's scared," Toph observes loudly, from where she stands in the corner with General Iroh. Her face is scrunched into a frown. "Maybe go easy on him, Sparky."

"No, don't," Aang insists, holding his hands out at the ready. "I'm ready when you are."

After all, General Iroh had survived with only a couple of hairs standing on end and Toph had said that redirecting lightning felt exhilarating, and Katara was able to do this in her sleep by now, so he supposes that it can't be that bad.

As long as he is able to guide the lightning away from his heart. The largest pool of energy in his body.

Firebenders store their energy in their stomach, waterbenders in their pelvis, earthbenders in their 's no way this is going to end well for me.

"Okay. Remember, it looks like a lot but I won't be shooting that much lightning at you. If you mess up, it won't hurt much more than a bad static shock," Zuko assures him, and he begins to go through the motions, separating the energies within him, charging. "Ready in three…two…one…"

Aang takes a deep breath and braces himself as, at his mental count of zero, Zuko lunges forward.

The current of lighting blossoms from his fingertips, almost as beautiful as it is feral, stretching across the air, heading straight for him –

His heart quails, sings to his instincts, to run –

But instead, he holds his ground and throws his hands out to meet the onslaught head-on.

The force of it pushes him back, his feet digging parallel tracks into the soft earth as he struggles to ground himself. The lightning hurts his hands, like a fire that is both present and absent, that freezes and burns at the same time –

He tears his focus away from the physical sensations and back to the flow of energy. His face scrunches shut as he tries to remember Katara's instructions.

Through the fingers, down the arm – so far, so good – into the core, away from the heart, away from the heart –

That proves to be a tall order for Aang. He struggles to maintain control, the lightning shuddering unsteadily within the confines of his chest as he realizes how little room there is –

But he channels every last ounce of his focus into it anyway, and surely enough, the lightning ricochets off his lower chakra and flows out of him harmlessly, like water bouncing off a rock.

"You did it!" Katara exclaims delightedly, clapping her hands together.

"Without running away like a sissy airbender, either," Toph interjects, a teasing grin spreading across her face. "Way to go, Twinkletoes!"

"That…" Aang gasps for air, feeling like his insides have been forced through a vacuum, "was really unpleasant. I'd rather not repeat it, if you don't mind."

"Are you okay?" Zuko asks quickly, straightening out of his stance. "I tried to make the current as small as I could without losing it –"

"No, it was fine," Aang assures him, with a nod. "Any more and it probably would have burst right into my air chakra, though. What do you think, Katara?"

"I thought you did really well," she tells him warmly. "Both of you."

Her eyes flicker over to where the firebender stands. The smile she gives him is soft.

There's an uncertain pause.

"Well," Zuko tears his gaze away from her with some difficulty, turning back to face Aang, "there's always room for improvement." His voice is steady but his pale face flushes faintly.

Aang doesn't blame him. Controlling something as unsteady and volatile as lightning must be hard. "No, you were great," he insists. He lets out a shaky breath and smiles uneasily at him. "I just don't think lightning and I were meant to interact."

"It's that hard for you to redirect it, huh?" Toph observes, tilting her head curiously.

"Yeah…" Aang trails off. "We're not all like you, Toph. You carry all your energy down low." Watching the earthbender try it, Aang had thought she was a walking ground, the way she effortlessly redirected it through her body and into the earth. "Lightning doesn't have a chance to hit your heart that way. But for airbenders, that's where all our energy pools. It's way more unstable."

"Well," Katara reassures him, looking away from Zuko and back at him, "this is all purely theoretical, right? Let's hope we never have to use this in an actual battle."

"Yeah, this is just theoretical," Toph agrees, waving a hand vaguely. "Anyway, how many people do we know who can actually bend lightning? And of them, how many are actually going to want to attack us?"

Zuko's face darkens, but he says nothing.

"I guess you're right," Aang confesses, his face brightening. "Hey but at least I don't have any hair, otherwise I'd look ridiculous right about now…"

THE TALE OF: CHAN

or,

(another one bites the dust)

"…and then, I woke up later and saw that Ryu's bunk was still empty! That sly fox must've slunk back into bed at first light!"

"Ryu? The fisher boy? Really?"

"That's what I'm saying, aren't I?"

"Who'd want to get boned by the fisher boy? When there're prime cuts like us walking around?"

"That's what I'm saying. Something doesn't add up –"

"Chan. Buddy. Look!"

Ruon-Jian and Hide break off from their intensely pointed discussion immediately once the former spots Chan walking slowly into the mess hall.

"I don't believe it!"

"Chan, my man. You're out of the healing tent, then?"

"Took you long enough!"

"Glad to see you walking around!"

"Hey guys, look, Chan's back!"

Chan fights the urge to avert his gaze as Ruon-Jian and Hide rouse half the mess hall's worth of firebenders and soldiers. After being in the solitude of the healing tent for so many weeks, it feels jarring and almost uncomfortable being back among the ranks again.

But he hasn't seen his friends in what feels like forever and so he puts on a brave face and his even-toothed grin as he approaches the table.

"Hey guys," he greets them. "Anyone sitting here?"

"No way, man, make yourself at home," Ruon-Jian assures him, shoving another soldier a couple years' his junior off the bench. "Hey, move. Chan's sitting here now, find your own damn spot."

"Uh, that's fine," Chan tries to call after the hapless young soldier as he scurries away, "there's enough room for…oh, forget about it then."

And feeling just the slightest bit uncomfortable, he sits down at the table with his friends.

"So tell us," Ruon-Jian urges him, leaning over his tray, "how bad was it?"

"Yeah," Hide echoes, "how bad was it?"

"Uh…" Chan reaches for his chopsticks, his motions still a little delicate for the bandages wrapped around his chest, "I'm fine, guys. Really."

"Yeah, no way," Ruon-Jian dismisses, "you can tell us."

"Yeah, way," Chan counters with a bit of a nervous laugh, "a couple of sprains and tender spots, but apart from that, I'm fine, guys. Really."

"That's bullshit," Ruon-Jian argues, his voice rising and Chan can see that he's drawing the attention of half the mess hall. "You nearly died, Chan. I saw you, we all saw you. That bitch waterbender went savage, nearly killed you, and then got away with it!"

To Chan's dismay, he hears a rumble of assent: generalized whispers, murmurs, and voices chorusing their agreement with Ruon-Jian's words.

A feeling like guilt works its way into his stomach.

"I say we teach her a lesson," Hide crows, jumping up and facing the rest of the room, "show her what happens when you mess with fire."

"Guys," Chan tries to defuse things nonchalantly, "I don't really think that's necessary…"

"Of course it is," Ruon-Jian speaks up over him. He flashes Chan a sympathetic grin. "Look at him, guys. Good guy Chan. Just wants to be merciful and let things slide, right? It's okay, buddy, you don't have to lift a finger. We'll do it for you."

"We'll show her that the Fire Nation remembers an insult," Hide calls out, raising a fist in the air to cheers from the room. "Who's with me?"

Chan sighs, pressing the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

I started this.

In spite of their bravado, he's never felt more small than he does now.

"Guys," he tries again, his voice a bit stronger now and he can see the generalized euphoria shifting to surprise and suspicion among the faces in the room as he continues his faint protest, "guys, it's fine. Seriously. It's not worth getting into trouble. She got a fortnight in solitary for it, I think that's good enough."

"Good enough?" someone calls back at him. "There's no such thing."

"Is that what you're going to tell the General, then?" Chan retorts, getting to his feet. "Seriously, guys. You're acting like little kids. It's embarrassing."

"We're just sticking up for you, buddy," Ruon-Jian points out, his face crestfallen.

"Yeah, we know you're afraid of her now and we want to show you that you shouldn't be," Hide explains, his tone rather affable.

"I'm not afraid of her," Chan groans, "you're getting this all wrong –"

"Getting what all wrong?" Ruon-Jian echoes, clearly taken aback.

Chan pauses, feeling very much like there is an invisible spotlight shining directly upon him.

This was not how he envisioned returning back to his day-to-day life.

He expected things to be simple, to slide seamlessly back into his old life like nothing had changed. That he could carry on with his careless, thoughtless existence as one of the most popular boys in the division.

He didn't expect the thought of it all to taste like ashes in his mouth at the first mention of the waterbender.

But then again, he hadn't expected her to heal him, work with him, day in and day out with an unnerving level of discipline and dedication that nobody's ever given him before, so…

"There she is!" someone calls, and there's a rippling motion as heads turn to the entrance of the mess hall.

Chan sees the instant alertness that grips the waterbender and her companions (the blind earthbender, the Kyoshi Islander, and the cute Fire Nation girl who used to work in the circus) the second they enter the mess hall. He watches as the waterbender's bright blue eyes scan the hall quickly, the earthbender's shoulders tense up in preparation –

Fix it, his mind urges him, even as the rest of him wonders why he should care at all. She'd hurt him first, she deserves it –

Instead, he slides out of his seat and runs, as fast as he can without straining his recovering injuries (which isn't too fast, which probably makes the whole thing look very silly to an observer, he reflects) –

When he stops to face the waterbender, hands braced over on his knees as he pants heavily from the unexpected exertion, he can't say who the most surprised person in the room is. "I – " he wheezes, turning around to face the rest of the hall in exhausted defiance, "I have to say –"

A pace behind him, the waterbender's eyebrows have shot up to the level of her hairline.

Catching his breath, he turns and grabs one of the waterbender's wrists and he feels her recoil in sharp protest as he jerks at her arm weakly. "This girl," he gasps, winded, "this girl saved my life. Okay?"

"What?" Hide blurts out in confusion, from halfway across the room.

"What?" says the waterbender, probably equally confused at his unexpected outburst.

He should be embarrassed at the scene he's making, but it doesn't matter. Maybe he's only acting so that he can stop feeling guilty over it all and maybe that means he's still just a selfish bastard, but damn it all –

"You heard me," Chan declares resolutely, his voice a thread of sound but growing stronger with every word. "This girl – this waterbender – saved my life. I was in awful shape and she could have let me die, but she saved me." He faces down the rows and rows of his friends and peers, now staring at him like he's turned into a komodo rhino – and maybe he has, for all he knows. "She spent hours of her own time healing me. Did you know waterbenders could heal? I didn't. But they can and she did. It's exhausting and she probably can't stand me – the way I couldn't really stand her – and she still did it." He pauses, heart hammering away nervously.

"But Chan," Ruon-Jian fights back thickly, clearly confused, "buddy, she wouldn't have had to heal you if she hadn't attacked you first." He tosses a glare at the girl.

"He has a point," he hears the waterbender mumble under her breath in resigned acquiescence.

Chan swallows instead. "She wouldn't have attacked me," he admits, fighting to keep his voice from wobbling, "if I hadn't picked on her. If we hadn't picked on her."

"So – so you're saying it was your fault?" Ruon-Jian counters hotly, also jumping to his feet. "What sort of Air Nomad pacifist bullshit is this?"

"I'm not saying it's my fault," Chan says sharply, desperately, needing them to understand. "I'm saying that if you poke a sabre-toothed moose-lion, expect to get trampled."

He drops the waterbender's wrist and turns to face her.

She still looks surprised, but her face has softened a little bit now. "Chan," she begins wearily, shaking her head, "you really don't need do this, it's fine –"

"No, it isn't," he cuts her off, "and yes, I do."

His conscience won't let him sleep at night if he doesn't, at any rate. "Her name is Katara," he announces, turning back to face the dumbfounded crowd in the mess hall, "and I'm apologizing, right here, right now, for all the shitty things I said to her and did to her and said about her and – uh –"

"That's fine," she replies quickly from behind him, very clearly uncomfortable, "really –"

"And if it wasn't for her," he continues doggedly, facing down his peers defiantly and finally starting feel some of the guilt going away, "I wouldn't be standing here right now, so I'm also going to thank her for not letting me die."

"You're welcome," she mutters behind him with a sigh, "but this is really unnecessary –"

"I don't know," giggles her friend, the cute one in pink, "it's not every day you see Chan with more depth than a straight-razor's edge, I swear he's getting cuter by the second –"

Score, his mind mentally notes, and Chan is amazed at his capacity to be such an ass even when he's trying to do the right thing –

"Unlike you guys," he accuses, crossing his arms across his chest gingerly, "you didn't even visit me, you assholes."

"We weren't allowed in!" Hide retorts defensively, but everyone in the room now looks nervous.

"Bullshit!" Chan calls out Hide's bluff, and he straightens his back to draw himself up to his full height. "You didn't visit because it was inconvenient. You don't care about me; you just care about making yourselves feel better! Don't bother denying it either," he says quickly, pre-emptively holding up a finger at the swell of chatter that follows his words, "I'd do the same thing if I was you. I get it."

"So…like…what are you trying to say?" Ruon-Jian asks, and his tone is no longer combative but merely curious.

Chan breathes a couple of short, shallow breaths before he glances back at the waterbender.

Then, he takes a step to the side, planting himself directly in between her and the rest of the room. "I'm saying," he declares firmly, "that if anyone's got anything against Katara, they'll have to go through me, first."

A blank silence greets his words.

"Fair enough, buddy," Ruon-Jian says at last, clearly at a loss for words. "Why didn't you just say so? Man, I forgot how dramatic you were."

And with that, the tension in the room instantly dissipates, as everyone else loses interest and resumes eating their dinners.

Chan's face falls. "Hey," he protests to deaf ears, "I'm not dramatic, I'm just trying to be the good guy here!"

"I don't know if anyone told you," the blind earthbender observes with a smirk, "but nobody gives you brownie points just for doing the right thing."

"Oh." Chan slumps.

"But they can thank you," the waterbender interjects gently, and to his surprise, she gives him a smile – not the uncomfortable, slightly sarcastic one she usually wears around him, but a real one. "So…thanks, I guess."

She holds out her hand.

"Uh…" He takes her proffered hand and shakes it. "You're welcome. I guess."

"Yeah." She pauses, before withdrawing her hand. "Well, I guess I'll see you around, Chan."

"Yeah," he echoes, his mind drawing a blank on what to say to her next. "Right."

But as he walks away, he feels a million pounds lighter.

I did it. I fixed it.

"Man, Sugar Queen," he hears the earthbender drawl as she shakes her head in amazement, "how on earth do you do this to everyone?"

THE TALE OF: SUKI

or,

(don't look back in anger)

"This is going to be so much fun!" Ty Lee sings, leaping onto her hands briefly before somersaulting back onto her feet daintily, as though it was nothing. "I'm so glad we're getting a girls' day out!"

"You guys have been working way too hard," Suki agrees, smirking a little as they take the path into the nearby town. "It'll be fun to take a bit of time off to ourselves!"

"I have to say," Toph admits airily, crossing her hands across her chest, "it's nice to not be surrounded by the empire's most dramatic guys for a change. You know, considering that it's socially acceptable for them to resolve their issues with violence, they're uselessly melodramatic." She rolls her sightless eyes affectionately.

"Really?" Suki frowns at Toph's emphatic outburst. "But you're always with Aang and Zuko. Surely they're not that bad?"

"Ha!" Toph's derision is palpable. "Well, Twinkletoes isn't too bad, I'll grant you – all that internalized air nomad discipline – but Sparky's a mess. Holy badgermoles am I glad to get my seismic sense away from that one!"

"He can't be that bad," Ty Lee gasps, her hands flying to her mouth. "Or maybe he's still heartbroken over losing Mai –"

"Yeah, it might just be his raging teenage boy hormones," Suki suggests wryly, her smirk widening. Her eyes shift to Katara, who has been unusually quiet during the whole exchange. The waterbender walks silently alongside them, but her eyes are trained elsewhere, scanning the area around them intently. "Are you looking for someone, Katara?"

Katara starts abruptly at the mention of her name. "What? N – no," she stammers, shaking her head and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She smiles apologetically at them. "I zoned out for a bit, what were you guys saying?"

"We were saying –" Ty Lee begins eagerly, but Toph holds up a hand.

"Nope, I'm vetoing this topic," she says firmly, shaking her head. "I am not spending my first day off in ages dissecting Sparky's hormones with you guys."

"Fair enough," Suki agrees, still amused. Beside her, Katara shakes her head a bit, but Suki notices the girl's ears are redder than usual. "This day couldn't possibly come at a better time. We can check out Wong's and see if he's got anything decent in stock!"

"Huh?" Katara asks, confused.

"Yeah, what language was that?" Toph prods, cupping a hand against her ear. "Apparently Sweetness and I don't speak Fancy Dancer."

"Or teenage girl, for that matter," Suki teases. "C'mon, Day of the Dragons is next week!"

"You guys need to buy something new!" Ty Lee pipes up. "It's tradition."

"I thought that was only for Conquest Day," Katara points out, somewhat crestfallen.

"Well, where do you think they came up with the idea for that holiday? They were obviously inspired by Day of the Dragons!" Ty Lee explains, her eyes brightening. "You know? Dragon mating rituals? New dragons, new year, new clothes! It makes much more sense, if you think about it…"

"Shopping," Toph says sceptically as they walk into the bustling town square. "You're taking us…shopping."

Suki exchanges a look with Ty Lee. "Well, we thought it was worth a shot," she confesses.

"Because last time went so well," Toph retorts witheringly.

"Well, last time we didn't take you to Wong's," Ty Lee points out. "We went to that crappy marketplace in that rinky-dink village."

"Yeah, this guy's got much nicer stuff," Suki agrees. "Even you'd probably like it, Toph."

"Um," Katara says, somewhat uncomfortably. "Does this seem a little…frivolous to anyone else or is it just me?"

"Yup," Toph replies serenely, while Ty Lee gasps.

"You are the very last person to be talking about frivolous, Katara," she declares firmly, poking Katara in the shoulder to emphasize her point. "For Agni's sake, none of your clothes even fit! Could you please stop being responsible and sensible for one day and find yourself something to wear that isn't made to fit three of you?"

"She means no offense," Suki follows up apologetically. "She's only got your best interests at heart, Katara."

"My allowance isn't nearly enough to buy a whole new wardrobe's worth of stuff," Katara complains. "You guys know that."

"We know," Suki concedes, nodding sympathetically. "That's why we're taking you to Wong's. Not only does he have some great wares, but you can't beat his prices!"

"Yeah! Last time I walked out with four whole outfits, and only paid eight silvers!" Ty Lee beams. "You can spare eight silvers, can't you, Katara?"

Katara sighs. "Why do I get the feeling that I'm going to regret letting you guys take me anywhere?"

"Probably because you will," Toph answers sagely, crossing her arms as well.

"Oh, shut up, you two," Suki tells them kindly.

"This is it?" Katara asks, raising an eyebrow at the homely wooden storefront.

"It doesn't look like much," Suki admits. "But there's something for everyone! Look," and she points at one of the dresses hanging in the front window, "there's even a Water Tribe dress you could try."

"What?" Katara's eyes follow to where Suki points, and then they widen. "Hey, you're right." She frowns. "I've never seen Water Tribe clothing sold at a market before. Not in the Fire Nation, anyway. That's so weird."

"We did try to tell you," Ty Lee chirps, pulling the door to the store open and holding it for the others to pass through. "Wong has everything."

Suki leads the way, pausing to describe some Earth Kingdom-style outfits to Toph, who nods in approval.

"That doesn't sound too bad," Toph admits, as Suki pulls at one of the tunics and holds it out for the earthbender to feel. "Doesn't feel too bad either."

"Good morning, ladies!" greets the vendor from behind the counter. "What can I help you with today?"

"Morning, Wong!" Ty Lee returns with a beaming smile. "We're doing some shopping for Day of the Dragons!"

"Ah, of course!" the shop's eponymous Wong nods enthusiastically, his eyes sweeping across the four of them. His gaze falters on Katara momentarily before he directs it back to Suki. "And just so you know, all of our wares are half off until the end of the week!"

"Ooh!" Ty Lee exclaims, clapping her hands together. "This just gets better and better!" She pauses, scanning the shelves behind the vendor briefly. "Could I take a look at that pink ensemble there?"

"Pink. Real original," Suki quips dryly, reaching for a yellow dress. "How much for this one?"

"Nine copper pieces, sweetcakes," Wong replies with a quick wink, pulling Ty Lee's pink outfit from the top shelf.

Suki's eyes light up. "Ooh, that's a bargain!" she states in satisfaction, holding it against her. "I think I'll go try it on!"

"Trial rooms are just in the back there," the vendor says, pointing to a doorway in the opposite wall. He smiles thinly at Katara, who has begun to parse the small collection of blue Water Tribe clothing, and jabs a finger in her direction. "Is this one with you ladies?"

His question catches them off guard. Suki, too preoccupied with Toph and the yellow dress, barely registers Katara's confusion as they make their way over to the trial rooms.

"Yes, I'm with them," she hears Katara reply, somewhat bewildered as she pauses her browsing.

"Ah," Wong replies and there's a funny tone in his voice now, like he's working very hard to keep his voice level. "Well…no running off now. I've got my eye on you."

Suki is barely paying attention as she leaves the main room with Toph. She enters one curtained stall, while Toph uses the one next to her. She strips off her brown tunic and shimmies into the bright yellow silk, doing up the ties at waist and neck.

"Why would she run off?" Ty Lee's voice is curious as she makes her way back into the trial room too, pink ensemble in hand.

"Oh, you know…" Wong trails off uncomfortably.

"Know what?" Katara's voice is sharp now.

"Oh, nothing." Wong clears his throat and tries again, his voice falsely bright as though speaking to a small child. "You speak our language very well for someone from the Water Tribes! You know, I wasn't sure if you understood me, but you don't even have an accent!"

There's a pause before Katara scoffs quietly. "Right," she mutters, ostensibly returning to browsing the section of Water Tribe clothing. "Well, how much for this dress then…?"

Suki doesn't hear the rest of their exchange as she rustles the curtain back and examines her reflection in the polished looking-glass. "What do you think?" she asks brightly, angling herself one way and then the other as Ty Lee emerges from the stall next to her.

"Ooh!" Ty Lee gasps, clapping her hands appreciatively. "I like it! The yellow does wonders for your aura, Suki!"

"Yeah, I think I like it," Suki decides, appraising her reflection. "It's a super flattering cut too."

"Isn't it?" Ty Lee runs a hand along the smooth yellow silk. "I love the cutouts! It's cheeky, without being too sexy!"

Another rustle and Toph exits from her stall too.

"Toph, what do you think?" Suki asks, before mentally smacking herself. "Wait – my bad –"

"Yeah. Your bad," Toph snorts, tying up the gold sash of her emerald green dress. "Well, I think this fits okay and I don't really give a shit about what it looks like, so I'll probably just take it and the other one, too."

"Well, in case you were wondering, it looks nice," Ty Lee offers. "Brings out your eyes."

"What doesn't?" Toph retorts, turning on her heel and returning to her stall.

In the other room, Katara's voice rises sharply. "Are you kidding me?" the waterbender asks, clearly exasperated. "Well, what about this one then…"

"What's up with her?" Suki inquires, raising an eyebrow and glancing at Ty Lee.

"I don't know," Ty Lee admits, shrugging and looking at her own reflection in the mirror. "But Wong was acting a bit weird around her, I thought."

"Yeah, but why?" Suki presses, frowning.

Ty Lee shrugs. "Beats me. She didn't do anything, not that I saw." She twirls in front of the mirror. "What do you think of mine, Suki?"

Suki and Ty Lee leave the trial room stalls a little while later, satisfied with their wares.

"I'll take it!" Suki announces, walking up to the counter and slamming the yellow dress onto it. "That was nine coppers, right?"

"That's correct," Wong nods.

"So," Katara speaks up, and there's a funny sound in her voice like she's trying really hard to keep her calm, "hers is nine coppers, and hers –" she points to the pink ensemble in Ty Lee's hands, "is a silver, and both those outfits combined –" a gesture at the pile of Earth Kingdom suits draped over Toph's shoulder, "are a couple of silvers…"

"That's correct," Wong nods, his long face creasing into a quick smile. "My, you're certainly good with numbers!"

"But one Water Tribe dress," Katara continues sceptically, picking up a cotton blue dress and shaking it slightly, "just the dress, is forty silvers?"

"What?" Suki lets out a laugh. "That's ridiculous." She faces the vendor with a disarming smile on her face. "That can't be right."

"I'm afraid it is," the vendor shrugs apologetically.

"But –" and now Suki is confused as she glances at the small selection of blue garments alone on their shelf, "but – that's kind of expensive, no?"

"Expensive? That's a bargain," Wong corrects her, his back straightening. "Water Tribe styles are really popular in the capital, you know? I have royals and officials and all sorts of really wealthy people coming in and buying them! They're a status symbol now, see? Very trendy! And I have to make a living too, you know."

"But forty silvers for a dress is a little ridiculous," Suki laughs. "Especially in this town. We're all soldiers and merchants here, nobody has that kind of money to throw around."

"It's not even that nice," Ty Lee declares, pulling the dress from Katara's hands and examining it critically. "I mean, yeah sure, it's a pretty dress but it's kind of old and not exactly designer or anything –"

"Old?" Wong's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "I'll have you know that it's vintage! Lifted it off a real person from the Water Tribes, you know! That makes it authentic."

"Authentic?" Katara echoes, her face scrunching up in distaste. "What the hell? You're just a greedy little man profiting off of our culture." She takes a shaky breath and flexes her fingers dangerously. "As though you're pricing out the people who actually wear these just because some airhead royals back in the capital think it's trendy."

"Yeah," Suki agrees, crossing her arms and shifting her weight now, frowning. "That's kind of a dick move."

"Besides," Ty Lee complains, "you can't sell thrift store merchandise at designer prices, that's not how this works."

"Actually, that's exactly how this works." Wong smiles at them, only this time it doesn't make him look friendly at all. "It may surprise you, my dears, but business is all about profit."

"Yeah well," Toph speaks up, her face darkening, "since you basically admitted that those clothes were stolen, you could give them away for next to nothing and still make money."

"I could," Wong concedes, his smile widening a little. "But sadly that's just how business works, ladies."

Suki's eyes narrow at his tone. Her blood begins to boil. "Could you explain that again for me?" she asks, forcing her face into a sweet, innocent expression, "Being a lady, I didn't quite follow."

He falls for it hook, line, and sinker. He leans a bit closer to her, his hands flat against the counter. "Of course, sweetcakes," he replies affably, eyes bright. "It's quite simple. The strong take," he flashes an unpleasant glance at Katara's aghast face before turning back to face Suki's guileless one, "and the rich pay."

He winks conspiratorially at her.

Suki senses Katara stiffening behind her in indignation, Ty Lee putting a hand on her shoulder, Toph crossing her arms threateningly – "Oh, okay," she says, tilting her head and flashing him a quick smile. "I see. Thanks for explaining it like that!"

"No problem," the vendor replies, leaning back in satisfaction. "Sometimes it's hard for pretty young girls like yourselves to wrap their heads around the realities of business –"

He doesn't finish his sentence because Suki slams her fist into his mouth, sending him flying back into the wall. She leaps over the counter effortlessly and lands a step away from where Wong lies crumpled and dazed on the ground.

"Suki!" Ty Lee gasps, rushing over to her side.

"Now that's more like it," Toph declares, nodding with approval.

"Just a minute," Suki commands, holding up a finger to silence the other girls. Then she grabs Wong by the lapels of his coat and hoists him to his feet before slamming him bodily against the wall.

He gasps in surprise and outrage. "What are you doing?" he squeaks out, terrified, eyes darting across Suki's unusually stern face.

"What am I doing?" Suki repeats, raising an eyebrow. She chances a glance back at the girls – anxious Ty Lee, stone-faced Katara, impassive Toph – before turning her head back to face Wong, her wry smirk back on her face. "Why - I'm doing business with you."

Wong's face drains of colour at the unsettling levity in her voice. "What?" he protests, staring at her with a hint of anger. "No you're not – you're robbing me!"

"Mm." Suki's voice is sweet again and she pretends to think about it. "I might have understood you wrong – you know, it's so hard for a young lady like myself to wrap my head around it, but –" her hands tighten around his coat, the fabric bunching tightly in her fingers as she presses him against the wall, "– I could have sworn I heard you say that business is when the strong take and the rich pay."

She winks back at him. "This is just the taking part."

He just gapes at her, struggling to find the words as she turns back to face the other girls. "Katara," Suki says rather firmly, "help yourself to anything you want. Wong won't mind, will he?"

She presses a hand into his windpipe threateningly. He coughs and shakes his head in terror.

"Good." Suki nods. "You see, my friend here doesn't deserve to get ripped off on her clothes because she happens to be Water Tribe. Got it?"

He nods again. Satisfied, she removes her hand from his throat and he sucks in a breath of air.

"I don't know…" Katara falters uncertainly behind Suki. "This seems a little…wrong, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Toph admits, shrugging. "But you heard him, those clothes were basically stolen from Water Tribe people – you think he acquired those honestly? You deserve them way more than he does!"

"Yeah, but…"

"We're just playing by his rules," Ty Lee explains earnestly. "You know, sometimes you just have to beat them at their own game?"

"Yeah. I know." Katara steps forward, crossing her arms across her chest. She casts a dark glare at the helpless vendor, still pinned to the wall. "You're a despicable person, you know that? But the last thing I want to do is give you another reason to think badly of people like me. So –"

She turns on her heel and walks back to the rack with the Water Tribe clothing. She sifts through the items methodically, plucking an item here or there as she sees fit: a grey overcoat, a navy blue tunic, a long violet dress with an embroidered white sash –

"Whoa," Ty Lee comments as Katara finally finishes rifling through the collection and walks back with a small pile of clothing. "Good haul."

Katara places her pile on the counter and sorts through them, counting and folding them meticulously. "That's four outfits," she says at last, reaching for a bag and sliding everything into it. "Ty Lee, what would you pay for that?"

"Uh." Ty Lee taps her chin thoughtfully. "Maybe eight silvers? Ten if I felt like splurging."

"Right." Katara withdraws her pouch at her side and counts out her money. She meets the vendor's eyes as she places her coins on the counter. "I'm leaving you twelve silver pieces. That's more than what you'd charge my friends. I'd say that's more than fair." She glares at him. "I won't rob you but I won't let you steal from me, either. You can keep the extra silvers as a token of my generosity. For the excellent service I got from you. Maybe it'll remind you to be nicer to the next Water Tribe person who walks through your door."

"Because if you're not," Suki finishes sweetly, dropping the vendor to the floor vehemently, "we'll find out. And we'll be back."

Wong gulps, wide-eyed.

"You know, in retrospect," Ty Lee remarks as they leave Wong's store with their bagged purchases, "it was kind of stupid of Wong to talk to us like that when he knew we're from the army."

"He probably thought we just served tea and gave the boys hot stone massages," Toph yawns, thoroughly unconcerned. "Great store, wouldn't go back."

THE TALE OF: ZUKO

or,

(here comes the sun)

The encampment is quiet, as most of the girls (and no small number of the boys, either) have taken advantage of their rare day off to head into the nearby towns. Zuko decides to take advantage of the emptiness first by meditating in his room alone.

He is tying the sash cinching his overtunic when a knock sounds at his door.

"Not today, Aang-" he begins wearily as he opens the door a crack and falling silent. Instead of the young air nomad, Chan, Ruon-Jian, and Hide all wait expectantly in the hallway.

He raises his good eyebrow, unsure of what this is all about. "Uh…hi?"

The three of them shuffle awkwardly in their places, but it's Chan who speaks up first. "Hi," he returns and if he feels uncomfortable at all, at least it isn't detectable in his smooth, steady voice. "Er, good morning, Your Highness."

Zuko rolls his eyes at the feigned attempt at deference. "Stop that," he orders, before starting to shut the door.

"Wait!" Chan's foot sticks out, wedging itself between the door and its frame in the wall. Zuko is confused now as the other firebender continues. "We – we just wanted to say we're sorry."

"Sorry?" Zuko frowns in confusion, but he opens the door just slightly to see them better. "Sorry for what?"

"Well…" Chan struggles, shifting his weight uncomfortably. He is taller and quite a bit broader in the shoulder than Zuko, but he quails before the prince nonetheless. "We sort of gave you a hard time, earlier, for sticking up for that waterbender – for Katara, I mean."

"Oh." Zuko remains perfectly still, not letting his surprise show on his face. "Uh…"

"Yeah, we thought you were, like, really weird," Ruon-Jian speaks up, and his voice is just the slightest bit penitent. "But we figure she's alright, right?"

"And if she's alright," Hide takes up the strange dialogue, "then you are too. Right? I mean, you're the prince. We should've listened to you."

"Exactly," Chan nods, smiling tightly. "So uh, what do you say? Let bygones be bygones?" He holds out his hand non-threateningly.

Whatever Zuko had been expecting from them, it certainly was not this.

"Um," he struggles, trying not to mentally choke on the fact that they're sucking up to him and more importantly, they're admitting that he was right. "Um, sure."

He accepts Chan's proffered hand and they shake on it.

"Great!" Chan exclaims, brightening. "Then as a token of our friendship, want to come into town with us? We're all going out for a pint and we're not taking no for an answer!"

"Yeah, you should hang out with us more, Prince Zuko!" Ruon-Jian urges earnestly. "Spread some of that wisdom you get from your uncle!"

"Ruon-Jian," hisses Chan, elbowing his friend sharply in the ribs. "Be cool."

Zuko can scarcely believe it. He isn't stupid. He knows a sycophant when he sees one. But there's a sincerity to Chan and his friends that he doesn't recognize from earlier.

Maybe this time, things will be different.

"Actually," he hears himself say, "maybe I could use a drink after all."

If someone had told him when he woke up that morning that by lunchtime, he'd be in town and halfway through his second pint with Chan's friends of all things, he would have thought that he was running a high fever.

Instead, he raises the cup to his lips and listens in silence to the cacophony of interspersed conversations surrounding him.

"No way!" Hide is saying disbelievingly to the tall, boy-faced son of the fishmonger. "How in the name of Agni did you swing that?"

"Swing what?" asks another firebender, Malu, who's joined them at their table.

"Ryu over here," Hide splutters, jabbing a thumb at his companion's direction with emphasis, "this fisher boy – managed to bone one of the hottest girls in the division!"

"Oh yeah, the other night," Malu nods approvingly, grinning and raising his cup in a show of a toast. "Well played, Ryu."

"Thanks," Ryu replies, rubbing a hand against the back of his head somewhat bashfully. "Uh, it's not that big a deal, guys –"

"Not that big a deal?" Hide splutters, going somewhat bug-eyed at Ryu's nonchalance. "She's dynamite! Solid ten out of ten, man!"

"Yeah dude," Ruon-Jian advises sagely, "she's way out of your league."

"I don't know," Malu wavers, contributing what he can to the conversation, "I think Ryu's got a bit more game than he lets on. Look at that face, that smile – with the dimples -"

"So?" Hide is clearly unimpressed.

"I don't know," Malu shrugs, swigging from his cup and wiping his mouth. "Chicks cream themselves over that stuff, no? They care more about your personality and whether there's room for improvement."

Chan snorts. "Well I guess that puts you out of luck, dude," he remarks with a bit of a drawl. "Anyway Hide, what're you so worked up over? I thought you were all googly-eyed for that other chick –"

"Who? On Ji?" Hide retorts scathingly, though his ears turn red. "No way, man. She's only like a six or seven, tops – and what's more, I saw her getting awfully chatty with that tattooed airbender the other day!"

"Aang?" Zuko interjects disbelievingly, choking on his beer. "Someone was flirting with Aang?"

"That's the one," Hide nods stubbornly, crossing his arms. "So I say fuck that, there's plenty of other girls ripe for the taking. That Jin, for example –"

"The one from the Earth colonies?" Malu raises an eyebrow. "Over On Ji? Really?"

"Hey you know what," Hide points out defensively, "she's not much to look at up front but she's actually pretty low-key sexy, alright?" He smirks. "Plus that girl knows what she wants."

"Eh, still though," Malu says dismissively, "if I had to pick an Earth colony girl, I'd go with the Kyoshi one. What's her name again?"

"I keep forgetting," Chan admits, scrunching his face up. "Sukka, was it?"

"Suki," Zuko corrects, his stomach churning slightly as the conversation starts to tread familiar territory.

"Right yeah that's it," Malu nods and flashes a grin at Zuko. "Suki. Man, if we're talking about low-key sexy –"

"Really? Her?" Hide raises an eyebrow. "I don't really see it. Plus she kind of wears a bit too much makeup for me –"

"Not all the time," Malu argues, and then he smirks, "and then, you know. She's sassy. Got a wicked sense of humour. Witty, you know? Like she could keep up with you and knock you out at the same time."

"That turns you on?" Ruon-Jian demands skeptically. He shakes his head. "Why not go for the blind earthbender while you're at it? Man, you've got some weird taste in women, Malu."

"Speaking of weird taste in women," Malu says meaningfully, quirking an eyebrow up, "what do you make of the waterbender? Personally, I think she's pretty sexy."

Zuko narrowly winds up inhaling the rest of his drink at Malu's cavalier assessment of Katara.

"That's only because you have a hard-on for girls who could kill you while fucking you at the same time," Ruon-Jian interjects savagely. "Weird fetish, dude."

"I'm telling you, it just makes it more exciting," Malu assures him lightly. "Anyone else? Hot or not?"

"Hot," Ryu admits with a cursory nod.

"Hot," Chan grudgingly agrees, "definitely hot in a I could kill you now and heal you back to life sort of way."

"Oh yeah, she healed you," Ruon-Jian comments significantly, wiggling his eyebrows. "So? Anything happen between you guys?"

Zuko suddenly feels sick to his stomach.

"No," Chan insists and for once the levity has slipped off of his face. "And shut up about her, guys. I mean it."

The day I walk into a crowd and find Chan the most sensible of them all, Zuko marvels privately as he closes his eyes. Unbelievable.

"Ooh," the others chorus mischievously as Chan's face reddens. "Somebody's got a thing for the waterbender, looks like!"

"I do not," Chan maintains, crossing his arms across his chest defensively. "Fuck off, you guys."

"Hey no need to get defensive, man," Malu reassures him. "We get it. We literally all said she's hot."

"For a waterbender," Hide supplies.

"Well yeah, for a waterbender," Malu agrees with a nod. He raises an eyebrow. "And you know what they say about Water Tribe girls, right?"

He and Hide snicker, even as Chan shrugs and Ryu looks vaguely uncomfortable and Ruon-Jian just wears a look of distaste, barely visible through the hair covering his face.

"That's just propaganda." Zuko feels the need to speak up, even as everyone's eyes settle upon him curiously. "You know that's all made up, right?"

"Well, it can't all be made up," Malu counters. "I mean," and he leans toward them, his voice lowering a bit, "I heard from my cousin who knows a guy who's got an uncle who works in the red light district back in the capital. Owns a brothel, you know, specializes in women of all types. Anyway." He smirks. "He says his Water Tribe girls make him the most money – more so than the hottest Fire Nation girls! The patrons just go crazy for them. Why's that, you think?"

"Because they're rare?" Ryu guesses bluntly.

"Well, that's part of it," Malu acknowledges. "That and –"

"C'mon dude," Ruon-Jian parries witheringly. "The waterbender's pretty, but you can't tell me that all the rich guys back in the capital are into that exotic look - y'know – with the dark skin, blue eyes, long crazy hair –"

The sickening feeling in the pit of Zuko's stomach intensifies, but only partially out of discomfort at Ruon-Jian's words.

"I don't know, all that hair seems like it'd be fun to pull on," Hide muses with a grin.

"Exactly," Malu concludes, as though explaining something very simple to a child. "Plus they're total nymphos too!"

Ryu frowns. "I don't know about that. The waterbender seems a little frigid to me."

"That's my point. It's all a front," Malu emphasizes. He nudges at Ryu, sitting next to him, with a meaningful gesture. "That's why they're so popular! They pretend to be all cold and frigid with that icy exterior, but secretly they're always up for it. After all," he winks significantly, "you won't find a girl wetter than a waterbender!"

"Ugh." Zuko all but spits his drink out of his mouth back into his cup. "Cut it out. Katara's a person, okay? She's not a bunch of stereotypes for you to jerk off to." Something that feels a little bit like hypocrisy leaves an ashen taste in his mouth.

"You seem pretty defensive of her, Prince Zuko," Malu observes serenely. "Any reason why?"

"Of course there's a reason why," Zuko bites out imperiously. "She's a friend, and you're being creepy and gross."

"Yeah dude," Ryu agrees, his face wrinkling. "You might just earn yourself a trip to the healing hut if you say that too loudly."

"I'll say," Chan supplies, shaking his head. "Not cool, man."

"I don't know," Ruon-Jian comments scathingly, "maybe he wants to get beat up by the waterbender. That's what gets him hard, after all."

"Really, guys?" Malu taps his chin thoughtfully before turning to face Chan. "I mean, you were the one who brought up those handprint burns she's got, Chan. If that's not proof that she's into some freaky shit, then I don't know what is."

"You –" Zuko has to actively stop himself from lunging at the ignorant firebender sitting across from him. Instead, he forces himself to take a deep breath and continue, in as measured a voice that he can muster. "You know that she probably got those scars at a colonial school, right?" He gives them a moment, so that the implications of his statement are not lost upon them. "And then," he looks Malu right in the eyes as he continues nonchalantly, "come to think of it, I'm pretty sure she killed the guys who did it."

He calmly takes a drink from his cup as Malu gulps nervously across from him. "You're joking, right?"

"I never joke. So if I were you," Zuko advises him solemnly with a voice that is warmer than he feels, "I'd keep my voice down when talking about her like that. If she heard...well, I'm not sure we'd ever find the pieces of you."

"I'll second that," Chan quips in agreement, before chancing a quick look around. "Speaking from personal experience and all, maybe… Malu, uh… maybe you should just shut the fuck up, man."

THE TALE OF: TOPH

or,

(teenage wasteland)

"You've got to be kidding, Circus Freak!" Toph exclaims with a hearty laugh. It deepens when she realizes that the girl across from her isn't lying. "You hooked up with Ryu? As in the fishmonger's boy?"

"You did? When?" Suki demands, shooting her friend an accusatory stare. "And how have I not heard about this before?"

"You're hearing about it now, aren't you?" Ty Lee says patiently, fussing with the knot of her bathrobe. "Anyway, why wouldn't I? He's pretty cute, you know!"

"Well…I guess," Suki admits, somewhat reluctantly. "But…like…"

"I wouldn't know," Toph declares with a smirk. "His features aren't anything to write home about. Looks like you're settling, Circus Freak."

"Well, you're one to talk! You're blind!" Ty Lee huffs, crossing her arms in a bit of a sulk.

She senses the girl bristle defensively, and she leans back, smiling in satisfaction.

Following their eventful trip into town, Toph had yawned and declared that she wanted to unwind in the steam room. So naturally, everyone else insisted that they join her, too. Except Katara, who required some coaxing to join them. Eventually, she caved but insisted that she'd keep her bathrobe on.

Toph found that a bit strange. If she hadn't known the waterbender to be rather comfortable changing around her, she would have thought her to be quite the prude. But Katara sits with them, hugging her robe tightly to her body as though to hide from prying eyes.

"I'm so jealous you guys get your own steam room," Ty Lee changes the subject, probably sick of being picked on for being a bit of a wild child. "Agni, I'd be in here every day if I had one!"

"That's what Sweetness and I thought, too," Toph snorts. She turns her head in Katara's direction, who remains a quaking ball of uncomfortable tension to her seismic sense. "But we don't really have time for it a lot of the time. Right, Sugar Queen?"

Katara starts, as though she's been zoned out this whole time. "Uh yeah," she agrees half-heartedly. "What Toph said."

Toph doesn't exactly blame her for drifting off. Suki and Ty Lee, while fun in their own way, are a little too much girl for her to handle sometimes. And Katara, who was about as far gone from a typical teenage girl, probably felt a bit the same way.

Idly, she wonders if the waterbender would be zoning out if Aang and Zuko were here instead. With a bit of a mental smirk, she suspected not.

"Excited for Day of the Dragons?" Ty Lee presses, crossing her long, slim legs luxuriously. The hem of her robe rides up, but she pays it no heed. "It's only a week away!"

"Yes, you did mention that," Toph replies, scratching at her nose nonchalantly. "One or two thousand times all day today, I think."

"I can't help it," Ty Lee defends herself, flipping her long braid over her shoulder. "It's the new year already! We get days off and spend it all eating and drinking and partying–" her face splits into a grin, "and dancing –"

"Oh yeah." Toph senses Suki perk up too. "The Dragon dances are the best."

Toph was privately inclined to agree. If for no other reason than that the booze served during Day of the Dragons was the strongest and therefore made the dancing that much more fun.

"Why?" asks Katara, somewhat hesitantly.

Ty Lee turns on her with a growing curiosity. "You've never celebrated Day of the Dragons before, Katara?"

Katara recedes a bit more into herself, tucking her folded legs closer to her chest. "Not really," she says, her voice masking her bitterness well. "They…didn't exactly invite us to join in. Y'know...waterbenders."

"Oh." Toph's head hurts from how vigourously Ty Lee nods. "Right. Sorry! I – I forgot..."

"It's okay." Katara shrugs indifferently, before her spine straightens a bit. "So enlighten me. What's so special about these Dragon dances?"

"What's so special about them?" Ty Lee repeats with gusto, her wide grin evident in her gleeful voice. "Why – Day of the Dragons is more than just our new year! It's the first day of the dragons' mating season. It's all about celebrating fire and life and light and –" she trails off for a lingering, suggestive moment, "y'know?"

"Uh…" Toph can feel Katara's apprehension growing from the other side of the room. "Not really?"

"Well," Ty Lee continues, stretching out her arms above her head. "There's usually a party that runs all night long! Lot of bonfires and booze and dancing, till the crack of dawn!"

"How's that different from any of your other holidays?" Katara inquires dubiously. "There was dancing during Conquest Day."

Ty Lee waves a hand dismissively. "That was not dancing," she scoffs, "that was some pale anemic copy that doesn't even come close! The ones that we do for the new year are much more fun!" She starts ticking off items on her fingers. "There's the firefly, the tigertrot, and…" she rubs her hands together in growing anticipation, "the dragon's waltz."

Suki squeals in excitement.

"What's that?" Katara asks, clearly nonplussed. "I remember Aang taught me a waltz for Conquest Day, is that –"

"No!" Ty Lee cuts her off firmly. "That was some boring stuffy-person's waltz, not the dragon's waltz!" She pauses. "I could teach you though! Friend's honour!"

"Uh…" Katara recoils in slight apprehension. "That's very generous of you –"

"The dragon's waltz is based off a bunch of drawings in the old dragon temples," Suki takes up the explanation, her voice as wry as it usually was. "Because it's all about celebrating the start of mating season, it's pretty, uh…" she searches for the word, "steamy?"

"The actual variant that they did in the fire sages' temple was called the forbidden dance," Ty Lee explains, leaning forward intently. "It was part of the dancing dragon movements. They had specific instructors for it back at the royal academy! The dragon's waltz is a bit more accessible."

"But just as fun!" Suki finishes.

"Why would that be fun?" Katara asks slowly, a bit nervously.

"Because, Sugar Queen," Toph speaks up, no longer convinced that the other girls are selling this properly, "between the booze and the generally celebratory ambiance, everyone just uses it as an excuse to hook up with whoever they want, no questions asked."

Her words ring a bit in the hot, steam-filled air.

"Well yeah," Ty Lee admits.

"What Toph said," Suki concedes.

Katara continues to stare at them blankly. Toph can sense the girl's heart pounding away slowly, increasing in pace every so slightly –

"Erm," Ty Lee tries, a little awkwardly, clearly confused by her complete lack of reaction, "you know what that means, right?"

"Of course I know what it means!" Katara snaps, springing back to life. "I'm not a maiden, you know."

"Really?" Ty Lee blurts out, before clapping a hand across her mouth. Katara scoffs and shakes her head. "Sorry! I didn't mean to– I was just surprised!"

"You don't really give off that impression," Suki supplies, a little more helpfully. "That's all."

"Nope." Katara shakes her head but her tone is curt. "I've had sex before." She shrugs. "I just never found it something to write home about."

Toph scrunches her face up and jams her hands into her ears as Suki and Ty Lee gasp intolerably loudly.

"Really?"

"That's awful! Nobody deserves bad sex!"

Katara shrugs, a little defensively in Toph's opinion. "It wasn't that bad," she counters unenthusiastically, "I just…wasn't really into it."

Toph is all too aware of the girl's nervousness: her pulse quickening, her palms growing damp with sweat (that had nothing to do with the steam room), the slow churn of her stomach –

She wonders. She's teased the waterbender a bit over Jet being her old boyfriend, but had given up after the boy's body was cold in the grave. She always thought Katara's steadfast denial was a prudish way to save face. The way she tensed up and reacted to him, Toph always assumed that there was a physical element in her relationship with Jet that she was embarrassed by.

It had never occurred to her that perhaps she denied it because she hadn't wanted to be with the guy. That if the choice had truly been hers, nothing would've happened at all...

Suddenly, Toph feels a little bit guilty. She'd never been in a position where she's had to be with a guy she didn't want to be with. It surprises her that Katara of all people – so forthright and powerful and defensive – could be coerced into such a situation by a guy who couldn't even bend. She couldn't even imagine what it must've felt like to be that powerless –

"Well that's your problem right there!" Ty Lee points out, as though stating the obvious. "We're not like boys. You have to be into it, otherwise what's the point?" She taps at her chin thoughtfully.

Except...hadn't Toph just endured a few weeks without her bending? By now, she knew what being powerless felt like. She knew what it felt like to crawl on the ground, living step for step, constantly wary of what would come next. To take strength from whatever small thing helped her along, unsatisfactory as it was, all while knowing that she deserved more, was capable of more...

Suddenly, Toph finds herself regretting the fact that Jet was dead in the ground. Because if he was the one taking advantage of her while she was blind and helpless, she'd have beaten the living daylights out of him the first chance she got.

Yet Katara in all her Sugar Queen glory had done no such thing. Instead, when she'd laid eyes on Jet that time, her first instinct was to still help him. Hell, she was so big a person that she even managed to feel sad when he died. The whole situation hovers just beyond Toph's grasp, weighing unspoken but still complex. And it makes her feel small. Because even though Toph has the ability to read the truth in everything Katara says, she still doesn't truly understand her.

But Toph had never been one to back down from a challenge. Besides, Katara was the first girl her own age that she respected enough to regard as an equal - even a friend. And coming from Toph Beifong, that was a hell of a lot.

"Is there anyone you're into now?" Ty Lee asks, still curious, still tapping at her chin in thought.

Katara shrugs. "No, not really," she answers noncommittally, shrugging and casting her gaze down to the stone floor.

But Toph is not nearly distracted enough to miss the fact that she's lying. Or at least, not being entirely honest...

"No one?" Ty Lee repeats incredulously. "Come on, we're surrounded by shirtless, hot sweaty muscly guys all day! There has to be someone!"

Katara shrugs again but doesn't say a word. Her hand comes up to brush a wayward strand of hair out of her face and behind her ear.

Toph can't read minds, but she'd be willing to bet a rather large sum of money that Sugar Queen over there's thinking about someone very particular right about now. She fights to keep the knowing smirk from her face. As much fun as it'd be to tease the living daylights out of the two of them, clearly there was way too much baggage involved on both those idiots' ends, and she was nowhere near enough of a masochist to involve herself in that kind of drama just yet.

"Well," Ty Lee continues, leaning forward and fixing Katara with a very knowing smirk. "My advice is to pick someone – anyone – and just bone."

"Wha-?" Katara seems rather taken aback by Ty Lee's forwardness – as though she hasn't noticed by now that Circus Freak gets around.

"What what?" Ty Lee smiles brightly at Katara's embarrassment. "Seems to me like the only cure for bad sex is good sex."

Suki giggles. "She's not wrong, you know," she offers. "And – as Toph so accurately pointed out – Day of the Dragons is literally the perfect time!"

"You guys are really open about this sort of stuff," Katara mutters in amazement, the blood rushing to her face.

"We don't value being prissy here, Sweetness," Toph tells her, her voice gentler than normal. "If there's one good thing about the Fire Nation, it's that nobody's repressed."

"Gee thanks," Ty Lee says sarcastically. "But she's right, Katara. Nothing good ever came out of not getting laid when you wanted to! Why, men start wars over that kind of stuff!"

"Right. As though the Fire Nation didn't start every war in the last hundred years or so," Katara retorts sceptically.

She's putting on a good show of being dismissive, Toph notes, feeling the girl start to pay attention in spite of her reservations.

"Yeah, but Emperor Sozin was single for years! Think about it! If he'd just focused on finding a wife, he'd have been too busy channelling all that pent-up frustration into pleasing her!" Ty Lee rattles off. "Meanwhile, Azulon got married early and things were peaceful! Iroh, married early, kept things peaceful! Ozai, married early –" she pauses, frowning, trying to do the mental arithmetic to keep on proving her point.

Across from her, Katara's eyebrows have shot up in a way that could only convey staggering disbelief.

"Yeah, maybe that wasn't the best example," Ty Lee concedes, scratching the back of her head. "Guess there's a weirdo in every bunch."

Katara snorts and rolls her eyes.

"My point is," Ty Lee continues enthusiastically, "who needs that sort of negativity in your life?"

"Of course," Katara snarks back, "nothing like an accident or two to keep you young."

"Pshhh." Ty Lee waves off Katara's reservations with a gesture of her hand. "Nothing a cup of dandelion tea won't fix, and they serve that with breakfast every morning! And anyway, if you don't, it just muddles up your aura and then you're in real trouble!" She pauses, frowning a little. "Actually, your aura is pretty grey, now that I think about it. You need to start taking care of that, you know!"

"I don't even know what you mean by that," Katara sighs, rubbing her forehead.

"Well, if you're going to take up her recommendation," Suki advises earnestly, "I'd say don't waste your time with an Earth colony guy, they're pretty lousy in bed."

"Hey," Toph feels the need to speak up. "Don't give them a bad rep, Fancy Dancer. There's a place for earthbending guys. They're pretty fun in the sack if you're up for a bit of a rumble."

She feels three pairs of eyes descend upon her blankly before she shrugs nonchalantly. "But knowing your speed, Sugar Queen, I very much doubt you'd be up for that," she concludes wisely. "Given how well things went with Jet –"

"Toph," Katara hisses warningly as both Suki and Ty Lee perk up in interest.

"Jet, who's Jet?" Suki asks, intrigued.

Toph bites her lip, wincing. Shit. My bad.

Katara sighs in resignation. "He was Mr. Lousy-In-Bed," she explains briefly, clearly reluctant to revisit that chapter of her life in any great detail. To the girls' credit, they don't pry any further either. "And he happened to be from the Earth colonies too, so…"

"My point exactly!" Suki exclaims. She smirks at Toph. "Sorry girl, looks like you're outnumbered!"

"Whatever. More for me," Toph waves it off. "You ladies have fun fighting over all the firebenders then –"

"What's so good about the firebenders, anyway?" Katara asks stiffly, almost distastefully. If Toph didn't know any better, she'd think the girl was absolutely repulsed by the idea. Knowing her, a sizable part of her probably still was...

"Well, you know what they say about Fire Nation guys," Suki says conversationally, arching an eyebrow. "They're the best lovers!"

"Yeah!" Ty Lee agrees, nodding enthusiastically. "Earthbenders are only fun if you like it rough, Water Tribe guys are really more forever guys, and good luck trying to sleep with an Air Nomad! But firebenders really bring the heat, you know what I mean?"

"Uh…" Toph can feel Katara's heartbeat hammering as she tries to keep up her cool front. "Unless you mean literally…not really?"

"Well they're really passionate and have loads of stamina!" Ty Lee elaborates. "And since Chan just extended the olive branch to you, I think you've got more doors open to you than you realize! You should really take advantage of it while you can!"

"I'd really rather not –" Katara stammers. Toph feels it start to grip her, whatever personal demons rear their heads at the first mention of firebenders. She opens her mouth, ready to tell Ty Lee to shut up already –

"Or what about Zuko?" Ty Lee prattles on, changing the subject quickly, though clearly oblivious to the subject of Katara's mounting discomfort. "You guys spend so much time together now! And it's obvious that the guy needs a rebound romp, stat! Win-win situation here, it's perfect!"

"No way!" Katara protests, and the crushing tension gripping her disintegrates abruptly. Toph relaxes now that the waterbender seems a little more comfortable. Her senses sharpen over the girl's perfectly manufactured indignation, so much so that even she finds herself starting to buy it… "Zuko's a friend, that'd be too weird…"

On that last bit, she's telling the truth. But even if Katara seems confused and a little anxious to her senses, she's relinquished the paralyzing terror of moments earlier at least.

"Why would that be weird?" Ty Lee inquires, perfectly curious again.

"Yeah, if anything, wouldn't that make it easier?" Suki asks, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, that way there's an obvious connection in place already! You know you don't hate each other – unless that's what you're into, of course." She shrugs. "I'm not knocking hate sex."

Toph lets out a hearty chuckle, partly at Suki's words and partly at the expense of Katara and her increasing consternation, which, now that the danger's passed, is a little endearing...

"How does that make it easier?" Katara argues weakly. "You can't just turn friends-feelings into more-than-friends-feelings at the push of a button, that'd make everything so awkward."

"Have you ever met a teenage guy, Katara?" Suki shakes her head. "They do that all the time."

"It's literally their number two reason for existing," Ty Lee agrees.

"Hormones," Suki whispers, nodding sagely. "They'll knock us girls for them, but good luck meeting anyone more hormonal and confused than a teenage boy."

"And anyway, even if you were worried about the whole being-friends thing getting in the way and making you awkward," Ty Lee continues, redirecting her focus back to Katara's earlier reservations and evidently misinterpreting their roots, "I'm pretty sure he'd make you forget about it pretty quickly."

"Spirits," Katara groans, covering her face with her hands, "will you give that a rest already? It's not going to happen."

But Toph suspects that Katara's increasingly evident embarrassment is the primary reason why Ty Lee isn't giving it a rest. She could hardly blame her, after all. In spite of her better impulses, it was pretty entertaining. And she knows Katara well enough by now to know that if she really wanted Ty Lee to shut up, she'd have bent her inside out by now.

"How do you know that, Circus Freak?" she interjects casually. "That's an awfully specific area of knowledge." After all, if it's harmless, it's all in good fun. And moreover, in Toph's unbiased opinion, she thinks Katara could use a bit of encouragement...

"Well, do I have to remind you that one of my best friends was his girlfriend for how long now?" Ty Lee retorts, batting her eyelashes. "And let me just say, I did not sit through Mai telling me all the dirty details to just keep it all to myself now!"

"Oh do tell!" Suki encourages

"Well where does a girl begin," Ty Lee begins, needing little encouragement to continue. She launches into a raucous, rather detailed explanation while Suki gasps in wicked delight and Katara emits steam through her ears in tongue-tied embarrassment.

"You guys," Katara whines, covering her face and unable to hear one more salacious tidbit about Sparky's prowess in bed. "Enough already. This is so awkward."

Toph is privately inclined to agree, even though to her ears, Katara seems mortified rather than traumatized. All in all, she concludes briskly, no harm, no foul.

"Still having second thoughts?" Ty Lee inquires innocently.

Katara hands drop from her face. "I am so uncomfortable right now," she seethes at Ty Lee, "I don't think I can even look at him the same way anymore. Thank you for that."

"You're welcome!" Ty Lee sings, clearly satisfied. "My work here is done!"

"You're saying that Mai," Toph finally speaks up, her voice doubtful, "told you all that?"

"Mhm!" Ty Lee nods vigourously. "Why do you ask?"

Toph shrugs. "Dunno," she remarks. "She never pegged me as the extra-talkative TMI type."

"Well, there's hidden layers to everyone you know!" Ty Lee quips, fluttering her eyelashes. "Speaking of hidden layers, what about you, Toph? Anybody caught your eye, recently?"

Toph lets out a hearty chuckle. "Circus Freak, the last thing I need is advice from you on how to get laid." She shrugs. "I'm good."

"You know," Ty Lee continues thoughtfully, "you were awfully cozy with Zuko at music night! You guys spent forever talking about something! Is that why Katara here isn't interested? Because there's something going on between you and him?"

Toph laughs even harder at that idea, preposterous as it is. "You're seriously asking if Sparky and I…" She snorts and shakes her head. "Good grief, girl, you're out of your mind. Maybe you should just boink the guy and get it out of your system."

"No can do." Ty Lee shakes her head mournfully. "He dated my best friend you know, that makes him out-of-bounds forever..."

"That sounded like a classic deflection there, Toph," Suki points out slyly. "Are you sure you're not interested?"

Toph rolls her sightless eyes. "Yes, I'm sure," she insists nonchalantly. "Look I'm sure he's gorgeous and perfectly capable in the sack and whatnot but frankly, he's a little too emotional and way too much of a gentleman to my taste."

"Emotional?" Suki asks dryly. "Him? Are we talking about the same guy here?"

"Personally," Toph concludes, barrelling over her, "I prefer a guy I can rough up a bit without feeling bad about it."

"Hence the earthbenders," Katara mutters, as though to herself.

For once, Suki and Ty Lee have been silenced by their surprise.

"Well…" Ty Lee stammers, and Toph smirks as she senses the blood rushing to her face now, "…I guess you do learn something new every day after all!"

"No kidding," Suki comments with a swift wink. "Careful, Toph, you're turning into some real jailbait here…"

THE TALE OF: TY LEE

or,

(girls just wanna have fun)

"Is this really necessary?" Katara asks, a little nervously.

They're gathered in the room that Suki and Ty Lee share, a building over from where Katara and Toph stay.

"A promise is a promise, Katara!" Ty Lee sings. "What sort of friend would I be if I backed out now?"

"One that respects boundaries?" Katara mutters under her breath. "And to be fair, you never actually promised anything."

Ty Lee catches the jibe but chooses to ignore it.

Her need is greater than mine, she thinks with a sigh.

"Well, you can't just wander into the Dragon dances without even learning the basics," Ty Lee points out, jamming her hands onto the exposed skin of her waist. "Okay, so now you're dressed for it. But you're going to make a fool out of yourself if you can't keep up."

"I was actually hoping to just maybe sit this one out –" Katara begins, tucking one loose strand behind her ear. She touches her new violet dress – high-collared, cap-sleeved, and more fitted than she's used to – nervously.

"Not a chance," Ty Lee insists, holding up a finger. "You're going to the dances and by Agni you're going to enjoy it!"

"That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard," Toph remarks sarcastically, sitting cross-legged on Ty Lee's bed. "How much time do you spend working on your lines, Circus Freak?"

"Not much," Ty Lee admits, her face slightly crestfallen. "I happen to be a natural."

"Sure," Toph nods vaguely. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that –"

"Keep that up and she'll take it upon herself to tutor you too," Suki points out, elbowing the earthbender in the ribs.

"Yikes. Even I can't afford that," Toph quips, piping down.

Ty Lee closes her eyes and exhales long and slow. Usually things don't really get her down, but sometimes Toph really grates on her nerves. It all comes from a good place though, so she lets it slide.

"The first step," she says brightly, opening her eyes and smiling at Katara, "is to just relax!"

The resulting frown and tightening of the girl's shoulders indicate to her that Katara is far from relaxed.

"It'll probably be easier with a couple shots of fireball," Suki calls out, somewhat reassuringly. "Damnit, we should've snuck some back from the marketplace…"

"Fireball?" Katara appears somehow even more nervous, which Ty Lee didn't think was even possible.

"New year's drink," Toph supplies with a nod. "Tastes like honey but goes down like fire. Nothing quite like it."

"And you drink it by choice?" Katara asks skeptically. "I don't know if this whole Day of Dragons thing is for me…"

"Well, you're not trying very hard, are you?" Ty Lee presses, raising her eyebrows. She steps up to the waterbender and extends a hand. "I'm going to walk you through the motions now."

Now it's Katara's turn to exhale through her teeth and grumble under her breath. But she complies, accepting Ty Lee's hand and stepping forward.

"That's the spirit!" Ty Lee exclaims in approval. She straightens her back, places Katara's hand on her shoulder before settling her other hand around Katara's waist. "This is an open position. It's good for ballroom dances that are a bit more impersonal, but if we're going to go through the dragon's waltz, you're going to need to be a lot closer."

To illustrate her point, she steps forward and closes the distance between them, feeling the waterbender fight a squirm as she presses the line of her torso flush against hers.

"That's a little invasive," Katara splutters, her face turning red as she recoils slightly.

"That's what makes it fun!" Ty Lee explains brightly. She winks. "That's what you'd call a closed position."

"I don't know…" But the waterbender shelves her reservations for now and stiffly resumes the prescribed stance.

"It just feels awkward to you because we're two girls," Ty Lee reassures her. "You'll probably find it easier when it's a guy leading."

"You're doing great, guys," Toph says breezily. She turns over to face Suki. "Man, do you have any popcorn or anything?"

"The important part about the closed position is maintaining connection through a long line of contact," Ty Lee instructs, looking Katara right in the eyes. "From the shoulders right down to the hips. This makes sure of two things. One, you can follow your partner's cues through a shift in motion and two, that you have the support you need for the spins and the lifts, but without tripping over the footwork."

"This," Katara begins nervously, "sounds like such a bad idea."

"It's easier when you're not thinking about it," Ty Lee advises. "Just follow my lead and you'll be fine. For example –"

She tugs on the waterbender's hand, the motion somehow forceful yet gentle at the same time. Katara lets out a sharp yelp as Ty Lee swiftly twirls her around twice and drops her into a dip, her arm and bent leg bearing her weight, their faces only inches away from each other.

"See?" she asks, straightening and helping Katara find her feet again. "Just like that! You just have to trust me."

"I thought I was going to die," Katara wheezes, breathing heavily, a hand clutching her chest.

"I know," Ty Lee nods. "But it's fun, isn't it?"

She smirks victoriously as Katara meets her gaze.

"Maybe a little," she confesses. "Only a little, though."

"Fair enough," Ty Lee nods brightly. "Now let's get you familiar with some basic footwork…"

"Alright, let's try that again," Ty Lee suggests, fighting the urge to rub at her temples and give away her weariness.

"I can't get it," Katara insists stubbornly, crossing her hands over her chest in a huff. "I keep tripping over my own feet. And yours."

"That's because you keep trying to lead," Ty Lee points out, breathing in slowly through her nose to turn her mounting exasperation into patience and a reasonable tone. "You just need to follow, Katara."

From over on the bed, she hears a snort of laughter. "Ha," Toph remarks, shaking her head slowly. "No chance there, Circus Freak." She jabs a thumb in Katara's direction. "Sweetness might be her name –"

"It's not, though," Suki interjects in a low voice, as though to herself.

"– but don't let that fool you. Behind that sweet, sweet face is the heart of an absolute control freak," Toph finishes triumphantly.

"I am not!" Katara snaps, turning her ire on the blind earthbender, who's now smirking and leaning back on the bed with her arms crossed. Her face falls momentarily and she touches a hand to her neck uncertainly. "Do…do you really think I'm a control freak?"

"I don't know," Toph drawls. "Are you?"

Ty Lee tries not to beam at Toph as a newfound determination works its way across Katara's face and posture. Sometimes she could be a brash little sociopath, but if there's one thing Toph excelled at, it was exploiting people. For their own good, of course.

"One more time?" she asks innocently, smiling at Katara.

The waterbender steps right up to her and gets into the closed position without hesitation. "One more time," she agrees firmly.

"…now for a variant," Ty Lee says, once she feels Katara getting a little more comfortable with the basic footwork. "Instead of wrapping your foot around my calf for the twists, you kick it up and wrap it around my waist instead!"

"Your what?" Katara's eyebrows have shot up to her hairline.

"My waist!" Ty Lee repeats brightly. "Here, let me show you –"

Katara's eyes widen in slight fear as she does. "You've got to be kidding me…"

"I'm going to try a lift now," Ty Lee warns Katara.

"What?" Katara asks nervously.

"Now." Ty Lee shifts her weight swiftly and Katara, unprepared for the sensation of being lifted, lets out a sharp yelp as she loses her balance and tumbles gracelessly to the ground.

"Ow!" she complains, winded on her back. "That hurt."

"Sorry," Ty Lee apologizes profusely, hands flying up to her face. "Are you okay?"

She stretches out a hand, which Katara grudgingly takes to pull herself up to a sitting position.

"I think so," she replies uncertainly, rubbing at a spot on her lower back. "I've been through worse."

Having been on the receiving end of many a sparring session with her, Ty Lee is inclined to agree.

"But you could have given me more warning," Katara complains, getting back onto her feet.

"I know. Sorry," Ty Lee apologizes again. She rubs at the back of her head bashfully. "I thought it might work better if you didn't have a chance to overthink it."

Over in the corner, Ty Lee sees Toph mouth "control freak" at Katara.

"Maybe if you walked me through it slowly," Katara suggests tentatively.

"Not too slowly," Ty Lee corrects, her face brightening. "But that could work. Here –"

They assume their starting position and work through some variation of the footwork that Katara's worked so hard to pick up.

"So say for example," Ty Lee explains, leading her through the motions, "you're in a step like this and I feel like a lift. I might warn you, but I might just go ahead if the music's too fast."

They rotate in oscillating, half-moon shaped arcs down the length of the room, feet moving in a newfound harmony.

"So, if you feel me start to shift like this –" she demonstrates, "– don't fight it or try to overcompensate, okay? Just like the turns and the dips, remember, you just yield."

"Right," Katara nods, trying to get used to the shift in balance. "Right, I think I get it."

"Ready to try?"

"Mhm."

"Great!"

Ty Lee shifts her weight and lifts Katara clear off the ground, gravity momentarily yielding to the change in balance supported by her surprisingly strong arms and torso and the rotating motion of her feet.

Katara manages the lift well but is so unused the feeling of being weightless that when Ty Lee finally moves to set her back down, she fumbles on the landing, the return of gravity turning her limbs heavy and awkward.

She crumples back down to the ground, bringing Ty Lee down with her.

"That sounded painful," Toph observes as besides her, Suki winces. "You guys okay over there?"

"Nggh," comes the groaning reply from below Ty Lee.

"She's alive, folks!" Ty Lee announces brightly, expertly disentangling herself from the crumpled heap of waterbender below her. "And almost made it through a lift too, good job!"

"When this is over," Katara gasps, her voice barely intelligible through the muffle of her clothes and limbs, "I am going to kill you all."

Ty Lee pats her on the head reassuringly. "That's the spirit, Sweetness," she soothes.

"Good!" Ty Lee says enthusiastically, as she and Katara break out of position some time later. "You're really getting the hang of it!"

"That's almost forbidden dance level," Suki comments from where she and Toph are still watching on the bed. "You picked that up pretty quickly, Katara!"

"It kind of feels like waterbending, except with two people instead of one," Katara admits, a bit shyly. She touches her braid, trying to feel for any out-of-place strands. "I didn't think it'd be this fun. I thought it'd be harder."

"The only thing that makes it hard is the speed. Picking up cues and responding to them when the music's really fast can be a lot," Ty Lee instructs, noticing how the waterbender's face is flushed and her eyes are bright in spite of herself. Nothing like a dance or two to get the blood going, she thinks to herself, privately revelling at her handiwork. "But you're a master waterbender, so this is probably nothing for you." She holds out her hand again. "From the top?"

It's been a hard-won effort but the hesitation is almost gone from Katara's movements as they whirl through the motions. Katara's focus is still on the sequence of things – Ty Lee can sometimes hear her muttering them under her breath ("left foot lift-wraparound, one-two-twist, right foot spin…") but she responds to cues a bit more readily and then, sometimes, she thinks she can feel the girl really get into it.

After all, she reflects, the dragon's waltz is all about passion and joy and desire, and there's nothing like a bit of dance to express that. Even for someone as shy as Katara.

"That's my girl!" Ty Lee proclaims following an ambitious lift that turns into a bit of a throw and then a dip. "You've got this! I knew you could do it!"

"I've got this," Katara repeats, breathing heavily and almost disbelievingly. She doesn't flinch out of the closed position, her torso firmly in line with Ty Lee's even as she holds her in the dip, her leg hooked around Ty Lee's waist. "I've got this?"

"You're ready," Ty Lee declares, breaking out of position. She feels the jubilance overwhelming her as she pretends to dash a tear from the corner of her eye. "You're the best student I've ever had!"

"Erm." Katara squirms and Ty Lee can see her fighting it, the instinct that makes her act all closed off against the one that just wants her to be a woman already and own her power, "…thanks." She gives Ty Lee a small, sincere smile, wiping the sweat off her brow. "No one's really put that much effort into teaching me anything since my old waterbending master. And even then, he was a lot of work."

"Well, don't let anyone say we neglected you here!" Ty Lee responds, giving Katara a hug and feeling the girl stiffen, taken aback by the sudden show of affection.

"Right," she stammers, her arms awkwardly circling around her to return the hug. "Yeah, thanks."

"No problem!" Ty Lee gives the girl another squeeze before letting her go and taking a step back, hands on her shoulders. "Remember, if you've learned nothing else today, that the dragon's waltz is just a dance. And dance is just a form of self-expression! So you can try to hide yourself in a corner all you want but nobody – lousy in bed or otherwise – can take that away from you!"

"Uh…" Katara looks confused. "Are we still talking about dancing or is this all a weird euphemism for something else again?"

Ty Lee giggles, dropping her hands from the girl's shoulders and stepping back. "If you want it to be," she assures her with a conspiratorial wink. "But a dance can just be a dance if that's all you're comfortable with! What matters is that you do what you want. Don't miss out on everything because you were scared!"

"What Circus Freak is trying to say," Toph supplies from her corner, now bored, "is to have fun, but no pressure. Got it, Sugar Queen?"

"I think I understand." Katara nods uncertainly, but the disquiet brimming in her eyes earlier is gone, traded for something else that's just a bit less cautious.

Ty Lee wonders if she'll ever see Katara break out of the walls she's put up so carefully around her. She doesn't really guess too hard at why they're there. Any idiot could figure out why. But life, Ty Lee stolidly believes, is for living and that includes guarded Water Tribe girls with secrets in their eyes and trickles of pink in their grey, grey auras.

THE TALE OF: IROH

or,

(the sound of silence)

It is late into the night and the grounds are quiet.

But for the firstborn son of the Emperor, sleep does not come easily.

He wears his comfortable sleeping garments, as though he's thought about climbing into bed and closing his eyes. But instead he sits at the small table by the fireplace, silently placing small round tiles onto the scored wooden surface of the game board.

Often, his gambits come to him in a stroke of midnight inspiration but tonight his thoughts are elsewhere.

He glances at the pattern on the board, trying to make sense of the randomly placed pieces. Flower tiles of alternating colours scattered on the grid. Here and there, other tiles, fewer in number, inscribed with various symbols: a rock, a ship, a wheel, a dragon, a knot…

Almost instinctively, he reaches for the lotus and sets it in port.

I am becoming predictable, he thinks to himself with a sigh. What would another do?

After a moment of consideration, he removes the lotus tile from its port and weighs his options.

He considers the orchid: bold, aggressive, creating chaos and discord wherever it landed. Sifu Katara had thought of it instinctively as a foil to the white lotus. A smile flits across his mouth as he picks up the tile and sets it on the board, watching as it chokes all opposing pieces in its vicinity, stunting their growth. Truth be told, it was not a bad strategy. Clumsy. But not bad.

The problem with it, Iroh muses to himself, is that it neglects the contributions of all the other pieces on the board.

But that is what people forget when they play pai sho. They rely on one-trick gimmicks focusing on special tiles with powerful abilities. Matching an aggressive play with another one, instead of mundanely securing the gates. And in doing so, they forget about the most important pieces.

It's like power.

Ask any fool on the street where the seat of power lay, and they would reply without hesitation. The throne of the emperor, they would say.

And perhaps they would be right, Iroh concedes, except it's far too simple. And anyone who thought that every movement was dictated through the will of the Emperor clearly did not understand the intent of Sozin and Roku when they first constructed the empire.

In the same way, anyone who believes that his skill in pai sho comes from his understanding of the white lotus tile would be making an incredible oversimplification. On its own, the white lotus is next to worthless. It has little inherent aggression and next to no mobility. The only thing that gives it power is its all-encompassing ability to interact with the other pieces.

And the inability of his opponents to understand the first rule of pai sho is what inevitably defeats them.

The problem with pai sho, he thinks, is the same problem with power.

He thinks of the Imperial Court, designed by Roku as a way to consolidate power. By all means, at the time it was a most astounding suggestion. Take the assembly with the most power, he'd suggested, and give it back to the people. Following the comet's arrival and the disintegration of Sozin's initial strike into endless, bloody war, it had positively flown in the faces of everyone around him, running counter to their idea of conquest.

But Roku – with his suggestions of ambassadors and elected representatives and fixed-term ministers – Roku knew.

Roku knew that peace was no old wives' tale, but instead as important to the consolidation of power as war. Perhaps even more so. It had been a visionary accomplishment. By transferring the bulk of the throne's administrative power to the court, and then filling it with those who spoke with the voice of the people, he had done more than safeguard against corruption and keep the power of the throne from descending into tyranny and bloodshed. He had sown the seeds for nearly a century of stability and balance by ensuring that the recently acquired territories felt like they belonged. That they had a say in their own destinies, and that they even had the power to change it if they felt like it.

Iroh has spent the better part of his life studying General Roku. Having been born years after his death, he has never met him. But even though Sozin had been the first Emperor, Iroh does not doubt who the real father of the Fire Empire is. And if Roku had been alive right now, Iroh doesn't doubt that he would be ashamed of what the empire is becoming. At how bloated and ineffective the court has become, at how it has been infiltrated by self-serving, power-hungry sycophants and allowed the empire to decline into a turbulent era of growing prejudice and violence and, at times, abject savagery.

And if Roku was to sit across from him right now, Iroh doesn't doubt that he would have been a most formidable opponent. He wouldn't have been distracted by the white lotus, but instead recognized that it was everything else that was important.

Without the humble, pedestrian movements of all the common flowers – red and white, light and dark, white jade and lilies and snapdragons alike – and the orchestrations of the grander special tiles – ships to move, rocks to block, wheels to turn, dragons to consume – the white lotus would have nothing with which to create its harmony.

A harsh caw from his windowsill tears through the night air.

At once, he is distracted from his contemplations and turns away from the board.

General Iroh frowns, watching the fierce falcon-hawk beat its powerful wings over to the edge of his desk. It is a powerful creature. Difficult to intercept. Whoever sent a message with this bird must have risked a lot to ensure its secrecy.

He unfastens the scroll tied to its pouch and when he sees the white wax seal inscribed with its plain lotus insignia, all of his attention is focused.

Finally, he thinks to himself, tearing the letter open with uncommon haste.

It is unlike Jun to be quiet for such a long period of time. He scans her missive quickly, his uneasiness growing with every passing word.

Grandpa,

If this message reaches you, I'm luckier than I thought. You owe me big time for this mess you've put me in.

I investigated the origins of the knife you sent me. Some friend you are. The trail led me right into the Dai Li. You may also find it interesting that the knife appears to have been in the possession of certain acquaintances of mine who belonged to the resistance. I say 'appears' because all of these acquaintances have since vanished before I could find them or ask them anything. Courtesy of the Dai Li as well, I'll assume.

I wish I had more information for you than that but unfortunately the Dai Li are onto me. I had the misfortune of flipping one of them off at a bar a couple of weeks ago – I know, not my smartest course of action, but here we are. I've been waiting on another lead, one of my sources within the Dai Li, before throwing in the towel altogether but I'm being watched. I don't dare send another letter to you, in case they start intercepting my messages. There are only so many trained messenger falcon-hawks that a girl can get her hands on, even one as resourceful as me.

For the moment, I'm lying low in my flat with Nyla. I haven't stepped out in the better part of a week because I can see them camped out by my door, waiting to ambush me or worse. I don't really know what to do and frankly, I'm a bit scared. I hope that this will blow over but I'm worried that it won't. Please let me know what you want me to do. I could really use some help right about now.

Jun

Grand Lotus Iroh's amber eyes widen. He rummages for some blank paper, mentally composing a reply to send back to her.

He's thought through every permutation of get out of there now that he can before dipping his brush into the well of ink.

But before he can lower his brush to paper, he is distracted by a knock at his door.

"Enter," he says, frowning. He glances at the window and the height of the moon in the sky. Who is calling on me so late at night?

"Your Highness, I apologize for the hour," greets his man-at-arms. He holds out a scroll addressed to him, sealed with the royal flame insignia of the royal family. "But there has been urgent news from the capital. It cannot wait."

Crown Prince Iroh gets to his feet. His hands are steady even as he slits the red wax seal open and unrolls the letter.

He knows what it says before he reads the words.

THE TALE OF: KATARA

or,

(changes)

Katara takes her time dressing after her bath the next morning.

It's a luxury she usually doesn't have. Usually, they're up at the crack of dawn, trudging bleary-eyed and yawning to the clearing for Avatar training. Half the time, she isn't even awake enough to remember getting ready in the dim light of the morning: throwing on her uniform, dragging a brush through her bedraggled hair, splashing her face and rinsing her mouth out with salt and water…

But thanks to the looming Fire Empire's new year, or Day of the Dragons as they so pretentiously called it, the entire camp had been given a bit of time off from their usual duties. And the break in routine was, well, jarring to say the least.

It amazes her that by now, she's gotten used to being here. That by throwing herself into the discipline of hard work, early mornings, and meditation, she's found a sense of normalcy that's been missing from her life ever since she left Crescent Island and Master Pakku. She remembers what he told her before she left, that he had no doubts that she had exactly the abilities that they were looking for here. She recalls her doubts, her aversion, her despair at being torn away from the only familiar thing she'd encountered since Sokka ran away…

And as she raises her eyes to her reflection in the polished looking-glass hanging by the wall in her shared room, she considers how long ago that feels.

Nearly half a year had already passed since her arrival here on that hot, midsummer's day and yet, it feels like half a lifetime ago since she'd been that person. It feels insane to her, almost a betrayal in fact, to admit that this is the closest thing to peace she's felt since everything began – this unlikely place with her mixed bag of friends is starting to feel like a place called home –

And maybe that's why being a soldier is so easy now, she muses, pulling the comb through her damp hair, recently washed with peppermint and lotus oil. The scent of it relaxes her and reminds her of home, so far away but also here now, a place that she brings with her, a place that in some ways can't be taken away.

After all, it's easy to bury yourself in routine, she thinks, her fingers dropping the comb onto the mantel above the fireplace and deftly beginning to pull the thick, dark strands into their usual braid. When everything you do stays the same, you don't have time to notice anything else.

Like how if she stops for a moment and takes the time to really look, she notices that her face isn't exactly the one she remembers. That the slight roundness of her features has hollowed out, making her look less like the child that she recalls, and more like the image in her mind she has of her mother. Her eyes are still big and blue in her face, but her nose is a bit wider, her cheekbones high and prominent in the soft oval of her face. Her lips are thin and somewhat severe, not full and plump like Ty Lee's, or soft and curving like Suki's.

It feels so frivolous, to take the time to look at herself as she really is. As though by being so engrossed by the routine of being a soldier, she can forget that she's a person, too.

Her fingers, almost of their own accord, stop braiding her hair. She tilts her head just slightly, frowning at how the tightly pulled-back hair emphasizes the harshness of her features. She turns her head this way, and then that, her gaze critical.

She runs her hand through her hair, dislodging the braid that she'd started to work on. Her eyes follow the fall of her hair as it frames her face, softening the hard lines, drawing attention to the balance in her features. And after evaluating her face in the mirror one more time, she bravely decides that she likes her eyes, and the way the wave of her thick hair draws attention to them.

And so, she picks up the comb and tries again. It's a little while before she's satisfied with it – she's a practical creature by nature and there's no way she can bend with her hair getting in her eyes – but as she sections off parts and plaits them into a more complex knot than she would usually attempt, she thinks she's satisfied by the result she sees in the mirror.

It isn't frivolous, she tries to convince herself, tying off the knot at the back of her head and evaluating the long coils of hair that cascade over her shoulders and spill down to her waist. It's just self-expression. Ty Lee said no one could take that away from me. Not even them.

The small, terrifying reality that a part of her just admitted that Ty Lee was right isn't enough to quell the strange, silent defiance raging like fire inside of her. Her gaze drops from her hair to her body, sturdy and athletic from all her training but still swelling with a hint of the soft curves her mother had. She spent so much time hiding from those scars, but she was sick of it now.

Some people wear their scars on their faces, she thinks to herself, her heartbeat racing as it usually does whenever her thoughts turn to him, they don't have the luxury of hiding.

And if he could be that brave, then maybe she could too.

She's been so fixated on surviving that she's forgotten all about living. And she can't even decide if that's a tragedy or not.

"Hey there Sweetness," Toph calls to her, poking her head through the door from the hallway. "You ready, yet?"

Katara takes one last look at herself and nods in satisfaction.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she answers, tearing her gaze away from the mirror and toward the earthbender instead. "Let's go eat."

As she locks the door behind them and they set out through the hallway toward the exit, Toph scrunches her face up in concentration. "Did you do something to your hair or something? You feel…different."

Katara smiles disarmingly as she touches a hand to the back of her neck, the heavy feeling of her hair still alien to her. A silent rebellion. "A bit," she confesses. "It's not that big a deal."

"If you say so." Toph shrugs and smirks as they step outside. "I'd tell you that it looks nice but I have no idea if that's true or not…"

She almost regrets it as they approach the mess hall. She imagines heads turning to give her a second glance, but truth be told, everyone is sullen and preoccupied this morning.

"It's okay," Toph assures her, almost as though she can read her disquiet. "No one's staring."

"Yeah," Katara agrees. "I know."

Her body is still tense though and her heart pounds nervously as she runs her eyes around her surroundings, searching –

"Katara?" an incredulous voice asks from some distance away. A male voice.

She stiffens and turns around to face him, mentally preparing herself – but it turns out to just be Chan and a couple of his friends, breakfast trays in their hands.

"Oh," she says, swallowing her vague sense of disappointment and trading it for a brief smile. "Hi."

"Hi," Chan nods, his face unusually somber. His eyes widen as he surveys her in her new dress: not the violet one that Ty Lee had approved of the day before, but the tailored navy tunic and its warm grey overcoat instead. "Is that new?"

"It is," Katara tells him, surprised that he'd notice. "I got it in town the other day with the girls. It's quite a story, come to think of it."

"You'll have to tell me sometime," Chan tells her, hoisting a smile onto his face that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "But it suits you. Doesn't it, guys?"

"Yeah," Ruon-Jian agrees, nodding but without much emphasis. "You look sharp."

"Thanks," she forces out, relieved.

"Like a proper girl from the Water Tribes," says Chan's other friend, a good-looking guy that she doesn't recognize. "And you know what they say about Water Tribe girls, right?" He eyes her with interest and instinctively, her skin starts to crawl.

"Malu," Ruon-Jian hisses through clenched teeth, elbowing the guy sharply in his ribs. "For fuck's sake, man."

"We should go," Chan says bluntly. "And remember - I've got your back, Katara." He winks at her suddenly, conspiratorially, as though they're old friends. "In case you need a hand warding off any unwanted admirers."

"Oh. Right. Uh," Katara stammers, not really expecting that from him. "I think I've got it covered. But thank you."

Her eyes flit around her surroundings again, chancing to see if anyone's watching.

Chan and his friends walk away, somber once again.

She lets out a long slow breath.

"Was that weird to you?" she asks Toph carefully.

"A little bit," Toph admits. "Not Chan. Believe it or not, but the guy was being sincere. Leave it to you to find a way to make him redeemable, Sugar Queen." She pauses, scowling. "His friend, though –"

"Who, Ruon-Jian?"

"No, the other one. He creeped me out a bit. You could afford to be less friendly with that one."

"You and me both. Thanks for the heads up," Katara mutters as they walk up to the counter and grab their breakfast trays.

As though out of habit, her eyes survey her surroundings quickly, carefully, unconsciously searching for a glimpse in the crowd: the sharp jawline, a dark red blotch marring pale perfect skin, thick black hair long enough to pull into a topknot but left wild and unkempt instead…

"Who are you looking for?" Toph prods, raising an eyebrow.

"What?" Katara asks, startled. She shakes her head in denial. "No one."

The lie slips out of her mouth automatically, her hand instinctively reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her heart pounds uncomfortably in her chest regardless.

She belatedly remembers that Toph can probably tell that she isn't being entirely truthful, but thanks her lucky stars when the blind girl decides not to push further.

In fact, as they walk through the room, something seems a little off to Katara. While mornings aren't generally as rowdy or energetic as lunches or dinners, there's something weighty in the air and some of the more senior officers look downright funereal.

"Does anything feel a little strange to you?" Toph asks uncertainly as they approach their usual table. Suki, Ty Lee, and Aang are sitting there, picking at their breakfast, but there's no one else.

"A little bit," Katara confesses quietly, her face falling a little as they join their friends and seat themselves in their usual spots.

"Morning," Aang greets them, nodding his head. He looks a little pale.

"Morning," Katara replies. Her eyes sweep over Suki and Ty Lee, who also appear apprehensive to her eyes.

Her gaze lingers on the empty spot at their table, but nobody mentions anything amiss and so she musters her resolve, putting on a nonchalant front. "No Zuko this morning?" she asks lightly, as though she's only curious.

The response to her words is striking. Aang faces her, and there's worry in his eyes. "No, he won't leave his room."

"Why?" Katara returns, her heart sinking as she starts to piece it together: the somber officers, the subdued chatter of the morning, Zuko's absence…

Ty Lee turns to her and when she speaks, her voice is low.

"You didn't hear? General Iroh packed up and left for the capital early this morning. Emperor Azulon just passed away in his sleep."

author's notes. oh and there's the plot, returning from its much-needed vacation.

*cracks knuckles* this is probably the longest single chapter i've ever written. i really hope this doesn't become a trend, because i remember thinking something similar at the end of last chapter too... but if you made it all the way through, kudos for some real fanfic marathoning.

we're approaching the conclusion of the 'falling so slow' mega-chapter arc. next chapter will be the last in that series, to tie off one last thing or two before returning to the regularly scheduled storyline. it'll be rather on the shorter side (compared to the giant slog of this chapter and its predecessors) but no less eventful! i'm hoping to have it up within the next week or so, so keep an eye out for it.

on a sidenote: i think i need a beta? mainly for plot detailing, grounding and restraint, and a general second opinion to make sure things are consistent and sensible. any volunteers, please give me a shout.

liked it? hated it? let a girl know! reviews are the only known remedy for writer's block and fatigue!

Chapter 21: falling so slow (pt. vi: trust)

Summary:

Zuko struggles to come to terms with his recent loss. Jun has a visitor.

Chapter Text

disclaimer. atla belongs to bryke, zutara belongs to the fans, and nothing belongs to me. it is known.

author's notes. aaand here it is. not quite the update you wanted but probably the one you deserve. i said this would be short. i lied.

enormous thanks to everyone who's been following along and leaving such enthusiastic comments! your guesses and attention to detail keep me going, i swear.

importantly, a HUGE shout-out to circasurvival for beta-reading this and sprinkling everything with a hefty dose of awesomesauce!

i give you...

southern lights

chapter xxi. falling so slow (pt vi. trust)

you showed me hope amongst the hellequins in spring
and you told me life was learning how to be your friend

"rivers in your mouth" / ben howard

"Nothing," Jun mutters fiercely. "Absolutely nothing."

She kicks at the floor aimlessly. Over by the counter, an empty box of jerky topples over onto the ground. Nyla raises her head and whines at her reproachfully, but Jun ignores her.

"No leads, no witnesses, no allies, not one single thing besides those blasted coneheads…"

Jun's apartment is cluttered and tiny, a single room fitted with a cooking range, a countertop, and a trapdoor in the floor leading down to an even more modest cellar. Furnished sparsely with a single bedroll and a couple of moth-eaten armchairs, she's hardly ever regarded it as comfortable. But now, cooped up inside for what feels like weeks while waiting for a message to return from the Grand Lotus, Jun darkly thinks it resembles a prison cell instead.

Unfortunately, Iroh's response to her latest missive has been nothing but silence.

It's unlike him, Jun thinks uncertainly. If she didn't know any better, she would have thought that her letter hadn't reached him. But with the Dai Li on her tail, Jun couldn't risk sending another one. They would probably intercept it, read it, and that would the end of it and the end of her.

Game over.

So in the meantime, she was stuck twiddling her thumbs in the cramped confines of her stuffy apartment, feeling the eyes of the Dai Li agents watching her door, waiting and biding their time. They're not stupid enough to trespass, not with Nyla guarding the door. But as every day passes and Jun's stockpile of stakeout supplies hidden in her cellar dwindles further, they get that much closer to intercepting her.

She isn't naïve enough to think they would wait to do it under cover of night, either. The lower ring in Ba Sing Se had been a hotbed of Dai Li activity for years now. Getting used to people being hauled off by the silent authority was part and parcel of living in the walled city. Everyone knew that. Besides, all the occupants of her street gave her a wide berth, both because of her reputation and because they were afraid of Nyla.

No, she was pinned in place, alone, with no one to help her but her faithful shirshu.

"Damn it," Jun swears, clenching her hands into a fist.

She'd been outgunned from the very beginning. When Iroh sent her that knife, either he had no idea of the implications or he'd held out on her.

She curses the day she received it. Hell, she curses the day she met him.

But then a sudden knock at the door causes her to still.

She glances at the sundial by the shuttered window. An hour past midday.

Right on schedule.

She and Nyla sit stubbornly, motionless.

The knocking continues.

Then it subsides.

Jun lets out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Silence reigns within her little flat, as it usually does.

"We know you're in there, Jun," calls the voice, that loathsome, cultured, silky voice that grates on her nerves and haunts her in her sleep. "You can't stay in there forever. One day, you'll have to come out. Why not now? We'll be merciful if you do."

Merciful. Jun snorts. Yeah right.

She'd be lucky if they killed her quickly.

And then there was Nyla. Jun didn't know what the Dai Li would do with a beast like her. Use her? Cripple her? Abandon her on her own?

"Still stubborn, I see," the voice continues at last, from just outside her door. "Well, no matter. We'll be back. And one day, you might find that we're not as patient as you."

Then go ahead and try, Jun thinks recklessly, biting her tongue to stop herself from blurting the words out loud.

But that's what they wanted. To make her careless.

Jun would be fooling herself if she thought that she was safe in her apartment. The Dai Li were earthbenders and if they wanted to, they could make their way as easily into her apartment as they could anywhere else. No, the real message of this prolonged stakeout was loud and clear.

They were toying with her. They wanted her to fear them, to fear for her life before the end.

This was a game, and the stakes were life or death.

And it would end when they got tired of it. Not her.

Zuko ignores the insistent knocking at his door, choosing to remain lying on his bed instead.

The mattress creaks beneath him, firm, almost uncomfortably solid. The dark red covers, usually soft and comforting, now just chafe against his skin. Around him, the walls of his room loom cold and grey, suffocating like the very air in his room. The curtains remain tightly drawn across the window, plunging everything into a murky timeless dark.

Two days had passed since his uncle woke him in the middle of the night with the news. Two days since he felt the turn of the world moving slowly beneath his feet, ever onward without him. Two days of limbo, of feeling suspended in the air, mid-flight, waiting to fall.

It all tumbles through his head, the thoughts snatching at him, eating away at the remnants of his sanity until he's certain that he would lose that too.

He isn't sure what's worse: waiting for the inevitable or watching it unfold. All this time, he had been holding his breath - watching his uncle hold his breath - as the Emperor's days fell into decline. But after hearing the news from Uncle Iroh, seeing him remain so calm, so strong, even while grappling with the loss of his father, Zuko couldn't help but feel the old wounds opening up again.

I want to go with you, he'd blurted out to his uncle as he prepared to depart. Let me stay by your side. Let me protect you.

Where did he belong if not with his family at a time like this? Even though his own relationship with his now-deceased grandfather had been lukewarm at best, and even though his stomach churns with guilt over the twin realizations that he never got to say goodbye and that it didn't bother him so much because Azulon was a stranger to him anyway - a stranger who could have stopped his father but didn't – the fact still stands. If he couldn't call Caldera City home now, then when could he ever?

I did nothing wrong, he had insisted to his uncle so many weeks ago. What if I don't forgive? Doesn't that matter?

At the time, it all seemed so clear. He was in the right and his father had wronged him, and that was the end of it. That was all he needed to calm the storm within.

But now, it feels so naïve, hollow, like it could never be enough. With his grandfather dead, his uncle returning to a home without him hurt too much. The feeling of being apart, of being unwanted…it made him want to reconsider, to cast aside the accumulated indignation and wounded pride of the last few years and meekly return home. To do anything, no matter the cost, if it meant he didn't have to be alone anymore.

Except somehow, incredibly, that notion made him feel even worse. And the helplessness, the sheer injustice of it all rankled at his skin, eating away at him like a canker.

His fingers reach up to graze the edges of his scar and his face twists, contorting into something like a mask out of one of his mother's plays. His scar. A mark of the dishonoured prince, lost to exile and doomed to live life in the shadows. In some ways, it had become a mask of its own. He forgets that he wears it, he's had it for so long now but it was always there. A constant reminder of everything that was lost to him: honour, love, home, family.

All of it gone, snatched away from him by his own father, with the blind complicity of everyone else in his family.

Everyone, except his uncle who'd been away from the palace at the time that it happened. And Zuko had convinced himself that if Uncle Iroh had been around, he would have talked some sense into his father or the Emperor. He told himself that it might have made a difference. Whether it's out of blind desperation or cruel hope, that conviction had kept him going so far.

And then that same hope, rising from the ashes like a newborn phoenix when he'd read his mother's letter, only to be dashed to pieces at the cold realization that dawns upon him in its place. That he's been fooling himself all along. That maybe his father's love was something he had never called his own. Maybe it wasn't his fault, maybe he'd been searching for the wrong thing this whole time. And maybe, just maybe, it had been right in front of him this whole time in the form of his uncle.

But when Uncle Iroh rebuffed his offer – you will stay put, my nephew, he'd replied without a second thought, until I know what's going on you will not leave this encampment, promise me – a part of Zuko, the only part of him that matters after everything, recoiled violently at being left behind yet again.

The rational side of his brain still argues that Uncle Iroh was doing this because he cares. That Uncle Iroh was just trying to protect him in his own way and he should be grateful to his uncle for trying to be the father he's never had.

And Zuko is.

But the dull burn of fury coiling in his gut rages at being treated like some porcelain doll, to be coddled and guarded from the harsh realities of palace life.

No, he decides darkly, in the airless lightless trap of his modest room, what he desperately needed was a place where he belonged- a reassurance that unlike the scar on his face, his estrangement from his former life hadn't been permanent.

Up until now, he had been convinced that he was meant to stay by his uncle's side. That Uncle Iroh regarded him as a son too. He had every reason to believe it, after how his uncle had nurtured him and sheltered him from the grief that his own family has ignored, caused even. But wouldn't that mean that Zuko's place should have been with his uncle - helping him grieve, helping him cope, supporting him – instead of being shut up in his room at an encampment far away surrounded by officers and strangers?

Promise me that you will stay, his uncle commanded that night in a steely voice. You belong here after all, Prince Zuko.

I belong wherever you are, he'd argued weakly, dashing the tears from the corner of his eyes.

You belong wherever you are safe, Uncle Iroh returned, his tone brooking no room for protest. You belong where you are loved and cherished. For now, that place is here, with your friends.

But Zuko had tried anyway. My friends are important to me, but they are not my blood.

No they are not, Uncle Iroh allowed. But they are still your family.

And that was that.

When I have determined that it is safe back home, Uncle Iroh reassured him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, I will send for you. And your friends.

Resentment courses through his veins in an angry fever. He glances blankly at the writing desk by the covered window, usually immaculately kept but now strewn with unrolled scrolls of paper, overturned brushes, and smashed bottles of black ink. The viscous dark fluid seeps into the porous wooden surfaces, half-dried and congealing. All battered survivors of a briefly indulgent outburst of rage the day before, an eternity ago when he still had the energy to move.

It was all so easy for his uncle, to drop everything and move on from one strategy to the next. Everyone loved him, respected him, wanted to die for him. He made it look so easy, to make a home for himself no matter where he was.

Meanwhile, Zuko has been stuck in the same encampment for six whole years now and he still couldn't bring himself to call it home. And even if his friends were starting to feel comforting and familiar like the family he'd never had, he couldn't bring himself to admit it without feeling like he was settling. Without feeling like a complete failure. After all, if he hadn't lost his real family, he wouldn't be here in the first place.

And all the while, Zuko's mind keeps taunting him, conjuring visions of what awaited his uncle back at the palace. Even if he'd been away from home for years and out of touch with his family, he does not doubt that his father is planning something. And knowing his father, it's something sinister.

He imagines Uncle Iroh being cut down at the palace gates, stabbed in the back by a guard he trusted a little too readily. Uncle Iroh being barred from the palace and the ensuing fury of those who loved the famed Dragon of the West. His father, whispering into Emperor Azulon's ears all throughout his dying days to alter his will and pass the throne of the Empire to his younger son, in spite of all his previous transgressions. What chaos that would cause. To leave the Empire in the hands of the man who had almost single-handedly rained turbulence upon the empire with his treatment of the Water Tribes, who was asking after the only waterbender under Iroh's direct command, who couldn't love his only son if his life depended on it…

He imagines his uncle challenging his father to an Agni Kai to settle the matter. That the winner would inherit the kingdom and the loser would spend their life on the outskirts in complete dishonour, the way Zuko had.

He imagines his father parrying, insisting that it was legacy that mattered and their heirs should fight the Agni Kai instead. What did it matter which of the two of them was stronger if they couldn't leave the empire in hands stronger than theirs? He imagines Azula and Lu Ten squaring off. He imagines the look on his uncle's face should his son lose and the kingdom be forfeited to his grasping, conniving brother after all.

He imagines it all and worse, and it drives him out of his mind, almost out of his very skin, that he couldn't lift a finger to help any of it along. That he was stuck here, trapped, shouting into the void with no one to listen.

Even though people were around. Why, people were knocking on his door all day and well into the night. Presumably to offer their sympathies and their allegiances and maybe even their thinly-disguised pity...

He wants none of it. Now, he wants little else than to lie back in his bed, staring emptily at the patterns in the stone of his ceiling, absolutely sick of it all.

Last time, he'd wanted the world and only his uncle had showed up. Now, the world is knocking at his door and he only wants his uncle.

"Zuko?" a voice calls through the door, and he recognizes it as Aang's. He stirs, but doesn't move. "It's us again. We're worried about you."

Let him in, advises the voice of his mind that sounds suspiciously like his uncle. He may not be your blood, but there are things so much more important than that.

But he claps a hand to his forehead and shakes his head. He doesn't want them to see him like this – paranoid and shaken and utterly falling apart at the seams. He wants to go home, he wants to be okay, and nobody can give him these things so he just wants everyone to go away.

"You haven't stepped out of your room since it happened," Aang continues, his voice steady but concerned. "That's – that's a long time to be cooped up in there. We just want to make sure you're okay."

It's almost as though he's been reading his mind. But Zuko snorts to himself again. As though anything Aang can say or do could possibly make anything okay.

"He hasn't eaten," he hears Katara hiss from somewhere beyond his door. "Tell him he needs to eat something."

Irrationally, he finds himself wishing that his friends would stop wasting their time on him. That they could find someone who was actually worth their efforts and their concern. Because fool that he is, he's too busy mourning the loss of a family that doesn't even consider him good enough to stand by their side during their worst moments. Hell, they won't even deign to support him in his. More often than not, he muses grimly, they cause them.

"We brought you food," Aang speaks up, his weary voice faltering only a little bit. "Again."

"Zuko, let us in." Now it's Katara speaking and her voice is firm, but breaking a bit at the end. "Please."

If only she knew the truth, she wouldn't be wasting her time here. The louder chorus of his instincts instantly drowns out the part of his spirit that springs with hope eternal because she's here – that she still cares, despite everything. All he can hear are the voices that clamour for him to curl up into a little ball and forget everything, telling him that anything that isn't his family telling him that they need him with them won't make a single difference, and she's wasting her time on him and he never deserved her anyway so why is she still here?

Why are any of them still here? Why do they care?

"Let me handle this." Toph's voice filtering under the crack of his door is quietly capable, before she raises it. "Sparky, that's enough. If you don't let us in by the time I count to ten, I'm breaking down your door."

Oh, he doesn't doubt it.

"Ten. Nine."

He contemplates letting her do it, too. That way they'd know not to interfere next time. Except, then there'd be a giant hole where his door is and he'd have to kiss any privacy of his down the drain.

"Six. Five."

But then –

Love is not a weakness, the voice of his uncle reminds him, taking him back to another time when he lay fallen in the dirt, downtrodden by the weight of his inadequacy. Sometimes it is difficult to see in the darkness. Sometimes it is easy to feel like the love we carry is more a burden than a gift.

Until this moment, he doesn't think he's truly understood the meaning of his uncle's words. But all of his instincts snap at him to shut everything out, to cut his heart out from his chest if he could because only then would everything stop hurting, and at the same time, the weight of everything bears down on him like the heavy stone blocks in the walls pressing into the ground, sturdy and unyielding, and how much he needs to feel it in spite of it all because otherwise what would the point of anything be?

He considers it all deliriously in a span of a moment, before a subtle flickering of the dim light in his room distracts him. The curtains are still tightly drawn across his window but somewhere beyond them the sun still blazes, too bright for his eyes to handle. It could be midday or maybe early afternoon, judging from the intensity and warmth of the light that manages to creep through where the heavy maroon fabric ends and briefly illuminates the room for half a feverish second.

Then, the light shifts and dims again and he lets out an aggravated sigh. Flame trickles from his mouth and nostrils before he finally swings out of bed, planting his bare feet firmly onto the cold stone floor, and trudging slowly to the bolted iron door.

"Two –" Toph is counting, her voice rising in a warning threat when he slips the bolt and swings the door open. The light pouring in from the hallway is blinding and he flinches, staggering back a step, shielding his eyes with a defensively raised forearm.

He doesn't look at them right away but he feels some of the tension sap out of them the instant they see him. He can sense their hesitation too as they struggle to say something to him that isn't presumptive and his irritation with the whole thing mounts even as a part of him is relieved to see them, that they're here.

"About time," Toph says at last, crossing her arms across her chest defiantly. "I was going to do it, you know."

"I know." The words scrape over his throat, hoarse and unwilling. It's the first thing he's said out loud since he bid his uncle goodbye. Against his more stubborn impulses he raises his eyes to glance at them briefly – Toph on edge and alert with her arms crossed, Katara with a tray of food in her hands, Aang holding a pitcher of water in his – before his gaze drops again.

"Well don't just stand there," he forces out dismissively, turning on his heel and stubbornly making his way back to his bed. Even now, he is unsure of whether he wants them here for any purpose other than to drive them away, to make a point to them or just to himself. He sits on its edge this time, pushing the rumpled covers to the side instead of lying down again. In some ways that's probably an improvement in itself.

The tentativeness of their motions grates hardest on his nerves. They tiptoe around him, exchanging looks with each other whose meaning he doesn't want to interpret, silently pulling the door shut behind them. He keeps his gaze fixed to the stone-tiled floor, bracing himself for the inevitable condemnation as they take it all in. The state of his room, a dark and silent battlefield of crumpled sheets and discarded clothing and broken bottles of ink. The muffled, wet sound of someone swallowing slowly, a throat clearing quietly, lips pressing together in tightly held concern. They hesitate, hovering on the periphery. Too far away, too close, a happy medium nowhere in sight...

It's this very thing that he had wanted to avoid. He's tired of being treated gently, as though he's some invalid. It reminds him sharply of his uncle, of the last time he'd been helplessly bedridden.

The bed depresses slightly as someone sits next to him. "Here," Aang says, lowering the pitcher of water into his hands. "I'd give you a cup but I think you must be really thirsty now."

His mouth tightens as he gazes at it, the cool, clean water rippling within the clay pitcher. Only then does he pay attention to how dry his throat and tongue are, how he can't even remember the last time he drank anything and that maybe on this matter, the Air Nomad is right.

He lifts the pitcher to his lips, tilts it back, and feels the cool water rush into his mouth. He swallows, hesitantly at first, but then quicker and more greedily as his body springs back to life and drowns out the shouting of his mind, overwhelming him with the need for satiety. The water spills over his lips, trickling down his face, dripping onto his lap, and when he lowers the pitcher to catch his breath, it's mostly empty.

He feels their eyes on him, but he doesn't want to meet them yet. He doesn't want to see the pathetic thing he's become, reflected in them.

"Thanks," he rasps out instead, wiping at his face with the short sleeve of his thin red tunic.

"Feeling better?" Aang asks simply, taking the pitcher back. Zuko nods once. The water's done a lot to clear the fog in his head.

"How are you holding up?" This from Toph, leaning against the wall by his bed. He shrugs.

"I don't know," he confesses shortly. The guilt returns as he faces it again. "Okay, I guess? I barely knew my grandfather."

His admission catches them off guard, he sees. They must have expected him to be agonizing over the loss. It's time they learned what a terrible grandson I am, he thinks to himself sourly. He catches the quick exchange of glances between them, the apprehensive understanding – or misunderstanding, he doesn't care to clarify.

He awaits their judgment, feeling detached from it all. In some ways, he invites it. But instead –

"Okay enough for a bit of food?" Katara asks from some distance away, breaking the weighted silence.

The warmth in her voice amazes him. How can she still want to be here after seeing how pathetic this all is? Even more surprising is feeling his stomach awaken in response to her words. He still can't bring himself to meet her eyes, so he nods quietly instead.

She approaches him cautiously, as though he's some wounded feral creature that's gone skittish and she's trying not to set him off. But when she presses the tray into his lap gingerly, fingers accidentally brushing his own as she lets go and retreats a safe distance away, he sees that there isn't pity in her eyes, only concern.

Feeling his spirits marginally rise, he balances the tray on his lap and pulls the lid off one of the dishes. The porridgey jook is still steaming hot and he reaches for the spoon without complaint.

"They've only been serving mourning food," Katara explains, as though she's apologizing. As though she thinks that right now, he has any appetite for food that isn't mushy and bland.

"I know," he makes himself say, before transferring a bite to his mouth. It tastes of rice and water and a hint of salt, but he relishes it all the same. Somehow, as though they knew, it's exactly what he needs. "They'll stick to the mourning diet until the emperor's body has been cremated, probably a few more days at least..." He gulps down a few more mouthfuls before he catches the uneasy look that Aang and Katara exchange. "What?" he asks them, setting down his tray and feeling his stomach roil.

Katara presses her lips tightly together and shakes her head, her wide blue eyes fixed on Aang's.

"What?" Zuko repeats more insistently, throwing an accusing stare at Aang.

Aang lowers his grey eyes. "They cremated him today," he sighs.

Zuko's eyes widen. "Today?" he echoes incredulously. He pushes the tray off of his lap and it balances precariously on top of his covers.

Aang nods sadly. "But –" And Zuko's stammering now because it makes no sense, it's happening too soon, "but that's not right! The emperor's body is supposed to rest for a period of time and they're supposed to hold a state funeral and have the Fire Sages announce the succession –"

The succession.

His hands tangle through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. His worst fears are rearing their heads in broad daylight now, no longer mere insubstantial figments of his imagination that torment him all night long, but real, materializing before his very eyes.

"Uncle Iroh wouldn't even have had time to make it back to the capital by now," he realizes, nails dragging from his scalp to bite into the skin stretched thinly across his temples. He's positively shaking now. Agni help him, everything he had always feared, everything he had tried to warn Uncle Iroh about - it was all coming true right before his very eyes and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it. "What –"

"They said," Aang goes on, his voice steady and calm, "that your father declared –"

Zuko closes his eyes, jaw clenched and heart drumming in his chest as he remembers with rising dread Uncle Iroh's calm face as he confidently insisted that his father couldn't –

" – joint rule," continues Aang. "Between himself and his brother. He said there was no point in forcing a contest of succession, not now when things need to be stable. That right now, a smooth transition of power was most necessary for peace."

"What?" Zuko chokes, jumping to his feet. His fists clench tightly as he tries to make sense of it all. His voice is a stuttering crack of sound in his distress. "Are – are you sure?"

The tray bounces off the mattress, crashing to the ground with a loud clatter. The little clay bowl cracks into a thousand sharp shards, its mushy contents spreading onto the floor every which way. He pays it little heed, but from the way his companions' heads twitch at the motion, it is clear the same cannot be said of them.

"Well…yeah," Aang affirms, appearing unsure of how to redirect his sudden distress as though it's lightning. "That's what they announced at lunch today –"

"My father," Zuko heaves out, voice strengthening and disbelief growing with every word, "told the entire Empire of his own volition that he was going to share power…with my uncle?"

Aang nods and he feels the bottom drop out of his stomach. The room spins around him, or maybe it's just his head, he doesn't know, nothing makes sense anymore –

"Take it easy, Sparky," Toph speaks up, and at once, her solid form is holding him up, guiding him back to the edge of his bed. He doesn't sit down again, but leans against one of the solid wooden posts at the corner for support.

Out of the corner of his eyes, a swish of blue and white. Katara silently kneels on the ground by his bed, hands straightening the scuffed wooden tray, bending the gluey porridge off the ground with a twist of her wrist, picking at the broken pottery shards with delicate, methodical fingers.

He's dimly aware of Toph as she tilts her head, flexes her fingers, and pushes a hand out in front of her. Katara turns her head to flash a small grateful smile at the earthbender as the rest of the small clay pieces rise into the air as one and land on the tray in a neat heap. Toph nods almost imperceptibly before the two of them return their attention to him, faces schooled back to neutrality.

Toph's only a pace away, Aang still sitting with pitcher in hand on the bed, Katara hovering half its length away. They're not far enough, not nearly close enough. Yet there's something faint rising within him, like they're exactly what he needs. It eases the sting of being left behind a little. Only a little. But it's better than nothing. It brings him back, helps him focus.

"That," he mutters, shaking his head, "that is so unlike him."

"What is?" Aang inquires, wide-eyed.

"My father," Zuko explains curtly, rubbing at his forehead in agitation. "Being peaceful. He has something up his sleeve. I know it."

He feels the doubt radiating off Aang, and Toph arches an eyebrow too. But Katara had always been ready to believe in the worst when it comes to his father and when he chances a glance at her he sees that she at least is not so easily convinced.

"Well, if you think about it," she says slowly, and he can see the wheels turning behind her eyes, that she has arrived at the same conclusion that has him unsettled. "Prince Ozai gains a lot more from joint rule than General Iroh. He isn't even the heir. The throne by all rights belongs to the older son. But now –"

"Now what?" Aang asks, ever the voice of reason. He sets the pitcher down on the hard ground next to the tray by Katara's feet, stands up, turns to Zuko hesitantly. "I know you don't think very highly of your father, Zuko – rightly so, but –"

"My father," Zuko forces his voice to stay calm but he's still quivering, "is the cruellest man I've ever met. And now he's wrangled his way into sharing the throne with my uncle." He shakes his head. "I'm not even sad about the emperor, you know? What a horrible grandson that must make me." His mouth twists, eyes darting from the floor to each of their faces in turn. He wonders what they see when he looks at them. A pale, gaunt spectre with jittery eyes and an empty space where his heart should be? "I'm just so scared for Uncle. He's an idealist and I know he can maneuver his way around a court plot better than anyone else but…" he flounders, wondering if everyone else thinks he sounds as paranoid as he thinks he does.

"Your uncle's also the rightful ruler," Aang points out. "Maybe he'll have to share power with his brother, maybe he won't –"

"I know Uncle Iroh," Zuko insists through gritted teeth. "He would never risk a war to consolidate his place on the throne. He would rather work with my father –"

"Well, your father isn't stupid either," Aang points out, rather sensibly. "Cruel and selfish doesn't necessarily mean foolish. And I'm sure your father realizes that even if they are equals now, General Iroh is the older brother, the firstborn. He's the one who was raised to rule. He's the one who controls the army. He's the one that the people trust. Even Prince Ozai would know better than to challenge him."

"I know," Zuko admits. "But –" He stops in his tracks and tries to think. Tries to weave together the threads of all the different things eating away at his fraying sanity into something coherent for the others to follow. He crosses his arms and exhales through his teeth. "My father and my uncle were always at odds with each other when it came to their plans for the Empire's future. Uncle Iroh, as you saw, believes in building bridges and committing to a future for everyone, Fire Nation or not. My father…has other inclinations."

"Fire Nation superiority," Katara supplies, stepping forward, face darkening. He nods his head at her.

"More or less. And what's more important is not that he believes it, but that his supporters do too." He plies Aang with a long, searching glance. "You were right about my uncle having the support of the army and of the people. But my father's been sitting at the emperor's side, issuing his own edicts. And his supporters are in the palace, with sway in the Imperial Court. And now that he has surrounded himself with like-minded people who share his vision for the future…" he pauses, hand gripping the wooden bed post supporting his weight until his knuckles go white, "…I just wonder if the support of the army and the people will be enough to keep him under control."

"But isn't that what the court is for?" Aang counters, frowning. "I thought the whole point of having all those elected representatives and ambassadors in the court was to disperse all the power from the ruling family and keep them in check."

"Yes," Zuko agrees. "That was the point, way back when Emperor Sozin and General Roku first founded the empire. But Fire Nation elected representatives outnumber the voices from the colonies now. And the ones who control the court are more likely to agree with my father's view of things than my uncle's. They like things the way they are now, after all, and my uncle wants to change everything." He drops his voice to a soft whisper, feeling sick at the thought of it all. "And he's going to be all alone in that den of viperadders. That's why I'm worried."

His fingers flex, nails dragging against the wooden post as though to emphasize his disquiet. The others don't say anything, contemplating his words with a reticence that only punctuates their doubt.

"I don't know," he says at last, clapping a hand to his forehead when their silence draws out longer than he's comfortable with. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I am overthinking this."

"We never said that," Toph speaks up and her voice is gentle. "You're afraid for your uncle for very good reason. But if there's one thing Grandpa's good at, it's manipulating people." Her mouth twists into a wry sort of grimace, and he can't help the scoff that escapes him.

"Yes, but –" his gaze flits over to Katara standing grim-faced a dozen paces away, and he straightens, staggering half a step forward because if anyone could understand, it would be her. "But now that he's put the idea of joint rule out there, the people will expect nothing less." He sees her nodding slowly and he is heartened enough by the sight to continue airing the thoughts that trouble him. "If my uncle refuses to share rule, my father's supporters will be displeased. They might silently plot to have him overthrown or even revolt against him openly. It isn't a good way to start your reign."

"But neither is challenging the rightful heir outright," Katara points out gently, somehow affirming his worst fear and dispelling it at the same time. "No matter what Prince Ozai has planned, he can't do it without angering General Iroh's supporters." She shrugs helplessly. "So, it looks like your father needs your uncle a lot more than your uncle needs him. For now."

"For now." The words are meant to reassure but they settle ominously over him like a shroud instead.

"So why are you still worried?" Toph asks him, ever perceptive. "Grandpa's got the throne and he's also got your dad in a chokehold. Isn't that enough?"

"It should be," Zuko mutters, and he's pacing now, trying to make sense of it all. "It should be enough, but –"

"But what? Why are you still worried?" Toph continues to prod, shaking her head. "The sooner you spit it out, the sooner you can get it off your chest."

Zuko turns back to the wooden post at the corner of his bed, leaning against it as though in defeat. "I know. I just -" His hand rakes across his scalp, a futile habit by now. "I just wish I understood. I wish I knew what my father was thinking."

"Well, it looks like he's thinking about how to keep a steady hold on the throne without letting the empire fall apart into chaos," Aang says, putting a consoling hand on Zuko's shoulder. He flinches at the gesture but doesn't shrink from the air nomad.

"That's just it, though," Zuko gripes. "That's so very unlike him. The man I knew wouldn't do that. Not without a fight."

"Maybe he's changed." The tone of Aang's voice conveys to Zuko that even he considers it unlikely. Nevertheless, he persists. "It's been a long time since you've known him."

Zuko scoffs again and shakes his head vehemently. "That's what my mother said," he spits out, still finding the words unpalatable. "She – she says that he's changed. That ruling's made him a better man." Contempt turns his words into a sneer.

"You don't believe her," Toph remarks flatly, turning her sightless face in his direction.

"I want to," Zuko confesses, hanging his head. "But I can't."

To his surprise, she steps right up to him and comfortingly puts a hand on his back. She doesn't say anything, but he remembers that she knows all too well what it's like, having incorrigibly controlling parents.

"He's…" Zuko presses on hoarsely, encouraged by the quiet solidarity, of being taken seriously for once, "he's done such terrible things, you can't even imagine. Not just to the Water Tribes –" he briefly turns to face Katara in acknowledgment, feeling the customary jolt in his stomach at the sight of her face crumpling slightly, " – but even to his own people." He closes his eyes, remembering it with disconcerting ease.

And why wouldn't he, when it constantly haunts the edges of his subconscious and threads through his nightmares? "He was willing to sacrifice an entire battalion of raw recruits to thwart the revolt of Omashu. Did you know that? When Bumi's forces were too much for his troops to contain, his solution was to lure them away with," he breathes heavily through his nostrils, his fists clenching tightly, "fresh meat."

He opens his eyes to face them defiantly, watching the slow horror of comprehension dawning across their faces.

"I thought your uncle was supposed to be in charge of the army," Aang breathes out, his voice rising barely above the hush of a whisper as though he doesn't trust himself to say anything more.

"Normally he would have been, but this was around the time of the polar wars. My uncle and the emperor naively made the mistake of giving my father a chance to prove his mettle." He turns to face the curtained window, where the flickering light at its edge casts strange shadows across the room. The congealing ink still dripping slowly from broken glass bottles, the crumpled uniform on the ground the same shade as the cascade of his bedcovers, and how the half-light stains it all the colour of blood. He feels their mounting horror as he continues doggedly. "He founded the city of New Ozai with the blood of good, loyal soldiers who were probably our age and just wanted to serve their country," he says to them, still facing the window listlessly, "and he wouldn't hear a word against it. Anyone who spoke out wasn't just being unpatriotic, according to him – they were challenging his own honour. As though there's honour in slaughter." He wills himself to stop shaking, to banish the memory of his father's sneering voice and the agony of fire on his skin, but –

"And to teach everyone a lesson against speaking out, he even…he –" he chokes out, his throat constricting and a hand coming up to briefly touch the charred red mask of his scar, now mended but never healed. Almost instantly, his hand drops and his throat becomes impossibly tight and he finds himself incapable of going on.

From somewhere behind him, too far away, he hears Katara make a strange, strangled sound, like all the air is being squeezed out of her lungs. "Agni Kai," she gasps, so quietly it's as though she just talking to herself, as though no one else can hear her.

But he does. He feels his blood turn to ice in his veins. Everything stops for a moment.

His head whips around instantly. She flinches visibly at the intensity of the stare he throws at her. "I mean," she stammers breathlessly, quailing under the iron of his gaze, "spirits on high."

He watches her wildly, watches the heartbreaking look in her eyes, big and blue like the sky as they widen in shock and devastation. Watches the shadow pass over her, as though a cloud's gone and blocked out the radiant sun of her face.

The next thing he knows, she's right in front of him and then she throws her arms around him, knocking him back against the bedpost with the force of it and –

"You don't have to say a thing," she whispers, her voice breaking with something that sounds like tears, and now it's her body shaking, trembling against his own and all of his thoughts vanish – "I'm so sorry – I – we believe you, Zuko." And just like that, his disquiet ebbs.

He can't remember anyone holding him like this. Ever. As though he's falling and she's his only lifeline. Her arms encircle him tightly and he's reminded of the sheer strength in them, but also the compassion in there too –

The scampering beat within his chest that frenzied at the memory of that Agni Kai slows to a steady hum of pure, utter bliss, even though she's crying but it's not because of him but for him, with him –

And – and her head fits right into the crook of his neck just the way he knew it would, and she smells like the ocean and waterlilies, and she's wearing her hair down, out of the braid for once and he didn't even notice until now – all this time he's dreamed of this and now –

His arms are uselessly by his sides and he wants to lift them, to wind them back around her so that this moment never ends – but there's a growing disconnect within him where his body remains quite frozen in place while his mind races a mile a minute.

Then Toph's hugging him, and then Aang too and he couldn't move even if he tried. Their weight against him is crushing, but reassuring, comforting...he couldn't remember the last time anyone had hugged him like this and now he nearly drowns in their many-armed embrace.

You're one of us, he hears in the gesture. We're here with you all the way.

They don't have to say it, but they do.

"You're not alone," Katara says, her voice muffled by the cloth of his tunic. "You know that, right?"

"You've got good intuition, Sparky," Toph tells him tactfully, "and if you think your old man's up to something, that's good enough for me." She gives him a reassuring squeeze before casting an amused glance at Katara. "Not sure if it's something to cry about, Sugar Queen. What's with the tearbending?"

Katara makes a noise that sounds like a cross between a scoff and a laugh. She shakes her head but she doesn't pull away.

Every part of him rues the infuriating disconnect between his mind and body as she presses her face into the crook of his neck. Because he wants to feel everything properly, he wants to store it in a corner of his mind as a talisman against the looming dark ahead of him. He's vaguely aware of it all – her body pressed against his, her arms gripping him tightly, the warm wet of her tears against his throat, the feeling of her lips curving into a small smile against the hollow of his throat. And yet his overworked, exhausted mind processes everything sluggishly, reacting to his senses as though he's very far away, watching it all happen to a different person.

"The monks used to say that instinct is the first and last sense," Aang speaks up, tearing him away. His voice is somehow calm even through the loaded emotions running through everyone. "That it always picks up on the things we miss. When someone's lying to us, or means us harm." He raises his head and fixes Zuko with his clear, calm grey eyes. "I think you're very wise to listen to that instinct, Zuko. I don't think it'll lead you astray at all."

Zuko swallows, feeling something very strange swelling within him that fills up his chest and makes it hard to breathe. Something that makes him feel powerful and impossibly vulnerable at the same time.

We may strive for glory, he remembers Uncle Iroh telling him, but we live and die for love.

Once upon a time, half a lifetime ago it feels, he had spoken out against his father's cruelty and received a devastating lesson written onto his face with fire. He had thought himself cut adrift without honour or purpose. Bereft of love, of loyalty, of hope.

But now, when he never felt more ashamed of falling apart, his friends had showed up for him, empty of judgment and condemnation and all the other things life had taught him to expect. They were here, ready to listen, prepared to support him however they could in order to make him feel better. Ready to remind him that his uncle was right once again: that it wasn't the ties of blood that made family, but something far stronger.

"Thank you," he whispers, closing his eyes. A tear runs down his scarred cheek. "All of you –"

The day would come when his uncle would summon him back to the capital. And when he went to face his father and his narrow ambitions again, he would have precious little to call his own. No legions. No strategic political alliances. No hordes of people chanting his name. Only three bending masters and their unfettered trust.

And even though his uncle had left him behind again, the iron grip of his resentment finally starts to weaken. Overwhelmed by the bare hands resting against his back.

He imagines facing his father again, with the weight of his honour and the three of them at his side. Strangely, he couldn't imagine losing. Not anymore.

"Thank you."

"That's it," Jun seethes as the knocking on the door recommences. "I can't take it anymore."

It is an hour past midnight and the night sky is clouded over, starless and moonless. A perfect setting for a macabre end to an otherwise good life, she reflects ruefully, stocking her belt with vials and vials of the venom that she milked from Nyla daily. All of her other supplies were gone – everything that remains are whatever weapons she'd managed to stash in her cellar.

And by now she has had enough.

"As they say, the best defense is a good offense. If those Dai Li bastards want a fight," she says to Nyla grimly, saddling her up, "we'll give them one."

The blind shirshu slavers and growls menacingly at the tone of Jun's voice.

The bounty hunter finishes snapping on her armour and swings onto Nyla's back. She straps herself in, bracing herself. She had been in plenty of fights with benders before, but she had no idea how many agents wait for her outside.

But as long as there was room for Nyla to move, she could count on her shirshu to deal as much damage as they took. With speed and the element of surprise on their side, maybe, just maybe they hada chance…

Either way, they were as good as dead. Might as well make this the spot of their last stand.

"Hyah!" Jun digs her heels into Nyla's spurs.

The shirshu moves with lightning speed, crashing through the apartment door like a storm and crushing the Dai Li agent waiting behind it.

Cold night air rushes into her nostrils, sweet, crisp, clean. She fights the urge to gasp it in, fill her lungs with air that doesn't taste like dust or musty wood or Nyla's stale treats. But there's no time.

Her eyes flick up, scanning her surroundings swiftly. The night is cloudy, dark but for a sliver of the moon hanging like a sickle in the sky. The rows of apartments lining her street are deserted. No witnesses.

One agent lies crumpled beneath the remains of her door. She counts nine of them remaining, marking their positions in the battleground of her mind. Three wait on the ground, a small distance away from her doorway. The other six are scattered on top of the rooftops across the street, their pointed hats silhouetted against the faint grey of the sky. Preparing an aerial advantage, no doubt.

Not if I have something to say about it.

Before they have a chance to process or react, Jun moves.

With a nudge of her foot against Nyla's flank, the shirshu leaps into the air, above the heads of two Dai Li waiting a few paces behind their first unlucky comrade. Jun swings her whip with one hand. It coils around the first agent and flings him bodily against the second. Both tumble and roll along the ground, crashing into the dilapidated storefront opposite her apartment.

Nyla's tongue lashes out at the speed of light, taking out another Dai Li agent as he flexes into a preparatory bending stance. He groans and falls to the ground, paralyzed.

"Now up!" Jun hisses, pulling at Nyla's reins with her free hand.

The shirshu obeys, snarling as she bounds up the front of the terraced storefront with a speed that belies the creature's bulky appearance.

By now, the agents are reacting to her bold onslaught. They track her motion, and she processes them as though they're moving in slow motion.

Two agents leap down from the rafters toward them, their hands outstretched as the ground ripples below them –

Jun snaps her whip, pushing them out of her way and they plummet to the ground. As they land, she feels the boulders sailing in her way.

She nudges at the shirshu's side again and Nyla bounds up, higher still.

They scale the height of the empty building effortlessly, where the earthbenders have trouble reaching them with their ground-based attacks.

Nyla's long tongue catches one of the remaining Dai Li at the elbow and the other by the back of his neck. Both crumple to the ground, immobilized.

"Not bad," Jun remarks to Nyla. "Remind me to give you a nice treat if we get out of this, girl."

Nyla growls in response and snaps her teeth as Jun leads her to the edge of the building and they survey the aftermath of their first daring move.

Three Dai Li agents are paralyzed, while one remains unconscious beneath the splintered wood of Jun's front door. The remaining six are regrouping slowly, their shadowed heads tilting up to face her.

"Well, I'm here," Jun taunts them, brandishing her whip at the ready. "Is this what you were waiting for?"

As though by some unspoken command, the group splits off into some sort of formation, in neat rows as uniform and rigid as the iron lanterns lining the street. Two move forward, another pair moves back, and the remaining ones launch themselves into the air.

"Right," Jun comments. "Nyla, down!"

The shirshu jumps.

The crack of Jun's whip is deafening as it splits the air. It coils around one agent's arm and she flings him against the building wall. He slams against a boarded-up window, breath whooshing out of him.

Nyla's flicks her tongue at the other agent, who dodges and bends a pillar of earth at the pair of them –

Jun digs her heel into the shirshu's flank and Nyla curls to the side, evading the pillar by a fraction of an inch. Then, she reorients herself and dashes along the pillar's side, bearing down on the enemy agent with ferocious speed.

The pillar beneath them crumbles into dust and the pair of them go falling.

Jun flattens herself and pulls at Nyla's mane.

The shirshu balls itself up and tumbles in the air, landing on its feet on the ground with a feline sort of grace.

This time as they run toward their adversaries, the ground beneath them ripples. Nyla growls in frustration as her limbs struggle to find purchase on the treacherous ground.

"Up," Jun commands, her whip cracking left and right as the agents begin to dodge her strikes. "We need to get up!" Nyla struggles to obey, righting herself on her haunches and trying to launch herself back into the air. But the ground churns beneath her and interferes with her footing.

"Ugh," Jun seethes in exasperation, as her whip cracks at nothing and the agents weave through the air as though made of smoke. "Come on, girl, come on…"

She reaches into her belt in desperation and flings a vial of shirshu venom at where an agent lands six feet away from her. The glass vial smashes to pieces against the wall beside his head. The toxin emerges in a cloud and the agent coughs, doubling over in pain.

The ground momentarily stills. Nyla regains her balance and leaps into the air again, landing clumsily on a second floor balcony of one of the deserted apartments. She pants heavily.

A cracking sound fills the air around them. Jun looks up to see the stone blocks cemented together to form the walls above them, slowly coming apart above their heads.

"Fuck," Jun swears, uncoiling her whip as the blocks begin to fall.

She slashes at the blocks, pushing them out of the way, in some cases snapping them back to the ground where the Dai Li wait, in other cases, smashing them to rubble with a well-placed strike…

One slips past her and catches her at the shoulder.

A grunt escapes her as she drops the reins.

Then, the ground beneath her ripples. Nyla sways and falls into her side, taking Jun with her.

But the floor doesn't meet them, because it too has disintegrated, block by block.

Shit.

The two of them fall through the air among the scattering rubble.

Jun barely has time to register the ground knocking the air out of her lungs before the rubble falls all around them. She curls into a ball, as small as she can, protecting her head, her vitals as the rocks bounce off her shoulder and hip.

The pain sparks through her nerves, white-hot and blinding. She grits her teeth tightly together, struggling not to cry out as the rocks smash into her. Gasping, choking on the dry pulverized bits of rock and earth that fall into her face. Her fists clench tightly as she struggles to hold herself together, nails unearthing red rivers from the skin of her palms.

When the rocks finally stop to leave them buried a foot deep in rubble, she chances a breath to assess the damage.

Nyla's breath is warm against her cheek, though short and in sharp bursts. Jun doesn't feel that much better. Every inch of her screams in protest. Her limbs are in agony where the rocks bear down on her frame with their accumulated weight. Her muscles, strained from the intensity of the fight and now throbbing with the effort of staying curled up. Her lungs, struggling to breathe through the muddle of dirt collecting in her mouth. And how all of it goes straight to her gut, sending it roiling like she's been kicked there repeatedly with a steel boot.

It takes everything she has to heave out one large breath, spitting dirt and blood onto the ground by her face. She sucks in what air she can, tainted by the metallic tang of blood and something chalky that tastes like dust. Her ribs groan with a sharp piercing pain in her side, but she can breathe, she's still breathing. Her heart still pulses, she's spitting blood onto the rocks in front of her, and the pain of it all makes her dizzy but she was alive and so was Nyla and that had to count for something.

Her face screws up as she gingerly tries to move her limbs. The pain is a dull roar, deafening all her other senses even as she flexes her arms, straightens a knee, and thanks her stars that her body is only battered, not broken.

The same cannot be said for the glass vials at her belt however, as a sharp pain stabs into her side and she hisses, recoiling. Breathing very carefully, she struggles to move her hand from its protective shell around her head to the arsenal at her hip. Chunks of rock rain down from above at the slow movement, crunching into the dirt by her body. She holds her breath, fingers cautiously tracing cool glass, where smooth walls give way to sharp edges dripping with sticky poison. With every motion a protest lodged deep in her bones, she very carefully unclips five broken vials from her belt, relieved beyond measure that none of them had vaporized. She counts three remaining and considers her options.

Maybe, she thinks with absurd optimism, she could turn this around after all. Those Dai Li bastards probably thought she was down for the count by now, but she was still in one piece. Battered and bruised, but still with a bit of fight left in her. Feeling her hopes rising marginally, she slits an eye open and pushes her face against a crack in the rocks.

But the small ballooning hope in her chest bursts unceremoniously at the sight of five Dai Li agents still standing. Worse, they appear no worse for the wear beyond a few welts here or there from her whip.

Damn it, she curses in her head, taking a deep, unsteady breath. She'd been right by assuming that the element of surprise was really the only major advantage up her sleeve. Once that had worn off, they had gone back to toying with her.

Her skin rankles at the thought of it.

"Come…on," she forces out breathlessly, her fingers twitching against Nyla's reins. "We…have to…get up…" She twines her hand into the reins and pulls at them more firmly.

Nyla shifts her weight, grumbling lowly in the back of her throat.

"I know…" Jun gasps, her other hand stroking the animal's mane gently. "It hurts, I know…you probably just want to curl up and never worry again, huh?"

Nyla grumbles again, this time in dissent.

"Yeah, I didn't think so either."

She inhales sharply, mustering her strength for one more, decisive motion. The rocks strewn about them weigh down on her with a force more pressing than gravity. Every part of her body aches.

"Right," Jun whispers, stroking Nyla's jaw comfortingly. "One more charge, yeah? Just one more, to show those bastards what we're made of. Can you do that for me?"

Nyla growls again, and Jun takes it as assent.

"Good girl," she acknowledges. "The best girl, you know that? Once this is done, you'll…you'll have all the treats you want, where we're going."

Her voice catches a bit at the end.

Where we're going. It didn't bear thinking about. She'd done a lot of unsavoury things in her time and there was no reason to think that anything pleasant might be awaiting her on the other side of all this.

Still. There might be nothing. At least it'll be quiet.

She latches onto that thought. Quiet. A nice thought. Quiet, still, calm. No more pain singing in her bones, no more tracking down people for sport, no more running errands for a bunch of delusional old men. Shame, though, she would've liked to say goodbye to Grandpa properly...even if it was his fault that she ended up in this mess in the first place.

Nyla whines at her and Jun curls her fingers into her stringy mane. She squints at her through the faint light filtering in through the cracks. Her only friend left. How pathetic that might be to admit...except the shirshu was more loyal than any person she'd ever met. Who better to have by her side at the end?

"Right," Jun mumbles, steeling herself for the final onslaught. "Let's give them hell."

She turns her attention back to the street. The five agents are spread out. Tactically, it made all of them equally invulnerable. If one of them went down, the others could easily regroup.

But Jun isn't concerned about that. All of her thoughts are bent on causing as much damage as possible. "Now," she hisses, and flexes her fingers at the reins.

Nyla bursts through the pile of rubble like an explosion, Jun holding her whip and the three remaining vials of venom at the ready. In the blink of an eye, the shirshu lands on one agent, slashes at another with her tongue, and Jun pulls at another with her whip and smashes a vial into his face.

A boulder crashes into her abdomen, ripping her from the saddle and knocking her off the shirshu's back. She lands on her back, her head smashing against the hard earth mercilessly.

This time, no sound comes from her mouth as she exhales a long, slow gasp of pain. Something salty and warm trickles from her mouth. Somewhere in the distance, Nyla thrashes and screams.

All this for want of a knife, Jun thinks thickly. And because Grand Lotus Iroh couldn't check his fucking mail.

She fights a laugh.

After all they've been through, it seems like an uncommonly unglamorous way to go out.

But as a Dai Li limps toward her, one of three left standing, she figures they did a respectable job holding their own and giving them a fight. And as the agent bends down and grabs her by the collar of her armour, pulling her to her feet slowly, she still thinks that it was a better way to go than starving alone in her apartment hiding like a coward.

"Do it," Jun barks at him defiantly, her voice thick through the blood that coats her tongue. "Do it quick."

Something stirs in the agent's soulless green eyes.

The sound of rushing air whistling shrilly fills Jun's ears in a sharply rising crescendo. His fingers twitch as he prepares to comply with her request. She squeezes her eyes shut and braces herself for the inevitable.

Thunk.

She blinks in confusion as the agent before her goes down, crumpled in a heap on the ground.

Am I hallucinating now? Did I hit my head too hard?

Wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand as her knees buckle beneath her, she studies the downed agent. His head juts out at a strange angle.

On the ground next to his neck is a polished metal boomerang.

She blinks again, seeing but not really comprehending as she turns her attention back to where the other two agents are occupied with Nyla.

Or at least, they had been.

Nyla is roaring and lashing her tongue at one of the Dai Li, who screams as he falls to the ground. The shirshu's razor-sharp claws tear into his skin.

The other Dai Li is engaged in a fight with someone else. Someone tall and dark and sturdily built who hadn't been there before. Someone dressed in black, who expertly wields a sword forged from a strange dark metal.

Jun struggles to get to her feet and stumbles forward, everything in her pounding and aching as the newcomer slashes through the Dai Li's defenses and runs him through with his blade, efficiently ending the fight as suddenly as it had started.

The silence that fills the air is deafening, rumbling like thunder in a winter storm. Jun totters on unsteady feet toward her shirshu, who abandons the bloodied remains of the unfortunate Dai Li agent and turns her head toward her mistress.

She collapses against Nyla, leaning against the stocky animal to support her weight as the newcomer cleans his blade with the dead agent's uniform. Her eyes rake over his nut-brown skin, bright blue eyes, and long dark hair swept up in a wolf-tail, before it dawns on her –

"Lee," Jun wheezes in recognition, clutching an arm to her side, where the boulder had knocked her off of her mount earlier. It is tender to the touch - she wouldn't be surprised if she found a few broken ribs. Her relief at his arrival quickly shifts to impatient ire. "About fucking time. Couldn't you have showed up any sooner? I was almost toast." She spits out a mouthful of red blood as though to emphasize her point.

"No kidding! You're lucky I was on my way to find you," the newcomer who calls himself Lee agrees nonchalantly, much to her chagrin. He turns his sword one way and then the other, inspecting it for any traces of blood. The metal is unusual, with a strange unearthly sheen. "I mean I know you missed me but seriously. Can a guy not skip out on town once in a while without everything going to pieces?" His eyes glimmer teasingly as he sheathes his sword into the scabbard strapped to his back.

Jun is winded and aching and far from amused. "Don't you start with me," she rasps hoarsely. She points a finger at him accusingly. "Where the hell were you? I've been looking everywhere for you –"

"I know, I know," Lee consoles even as his face splits into the widest of grins. "I missed my old bounty hunter buddy too."

"Fuck off," Jun snaps irritably, longing to slap that obnoxious grin off of his face. Her exasperation momentarily numbs the pain holding her in its grip. She wipes at her mouth and is relieved that the bleeding appears to be slowing.

"I'm just saying," Lee points out, shrugging innocently even as he drags the words out. "For someone who almost got pulverized by the Dai Li, you could be a little more grateful, you know?"

"Grateful?" Jun all but yells as he picks at the dirt under his fingernails, thoroughly unconcerned by the mayhem surrounding them. "This is all your fault! If you'd just been here when I needed you, I wouldn't have had to piss off the Dai Li!"

"Come on, Jun," Lee snorts in exasperation, clapping his hands to the shaved bottom half of his scalp. "What am I, your bodyguard or something? I have a life too, you know. I can't just show up every time you need your evening to go from Dai Li to hi, Lee."

Jun claps a hand over her ears, groaning loudly. "Never do that again," she orders even as he smirks triumphantly at her. Her breath comes out in a huff and for a moment, she wishes that she could breathe fire. "And for your information, I've been looking for you for weeks. This was just the last straw."

His startlingly blue eyes narrow for a moment as her voice lowers, perhaps picking up for the first time the seriousness of the whole damn thing. "Well, here I am then," he quips, nodding his head at her as he crosses his arms across his chest. "What's up?"

"What's up?" Jun echoes incredulously, glaring at him. "What's up is that I had the unparalleled honour of being sent a knife by a Grand Lotus, of all people –"

"Ooh." Lee's face scrunches up wincingly. "Tough luck there."

"Yeah. You're telling me," Jun deadpans in agreement. She fumbles at her belt, searching for the little green knife, the root of all her troubles. "Here." She plucks it from where it hangs next to the last of her vials and dangles it in the air between them. "Have you seen this before?"

The knife glimmers in the dim light of the night, its brilliant green hilt grimy with dust and fingerprints by now. But the wry expression on Lee's face fades at the sight of it.

"I'll take that as a yes," Jun remarks dryly as he reaches out slowly and plucks the knife from her fingers. He holds it up to his face, turning it this way and that, examining every angle. In his large hands, the knife appears deceptively, innocuously small.

"Where did you find this?" Lee's voice isn't light and teasing anymore. The change is striking, as though someone's flipped a switch in him.

"I just told you," Jun maintains, fighting a shiver at how unusually grim Lee's becoming. "A Grand Lotus sent it to me in the mail."

Lee is still before her, staring long and hard at the knife. His posture has shifted, Jun notices, watching tension appear in his shoulders where it hadn't been there before.

"I tracked it back to the old palace," she continues slowly, eyes narrowing as she watches him carefully for a reaction. "The Dai Li denied all knowledge of it. They even tried to take it away from me. Then I followed the trail to a couple of dead ends. One was some nobleman, probably under house arrest by now." She takes a breath as he stills. "The other was where Jet and his boys were staying."

His head snaps up to meet her accusing gaze wildly.

"Know anything about that?" Jun demands, her voice dangerously soft.

Lee swallows. Jun would have thought him nervous, if a guy like him could even feel such a thing. "You know what happened to Jet, right?" he asks in a low voice, all of his previous mirth replaced with unsettlingly grim seriousness.

"I don't know shit," Jun scoffs, wincing as pain radiates from the spot where the boulder had hit her. She wipes at her mouth again, leaning back against Nyla, the shirshu's bulky warmth reassuring in the chill of the night. "I'm not the one on the inside here. All I know is that I think – I think this is big."

She shivers.

"Well, speaking as someone with a finger on the pulse," Lee informs her, his face growing uneasy, "I can tell you that you thought right." Her heart sinks in her chest as he barrels on, still so unusually austere. "Jet got mixed up in something bad. All this?" He waves a hand, gesturing emphatically at all the chaotic destruction around them. "This is just the start."

"What do you mean?" Jun's mouth is dry with growing apprehension, gathering within her like a storm cloud.

"Didn't you even stop to think," Lee asks, plying her with a curious blue stare, "why only ten agents showed up, Jun? Did you just think you were lucky, that they didn't swarm you like they usually do?"

"I –" Jun stammers, a hand clutching at her chest now because now that he mentions it, he's right. Reinforcements should have popped out of the streets like weeds in an upper-ringer's prize garden. So where is everyone?

"You're so lucky," Lee breathes, "that they couldn't spare more."

"Spare more from what?" Jun questions, wrapping her arms around herself as though she's cold. But Lee's hand tightens around the green knife resolutely instead.

"Something big," he declares and Jun finds that she can't hold his gaze after all. She glances at the prone figures of the fallen Dai Li agents littering the ground as he continues steadily. "Something big is going to happen, Jun. Now that the emperor's dead, the Dai Li are –"

Something like a scream tears through the silence of the night and Lee's voice hitches suddenly. Jun nearly jumps out of her skin. But it's only the wind, the sharp chilly wind whistling loudly through the narrow street, rustling at the flimsy splintered bits of wood and stone littering the roadside.

"The emperor?" Jun latches onto the word in disbelief, eyes widening. "As in Emperor Azulon?"

Lee's eyebrows shoot up to the level of his hairline. "Spirits, how do you not know that, Jun? Have you been hiding under a rock or something?"

"Something like that, yeah," Jun snaps in retort, though privately relieved that Lee's reverted back to his usual self. "Why, what happened?"

He rubs at the back of his neck aggravatingly. "He died in his sleep a week ago," he explains, as though he would to a child. "Prince Ozai held the funeral back in the capital before his older brother could arrive and now he's planning Day of the Dragons celebrations instead of mourning and…it's tense out there." His voice drops at the end to a quiet murmur.

Jun's head is spinning now. Well, that would explain why Iroh never got back to me, she thinks numbly. "So what do we do?" she asks, her mouth dry. "About all this?"

There's a pause while her companion considers her question and all its implications. "What do we do?" he echoes, before straightening his back and squaring his shoulders. He meets her apprehensive eyes with his bright ones. "We stop it, of course!"

"Come again?" Jun challenges sceptically.

"We stop it," Lee repeats, regaining some of his confidence from earlier. He twirls the green knife expertly between his fingers and slips it into his belt. "We find the Crown Prince, and his secret encampment, and we warn him about what the Dai Li has planned next. Easy."

Easy, Jun scoffs mentally. Yeah right. "Fine," she says out loud, rolling her eyes. "But if we're going to do this, you're steering Nyla. I can't do shit right now." She glares at him. "And I think you owe me an explanation. I want to know what the hell's going on."

"Fair enough," Lee remarks. "I'll tell you on the way." He marches over to where the other Dai Li agent lies unconscious on the ground, and picks up the shining metal boomerang.

Jun doesn't hide her snort at the sight of it. "Isn't that a new sword?" she calls out to him with a hint of a sneer. "Why on earth are you still wasting your time throwing boomerangs around like a fucking child?"

Lee makes a face at her. "Hey," he bristles, clearly insulted. "No insulting the boomerang, alright?" He tosses it in the air and catches it with another hand, his mouth quirking into a crooked grin. "In fact, you should be grateful, all things considered."

"Should I, now?" Jun arches an eyebrow.

"Sure thing," he quips brightly. "Boomerangs always come back." He shoves the curving metal object into his belt. "And so do I."

author's notes. ...

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

but what about day of the dragons? brace yourselves, that's coming up next. holler if you want it!

reviews are squishing zuko in giant group hugs forever!

Chapter 22: silent alchemy

Summary:

Katara celebrates the Day of the Dragons for the first time.

Chapter Text

disclaimer. nothing new here, folks. atla belongs to bryke, i own nothing (except maybe the feels)

author's notes. finally kicking off 2018 with this unbelievably troublesome instalment, courtesy of 3AM hatewriting and the music of loreena mckennitt (because i'm secretly sixty years old inside and if santiago had lyrics, it would've opened this chapter in a heartbeat).

to all my readers, thank you for being so supportive and patient (especially given the pace/length/general heft of this fic). idk if i say it enough, but you guys are amazing and i'm honestly so grateful to have this little corner of the internet that i can share with you.

also, the biggest freaking shoutout to circasurvival, whose dedication and tireless beta-reading is one of the main reasons this thing is readable. seriously, you rock.

inserting a content warning here (specifically for past abuse/trauma brought up near the end), in case the subject matter is triggering for anyone reading.

i give you...

southern lights

chapter xxii. silent alchemy

time goes on enough to let me move on past
but every little now and then
it creeps on back to shape my smile

"right back" / yuri kane

"It's really when the sun sets," Ty Lee advises, handing out small clay cups filled with smoking red liquid, "that Day of the Dragons really comes to life!"

Katara accepts one uncertainly, casting a glance at Suki and Toph. The four of them stand in the grassy lawn between the mess hall and the practice arena, where numerous bonfires light up the night and wooden benches line the periphery. A band occupies one of them – a real one, not the ramshackle group of amateurs that General Iroh had collected for music nights. They warm the cool night air with the stray warbles of instruments being tuned.

She inspects her drink in the pulsating firelight suspiciously. This, Katara is about to discover, is the highly-esteemed fireball that Suki had recommended for her nerves the other day.

"Cheers!" Ty Lee announces, holding up her cup in a salute to the three of them. "To a bright and prosperous new year!"

A resounding echo follows as everyone knocks back their drinks. Katara follows suit. The liquor is syrupy and scalding hot – the burn of the alcohol simultaneously numbed and enhanced the taste of honey and spice. She fights the splutter that rises up in her throat – her burning throat –

"You doing okay, Sweetness?" Toph asks with a grin, dropping her empty cup. It smashes upon contact with the ground where after the revels of the night, it will be trodden back into the earth from which it was made. Yet another quirky Fire Nation tradition, Katara had learned, a strange little detail to celebrate the cycle of surrender and renewal that the Day of the Dragons was all about.

"I think so," she wheezes, pressing a hand to her chest. "I think I might breathe fire for a bit but apart from that…who's keeping score?"

"Nah. If you want to breathe fire, you go for the dragonbreath," Suki advises, clapping a hand on her shoulder. "I wouldn't recommend it though." She smirks at the look of revulsion and accompanying shudder that Ty Lee's giving off. "A couple of years ago, Ty Lee had a rather unpleasant experience."

"Some of the boys dared me to go shot for shot with them," Ty Lee explains, her complexion turning green. "I think I can still feel the headache."

"Better drink more," Suki nods wisely. "That'll make you forget about it at least!"

Ty Lee brightens. "Great idea!" She sashays back to the makeshift bar propped up against the back wall of the mess hall, one of several that have been pouring out seemingly endless quantities of liquor, water, and dandelion tea. Normally, the unrestrained excess would have earned Katara's disapproval, but the excitement of Day of the Dragons has been growing on her.

To her surprise, the whole day's been fun. The morning banquet was sumptuous, and she got to eat all the mangoes that she wanted. There weren't as many awful recycled speeches about Fire Empire glory either. Instead, they got to watch a popular Fire Nation play – a bittersweet folktale about a forbidden romance between two young dragons of the tribes of red and blue. The performance was somewhat amateurish, but Katara enjoyed it anyway. It strangely reminded her of better times: night that lasted forever, Gran-Gran's stories by the bonfires, falling asleep in her mother's lap while the celestial lights crackled overhead.

The nights in the heart of the Fire Empire aren't as long as the ones in the winter of her memory, but nearing the solstice the darkness still drags on. And when she looks up, she doesn't see the aurora or even the glow of the moon. Tonight the new moon hides and only a million shining stars peek through the inky black curtain of the night – as though the heavens have opened up and swallowed the sky.

The sight is different from the one she longs for, but the feeling it elicits is all the same. She still feels small and inconsequential. She still feels her breath hushing in her lungs in the enormous quiet of the stars.

"Earth to Sugar Queen!" Toph raps sharply at her elbow, a bemused expression on her face. "You're not a one-shot wonder, are you?"

Katara comes crashing back down to earth. "Actually, I could probably go for another." She rubs the goosebumps lining her arms. "One more and I won't even feel cold!"

"That's the spirit, Sugar Queen!" Toph declares jubilantly. "Let's go have fun."

An hour and a couple shots of fireball later, Katara musters the nerve to venture from the sidelines. By now, the band has taken up a jaunty tune and handfuls of people are dancing on the lawn, surrounding the giant bonfire roaring brightly in the centre of it all.

"Want to go dance?" she asks Toph.

Toph shakes her head, still comfortable on the periphery. "They're just warming up now," she parries, gesturing at the lively sort of dance, energetic in all the ways the dragon's waltz isn't. "Not really worth your while yet."

"You just want to stick around and wait for things to kick up a notch?" Katara teases, quirking an eyebrow at her companion. "That's efficient."

"Now you're getting the hang of it," Toph remarks. Her green dress appears almost black in the shadows, but it enhances the glitter in her eyes. "Don't waste your precious fireball buzz on something as pathetically impotent as the firefly. If you're going to be caught dead dancing with some of these buffoons here, might as well be one with a bit of heat." Her mouth curls with something that could be distaste or resigned amusement, but it's hard to be sure in the haze.

"I admire that," Katara comments absently. "You don't waste any time, Toph. You just go straight for what you want."

"And what do you think I want?" Toph asks testily.

Katara shrugs. "If I had to guess? Probably a couple of rounds with a big, buff, hunky guy."

Toph lets out a surprised, hearty guffaw at that and Katara can't help but join in, her laughter an effortless cascade. She presses a hand to her mouth, trying to stop but her mirth continues to bubble out of her in short, sharp peals. It's infectiously addictive.

"Good one, Sweetness," Toph gasps at last. "You sure got me pegged."

"What are friends for?" The ease of everything is tantalizing. Speaking, teasing, laughing. Her hand moves from the cover of her mouth to her cheeks, the tip of her nose. Her face feels fuzzy, matching the sensation in her mind, and she isn't sure whether to blame the celebrations or the fireball percolating into her blood.

The musicians stop playing, the stray dancers ripple to a halt. There's a swell of laughter punctuated by cheers and a sharp cacophony of cracking clay before the band strikes up another tune, more rhythmic and flamboyant than the first. The stillness dissipates as people take up a gliding series of movements that Toph probably wouldn't disapprove of.

Restless, Katara's eyes seek out familiar faces in the crowd. In one corner, she sees Chan and his group of guys laughing over a bottle of bright blue liquor – the infamously maligned dragonbreath. They're all done up in billowing trousers and cropped sleeveless vests that display their lean, muscular physiques to advantage.

Next to the practice arena ringed with its crumbling pillars, she spots Aang with a crush of pretty Fire Nation girls dressed in red silk halters and flowing sarongs. He's talking to one, a girl with a gentle smile and long hair tied in a high ponytail.

"What's going on there?" she inquires, wiggling her eyebrows provocatively.

"Where?" Toph waves a hand over her face. "You're gonna have to be a lot more specific."

"Right. Sorry." Katara grins slyly. "By the pillar there. Aang looks awfully friendly with that girl."

"Oh, Googly Eyes?" Toph shrugs impassively. "Looks like she's the one being awfully friendly if you ask me. And you know Twinkletoes. Way too clueless for his own good."

"Still, though." Katara casts about for something to say. "It's nice to see him making friends who aren't us. Right?"

Toph just grunts in response.

Strangely impatient now, Katara resumes her scan of her surroundings. Leaning against one of the makeshift bars is Suki, positively glowing in her yellow dress and conversing with a brunette who might be called Jin. Ty Lee has coyly made her way over to Chan's circle of friends and is flirting with the tall good-looking one – Ryu, the son of the fishmonger Toph had teased her about.

Her eyes flicker over everything, seeking him out in a motion so mindlessly casual that she doesn't even realize it at first. Then, more deliberately when she doesn't see him, squinting through the lengthening shadows for a glimpse.

"He's not here yet," Toph says casually.

Katara's head snaps around, staring at the earthbender wildly and wondering if she could read minds too. "What?"

"What?" Toph echoes, picking at the underside of her nails. Amusement glimmers in her clouded eyes, even as the rest of her face is guileless. "I didn't say anything."

Katara is not amused. "Right," she gripes sourly. Outwardly, she feigns complete indifference, mimicking Toph's nonchalant stance.

Not that it matters. As far as Katara's concerned, she's not lying. It's not like she's looking for him, exactly, it's just that she –

I what?

She flounders at all the possibilities before cautiously settling on excitement. In all the recent mayhem – the death of the emperor, Zuko's resultant withdrawal into brooding reclusion – his absence is oddly conspicuous, a fraying hole in the fabric of her now-familiar daily life. So, she reasons, of course she's excited to see him again. It makes sense that her nerves are positively standing on end with anticipation.

Right…?

"I need another drink," Toph announces, cracking her knuckles loudly as Katara's brow furrows into the smallest of frowns. "Want more fireball?"

"Sure," Katara agrees, more than happy to drop the discomfiting thought altogether. "Why not?"

The two of them amble over to the bar where Suki's still embroiled in an earnest conversation with her brunette friend.

"Having fun?" a teasing male voice asks into Katara's ear.

Her back stiffens at the flash of red silk in the corner of her eye, but the swelling balloon in her chest deflates when she realizes it's only Chan and his friends. She makes herself smile anyway; tries not to let the fleeting disappointment show.

"Of course," she replies brightly, nodding at their surroundings. "For my first Day of the Dragons, this has been a pretty impressive showing."

Chan laughs easily. "You haven't seen anything yet," he boasts, turning to the circle of friends at his shoulder. "This is pretty low-key, even with the Emperor dying and all. Right guys?"

Ruon-Jian grunts while Ryu beams, his arm around Ty Lee's shoulders. Standing slightly apart from the group are Hide and his creepy friend. Hide intently watches the crowd where Aang and Googly Eyes are still dancing.

"I'm surprised you guys can even celebrate right now," Katara remarks. The memory of Zuko's ashen face in the stifling dark of his room springs to her, unbidden. Startled and somewhat guilty, she pushes it away. "You know, all things considered."

"Eh," Chan snorts, shrugging noncommittally. "That's the Fire Nation for you." He chortles darkly. "We don't let little things like death get in the way of life and fun."

She catches the part of her brain that begins to wonder where Zuko is if that's true, and clamps the thought down firmly. "That's remarkably practical of you," she makes herself say patiently.

"I wouldn't say that," Chan jokes in response. "Wait until the dragon's waltz starts. You haven't seen impractical until you've tried a few rounds of that."

"I can imagine. Ty Lee gave me a demonstration," Katara answers, face reddening with the memory of her lesson. But even with the alcohol loosening her tongue, being around Chan and his friends still feels awkward. Unlike the easy conversations with Aang or the tense compulsion that draws her to Zuko. While the latter felt uncomfortable, it also filled her with a giddiness rivalling every fireball shot she's taken so far and where is he, anyway?

Chan makes another joke. Everyone laughs, but she doesn't hear it. To her it seems like everything has suddenly slowed down, as though time itself has stilled.

It hasn't, of course. Beyond her, the band still plays its jaunty music and everyone's dancing and laughing, and the chilly breeze rustles against the twisting canopy of bare branches grasping like fingers at the stars.

She swallows, suddenly acutely aware of this new normal: blood flooding warmth, limbs stretched taut like there's danger nearby. Every inch of her skin alive as though she's just redirected his lightning.

And there's no reason to, not anymore. It's been so long since the sight of him has filled her with blinding rage and yet her body still trembles at the very thought of him, as though it can't let go of the memory of her hate and her fear.

Or as though it's replaced it with something far more treacherous.

Her heart stutters, as though it's tripped over itself and picked right back up without missing a beat.

It's not like she – I can't be –

"Earth to Katara!" Chan calls, tapping her on the side of the head. "Anyone home in there?"

Time loudly catches up with her sluggish senses. She carefully forces her face into a brightly placid smile, hoping that nobody else can hear her mind crashing into a veritable brick wall of a notion.

"Don't mind Sugar Queen," Toph assures him, shooting a knowing smirk at her. "She's a lightweight."

That at least galvanizes Katara into action. "I am not," she insists, crossing her arms across her chest defiantly. "I just got distracted. Not a hanging offense, is it?"

"Whoa, defensive much?" Toph mumbles, but her smirk widens infuriatingly.

"Definitely not a hanging offense," Chan concurs somewhat nervously. "Uh, I was just going to ask –"

"Hey, guys!"

Relief floods through her at the sound of Aang's comfortingly familiar voice. She grins in delight as he joins them, his face flushed and shiny. His friend – the one Toph dubbed Googly Eyes – hovers by his shoulder and her face crinkles into a warm smile.

"Hi, Aang!" Katara waves him over. "Having a good night?"

"You bet!" Aang replies, his eyes sparkling cheerfully. He turns to the girl at his shoulder. "Hey On Ji, have you met Katara? Or Toph?"

Googly Eyes - On Ji, Katara mentally corrects – shakes her head.

"Pleased to meet you," Katara says, offering her hand.

"Yeah," Toph drawls. Her arms remain crossed across her chest. "It's a real pleasure."

"It's really nice to meet you, too," gushes On Ji, her voice warm and sweet. "Really. I've always been too nervous to introduce myself to you before, but –"

"Nervous?" Katara latches onto the word curiously. "Why?"

"I don't know," On Ji confesses with a small laugh. "You guys are so powerful, and I – I can't even bend! It's a little intimidating."

She's interrupted roundly by Hide, who marches in and asks her to dance with him. While Hide, On Ji, and Aang fight it out, Katara glances at Toph in amusement.

"Toph, you'd better hurry up and find a partner," she jokes as Aang and On Ji amble away, leaving behind a silently fuming Hide. "Or else all the good ones will be gone."

"Funny, I was going to suggest the same to you," Toph counters sardonically. "Got anyone in mind?"

Katara is about to issue a snappy retort when the traitorous voice of her mind snidely reminds her that, come to think of it, yes in fact there was. She chokes instead, completely unprepared for the images barraging her senses. Zuko during practice. Pulling off his shirt in the summer heat. The fleeting almost-smile on his face when she told him she wanted to be friends. Only that last memory is now littered with other subtle, important things. Like the small rivulets of water running down the defined ridges of his chest. The heat of his skin beneath her palm. The smell of his soap. All the small details she's unconsciously carried, blissfully unaware as she's blundered through this whole thing with her eyes screwed shut.

"Yeah. Thought so," Toph sniffs as Katara's silence stretches.

"What?" Katara stammers, dismayed at finally making sense of the strange reflexes gripping her, and how that clarity brings yet more confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Just go with it," Toph counsels sagely, patting her on the arm unusually gently. "And whatever happens, don't ruin it by thinking, okay?"

"Toph, what are you talking about?" Katara demands in a low voice, the blood starting to drain from her face. Does Toph know? How can she know? I barely knew.

Okay, Sokka would say if he was here and he knew what she was thinking. She imagines him slapping his forehead and groaning, I know you're not the most strategic between the two of us but that was one heck of a weakness to miss.

And then there's the squeeze of unease in her chest that accompanies every thought of Sokka, intensifying to a churn because if he ever found out about – this – she doesn't even know how he'd react and that doesn't bear thinking about anyway…

"Like I was saying," Chan resumes, his grin slightly sheepish, "do you want to dance, Katara?" Panic flits through her, lanced with equal parts surprise and dismay. She tries to hide it, but from the way Chan shrugs in response, she gathers that she's failed. "I just thought I'd ask," he continues somewhat reproachfully, "I didn't mean any harm…"

Tamping down an anxious slurry of new concerns – he's still not here, is he even going to show up, what if he doesn't – she makes herself smile and hold out her hand for Chan to take. "I'd love to dance, Chan. Lead the way."

The band launches into a waltz – unmistakable in its punctuated, distinctive rhythm but somehow sultrier than the version from Conquest Day. The starting tempo is slow, the music restrained, as though allowing its participants to find their feet.

It helps that Chan isn't nearly as good a dancer as Ty Lee – nor does he appear to take this half as seriously as she had. When he fumbles a twist and accidentally treads on her foot as the music speeds up, she fights a giggle at the wince that crosses his face.

"Sorry," he apologizes quickly, inclining his head penitently. "I'm not that good."

"That's a relief," Katara replies, squirming as his grip around her waist tightens. He tries a quick lift and it takes her by surprise, but she lands with more confidence than she would have expected.

"You're a good dancer," Chan observes, leading her through a couple of turns before pulling her in again.

Katara grins, feeling some of the awkwardness sliding away. "Well, I did have a really good teacher," she points out, looking some distance away where Ty Lee and Ryu whirl up a storm. "I'm surprised Ryu can keep up with her."

"He can't," Chan whispers conspiratorially. "Fake it till you make it, right?"

She laughs in agreement and they fall into a companionable silence. Gradually, they achieve a sort of rhythm that's a little out of sync with the music, but one that works for them. The furrow of concentration disappears from her forehead and the wooden planks of her limbs smooth into flowing water.

And from here, she can almost pretend – it isn't him, but close enough. From this angle, the red silk vest flatters the planes of a muscular chest – a little broader than Zuko's, the ridges a little less sharp. His hair is a shade too light, jaw a bit too square, and when he meets her eyes, they're more honey than gold.

She isn't sure what's written across her face, but when he inches his back incredulously in response, it's enough to shock her back to reality like a splash of icewater across the face.

Spirits, it's Chan! She berates herself, distinctly unsettled by her mismatched urges, fortified by all the fireball from earlier. What the hell are you doing? Get a grip.

The music crashes to a halt and around them, everyone mills about in search of another drink. The drum pounds out another slow countdown.

"Thanks for the dance, Chan," she mumbles, somewhat embarrassed. "That wasn't half bad."

"You flatter me," Chan laughs, and his discomfort vanishes without a trace. "I only stepped on your foot, what, three times? Must be a new record for me!"

"Two, actually," Katara corrects, spirits rising marginally. "But you did drop me a couple of times."

"Ah. That'd do it." They linger awkwardly a moment longer, before Chan straightens up. "Well, I need a drink. Care for some dragonbreath?"

Katara wrinkles her nose in distaste. "No," she refuses, shaking her head vehemently. "I've heard some pretty awful rumours. I'll stick to fireball."

"Probably a smart idea," Chan laughs as he steers her to the nearest bar and grabs two clay cups, one filled with smoking red liquid, the other blue. "Cheers."

She drains it and smashes the cup onto the ground. Chan scans the surroundings for his friends. "Want to dance again?" she asks him, unsure of what to do next.

Chan coughs into his fist. "Uh," he splutters, "as a general rule, you try…not to dance with the same person too many times for the dragon's waltz. It gives off the wrong connotation, you know?" He spots Ryu and waves him over.

"Connotation?" Katara raises an eyebrow, glancing back to the dance floor and noticing that it isn't just Ryu and Ty Lee that have separated. Many of the couples had indeed switched partners.

"Yeah," Chan shuffles awkwardly. "You know. Like you might want more than just a dance?"

Katara's eyes grow large. "Oh," she chokes out, face flaming hot. "I see." Now she's the one fighting for composure. "Uh, thanks for pointing that one out. I did not know that." She tries not to imagine the world of embarrassment she might have landed in if he hadn't explained that one to her.

Ryu joins them, sweaty and exhausted after his dance with Ty Lee. Katara smiles, feeling more than slightly out of place as the two boys strike up a conversation over shots of dragonbeath. Chewing at the inside of her cheek, she scans the lawn once more. Still no sign of him, she notices, though the alcohol in her system numbs the sting.

Besides, he'd just been through a loss, hadn't he? Even if he showed up, he probably wouldn't even want to dance. And given the dangerous new direction in which her thoughts have been scattering, if he did, it would probably end up with her making a bigger fool of herself and him wanting nothing to do with her. All things considered, this was probably for the best.

The music pauses and Ryu asks her to dance next. She accepts, pretending that the disappointment tying itself into knots in her chest isn't there.

They scramble back onto the lawn, finding a spot a fair distance from the central bonfire. The music starts up almost instantly, making them lag a beat behind.

"Just a heads-up," Katara blurts out as they finally fall in time with the slow, building tempo. "I'm not as good a dancer as Ty Lee."

Ryu's dimpled grin has a lot more warmth than she would have guessed. "That's fine," he assures her, his voice more relieved than anything. "Neither am I."

Now she's the one feeling relieved as they speed up in time to the music. Instead of locking up at her joints, she relaxes into her partner's touch. Her footwork is improving, and when Ryu trails a hand down the side of her arm, she enjoys it. She doesn't fear the feeling of soaring weightlessness as he lifts her, the adrenaline swooping through her veins as she's lowered back to the ground.

"This is really fun," she marvels. She spots Aang and Toph some distance away, resolutely trying their best to keep up. Toph's movements are graceless, while Aang is uncertain of how to compensate and they make a rather ungainly pair. Still, Katara can't help but smirk at the sight of it.

"You sound surprised," Ryu observes, leading her through a series of spins and dips with a lot more finesse than Chan had.

"I didn't expect it to be," she answers honestly, feeling more like Ty Lee as she flies through the motions, her limbs flowing like the rivers held in thrall to them.

Ryu grins again, leading her into a step matching the pace of the music. "I know you said you weren't as good as Ty Lee, but I'm starting to have second thoughts."

"Don't tell her you said that," Katara warns him, half-joking. "It might make it harder for you to get her back for another round later on."

Ryu's beatific grin suddenly resembles a grimace. "Yeah…" he admits, glancing over Katara's shoulder. She cranes her neck to follow his line of sight. Amidst the frantic hordes of struggling couples is Ty Lee, silhouetted and barely visible against the central bonfire, talking enthusiastically with –

She doesn't even notice that Ryu has stopped moving, that her feet have stilled and her heart has leapt into her throat. The glow of the bonfire is painfully bright in her eyes, but even through it she can make him out, faintly – Zuko, a pace away from Ty Lee, arms crossed across his chest, the sharp lines of his profile thrown into stark relief by the glaring firelight…

He's here. She doesn't question why nothing seems to matter after that, why she can't focus on whatever Ryu's muttering into her ear, why she's suddenly gripped by paralysis and pure adrenaline all at the same time and the only thing she can really hear is her pulse loud in her ears.

She sees Ty Lee lean in, say something into his ear, all mesmerizing smiles and confidence palpable half a yard away. Sees him shrug, take her hand, watches them start to dance, their motions blurring into shadow against the bright flames.

"They're really something, huh?"

She catches the last bit of Ryu's speech, and out of the corner of her eye she can see he's utterly transfixed by the pair of them by the fire. "Yeah," she agrees, turning her gaze back to them. "I suppose they are."

The dance that Zuko and Ty Lee are effortlessly waltzing through has some resemblance to the one Katara's been attempting all night, except it's got less footwork and much more of the flourishing acrobatics that Ty Lee makes look so easy. Katara is reminded of Ty Lee's first lesson about leading and following, and how the girl in pink seems to trail on Zuko like silk fluttering on his breeze, tangling and untangling through his arms, flipping into the air, slithering around the sculpted line of his torso, his legs –

The chill evening air seems to feel warm all of a sudden. By now, most heads are turning to face the two of them, the only ones who can keep up with the music without tripping and making a fool of themselves.

They make it look so easy. The bright thing inside her wilts. In its place rises something else. Something that nibbles at the coiling thing in the pit of her stomach, tasting vaguely of bile and missed opportunity. Now that the bright bonfire doesn't make her eyes water, she sees him more clearly. His face is impassive to Ty Lee's closeness as he leads her through the motions as though it's just breathing, completely unfazed by the sheer intimacy of it. It feels patently unfair to her.

She turns away, deciding that she's seen enough, just before the music swells with its last note and promptly fades to silence.

Everything is too loud.

The music, the chatter, the scattered crashes of clay cups smashing into the ground, all of it. It pounds at the hollow insides of Zuko's skull, convinces him it's fit to burst.

He hunches at a bar near the dilapidated columns ringing the gravelly practice arena, where nobody really wants to dance for fear of twisting an ankle. His other hand cups his forehead in obvious disaffection. Perhaps to make up for being dragged into a dance with Ty Lee. She's the only reminder of his old life he has left; he didn't have the heart to refuse her. But he didn't want to become the center of some sort of spectacle either.

He grabs at a clay cup, the first of five lined up in a row by his fingers, filled to the brim with smoking blue liquor. He flings its contents into his mouth, savouring the burn of liquid fire as it blazes a path straight into his chest.

Zuko doesn't even know why he's here, except to half-heartedly show face. Back in the capital, he's heard that celebrations are fully underway, recent funeral be damned. The blatant disregard of propriety strikes him as profoundly odd but he's not exactly in a position to voice his discontent.

He drowns it out with another shot. Exhaling a breath that appears tinged slightly blue, he tries to push another image away – Katara dancing with Ryu of all people, face aglow with a look he's never seen before. The sight of it twists at his insides in a way the death of his grandfather hadn't managed.

Knock it off, he tells himself grimly, reaching for the third cup with determined fingers. She can dance with whomever the hell she wants, what's it to you?

Except it's a lie and he knows it. He doesn't have any claim to her – except friends, at least we're friends, at least there's that – but he can't deny that a small, irrational part of him hoped to be the one to introduce her to Day of the Dragons and the dragon's waltz. And how loudly it protests now that he's been beaten to it.

He's reaching for the fourth cup when a voice interrupts him.

"Drinking alone, are we?" Toph sidles up to him from out of nowhere, her arms crossed and face oddly smug. "I'll have a fireball, thanks."

He grunts by way of acknowledgment, before ordering a round for Toph and handing her another cup. "To a bright new year," he says without emphasis.

Toph takes her shot and makes a face. "Reign in your enthusiasm there, Sparky. You might hurt yourself otherwise."

"Too late," he mutters. The fourth shot passes through him easily, as though it's one of Uncle's blended teas.

Toph raises her eyebrows quizzically. "What's grinding you down, Sparky?"

"Nothing," he grates. "I'm fine."

"If you say so," Toph retorts, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "But try putting a bit more effort into it. Then, you might almost be believable."

"Aren't you a little young to be drinking that much?" he counters in irritation, glaring at her through his thick dark hair.

She smirks. "Probably. But who's going to say no to the resident earthbending master?" As though to emphasize her point, she crushes the empty cup with her bare hands, bends the clay shards into a smooth perfect ball, and sends it whizzing at his head.

He ducks out of the way just in time. "Hey!" he protests. "What was that for?"

"That," Toph complains, "is what you get for being a giant bore on the best evening of the year!"

"You could have taken my eye out," Zuko grumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Yeah well, since you're about twenty percent dragonbreath right now, you'd probably deserve it," Toph snaps. "Seriously, are you okay?"

"I said I was fine." He reaches for the last cup, fingers starting to tremble.

"You're about as fine as you are a good liar," Toph quips, rolling her sightless eyes. "Man, Sparky, you're harshing my buzz, you know that?"

"My apologies," he returns stiffly.

"Yeah, you bet you're sorry," Toph asserts, tilting her head thoughtfully to one side, eyes scrunched shut in concentration. A sly smile twists her face. "Good thing too, because I'm about to make your night."

He turns to face her at that. "What do you mean?"

She opens her eyes and they seem to see right through him. Her smirk widens as she cups a hand to her mouth and yells, "Oi, Sugar Queen! Over here!"

He almost drops his cup, head snapping around and thankfully missing the gratingly triumphant expression on Toph's face, because –

Katara wanders over from where she'd been hovering by the central bonfire. Here, where the leaping flames cast long shadows, everything is dim. But the sight of her appearing is a cool swill of water to his parched senses and he drinks her in.

"Oh, there you are," Katara says to Toph by way of greeting. "I was looking for you." Then she smiles at him and it heats him through in a way that four shots of dragonbreath couldn't. "You too, Zuko," she continues, sounding a little less confident.

The dark cloud surrounding him vanishes, dispelled by those three words. She was looking for me. Why?

"Well, this was fun," Toph says brightly, taking a step backward. "Nice catching up with you two, but if you'll excuse me…"

"Where are you going?" Katara demands, wrenching her eyes from where they tangle with his.

Toph shrugs. "Back on the prowl. I need to scope out some better guys."

"Oh yeah." Katara smirks. "I was surprised to see you with Aang, of all people."

"Why would that be a surprise?" Toph returns, jamming her hands on her hips.

"Oh, I don't know," Katara says airily, quirking her eyebrows. "It was awfully cute."

"You're playing a dangerous game here, Sweetness," Toph warns, marching right up to Katara and jabbing a finger at her sternum. "Don't you get me started about cute."

The change that comes over Katara is so sudden, Zuko almost doesn't see the way her smirk shifts into dumbfounded panic. A part of him is curious as to Toph's meaning and why the colour recedes from Katara's face in response.

"Right. Have a good night, Sweetness," Toph announces, and the brief grim spell breaks. She saunters past the pretty waterbender, back in the direction of the bonfire. "And remember, I won't judge if you won't."

And with those parting words, the earthbender disappears.

Zuko watches the colour slowly return to Katara's ashen face in mounting confusion. "What was that all about?" he can't help but ask.

Katara looks distinctly out of her element as she shakes her head a little too quickly. "Oh, nothing," she tries to assure him, her voice falsely bright. "It's just…girl talk." And then she steps right up to him, face softening. "How are you doing? Really?"

"I'm okay," Zuko replies automatically, except this time he means it. "Really." After all, she's still here with him, happy to see him, and that's almost enough.

"I didn't think you were going to show up," Katara confesses, smiling sheepishly. The flush dotting her cheeks darkens.

"Neither did I," Zuko admits, trying not to close the distance between them like every part of him wants to. There's still a chance he might be reading this wrong.

"What changed your mind?" Katara asks curiously, leaning closer until she fills his vision.

You. He swallows very slowly for fear of choking on his tongue. "I just had to get out of my room," he mumbles, not a complete lie but even to his ears it sounds unconvincing.

If she doesn't believe him, she doesn't show it. "Yeah," she agrees. "And you guys sure know how to throw a party."

"Are you having fun?" he inquires carefully, wondering if he's even allowed to ask.

But she smiles at him instead, and the sight of it snaps at one of his heartstrings like a musician plucking at a harp. "I am," she concedes, shaking her head as though in disbelief. "Who knew this could be fun?"

His eyes are distracted by the flutter of her hair, and the one strand that escapes its beaded confines to lazily brush against the slope of her brow, the shadowed hollows where the contours of her face rise and dip. "I'm glad," he says carefully.

"I mean, it's been so long since I've had a chance to celebrate the winter solstice," she barrels on, seemingly unable to hold back. Her fingers brush at the hair grazing her face but it stubbornly falls back into place. "I know, it's your new year and all, but for us…" she trails off to look up at the multitude of stars hanging in the night sky, their pure silver light hazy through bonfire smoke.

Her silence draws out heavy in the air, weighing down on him until he can't stand it. He steps closer. "Tell me," he urges.

She blinks out of whatever reverie had carried her away. "For us," she repeats, surprise shifting to the painful joy that grips her every time she talks about home, "the winter solstice was one of our biggest celebrations, a night when the spirit world joined ours. It was the longest night of our year. We'd have fires, tell stories, leave gifts for the spirits to take back with them…that sort of thing."

"It's the longest night of our year, too," Zuko can't help but point out.

She smiles at him again, and there's a fondness there he hasn't quite seen before. "Yes, but the sun still comes up in the morning for you. Our nights lasted weeks."

"What?" Zuko has never heard of such a thing before. "Really?"

She nods wistfully. "We called it polar night."

"But – but how?" Zuko's inner fire quails at the idea of being away from the sun for so long, yet Katara and her people did precisely that. It's never struck him before; that her home was so different from his it might as well have been another world. A pang of shame hits him, because he's never troubled to think about it until now. "Not how, but – how could you live like that?" The words hang awkwardly in the air around him. Before her gaze sharpens, he already hears their unintended slight. Panicking, he tries to correct, "I mean – I'd go crazy in all that darkness."

"You get used to it," Katara replies and to his utter relief she doesn't appear offended. "Anyway, it wouldn't be completely dark. During the day, it would glow like twilight and then at night we'd have the lights." She looks him right in the eyes and his panic vanishes. "Have you ever seen them?"

"Seen what?" His voice comes out strained, taken aback by the hush in hers.

"The southern lights," Katara says, as though stating the obvious. "You don't really see them far from the South Pole, but…spirits, Zuko, they're the most beautiful thing in the world." Second most, he thinks but he can't bring himself to correct her. Not when she says his name like that, breathy in its longing. "I couldn't describe them if I tried. How everything would be so cold and quiet, and all the snow glowed in the dark, and we'd huddle by the fires to stay warm, watching these…giant curtains of coloured light in the sky." She laughs ruefully, rubbing at the side of her neck. "Sorry, I got carried away. I must be boring you."

"You're not," Zuko insists softly. "I–" could listen to you talk about your home forever. "…like hearing you talk."

She lets out another muffled laugh at that and the sound washes over him. "Truth is, I miss it," she confesses, wavering in slight anguish. "The cold, the dark, the snow... I miss it all so much."

The cup forgotten in his fingers tumbles to the ground with a wet slosh, its blue contents spilling into the dry cracked earth. His hand finds her shoulder, an uncertain gesture of comfort. "I'm sorry," he says awkwardly, cringing inside because it isn't enough and they both know it.

But her hand comes up to close over his anyway. He nearly jumps out of his skin at how cool her touch is, as though it's swallowed up the chill of the night, but somehow it still warms him. "I hope you get to see them one day."

"I hope you do, too."

"Thank you." Her hand gives his a quick squeeze. "Thank you for listening."

He swallows very slowly as she pulls back, steps away but still within reach. It's the least I could do for you. "It's nothing."

"Maybe to you." Abruptly, her smile flits back onto her face as if nothing had happened. "Anyway, your new year's celebrations aren't half bad either." He stares at her as she rattles on, gripped with some strange, newfound determination. "I mean, they're a little indulgent, but all things considered –"

"Indulgent?" he asks, mystified. "What do you mean?"

The dark flush crawls across her face. "Nothing," she stammers, fidgeting. "Just – it's a little strange to me. You guys are so straightforward about everything, and yet you have this holiday wrapped up in these weirdly coded rituals."

He frowns at her in mounting confusion as she quickly downs the cup of fireball in her hand, perhaps searching for courage in its smoking red depths. "Like?"

Her cup smashes into the ground, as though punctuating his question. "Like…like how you're not supposed to do the dragon's waltz with the same person too many times? Or all the dandelion tea flowing around for when you do? It's like…social pai sho, almost!" She chuckles, blissfully unaware of the way his body begins to stir at the insinuation in her words and that she's talking to him about it, of all people. "We'd never waste our time like that back home, it was way too cold! If you wanted something from someone, you just asked for it." Her face falls and the flush creeps down her neck. "I think. But I was awfully young, so maybe it all just went over my head."

Agni help him, this was not exactly what he'd had in mind when he'd hoped to introduce her to Day of the Dragons. "I've never thought about it that way," he says stiffly, carefully sidestepping that the whole point of it all was exactly that: to not think.

"Don't get me wrong," Katara muses thoughtfully. "It must be liberating for you, considering how much of your bending is based on control and restraint. And then to have one night to just let go of everything? No wonder you all get so excited about it." Through the wayward strand of hair falling into her face, he glimpses a small smile curling along her mouth. "Next to all that subtlety and anticipation, what we do probably sounds so dull to you in comparison."

He chokes back a slight groan at that, because he doesn't think he's ever held himself so tightly in check as he does right now. "Not dull," he says hoarsely, voice shaking with the effort to keep the heat from it. "Just different."

"Different," she echoes, giving him a funny look. "Yeah…" She trails off, lost in one thought or another. He doesn't dare speak, focusing instead upon the deepening furrow on her brow. "But maybe not that different after all? After all, you guys have your weird rituals the same way I had my Gran-Gran's stories. To leave your daily life behind or something?"

She offers him a smile that doesn't quite mask the unsettled look lingering on her face. Intrigue winds tight in the pit of his stomach, but she barrels on before he can speak. "And also," she blurts, now almost as jumpy as he is, "your – your drinks are pretty great and your dances are fun too."

The discomfiting moment passes almost as quickly as her backpedal. "You picked them up quickly," Zuko notes, both relieved and disappointed with the abrupt shift.

"You saw that?" she demands. Her hand flies to her mouth in apparent mortification.

"Oh yes." But this time the memory of her and Ryu dancing doesn't carry the same flood of despondency. "You were good."

"You're one to talk," she snorts, looking at him like she's seeing him properly for the first time. "I never knew you could dance."

Now it's his turn to be mortified. I knew I'd regret that dance with Ty Lee. "I don't exactly…advertise it."

"Why not?" Katara asks incredulously. "You were really good. I – everyone stopped to watch you."

Smoke trickles from his mouth. "It was part of my royal upbringing. It reminds me of home."

Silence drags out before her shoulders slump. "I see." Her voice is sympathetic and it grates on his nerves. He's had her sympathy all week, but he wants something different from her. "I guess that's the last thing you want to think about."

"Yeah," he agrees, not realizing how forlorn he sounds. He glances at the cup leaching dark blue dragonbreath into the dirt by his foot, kicks at it aimlessly.

"Well, uh…" Now that the emotionally charged subject of home has been shelved, she's uncomfortable again. "Since you don't want to – I mean – would you rather be alone now? I can leave, if you'd prefer –"

"No." For the first time that night, in days even, Zuko feels certain about something. "Stay." A pause that's too brief before he quickly adds, "Please."

"Okay." The word is steeped in tentativeness as it trails off. In the dark, she sounds almost shy.

All this and she's still here with me. His heart scampers at the thought. Almost like she wants to be.

The flitting of distant firelight casts a wavering glow, touching her skin with fingers of gold. The lustrous curtain of her hair shines, inviting, softly lit with hues of copper and red. Instinctively, he reaches out to brush that one annoying strand out of her eyes and tuck it behind her ear.

He doesn't see the astonishment spreading across her face. But other things become clearer, even through the dark and the dreamlike haze of smoke and liquor and his own confused senses. The thrum of her body, the warm tickle of air rushing from her lips to caress his wrist, the tilt of her head as it leans into his touch.

He stills, not daring to move. Everything feels ephemeral, fragile, glittering as though spun of brittle coloured glass. One word and it would all shatter.

But he's lived it countless times in his fevered dreams, so much so that everything seems familiar. It lends strength to his voice, his resolve swelling even as duelling instincts clash inside him – urging him to action, convincing him of inevitable failure.

"Unless you want to dance?" he blurts out, his voice a strangled thread of sound barely scraping past the monolith of his throat.

He's gone through it in his head so many times that everything feels distinctly surreal when her head finally jerks into an unmistakeable nod. "Yes," she whispers, and it drowns out the sound of everything but the blood in his ears, shaking with the rhythm of his frantic heart. "I would."

She thinks she might be coming down with something.

It's the safest explanation for why everything's suddenly unbearably warm where just minutes earlier the night had seemed chill. But as she lets Zuko lead her by the hand to a spot much closer to the bonfire than she would have liked, the air against her skin feels dry with heat, like she's back in the sauna she and Toph share.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Ty Lee pairing off with a beaming Ryu again. Her mouth curls involuntarily as she remembers what Chan said about dancing with the same person too many times. Further away, Aang's partnered with Suki, Toph's grabbed a stocky earthbender who towers a foot above her –

And then everything scatters like chaff on the wind as Zuko pulls her flush against him, arm fitting around her waist like it had been made for it. She swallows the gasp forming in her throat at the thousand pinpricks of sensations dancing like sparks along the surface of her skin everywhere he touches. Instead, she straightens her back and winds her arm along the strong line of his shoulders.

His face softens as she cranes her head up to look up at him directly. He's a head taller, but only now does she really appreciate the difference in their heights and the way he seems to tower over her. She wonders if it's just because of how close they are. If Ty Lee was watching, she would wholeheartedly approve of just how closed their closed position is. From shoulder to hips, they are one long line of contact and it doesn't make her feel steady, only too warm to consider starting a dance. His bare chest pushes into hers and it's too much, it's not enough – her heart is fluttering and so is she –

"You're shivering," he notices, frowning slightly. "Are you cold?"

She could hardly tell him that it's the opposite, that heat dances through her blood with the sweet recklessness of fireball. That dancing with Chan and Ryu was distant and comfortable, but with him, everything suddenly feels intimate, exciting, almost perilous.

From the way the other girls talked about the dragon's waltz, she assumed that she understood, theoretically, how desire made it better. Stupider. But better. But Katara has survived by dissociating her desires from the sight of men's bodies, and she doesn't know how to untangle the strange urges now threatening to overpower her. She doesn't really know how to feel about them at all.

Or how to act on them.

"Nervous," she squeaks, a conceding half-truth.

"Don't be." His voice is almost husky, bearing an edge that sends shivers down her spine. A little quirk plays along his mouth, the small upward lift at the corners that betrays the hint of a smile. The sight of it undoes the knot of unease binding her, slips it off like it's her dress.

The band strikes up its melody, music grinding slow and quiet throughout the lawn crowded tight with dancers. At first she's grateful for the unhurried pace allowing her to ease into the dance, but quickly realizes – as Zuko runs a hand down the length of her arm and spins her out – that there are other reasons to be flustered.

She thought Ty Lee was a demanding partner, but the way Zuko effortlessly steers her through the motions of the dance – spinning, flipping, dipping her every which way – alerts her to the gravity of her misconception. She laughs at the part of her that had shrivelled while watching him and Ty Lee dance earlier, because now she understands, this is easy, he makes it so easy.

"You're going way too fast," she protests into crimson silk, the rivers of his lifeblood humming against her cheek. "Slow down."

The curve of his mouth widens into an unmistakable smirk and her stomach does a series of Ty Lee's acrobatics at the sight of it. Their motions collide into a delirious enmeshing of steps and lingering touches and arching backs, speeding up in time to the music.

And more incredible is that she's keeping up with him, even though she shouldn't be. She should be completely tangled up in all of it, so overwhelmed that her mind should freeze, arms turning to stone, feet forgetting how to move. She should be a stuttering, stumbling mess.

But the way her body wordlessly moves in time with his seems to transcend thought. It reminds her of the moments at the height of her bending when her body bypasses the command of her mind to surrender to the harmony of the moment. This wasn't a fight, but the same fluid instincts still take control. Her leg, remembering a lesson that her mind has long abandoned, kicks up to wrap around his waist, and when the air escapes through his teeth in a slow hiss she doesn't know whether to regret it or not.

Instead, his fingers dig into her thigh, run up its length slowly, and the look in his eyes rivals the roaring bonfire in heat.

The coil of her stomach wrings impossibly tighter and all she can think of are Ty Lee's smug assurances back in the steam room – I'm pretty sure he'd make you forget about it pretty quickly… as though she'd known that awkwardness was the least of her concerns. As though her greatest fear was only that this would feel amazing.

When the music halts and everything slows around them, it takes them both a moment to realize it. One moment Katara finds herself clutching his shoulders in alarm at how low he's dipped her, and the next he's righting her back up to her feet in a motion fluid as the water she bends.

Her breathing is short and loud and she is absolutely drenched in sweat. Whether it's hers or his isn't quite clear and the lack of distinction makes her insides shudder with vicious satisfaction.

"That was –" she gasps, hands still fisted into the insubstantial silk of his vest.

"Yeah," Zuko agrees, appearing in no better shape than her. His grip is tight on her waist and his thick bangs are wet and snarled where his forehead still presses into hers.

"Really," she wheezes, fighting for air. It didn't make any sense. She spends entire days training with him, why would a single dance take her breath away like this? "Really something."

"You were." He hasn't let go and neither has she, she realizes, noticing just how close he is and how it fills her with a thrill that even his lightning can't touch.

She swears it's his fault, that he must have lit a fire under her skin, except the agony consuming her is far sweeter. "Not like Ty Lee though." Ty Lee made everything look easy, she could dance circles around everyone here without gasping for air like a fish out of water. "That was really something to watch."

He exhales loudly, a sharp breeze that tickles her cheek. "That's because it wasn't the waltz." His fingers are deliberate as they brush at the damp curling hairs plastered to her brow. "It was an advanced form. The forbidden dance."

Her eyes widen at the familiar term. "The forbidden dance?" Suki and Ty Lee had talked about it reverently during her impromptu dance lesson. "That's…pretty intense."

He shrugs. "It's not that different from the waltz. I could show you if you want." His hand drops to her shoulder.

She feels his pulse where his skin touches hers, how it quickens at the thought. "I…I don't know," she confesses, biting at her lip, conscious of the way his eyes follow her every motion. "I could barely manage the waltz, let alone –"

"For you," Zuko says, leaning closer still, and an absurdly large part of her wants to close the lingering space between their faces, "it wouldn't be that different."

She should be quailing under the heat that rises from beneath his skin, curling up in embarrassment over the whole thing. Instead, she finds herself considering it. "Really?"

"Mhm." The small smile back on his lips, so very close to hers. The muscles in her neck twitch. "All you have to do is follow my lead." The hand at her shoulder drops back to her waist, trailing a slow path of sparks. She shudders, positive that he must feel her shivering in response. "Do you trust me?"

His question hangs in the small space between their faces, loaded with implications.

She knows enough to weigh them carefully. Along with how different everything felt now compared to the last time she stood by the bonfires on Conquest Day. And how liberating to admit it at last…and how utterly terrifying.

But Katara is tired of being scared. She nods slowly instead.

This time, Zuko pays no heed to the music at all. Instead, he directs her through a dance that's more in sync with the frenzied pace of her heartbeat. She's relieved when he forgoes Ty Lee's acrobatic tosses, but less so when he replaces them with other sorts of flourishes. After all, the forbidden dance had been derived from a mating ritual, and the realization strikes a heady jolt in her gut.

Then there isn't time to think at all, because the channels of water in her body are transmuting to pure fire, pliant and perfectly attuned to his hands. It succumbs to the blistering poise of every shot of fireball lingering on her tongue and the strange effervescence threatening to rend her skin apart. Her mind is jammed full to bursting with the million different textures that accompany him, and none of it mattered. What mattered more is the sway of their hips in time to the music, the ripple and flex of every one of his muscles, the way her back arches into the feathery kiss of his fingertips running up her spine. How it all melts through the fortress of ice in her chest.

She should find it troubling but it's overridden by the short bursts of his breath warm against the back of her neck. The small moan bubbling in her throat as his lips almost imperceptibly trace the hollow dip of her neck where the shoals of her pulse ripple most prominently, and how it turns her skin to dripping liquid gold.

It's a shock when the music ends, the sudden quiet and accompanying swell of exhausted murmurs somehow more abrasive to her heightened senses. She's panting now, starved lungs craving air, breath misting a reminder to how cold the night is and how she doesn't feel it at all. Zuko carefully lowers her back to the ground, his gaze simmering where it locks into hers. She should crumble under the weight of it but all her attention is fixed on the slight part of his lips, absurdly close to hers, and how it makes breathing seem unimportant.

But instead she gasps, croaking, "I need air."

He stills before slowly inching away. "Right," he says, seeming to deflate. Something in her does the same as he disentangles from her. "Thank you for the dance." The space between them yawns out again as he steps back just out of reach, entirely too far.

He turns away and it cracks through the brittle disconnect between mind and body. "Walk with me?" she blurts out. If it was too much to stay, it was far more so to let him leave.

The look he gives her is inscrutable. His mouth twists into a frown but his eyes remain unguarded. They seem to both pierce right through her and not see her at all.

She wonders what goes through his mind as he watches her, and more importantly, what finally compels him to join her.

Silence embalms them as she leads him into darkness, away from the bonfires and the laughing people and the taste of smoke in the air.

His face burns as he trails half a pace behind her, heart humming a desperate prayer as they traverse the familiar winding pathway that leads to the clearing with its crumbling stone walls where they practice their cross-training.

He may have envisioned this a thousand times over in a thousand different ways, but nothing could have prepared him for the way she smouldered, crashing into his touch with the force of the incoming tide. He's spent long years taming fire but she's something far more treacherously unpredictable and it surprises him that it's taken this long to realize it.

They pass the odd couple scattered here and there behind trees, faintly audible but invisible in the private embrace of lengthening shadows. He nearly jumps out of his skin again, wondering wildly if that was why she brought him here, alone, away from everyone and their prying eyes…

This is either the stupidest thing you've ever done, his mind warns him, or the best.

The clearing behind them is swallowed by the night. The growing sound of moving water is the only thing that seems to exist besides the darkness and the faint heat of her body. He takes a moment to question it before he banishes the tumult with all the patient surrender of someone who's mastered lightning.

They emerge from the chrysalis of the dead forest and his breath catches at the sight of the river, lined by the slopes of distant mountains, crowned by the endless expanse of night. A few paces away, the remnants of a bonfire have burned down to embers, heating the cold air with its shimmering red heart.

"I used to watch them all night long." Her voice shatters the silence with the timbre of breaking ice as she settles down in front of the coals, facing the river and the curtain of sky. "It took me six weeks to get from Master Pakku's school to here, and it was the best time of my life." She wraps her arms around her knees, rests her chin against them. "It was the first time since it all started that I felt free." The stars bathe her in their gentle light and he swears he can feel the tumble of the world swaying around him. "I'd stay up every night to watch the moon and the stars and nobody would tell me otherwise."

He kneels down next to her, the pull between them insistent as gravity, as though that's all it is and he's just been falling all this time. "You're free here," he points out, his voice a gentle rasp. "You could stay up all night and watch them if you wanted."

Her gentle scoff is a puff of warm air against his shoulder. "Not when I have to be up at the crack of dawn every day," she reproaches gently, tilting her head against her knees to watch him more comfortably. "Besides, the view from my quarters is pretty lousy, and it's more than I'm worth to risk getting caught sneaking out here after lights out."

He needed to touch her again, wrap an arm around her and pull her close. His fingers interlace together firmly in his lap instead. "I could stay up with you," he suggests very incautiously. Her surprise freezes her slowly in place like crystals of ice across the surface of a pond. "I'm a prince, nobody would say anything to me."

Her eyes narrow at that, but the heat that hoods them is different from the anger she used to direct at him. "I'll bet."

A deafening explosion splits the air and both of them recoil abruptly. But the source of the noise becomes clear as somewhere down the river, the whistling blaze of fireworks paints the sky with showers of every colour – warm reds, verdant greens, deep blues. Dappled rainbows dye the gravelly sand around them, imbuing the dead trees with an almost lifelike glow.

Her delighted gasp tugs the corners of his mouth upward. The crackling display of colourful light is a sight to behold, but it's nothing compared to the look in her eyes. He leans a little closer. "It's not the southern lights," he mutters, his mouth hovering by her ear, "but it'll have to do for now."

Her shoulders stiffen before she yanks her eyes away from the display overhead. She stares at him instead and it unnerves him. Fills him with confusion, the urge to do something he might not even come to regret…

Above them, the fireworks sparkle until they fizzle into clouds of curling grey smoke, tainting the air with the acrid smell and taste of sulphur. Silence reigns again, plunging them back into darkness and the twining maze of their uncertainties.

"Your home is beautiful," Katara admits at last, when the smoke finally disperses and becomes one with the cloudy swirl of stars. "I didn't want to think so at first, but – it is."

"I've never thought of this as home." His confession cracks through the surreal haze cradling them as bitterness seeps into his throat. "Home was back in Caldera." He glances at the stars, trying to determine their bearing before pointing at the darkened silhouettes of distant mountaintops across the river. "Somewhere over there."

Katara stretches out her legs, crossing them into a more comfortable position. Her knee digs into his thigh but she pays no heed to how the silk of his trousers flares with heat from his skin. "How long has it been?" she asks softly, and every part of him that isn't preoccupied with her nearness surges with relief that she isn't going to judge him or tell him he's being ungrateful or spoiled or any of it.

"Six years," he whispers, the words chafing in his mouth.

Her hands twist absently, rustling against the cotton of her dress. "Was that when -?" She points at the twisted scar on his face before her hand falls into her lap again. Her head ducks away, evading his probing gaze. "Sorry, you don't have to answer – "

"How did you know?" Zuko asks, his breath under tight control as though he's bending an unruly inferno, which is what this conversation was starting to become.

Katara stares resolutely at the river. "I don't know," she admits. "You – talked about it the same way you talked about Agni Kai, the first time we played pai sho against your uncle." Zuko frowns, struggling to remember the conversation she's referring to. "I guess I just put two and two together." Her back slouches. "I wanted to be wrong."

It hurts, just how easily she reads him. How she could steadily confront that ugliness when he didn't even want to think about it. But her presence by his side is a poultice against the memory of fire on his face, and he's grateful for that much at least. "I told you that you were right about him."

The rush of water against the banks of the river soothes his ears. His inner fire keeps him warm from the breeze tousling his hair, but he wonders how she isn't shivering yet. "I said he was a monster," she returns, hands planted onto the ground as she leans back. "But there's a difference between one that kills people who don't look like him, and one who'd burn his own son across the face." Her voice quivers and he wonders stupidly if she's going to cry again, if she might hug him again.

"Is there?" His voice is the quiet hiss of a dying candle.

"I don't know anymore." She shakes her head steadily at first and then more violently. "All that time, I was so mad at you for being his son and I – I never knew. I never thought you might be –" Her voice drops off, embers snuffing into ash. "I had no idea."

"How could you?" he asks into the darkness. "Nobody knows except my uncle." His voice sharpens. "No one can know."

"I wasn't going to tell anyone," Katara reproaches defensively. Her fingers trace little circles into the dirt by his feet. "It's your scar."

His hand comes up to touch it, a gesture engrained into his muscles after years of habit. "I tried to do what I thought was right." The words come from somewhere inside him, bursting forth through the dam of his chest wall. "What I thought was honourable. I didn't know he would get so angry. I was so scared when I saw him walk into the arena, I just – gave up. Threw myself to his feet and begged for mercy as though I was some kid."

"But you were a kid," Katara murmurs.

"I was a prince," Zuko spits. "I was thirteen years old. I should have been able to fight back, but…but he was my father and I loved him." He can't decide if its rage or sorrow that strains his voice. "I wanted him to respect me. But instead he taught me a permanent lesson on my face – in front of half the court, no less. He said that I had no honour and wasn't worthy of being his son. He cast me out." Her hands fly to her mouth, a gasp rumbling through the cage of her fingers. "Then my uncle sent for me and I ended up here. But I've never heard from my father since."

His fingertips dig into the edge of his scar before he eventually gives up and drops his hand back into his lap.

"That's –" Katara stammers, "I – I thought I could stop being surprised by how cruel your father can be." Her hands settle onto her thighs. "I guess I was wrong."

"All this time I've wondered what I could have done differently," Zuko whispers bitterly. His fists ball into the draping folds of his trousers. "But I couldn't let those recruits get sacrificed without speaking out, and I couldn't have defeated my father. No matter what, I would have ended up exiled from my home with this stupid scar on my face." His fingers flash and there's a smell of smouldering silk. "My personal mark of shame."

"Where I come from, we'd call it a mark of honour," Katara counters gently. He turns on her incredulously, the scoff halfway out of his mouth as she continues. "You did the right thing, Zuko. Your father was wrong, not you. You're nothing like him and it's…it's the best thing about you."

The contempt dies in his throat at that. "You…you really think so?"

"I do," Katara insists. She faces the water again, the flowing ripple of dark blue reflected in the disquiet of her eyes. "I wish I could heal it for you –"

His eyes widen at the unexpected generosity. "It's a scar," he states, frowning at her. "It can't be healed."

She sighs, shoulders rising and falling with the motion. "I know," she laments. "I've tried." And then it strikes him, of course, the jolt of understanding searing away as he tries, utterly fails to envision burns shaped like handprints somewhere along the hidden planes of her skin. "But they don't ever really heal, do they?"

"No," he breathes, feeling some small measure of peace settle over him like the caress of bright starlight. "You just learn to live with them."

"It isn't enough," Katara declares bitterly.

"It's not," he agrees quietly. "But it has to end somewhere, right?"

She shifts again, twisting her body to face him. "Right," she whispers.

And then she reaches out with fingers like tendrils of water, cold as ice against his scar. He'd thought himself numb to all feeling there, but her touch pulls him in.

It engulfs him.

For a moment, everything freezes. Silence stretches out like the infinite expanse of the sky. No sun, no moon to bear witness. They are suspended in darkness, lit only by the milky glow of starlight, touching them with a faint crystalline shimmer until they're just statues of clay and alabaster.

The line between them is always shifting beneath their feet, inconsistent as the meld of scar tissue to unblemished skin trembling under her fingertips. But this time, there is no doubt in Katara's mind that she has crossed it. She expects him to lash out with the ferocity of a wounded beast. After all, she's done far worse in the past, for far less a slight.

Instead he makes a strangled sort of sound, the sound of a man drowning. She glimpses a flash of twin fires blazing where his eyes should be, but then his hands are twining into her hair and all she can feel are his lips searing hot against her own like a brand.

She gasps against his mouth even as every other part of her sighs. His breath is ragged and she cannot believe the heat that grips her as his tongue traces the outline of her lip. There are little sounds welling in the hollows of her throat that seem to cry out, longing to pull him in further.

Her hands find the smooth ridges of muscle lining his torso, trace them under her fingers, and she swears she breathes in steam as he lets out a groan. The sound surprises her but not half so much as the way her body undulates against him, seeking to quench a long-forgotten thirst.

She's aware of the ground, coarse with flecks of gravel and dirt, rising up to press into her back with the weight of his body. Clutching at his shoulders, crushing him closer until everything is too hot to the touch. He breaks away and she chokes on air too cold for her lungs, dragging in sharp bursts like the strange breathy whimpers escaping her as he presses his face into the crook of her neck, blazing fevers into her blood with the touch of his lips to her skin.

Spirits –

His mouth finds hers again and she rises to meet him. Hands burrowing into the thick silk of his hair, she blindly kisses him back and there are teeth in there somewhere, raking along swelling lips. Her insides go liquid as the surface of her skin, simmering where his hand trails along the curve of her waist to rest at her hip where her dress has bunched up. His body rocks against hers until her hips tilt in response. Her heart beats so hard it makes her chest hurt.

She's been touched before but never like this. As though it isn't about power or control at all, as though the only thing he wants is to give in. It fills her until she thinks she's going to burst from everything she isn't prepared to feel - like she's invincible, like she's impossibly vulnerable.

Panic surges fresh as it catches up with her in a flash. The memories flow, paralyzing: being too desperate to be uncomfortable, too hungry to be afraid. The lingering press of eyes, hands on her body, etched into her skin as clearly as her scars – forgotten but never quite healed.

Somewhere above her, he must sense that something isn't quite right with her because he stops. "What's wrong?" His voice is a concerned murmur in her ear, but even through the sparks skittering down the thread of her veins, bile rises somewhere in the back of her throat.

She tries to swallow it back down, but the sourness lingering in her mouth vies for dominance against the taste of him. Her skin seethes everywhere. "I –" she stammers, her voice so reedy it doesn't even sound like her, "I don't know if I can."

The weight pressing into her chest feels even heavier as he sits up abruptly, eyebrows knitting together upward. "I'm so sorry," he blurts out in alarm. "I didn't mean to overstep –"

Rising slowly, she shakes her head. The cold air stings her skin, but not as much as the loss of his warmth. "It's not that."

Perhaps he's able to draw some solace in the way her voice cracks on her words, the quivering of her body that doesn't have much to do with the chill of the night. "Then…what is it?"

She opens and closes her mouth, failing to find the words. "It's too much," she whispers, scrunching her eyes shut. From here, the world seems delightfully simple – cold, dark, empty of his heat and that awful look in his eyes. "I can't – I've never felt things – too many things…"

Zuko lets out a shuddering breath at her clumsy explanation. "Felt things," he repeats, rather delicately. "What things?"

She hesitates. "It's complicated," she stammers. "I don't –" Her arms tighten across her chest, fingertips digging into the skin of her elbows as though by doing so she can physically hold herself together. "I've never been with someone who didn't, you know – like Jet – who just wanted to use me."

The night air feels infinitely colder, or maybe it's just the icy look on Zuko's face at the mention of Jet's name. "I would never do what he did to you," he swears, clenched knuckles glowing white in the dimness of the night.

She thinks she's offended him by bringing him up. "I know. I'm just -" In fact, now that she thinks about it, she isn't quite sure what he wants from her at all anymore. "I'm not used to things that aren't completely fucked up. This is…really new and confusing for me."

The sympathy that softens his face is almost harder to stomach than the distance he maintains between them – a handspan or two, but altogether too far. "I'm sorry," he repeats, hands clasped tightly in his lap. The memory of his touch burns like phantom fingers on her skin. "I shouldn't have done it."

Something inside her breaks like glass at that. "Then why did you?" She isn't sure if it's curiosity or accusation that lends strength to her voice. She isn't sure if she wants to know at all.

Zuko goes quiet as the grave, as though her question has looped a noose around his neck. He lowers his eyes until his hair shadows them from her view. "I don't know," he says to the ground between their knees, carefully – almost too carefully, like it's a lie rehearsed several times over. "I mean – we were drinking. It doesn't have to mean anything if..."

The world lurches around her. Hadn't Suki and Ty Lee had warned her about teenage boys and the way their feelings shifted back and forth from desire at the push of a button? "Yeah," she agrees, strangely stricken as everything settles slightly off-kilter. "But – I still – I want us to be okay." A pleading note enters her voice and she settles for touching her fingertips to his knee. "Are we okay?"

A jolt goes through him at her touch, but he doesn't lose his composure. "Of course," he croaks. One of his hands clamps down over hers and she fights to hold in a sigh of relief. "Whatever you need. I – I'm here."

Whatever I need. She needed him to kiss her again; she needed to understand why admitting that makes her excited and sick with shame at the same time. She needed everything to make sense in her tired, confused head.

She says none of it. Her throat is clamped shut by the pounding staccato of her pulse, drumming against her ears like galloping footfalls across the riverbanks, shaking the earth beneath her feet.

But as the sound grows louder and Zuko's head snaps in confusion toward the river, she realizes that it isn't in her mind at all. Something bounds toward them, splashing through the shallows, crashing onto the shore with a cry and a snarl and a groan.

"What the -?" Zuko scrambles to his feet. Katara follows his gaze to where the strangest creature she's ever seen has appeared as though out of nowhere, panting heavily and baring sharp shiny teeth.

"You! What are you doing here?" Zuko's voice is loud as he marches up to it. Before Katara can even think to be afraid of the feral-looking beast, she sees someone slide off its back gracelessly, land on the ground heavily with a pained hiss.

Katara gets to her feet too, trying to get a closer look at the pale woman limping toward them. Her distress vanishes, dispelled by the sense of urgency that commands the two unexpected arrivals.

"Sorry to crash your little date –" the woman bites out sharply, before she tilts her head. Her brow wrinkles faintly, painted lips twist into an amused grimace. "Is that you, Angry Boy?"

Angry Boy? Katara's eyes flit from the woman to where Zuko's back is racked with new tension. Do they know each other?

"Don't call me that!" Zuko shouts, hands curling into fists.

They definitely know each other. Zuko would never talk like that to a stranger.

Stepping closer, Katara notices with a twinge of dread just how battered the woman looks, like she could faint at any moment. "She's hurt, Zuko," Katara chides him. The woman hunches over to press a fist into her mouth, coughing wetly. Dark, shiny liquid drips down the line of her chin.

The instinct to help overwhelms everything else and she rushes over to her side, reaching. "Here, let me help you –"

"No," the woman refuses, shoving her aside. Taken aback by how much strength the injured woman still has, Katara stumbles onto the ground. The woman leans against her strange beast for support, swaying alarmingly. Through her hacking coughs, her next words are barely recognizable. "There's no time. Get me – General Iroh –"

"General Iroh?" Katara echoes, her confusion spiking as she tries to find her feet.

The woman heaves in a deep breath, doubles over from the pain of it. Spits red droplets onto grey pebbles. "Now." Her voice is a hiss of sound forced through clenched teeth.

Zuko takes a step back, clearly surprised. "He isn't here," he answers, the hostility vanishing from his voice. "He – he's probably back in the capital by now."

The woman lets out a scream of aggravation, stumbling forward, knees buckling. "Then get me…get me whoever's in command here." she pants, scrabbling at the ground with furious fingers. The creature nudges at her waist and she sits back on her haunches, gasping. "Like your life depended on it."

This time when Katara gives her an arm, she doesn't fling it off. Instead, she leans on the waterbender, planting a hand on her shoulder.

"First let us help you," Zuko maintains, kneeling to sit. "You're going to collapse. Your report for my uncle – whatever it is – it can wait."

"I'm a healer," Katara blurts out, surreptitiously tracing the woman's side. All of her injuries leap out at her – cracked ribs, internal bleeding threatening to hemorrhage – and she blinks back her shock. This woman seems like she's been dragged through hell and back. "Please, you're hurt really badly –"

"No!" the woman repeats stubbornly, her voice a growl of defiance. She grabs at the air behind her for the beast's reins. "You don't get it – you're in danger. All of you."

"Danger?" Zuko echoes, raising his eyebrows. "Danger from what?"

"That's why I need to see your General!" The woman shouts, clutching at her wounded side. "It's the Dai Li –"

A new sort of fear grips Katara at the woman's words.

"What do you mean?" Across from them, Zuko's voice has gone dangerously quiet. The scar on his face twists forbiddingly. "What about the Dai Li?"

Katara isn't fooled by his severity. Underneath its steely façade, she's prepared to bet that her fear pales in comparison to his.

"They're coming," the woman breathes hoarsely, voice splintering. She pushes off, tries to crawl again and Katara nearly buckles from the shift in the woman's weight. "Coming for you –"

The sound of flowing water turns cold in Katara's ears. Against the wind, the dead trees lining the river seem to groan, branches waving like spindly fingers reaching for them. Overhead, the glitter of starlight appears almost malevolent.

"Where?" The voice that reaches Katara's ears doesn't even sound like Zuko's anymore. It sounds like a frightened little boy's.

Shaking violently, the woman meets Zuko's gaze in mad desperation. "Get me…your General." The faltering crack of her voice only adds weight to her command.

Zuko pauses to exchange an unsure glance with Katara, some unspoken agreement settling between them. "Alright," he decides, getting to his feet, "I'll get Shinu. You stay here with Katara and try not to die –"

"Quick," the woman murmurs, drooping forward as Zuko rushes off and Katara tries to grab her by the shoulders, watching unconsciousness threaten to take her. "Split up – Lee said – two days now –"

"It's okay," Katara tries to soothe her, hastily scanning her surroundings for water, summoning it from the river. "You're safe, we're going to help you –"

The woman's face is scrunched up, but the deep furrows in her skin loosen one by one. "Quick," she repeats. Her words are barely audible but they still ring deafeningly. "Not quick enough…"

In the glow of the water gloving Katara's hands, the pain seems to fade from the woman's face, smoothing out to tranquility as her body falls slack.

And then there's only the calm cold of the night, still and silent as the air inside a tomb.

Chapter 23: turning tides

Summary:

An emergency war council is convened.

Chapter Text

disclaimer. nothing new here, folks, move along.

author's notes. thanks to everyone for reading, and a super big thanks to circasurvival (both for beta-reading and for entertaining my atla/zutara madness lmao).

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter xxiii. turning tides

she couldn't see how to give her light to the water
looking up from the depths, he didn't know how to want her
and what same things could these two know
when one is so deep, the other to glow?

"pine moon" / feist

It seems to Jun that time itself passes most inconsistently. First in great big dollops, melting around her until it seems like there's scarcely any left, and then suddenly completely still, as though it ceased to exist altogether.

She floats in the feeling, aware only of darkness and something cool sliding with gentle fingers along the line of her ribs. "Pushed too hard," a voice echoes all around her, "…fix it…could take time…"

Coughing, sputtering, she tries to choke out, no time, hurry, but it gets caught in her windpipe, flagging like the scattered beats of her pulse, the very blood in her veins struggling to flow without pooling where it shouldn't: in her gut, her mouth, the floor…

"Hemorrhaging badly." The voice speaks again as something gurgles in Jun's ears – is it coming from her? She can't tell anymore. "…wait…"

Can't wait, Jun thinks thickly but it seems more and more like she's wading through tar, limbs stuck, breathing stifled, every motion too difficult…

She isn't sure if she imagines steadfast grimness passing through blue eyes – Lee, what's Lee doing here – but it's a girl's voice that rings in her ears. "Rest," it commands.

And then suddenly, instead of stopping, it seems like time is running backward, events of the past few hours playing catch-up with Jun's delirious senses.

There's the river and the forest at night and two teenagers canoodling – she chokes a laugh at that – interrupted your date, sorry – and fireworks in the sky leading the way –

Nyla's breath heavy in the night, or maybe it's just her own – the stitch in her side twisting like a spear, piercing through her like a million splinters of hunger – have to be quicker –

Cawing in her ear, a feathery weight landing on her shoulder – that was fast – sky tinged lavender, the setting sun glaring over the water –

Pain lancing through her bones with every one of Nyla's footfalls, sun high in the sky, Lee's voice complaining in her ears – can't this thing go any faster? I could get out and run faster than this…supposed to catch up with them yesterday –

Indignation flooding hot like blood in her mouth as she protests – going nonstop for four days now…if we don't rest soon the only thing we'll catch will be an early grave…

Lee's determination as he twists back to face her. "You're slowing me down," he accuses, gripping Nyla's reins with one hand. "I was supposed to muster with the rest by midday."

"Fuck you too," Jun gasps back as Lee reluctantly steers Nyla to a halt. Silence rumbles around them. "What do we do?"

Nyla's back springing slightly as Lee vaults off it. "We need to split up. If I leave now, with luck I'll make it by nightfall –"

"Excuse you?" Jun's fingers twisting into Nyla's reins anyway. "What the fuck am I gonna do on my own?"

"You go warn the Grand Lotus –" Lee is saying, unclipping his satchel from Nyla's harness, "raise the alarm –"

"They're not going to believe me without you there." The uncertainty entering her voice, Nyla's back starting to slump under her thighs…

"Look – it'll be too suspicious if I don't show up at all! This way I can keep sending you intel whenever I can –" His hand raising up to determine his bearing, the hard slash of his mouth burning through her consciousness, spurring her to action. "Just find them quick, OK? I'll be in touch…"

Quick, Jun tries to say, except the darkness swallows it up, it swallows everything up, sending her hurtling toward oblivion.

By the time Katara stumbles back to her room, the sun is almost peeking up over the horizon. She clambers into her bunk still smelling like bonfire smoke, too tired to change out of the violet dress stained with dirt and sweat and blood.

"You were out late." Toph's sleepy voice drifts up from the bunk below. Through its hoarseness, the smugness is detectable. "Sparky keep you up all night?"

The insinuation churns her stomach. Katara screws her eyes shut, her head pounding with the start of a monstrous hangover, the last few hours jarring in her mind. "Actually, I was busy healing a random bounty hunter," she grates, pulling at her blanket resolutely. "I'm awfully tired. Good night."

"Huh," Toph says into empty air. "That's a shame. Night."

Except the blanket's warmth is uncomfortable, unnecessary because she seems to be burning up. Her heart races at double its usual speed, her gut restless with some newly awakened need, and every inch of her skin throbs with heat.

Frustration rushing like steam out her ears, she kicks the blanket off and clutches at her pillow, trying not to think of Zuko at all.

She drifts to sleep thinking of no one else.

Zuko doesn't sleep well at all, dreams mixing with frantic thoughts so imperceptibly he wonders if he imagined the entire thing. It would almost be easier to bear.

But no, it was real and it fills him with conflicting, raging things that threaten to pull him apart. Katara wanted him – to dance, to kiss, to touch – and then she didn't.

We've been drinking, he lied and the relief that lit up her face was like a sucker punch to the gut – a mistake, it was a mistake, she didn't want to, not really –

It makes him sick to his stomach. He's never wanted someone this badly – with every inch of his being, every thought in his head bent on her – and now that she's within reach, it feels all the more frustratingly unfair that she withdrew again.

Even if he understands, even if it makes sense. And hell, what did he expect anyway? That she'd want to fuck by the riverside? As if. The idea is so far-fetched, he's almost glad they didn't. He already dreads having to face her in the morning; it's a blessing to be spared any extra awkwardness. Or pain.

No, he resolves, it would be kinder to just let it go, pretend it never happened at all – it's what she needs after all. He would just have to manage like he's always done.

Except that seems almost impossible now. His fantasies are worse because he doesn't need to imagine the taste of her mouth, what her body felt like under his, her fingers tracing his skin – he knows. He knows that she could surge back into him with a ferocity that made his brains plummet into his loins and thinking rather impossible.

A very tired part of him wishes he didn't feel this way about her at all – that he could be as heartless as his father and be spared this exhausting madness. But then Katara's voice whispers – you're nothing like him, it's the best thing about you – and it lances through him like all the stars piercing through the dark canopy of sky: a faint glow of warmth alive in his veins, a visceral ache gnawing at his chest.

She's going to kill me. Agni, she's going to fucking kill me if I keep this up. I have to let this go.

When one of the officers knocks on his door to inform him about an emergency council meeting, it's almost a relief. He drags himself to the privy, splashing ice-cold water onto his face, scrubbing his body with soap to wash off the grime of the night before.

But the maddening whiff of waterlilies lingers somewhere on his skin, despite it all.

"Now that we are all assembled here," General Shinu says in his deep, steady voice, "we can address the matter at hand."

It is half past midmorning and they are gathered in Shinu's pavilion. The council chamber is small and tidy; the only decoration is the large Fire Empire flag hanging from the wall. Midwinter sunlight filters through gaps in the drawn curtains, cutting through the dim haze with a cold yellow glare. About a dozen people huddle around a long rectangular table covered with a giant map, Shinu sitting at the head. Everyone wears the crimson and gold velvets of command, but the uniforms are less sharply pressed than usual.

"This had better be an emergency, General," Captain Shu grumbles, clapping a hand to his forehead. Behind him, a petty officer passes cups of tea off a tray. "I would wager that many of us here are still – delicate – from last night's festivities."

From the dark mutters chorusing from around the table, it is apparent to Zuko that the majority agree with Shu's complaint. Everyone is wan and tired, gulping strong tea brewed with none of his uncle's finesse. Though Katara – a blur in the corner of his eye – definitely appears the worst off: face drawn, dark circles under heavily lidded eyes, unkempt as though she'd literally been dragged from her bed.

Still striking. The thought bursts with a twinge of resentment, amplified by the small smile she offered him when she sat down – effortlessly, obliviously – damn her… He forces himself to look away, cursing inwardly.

General Shinu scowls at Captain Shu, his bulk and sharply trimmed whiskers adding to his ferocity. "That is unfortunate," he replies in a booming voice that causes more than one person to visibly wince, "but nonetheless, we must get to the bottom of this matter." The slight wryness in his voice suggests that given the choice, he too would rather have remained abed.

He nods at the bounty hunter sitting next to him. She looks in better shape than she had the night before. Though her face is still pale and white bandages peek out from the rips in her clothing, there's an energy about her that seems to be a result of a couple hours' rest and Katara's skilful healing.

"This is Jun," General Shinu states. "She is an – associate – of General Iroh's."

"A common bounty hunter," someone mutters darkly, glaring at Jun where she sits.

General Shinu intercepts the glare. "A personal friend to General Iroh regardless of her occupation, who risked her life to bring us vital information. You will treat her with the respect that befits your station, Major Kuro. Is that clear?"

The major glowers, but is cowed into submission. Dropping the matter from notice, General Shinu turns back to Jun, who appears thoroughly unconcerned by Major Kuro's disapproval. "Perhaps Jun would be best suited to brief the council of her findings."

"Thanks for the stage, General," she answers, voice tense and clipped. She leans forward, elbows braced against the table. "According to my intelligence, the Dai Li have gathered half a day's march away from here. They plan to launch an assault here at sunrise, three days past Day of the Dragons, to prove to the Empire that the Earth territories are not weak and will submit no longer. That even within the borders of their nation, the Imperial Army isn't safe from them."

Jun's pronouncement hits Zuko like a sharp rock smashing into his chest. He's heavy and cold, the room spinning like a monstrous whirlpool threatening to drown him, the uproar of the council the only thing keeping him from going under.

"Impossible!"

"That's outrageous!"

"The Dai Li have been our allies, why would they turn on us now?"

General Shinu pounds a fist on the table. "I will have order," he commands sharply. The rabble quiets into an uneasy silence. "By Agni, the next time you forget your discipline will be the last time I put up with it. This is a serious threat."

"If it's even true," Major Kuro points out dubiously. "I, for one, am curious at how this bounty hunter arrived at such a conclusion, when none of our intelligence seems to corroborate it."

General Shinu directs a frown at Jun. "Perhaps you'd like to elaborate." It isn't a request. Even through the cool draft in the room, Zuko begins to sweat beneath his uniform, clammy fingers twisting absently at the red velvet bunched in his lap.

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever you want. I'm on your clock now," Jun's voice takes on its usual laconic drawl. "It's a long twisty tale, gentlemen, so I think I'll just start from the beginning if it's all the same to you." Ignoring the rising scepticism from the side of the table manned by command staff, she reaches into her belt with a slight hiss of pain and withdraws an enamelled green knife.

Zuko's breath stills in his lungs. The knife shimmers innocuously in the golden light, but it manages to bring an ominous cloud of memories with it – Jet's dead body, a hooked sword piercing his heart, Katara's healing hands on his chest…

"A couple of months ago," Jun says as he struggles to bury his agitation with slow, measured breaths, "General Iroh sent me this knife and asked me to figure out where it came from."

So she's the informant that Uncle sent to investigate. Zuko is not sure whether this reassures him or not. He is aware of how ruthlessly capable Jun can be, but her presence still unnerves him.

"I first traced the knife to the old palace in Ba Sing Se – the seat of the Dai Li and their operations. From there it was passed on to a minor noble by the name of Lord Huang Shi. Owns a bunch of theatres and teashops. Any of you familiar with the name?"

Zuko frowns as everyone assembled at the table shakes their heads in bewilderment. What connection could there be between a teashop entrepreneur half a world away and the Dai Li trying to have me killed?

"Didn't think so," Jun quips. "I'm pretty sure he's just a foil, but I thought I'd ask…" She spins the knife idly on the table. Zuko stares at the green and gold whir, the sound it makes as it slices through the air. "Huang Shi didn't keep the knife for very long. Either it was stolen or handed to someone else. A so-called freedom fighter, well-known in Ba Sing Se for being a disturber of the peace."

He hears Katara's sharp intake of breath, but doesn't look at her. Tragic as Jet's death was, the thought of him still fills Zuko with cold fury. Let Katara feel sorry for him if she has to. That bastard deserved what he got for the way he treated her.

"Things get a little fuzzy after that," Jun admits, hesitation entering her voice for the first time. "My shirshu finds people by their scent. But for some reason, it's damn near impossible to track any of the Dai Li. Their scent keeps vanishing, like they're not even made of flesh and blood." The knife scratches against the wooden table as it scrapes to a stop. "But according to information that I gained from a source placed within the Dai Li, I was able to confirm a couple of things. First, that this freedom fighter was one of the Dai Li's sleepers."

He closes his eyes, feeling like someone's poured a bucket of ice-cold water down his spine as the words sink in. Just like Katara said.

"Sleepers?" Captain Shu interjects in confusion. "What does that mean?"

"You could say the Dai Li have a bunch of…neat little ways to keep the peace back home." The sound of the knife being spun again, whirling like a top on its point. "Fear, spies, arbitrary imprisonment. And if you've been really naughty, they nab you for rehabilitation. People come back totally changed, ready to do the Dai Li's dirty work at the drop of a pin." Her mouth twists. "That's why we call them sleepers."

The silence that follows her words is tinged with distaste.

"So this…" Captain Shu is struggling to follow Jun's sequence of events, "freedom fighter was enlisted by the Dai Li into…carrying this knife somewhere? I don't follow."

Zuko's frown deepens. That isn't right. Jet didn't carry the knife, he was killed by it.

"Not quite," Jun says. "The scent disappeared in Ba Sing Se so it's hard to be sure – but I'll bet the Dai Li sent one of their own with the sleeper, armed with that knife. From my source, I know that he was ordered on a secret mission to destabilize the royal family." Her fingers drum against the tabletop, matching the rhythm of Zuko's heartbeat skyrocketing in anticipation. "The target was located at a training camp in the middle of nowhere. A prince of the Fire Nation, alone and vulnerable – ripe for assassination."

Zuko feels the weight of everyone's gaze on him. He opens his eyes but looks only at Jun. "Me," he says tonelessly, more tired than shocked.

"You bet, Prince Pouty," Jun replies levelly.

"But – but what would the Dai Li hope to accomplish by that?" Major Kuro sputters. "That is quite an accusation to make."

"Well, one day you have a big, strong Empire and a royal family with plenty of strong heirs. The next, someone the royal family once considered an ally cuts down a sympathetic young prince before his time. How do you think the Empire would respond, Major Kuro? Maybe…start a war? The Dai Li would be able to consolidate its hold on the Earth territories with something more powerful than fear." She bares her teeth into a leer. "Hatred of the Fire Nation."

Gasps and stutters echo around the table, a rising swell of shock and outrage. A leaden weight settles like a stone in the pit of Zuko's stomach, dread pooling as he tries to keep up with Jun's grim tidings. "But that would be foolish!" Major Kuro objects. "Why would the Dai Li turn on an ally and court war with us? We defeated them before, it – it makes no sense…"

"Plenty of people back home disagree," Jun counters. "They think that the Fire Nation succeeded only because of Sozin's comet. That if the fight happened today, the combined might of the Earth territories could expel the Fire Nation once and for all." She steeples her fingers and leans back in her chair. "Every other month, there's some rebellion or another, only to get crushed. And the people only get poorer, even as the Empire prospers. Why wouldn't they hate you?"

"So you're a rebel sympathizer then?" Major Kuro scoffs.

"You asked me a question and I gave you the truth," she pushes back severely. "My feelings are none of your business. I didn't have to risk my life to warn you about this. Like it or not, I'm the only friend you have with skin in the game." Her painted lips curve into a mirthless smile and her voice turns coy. "So you'd better start being nice to me."

Major Kuro flusters indignantly but Jun continues, undeterred. "But, something obviously went wrong. Your prince lives; the freedom fighter never returned; the knife somehow wound up in the clutches of your precious General, who sent it to me to investigate; and now the Dai Li are scrambling to cover their trail. If there was a plot to leverage the assassination of Prince Zuko to incite an insurrection against the Empire, it failed." She gestures vaguely at Zuko and rolls her eyes. "Clearly."

Zuko's mouth goes dry as he tries to remember that night and how close Jet had gotten to his objective. If it hadn't been for Toph and Katara –

"You look rather unsurprised by this development, Prince Zuko," Jeong-Jeong notes grimly. Zuko blinks, but meets his somber gaze nonetheless. "Is there any knowledge of this incident that you would care to share?"

Toph scowls at the table, Aang looks at him nervously, and Katara chews at her lip, doubtless trying to piece things together in that inexhaustible mind of hers. He knows none of them are going to say a word; they swore to his Uncle that they wouldn't. His eyes flicker over to Jun and General Shinu, to the large Fire Nation flag hanging on the wall behind them.

"Yes," he hears himself say quite calmly, as though to the crimson-and-black flame emblem itself. He feels so distant, as if he's narrating a story from someone else's life. "The freedom fighter turned up in my room in the middle of the night with a couple of swords. If it hadn't been for Toph and Katara – he would have killed me."

The babble of shock and horror that follows his words is almost comical.

"How did this happen, Your Highness?" General Shinu asks Zuko, waving a hand to silence the room. The man, so unflappable, now appears shaken. "And why was nobody made aware of it?"

"That's a good question, General," Jun prompts, resting her chin against the heel of her hand, her voice sweet as she cocks her head. "How did a couple of Dai Li assassins manage to sneak into your base, almost assassinate Angry Boy here, and escape without being noticed?"

"Hey. I noticed," Toph speaks up, slyly satisfied even through the seriousness of the conversation. "I sensed the guy – the sleeper, whatever – when he passed by our dorm. It was in the middle of the night and I'd never felt anyone sneaking around like that before. So I woke Sweetness –"

"From what she said, it didn't sound like the guy was up to any good," Katara takes up the narrative, glancing tiredly at Toph. "We followed him back to…to Prince Zuko's quarters, I guess." Her voice catches on his name; he tries not to read into it. "He already struck a killing blow. I managed to heal him, though, and uh – Toph immobilized the sleeper. We were going to try questioning him when – when –"

She falters, face screwing up in confusion. Zuko remembers it vividly, even though it feels like a lifetime ago: her shriek, hearing rather than seeing Jet's dead body slump to the ground…

"When the sleeper was murdered," he finishes firmly, noticing her turn her head to face him in his peripheral vision. Resisting the urge to meet her eyes, he instead trains his gaze unwaveringly on the General. "Somebody buried a knife in his chest and escaped before Toph or I could identify them." He nods at the green knife spinning in Jun's fingers. "That knife."

"Makes sense," Jun comments with a shrug, even as Shinu's face loses its steady composure. "Like I said, the sleepers don't walk alone. There's always someone watching, making sure that everything goes according to plan…and fix it if it doesn't."

"But then why leave the knife behind?" Katara queries, clearly still trying to piece everything together along with everyone else. "It makes no sense."

"Well, either they got sloppy, or they wanted you to find it," Jun offers. "This mission – hell, it was a literal suicide mission. I bet the Dai Li hoped if things went south, the sleeper would die trying. Once it became clear they could be compromised, their priority was probably just damage control." Her fingers scratch against rough wood. "A knife left at the crime scene wouldn't pose as much of a threat. The Dai Li are experts at evasion – if someone came investigating, they'd know to bury the trail. And who to intimidate into dropping the search."

"Are you speaking from experience?" Zuko asks, wondering about her injuries. All the little pieces from the night before suddenly click into place: a woman riding into the camp in the dead of the night, rambling about the Dai Li with feverish urgency, nearly collapsing from her injuries, restless and refusing help as her blood stained Katara's hands and pretty dress…

"I'm not easily intimidated," Jun asserts, smirking at him. "But they did try. Luckily, my source from within the Dai Li was able to help me out and put a few pieces together. For starters, that they had everyone on high alert for this knife, because it's the only thing that connected them to the failed mission." Her voice hardens. "But I didn't come here to talk about that. Like I said, you've got bigger problems headed your way, and fast."

With a wince, she withdraws a rolled-up piece of paper from her belt. Even though the morning sunshine is unwaveringly bright, Zuko feels as if a cloud has entered the room as Jun flattens the paper onto the table and pins down its curling edges.

"The Dai Li's strike here is going to be bigger and bolder," she begins, running a finger along the paper's surface, "to rail against the Empire's rule. The time for it is ripe, now that Emperor Azulon is gone and the royal family appears… divided."

"Divided?" Captain Shu echoes in confusion. "But the succession is clear! The coronation date is being determined by the Fire Sages as we speak!"

"You don't get out much, do you?" Jun snorts. "Nobody's forgotten about how Ozai treated the Water Tribe children in his colonial schools, and now apparently he can't even keep his own family in line." Zuko's eyebrow shoots up to his hairline as she continues in amusement. "You know, people say his wife locked herself in a tower rather than have to see his face again, and his only son renounced him, chose exile instead of following in his footsteps –"

A coughing fit possesses him at that. "Really?" Zuko wheezes, mind reeling at how the rumours could get that so astonishingly wrong.

"Boy, Prince Pouty," Jun grouses, "you don't get out much either."

"Fishers and housewives with idle tongues!" Major Kuro disparages loudly. "Are you telling us to question our loyalty on the basis of gossips and rumours?"

"Gossip and rumours are my business. If you keep your mouth shut, you'll be surprised what you can learn." At this, Major Kuro seems to sober. The chamber hushes to a quiet standstill before Jun continues, "Even in the Earth colonies, people respected Emperor Azulon. They thought he was fair, had good intentions for the most part. But his death – and Ozai's treatment of it – has everyone talking crazy. They think Azulon was poisoned by a rebel sympathizer, he died in an Agni Kai against his son, he's been dead for months and the royal family covered it up." She laughs crisply. "People say the funniest things when they're scared, don't they?"

Zuko works very hard to keep his face still. He doesn't risk looking at the others. He worries that the sound of his pulse is loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

"But I'm getting ahead of myself. All this and you can probably see why the Dai Li think the Empire is weak, weak enough to strike again." Jun surveys the faces of everyone gathered, gaze boring into them like a drill. Her voice strikes the air like a hammer. "After all, this base is close to Crown Prince Iroh's heart, and there are rumours about the secret weapon he's been working on here."

Silence, thicker than smoke from a signal fire, freezes everyone in place at her words. For once, even Major Kuro appears lost for words.

"If your intelligence can be trusted," General Shinu says at last. To his credit, his voice, shaken with surprise, is still low and commanding. "How are we to know that your source isn't leading us into a trap?"

"He risked a lot to acquire this information," Jun insists, bristling visibly. Her face screws up momentarily in pain at the sudden movement. "I've worked with him on and off for the last two years, and he's been trustworthy every time. The Dai Li ambushed me when they thought I was getting too close to cracking the link between their knife and Jet's mission. If it wasn't for Lee, I wouldn't have survived."

"I'm not questioning your instincts, Jun," Shinu assures her. "But…you're asking us to put our faith in an alleged spy without even meeting him."

"He wanted to be here," Jun says stiffly. "But it took us a lot longer to get here from Ba Sing Se than either of us expected. We had to split up in order for him to maintain his cover." She gestures to the paper unrolled before her. "He's risking getting caught sending information to the enemy in order to give you a fighting chance."

"That's…admirable, no doubt." Shinu rubs at his temple before letting out a groan of resignation. "But if there's a chance that what you say is true, then we must act. What intelligence does your source have for us?"

It's a measure of how much everyone in the room respects General Shinu that nobody objects to his response.

"Right," Jun says briskly. She taps at the paper in front of her. "So far, I've got information about the Dai Li regiment: a head count, date of departure, details about where they're gathered."

"That's surprisingly thorough," General Shinu comments approvingly, in spite of his reservations. "Where are they assembled?"

"Half a day's march from here is what he said," Jun answers, but her confidence falters. "He drew it all in this map, but…I can't actually understand what it means because I don't know the terrain around here and – uh, well…" Shaking her head, she picks up the sheaf of paper and hands it to General Shinu, an arm gingerly clamping over the bandages lining her ribs. "I'm afraid it's up to you guys to figure this one out, because I'm stumped."

Shinu's eyes widen to large round saucers as he scans the crudely drawn map. "This is…." He struggles, face scrunching in concentration, "a very – creative illustration?"

"Don't kid yourself," Jun grumbles. "Nobody taught Lee how to fucking draw."

"Well, that makes it a great use to us," Major Kuro snaps in irritation. "Sending us information we can't even read? What are you playing at?"

"Calm down, Major," Shinu says wearily, scratching at his head and tilting his head to study the map more closely. "There is clearly a system to – this source's information. We are some of the best strategic minds in the Empire here, I have no doubt that we will be able to decipher this."

He offers it to Jeong-Jeong, who glares at the drawing as though its existence offends him. "This is the worst map I have ever seen in my life," he says flatly. "I am not sure that any of the landmarks depicted even exist."

"Of course I'm sure," General Shinu insists, crossing his arms across his chest. "And besides, what choice do we have? Now stop complaining and try to think about it for more than a minute."

Jeong-Jeong examines it for a long moment. "It is clear," he grunts, "that the two X's mark our location, and the Dai Li's."

General Shinu claps a hand to his forehead as an unsmiling Jeong-Jeong hands the paper to the unfortunate officer sitting next to him.

Zuko's eyebrows inch lower as the interpretations grow wilder and more desperate.

"Is that a river?"

"It could be a river. But what is this – a nest of serpents, perhaps?"

"A river with a nest of serpents?" Captain Shu queries by the time the map reaches him. He frowns. "I don't recall such a thing nearby –"

"But if this is the spot where their location is marked," Major Kuro insists, tearing the map from Shu's fingers, "then such a landmark must surely exist." He inspects the paper so closely his nose almost grazes its surface. "What about these shapes here? They could be mountains."

"Mountains! I would never have guessed," Captain Shu erupts, rolling his eyes and yanking the map back. "But…the diagram could refer to a temple in the mountains." He lays the map back onto the table and points at the drawing in question. "See, look at these figures – their beards and robes must intend to identify them as Fire Sages."

"There are no Fire Sages anywhere near us!" Major Kuro protests, snatching the map a second time. "Besides, that fails to explain the serpents, have you ever heard of a Fire temple with serpents in it?"

Captain Shu glowers at Major Kuro, who hands the map to an increasingly curious Zuko without another word.

Zuko straightens it out in his hand and then winces. "I…" he struggles, not even knowing where to begin. He sees a large X at the top of the page, inscribed with the letters SFD, and another at the bottom, labeled DL. And in between them…chaos.

The others weren't joking about the quality of the map: crude and messy as though its artist had no concept of how to put a brush to paper. Squinting, he sees the twisting scrawl that could be a nest of serpents, a series of conical teeth that could be mountains – as if that does any good when the whole Fire Nation is a volcanic archipelago – an angled box in a sea of scribbles crammed full of tiny stick figures, their faces, hair, and clothes filled in for detail but only making the end result completely indecipherable.

"It…could be Fire Sages," he suggests lamely. "And if that's supposed to be a river, then maybe the temple's on an island." He points to a circle radiating lines above what Captain Shu had generously called a temple. "And that's the sun. It could be a bearing, or maybe a reference to the time, midday probably…?"

"Well, it is half a day's march," Major Kuro remarks loftily. "Perhaps that is to indicate the distance, if we left our base at sunrise."

"That," Jun says coolly as Zuko absent-mindedly hands the map over to Toph, "is the dumbest explanation I've heard yet."

"What are you guys complaining about?" Toph demands in a breezy voice, tugging the map from Zuko's fingers. "I think this all makes perfect sense to me!"

Everyone snaps their heads at her expectantly, before she waves a hand in front of her eyes and blows at her long black bangs. "Every single time," she scoffs, passing the map over to Katara. Across the table, Jun's expression flits from curiosity to amusement. "Never gets old…"

Katara glares at Toph. "You know, you could be a little more serious," she reproaches, turning to look at the map. "If the Dai Li really are coming to attack–"

Her voice breaks off abruptly, fading into silence. Against his best efforts, Zuko sneaks a proper look at her while her attention is diverted: back ramrod-straight, shoulders rigid with tension, colour receding from her face, mouth agape with something like shock.

Is she that thrown off by how bad the drawing is? Zuko doesn't blame her – just thinking about that map is enough to make his head pound in complaint.

Next to him, Toph's brow furrows. "You okay, Sweetness?" she ventures, her tone uncharacteristically gentle. Her hand reaches out to touch Katara's elbow lightly.

It galvanizes Katara back to reality. Her lips press together tightly, breaths carefully controlled, and when she steals a fleeting glance at Jun, her eyes are calculating. "I'm fine," she answers, voice so flat that Zuko is reminded of the cold creature she'd been the day he first met her. "Just – wasn't prepared for how…awful this drawing is." A shaky smile crosses her face as she squints at the map again.

Even through its borrowed warmth, the waver in her voice grates on Zuko's senses.

"Zuko's right. It's an island," she says at last, gripping it so tightly her knuckles are white. His spirits rise marginally. "But these lines – it's not a river. It's a rift in the earth. A valley." Her voice shakes, sounding almost hurt. "I think this is supposed to be a temple in a pyramid, surrounded by mountains. And those aren't serpents, I'm pretty sure they're dragons."

"Dragons?" General Shinu echoes, his voice sharpening in surprise. "Are you sure?"

"They didn't look like dragons!" Major Kuro complains, even as Katara's head jerks into a stiff nod, her jaw clenched alarmingly tight.

The sight of it doesn't sit quite right with Zuko. For someone so shocked by how awful that map is, he can't help but think with a small frown, she sure is confident when it comes to reading it.

"Well, the river looked like a river and it wasn't," Captain Shu gripes back sourly, "so…"

General Shinu retrieves the map from Katara and examines it again. Jeong-Jeong peers over his shoulder, his previous scowl fading to astonishment.

"The ancient city of the Sun Warriors," General Shinu breathes disbelievingly. "Half a day's march south of here."

A swell of conversations rises to greet the revelation, blurring vaguely against Zuko's tired ears.

"…I suppose the sun makes more sense as an annotation for Sun Warriors…"

"…more than Fire Sages, anyway."

"…not a soul in sight, it's brilliant of them really…"

"Your source," he still manages to hear Katara blurt out suddenly, as though she can't help herself. Zuko turns his head a fraction, curiosity piqued at the bright alertness in her tired eyes. "You said his name was…Lee?"

Jun tilts her head to survey Katara under heavily hooded eyes. "Yeah," she answers slowly, a line creasing her forehead where there wasn't one before. "Why?"

Now both of them are staring each other down, Jun outwardly more calm, Katara holding back some flood of internal panic behind that dam in her chest.

"No reason. I was just…curious." Katara lifts her chin defiantly at the doubt crossing Jun's face. "What? The Dai Li are thorough. It's not every day you hear about someone who can just waltz into their lair and pull the wool over their eyes. It…it sounds like there's quite a story there."

Jun's eyes narrow shrewdly as she sizes the younger girl up. Her eyebrows inch slowly upward, though whether out of appraisal or suspicion remains unclear.

"That's all very well," General Shinu speaks up, cutting over the half dozen different conversations efficiently with his booming voice. "But now that we have this information, the important question we must ask is…what next?"

"Prepare defensive measures," Major Kuro replies at once, as though it's obvious. "We have a trained division, we know how to protect our base against enemy attacks. Why is this even a conversation?"

"Because the Dai Li already snuck through your defenses once, in case you've forgotten," Jun reminds him scathingly, slowly running a finger along the sharp edge of the knife's blade without managing a cut. "And that was only one agent with a sleeper. My source reports a force of fifty agents, with at least double that number in sleepers. They're going to demolish you."

General Shinu strokes his jaw, mulling over Jun's words. "We are a small division, remote and pinned against the river," he admits, face falling. "We have no fortifications that can stand against such a powerful contingent of earthbenders. Even with our best defensive tactics, they would still outnumber us two to one."

"But we do have the river," Captain Shu suggests falteringly. He points at a larger map covering the table, where a small black marker indicates their location. "We could evacuate – fall back to Colonel How's base and triple our numbers."

"Colonel How's base is on the other side of the sea, nearly five days by ship," Major Kuro objects, frowning. "And it brings us within range of the Yangchen mountain pass. I would not gladly risk involving the Air Nomads unless I had no choice."

"Well, our supply of options is running low," Captain Shu retorts, tracing the line of the river with his pointer finger. "Besides, the Air Nomads are honour bound to come to our assistance. And an assault by the Dai Li within spitting distance of their borders is an affront to their sovereignty too –"

Major Kuro scoffs. "Do you honestly think the Air Nomads give a damn about what goes on below their mountains? They know as well as we do that the Dai Li would never dare to attack them. Face it, Captain, we can't rely on them for help."

"I don't know," Aang speaks up, the first thing he's said all day. His face is pale but his grey eyes are fixed thoughtfully upon the map. "Master Iio is fair and reasonable. I'm sure she and the rest of the Western Air Temple would help. After all, they're only a day's flight from here." His mouth twists. "I don't know about the Southern temple. Maybe if you contacted Gyatso, he could find a way to help too…"

Jeong-Jeong lets out a sigh, shaking his head. "I have been in contact with Master Gyatso for quite some time now," he states mournfully. "He regrets to inform me that we will have to stop relying on the Southern Air Temple for help."

Aang's eyes widen before he looks away in disappointment.

"However, Master Iio is an old friend of mine and worth asking," Jeong-Jeong continues solemnly. "That is a most prudent suggestion. Thank you."

Aang nods his head in acknowledgment, fading back to thoughtful silence.

"What about your secret weapon?" Jun demands bluntly, frowning. "There're so many rumours about it, surely it'd be better than packing up and running away?"

Secret weapon? Zuko is puzzled. In all his time here, he's never heard of any such thing. Looking down the table, he sees similarly baffled expressions crossing everyone else's face. But across from him, General Shinu casts a sidelong glance at Jeong-Jeong, who tucks his hands into his sleeves.

"The Avatar project is not a secret weapon," Jeong-Jeong pronounces firmly, stunning Zuko beyond words. That's it? We're the secret weapon that everyone's been talking about? The hope budding within him withers abruptly. What a letdown. "It is an experiment in bending theory that has produced…some interesting results, to be sure – but it was never intended for use in combat –"

"Maybe it's time to change that," General Shinu suggests, as though it's an order. His tawny eyes settle upon Zuko and sweep across the other three benders seated next to him. "After all, this world is not an old man's board game. Action is the only recourse we have left."

His statement settles dubiously into stifling air.

"Are you saying," Zuko asks carefully, not quite believing his ears, "you want to send the four of us into battle against an army of Dai Li?"

"We can't do that!" Aang protests, aghast. "That's a suicide mission!"

"With all due respect, General," Jeong-Jeong says with a frown, "please think this through. For all that they are talented benders, they are not ready for a defense of this magnitude."

"I'm not saying that they should face the Dai Li alone," General Shinu corrects quietly, hand on his chin as he stares shrewdly at the map. "I'm saying that there's another option available to us besides running away or standing our ground."

As though to emphasize his point, he places a green marker onto the map, indicating the location of the Sun Warrior's ancient city. It looms, innocuously threatening.

"The Dai Li plan to launch their assault at sunrise two days hence," Shinu muses, his finger traversing the short distance between the green and black markers. "At this moment, they are gathering their strength, organizing their forces, and preparing for battle. Assuming that they intend to march all through the night, this gives us a window of opportunity to intercept them before they are fully mustered."

Zuko's jaw drops, the realization clicking into place as Shinu slides the black marker to flank the green one. "You want us to take the fight to them," he states in disbelief.

All hell breaks loose around the table at his words.

"Are you out of your mind, General?" Major Kuro spits, face mottling to a dark purple. "Seventy of us, taking on over double our number?"

"On unfamiliar ground," Captain Shu agrees. "Against earthbenders, no less. We all know how difficult it is to strategize a defeat against them."

"But not impossible," General Shinu insists, eyes glittering. "After all, what is the point of our division if not to carry out operations such as this? Our numbers are fewer, yes, but we can mobilize more quickly and efficiently. We'll strategize a counterassault on ground where the Dai Li will be unprepared. Their sleepers are mere civilians – no match for our fighters, even if most are somewhat unseasoned in battle." He smiles a confident, ruthless smile that chills Zuko's blood. "If we can't change our numbers, let's dismantle some of their advantages."

"I think we should do it," Katara agrees, surprising just about everyone. Zuko wonders if she's still a little drunk from the night before, but the grim slash of her mouth suggests that she's perfectly serious. "It won't be easy, but we can level the playing field by the time we catch up with them."

"I can feed you more intel as it arrives," Jun offers. "And Lee can meet us when we get there and walk us through their defenses."

Zuko doesn't miss the way Katara's face brightens before she quickly plants her fist against her mouth, quelling the hope blooming on her face. Well, it's nice to know someone's optimistic, he thinks sarcastically, even as something inside him wilts.

"It will be a gruelling pace," Captain Shu points out dubiously. "To have our entire division armed and ready to march by dawn tomorrow. And how will we even approach the enemy without being seen in broad daylight?"

"We have earthbenders in our division too," Zuko can't help but point out, glancing at Toph out of the corner of his eye. Katara's unexpected optimism must be more infectious than he anticipated because in spite of his earlier reservations, he finds Shinu's bold idea growing on him more and more. "That could add an element of subterfuge to our advance."

General Shinu and Jeong-Jeong both nod in agreement, and it sends his heart ballooning in his chest with an elation he hasn't felt in a very long time.

"And if we enlist the help of nearby allies," Jeong-Jeong says thoughtfully, "we can have them converge upon the Sun Warriors' city to bolster our ranks."

"They might not reach us in time," Major Kuro warns.

"That is true," Jeong-Jeong allows, stroking his chin. "But even a delayed response would be more helpful than none. If I send out the order now, it is possible that some will even manage to answer our call."

"What about my uncle?" Zuko asks bluntly. Everyone glances at him curiously but he pays it no heed. "Surely he should be made aware of the situation."

And maybe he could even fix it. After all, if there's anyone who could back out of a tight corner like this, Zuko would put his money on Uncle Iroh.

"General Iroh is too far away to help us," Jeong-Jeong shakes his head somberly. Dismay breaks over Zuko like a sharp slap to the face. "I will send a message to the capital, but it may not reach him in time. And with the coronation looming so soon, he may have to relinquish many of his military duties altogether."

Zuko remembers a discussion with his uncle along similar lines, long weeks ago. How quickly everything had changed. How quickly everything would continue to change. He hangs his head, quailing at the thought of it.

The mood across the table turns mournful. Major Kuro rubs at his forehead grimly. "That will be a great loss indeed," he states, the pompousness in his voice giving way slightly. "No one can replace that man."

"That may be true," Jeong-Jeong parries, voice heavy. "Still, we must learn to adapt. We cannot rely on Iroh forever." His words hang uncomfortably in the air, a sliver of unwanted truth.

Shifting in his seat, Major Kuro changes the subject. "It's a shame Kyoshi Island is so far away. Their warriors would greatly level the playing field."

"We have one," Captain Shu points out with an uncertain shrug. "We'll have to make do."

"We must look to our own," Jeong-Jeong sighs. "Colonel How is too far away, he would never get here in time…"

"What about Captain Mak?" Zuko suggests, glancing at the giant map intently. "My cousin, Prince Lu Ten – he serves with him, and if these positions are up to date, then it looks like they're only a day away by sea."

Jeong-Jeong raises his eyebrows shrewdly. "You are right, Your Highness," he agrees. "If we get a message to them in time, they'll certainly reach us faster than approaching on foot." He frowns, ticking a list off on his fingers. "Besides that – we can contact Lord Mao, Master Iio, and perhaps some other old friends…"

"It is vital to exercise every advantage," General Shinu presses, crossing his arms. "We're going to have to be clever about how we allocate our resources, right down to our last eelhound. The Dai Li are ruthlessly precise, and it will be difficult to think of a weakness we can exploit."

"Well, speaking from experience," Jun quips, "I can tell you that the element of surprise is a big one. The Dai Li are a well-oiled machine, but they gain their strength from top-down command. Discipline. Order. Create enough chaos, and you disrupt the machine. They'll be slow to improvise a response." She laughs darkly, until she accidentally jostles her bandaged side against the table and it dies in her throat. "Not too slow, unfortunately…they're still powerful bastards."

"But they can escape just as easily," Zuko speaks up, recalling Jet's dead body and his own perplexity at how easily the Dai Li agent had slipped out of the base. "We'll need a way to keep them engaged."

General Shinu eyes him thoughtfully. "Good point, Prince Zuko. Well," he muses, "it's a good thing we have something the Dai Li want…"

The tactical deliberations go on for hours. It is well into the afternoon by the time General Shinu raises his head and smiles in satisfaction.

"If this isn't the cleverest plan I've ever seen, it's certainly the boldest," he announces, nodding at the scribe annotating their strategy onto fresh paper. "See that copies are made for everyone assembled at this table." He gets to his feet and surveys the room steadily. "I will brief the division about what is to come. You all know your parts in this. You know what's at stake. Do not fail me."

"Yes, General," everyone echoes in unison.

Shinu raises a hand for silence. His gaze sweeps over to Zuko, and then the three benders beside him. "This strategy hinges upon the four of you," he states. "I cannot stress enough how much we are all depending on you to anchor the first wave. If any of you feel like you are not up to the task, this is your last chance to speak."

Zuko's jaw tightens as he observes his companions. Aang looks a little green, his face taut with nerves. Toph looks calmly confident – excited, almost, judging from the easy slope of her shoulders. Katara's gaze is fixed upon that stupid map with its awful drawings, and her hands curl into fists.

"I'm sick of waiting," she declares, her chin tilting up defiantly. She glances at each of them, and Zuko almost quails at the fire blazing in her eyes. "I want to fight."

Toph smashes one fist into the palm of her other hand. "I'm with Sugar Queen," she announces, grinning wolfishly. "They got past me last time. I gotta remind those dunderheads that they're tussling with the greatest earthbender in the world!" She tosses a smug look in Aang's direction, and then at Zuko. "What about you ladies?"

"The Dai Li tried to kill me once already," Zuko breathes. The severity of the situation weighs down on him, dragging him beneath the constant firestorm of his instincts, somewhere deep where stillness reigns, precise and calm as lightning. His voice hardens into a prince's command. "I intend to make them answer for that."

The quiet resolve flashing through him almost makes him feel immune to the way Katara's mouth quirks up at the corners, so subtly it might be a figment of his overactive imagination. "Alright Sparky!" Toph crows, turning back to face Aang expectantly. "What do you think, Twinkletoes?"

Aang's eyes dart nervously around the room, before landing resolutely back at the pattern of black markers decorating the table. Even in the slanting golden rays of the afternoon sun, he looks pale. "I don't like violence," he admits falteringly as Toph groans and claps a hand to her forehead. "I wish we didn't have to fight them."

"Wishing for peace will not bring it into existence, Sifu Aang," Jeong-Jeong admonishes. But the look he sends the Air Nomad is strangely sympathetic.

"I know, I know," Aang groans, the blue arrow on his forehead crumpling in his frustration. "I've heard it a thousand times. Be decisive, stand your ground, sacrifice your beliefs to protect the world." He shrugs helplessly, his mouth an unsure line. "I'll do what you need me to do. It doesn't mean I have to like it."

Jeong-Jeong inclines his head respectfully. But General Shinu and the other officers look less impressed. "Air Nomads," someone mutters under their breath, a snatch of sound drifting indistinguishably in the air.

"Thank you," the General says curtly. He clasps his hands behind his back. "You're all dismissed. Prepare yourselves, get your armour and whatever supplies you need packed and ready. Rest, if you can." A new energy buzzes about him, the anticipation of battle erasing years from the lines of his face. "Tomorrow, we march."

The four of them wind up outside the armoury shortly after dinner, none of them having much of an appetite that evening.

Zuko has his red-and-black cuirass and collar sent for an adjustment. In the months since he'd been last fitted, his chest and shoulders have broadened enough to make the fit uncomfortably tight and restrictive.

Aang and Toph have never had their armour fitted, while Katara, being the most recent addition to the division, was never issued armour in the first place.

The blacksmith, drilling his apprentices over the glowing forge, grumbles about all the extra work. ("…less than a day to get the entire division fitted and armed, sheer madness, I'm a blacksmith not a magician -")

"You'd think we'd be a little more prepared than this," Toph quips, tapping impatient fingers against the side of her thigh.

"We've only ever fought against each other," Aang laments, rolling up and down on the balls of his feet nervously. "Now we have to fight like a team – against a bunch of Tophs too."

"Don't insult me, Twinkletoes. There can only be one of me."

"I'm sure you'll teach them that tomorrow," Katara assures her absently. "Anyway, if we can't figure it out by now, what's the point? We all work well together, it should be enough." Her gaze flits over to Zuko, where he broods a little apart from them. "Right Zuko?"

He stirs at the sound of his name and intercepts her expectant gaze sharply. "Yeah," he grunts. His heart aches as he takes in his surroundings: the same sweeping lawn as yesterday, the same starlit sky. But there are no bonfires tonight. No clay cups cracking against the ground.

One of the apprentices lugs two burlap sacks out the front door, hands them to Toph and Aang before ferreting back inside.

"You go on ahead," he hears Katara say to the others. "Go rest up. Mine's probably going to take a while."

"If you insist," Toph retorts with a sniff and a stifled yawn. "I'm exhausted. Come on, Twinkletoes, let's go." She raises her voice. "Night, Sparky. See you tomorrow when we kick some Dai Li butt."

"Yeah, goodnight Zuko," Aang echoes, waving a hand at him and throwing him a wan smile. "And good luck." He still looks unhappy.

Zuko nods back at them. "You too," he says, watching them retreat, their figures illuminated by the orange and gold glow of the blacksmith's forge.

And then the moment he's been trying to avoid all day: him and Katara alone in the dark. Again.

"That was some council, huh?"

Zuko snaps out of his ruminations. Katara glances at him out the corner of her eyes; the distance between them yawns out like miles. If he didn't know any better, he'd think she looked anxious. "It was," he agrees solemnly. He watches her warily, half-wishing she'd bolt like some small woodland creature. "It appears you were right about the Dai Li after all."

She touches her fingers to her neck. "It was a lucky guess," she dismisses, trying to keep her voice light. "I had no way of knowing for sure…"

Zuko doesn't know what to say to that. He focuses on her fingers resting at the crook of her neck, and suddenly the only thing he can really think of is the taste of her skin there. He scowls and looks away abruptly, annoyed at the heat that flusters through his veins.

She falls silent after that, perhaps misinterpreting his scowl as being meant for her. The only sound is the pounding of hammers against red-hot metal. In the sky, the moon is the slightest sliver of white light, splintering through the darkness like awkwardness in a hopeless conversation.

Another apprentice comes out, hands Katara a sack with her armour inside, and flits back into the armoury. He expects her to bid him goodnight and make a hasty exit.

Instead, her sigh splits the air. "Can you –" her voice cracks on a lump in her throat before she tries again, stronger, "can you give me a hand?" She dunks her head to focus on her feet at his questioning stare. "I – I don't really know how this all fits together."

She holds up the sack in her hands, as though it's a peace offering.

It hits him that maybe the reason she sent Toph and Aang away so soon was because she wanted to catch him alone. And then he immediately buries the thought because it's absolutely absurd, if he's learned anything from the night before.

It doesn't mean anything. She doesn't want anything to change. Get a grip.

He shifts his attention to the pieces of armour tumbling out of the sack and onto the ground by her feet. Coaches her through the placement of the sleeveless leather robe, greaves and vambraces at shins and wrists, but falters when she slides the cuirass over her shoulders.

Her hands drop from the fastenings scoring the length of her back, gaping open where she can't reach. Giving up, she tries to belt on her tassets, but everything sits awkwardly. Her small sound of resignation reminds him of a snare trapping him to the spot. "Do me up?" Her gaze flits everywhere from her feet, her belt buckle, the sliver of moon in the sky…anywhere but upon him.

Now the air itself feels heavy on his back. "Fine." He hopes his voice sounds braver than he feels; the overwhelming sense of this is a bad idea knotting his nerves and stilting his steps.

He settles in behind her and suddenly, maintaining an appropriate distance becomes a colossal effort. It had been hard before but discipline and habitual hopelessness made it bearable. Now he has to fight the tautness gripping his body – drawn like a bowstring, unable to spring.

She pulls her hair over her shoulder, granting him easier access to the laces lining the back of her armour. Feeling like the earth might split beneath his feet, he breathes deeply to concentrate his focus, momentarily dizzied by the smell of her freshly washed hair.

His fingers are clumsy as they find the first set of fastenings at the small of her back, corners mismatched and tied haphazardly. Picking at the knot, he tries not to focus on the way his fingers accidentally brush against her every now and then, or how she seems to be just as tense as he is. Why would she even ask me to do this? To him this is part torture, part madness.

The silence that envelops them is anything but comfortable as he works on her fastenings. Her brittle voice breaks through it. "I thought it would feel heavier," she manages, fingertips tracing the hard leather lining her forearms.

He's quiet for a moment before he decides to take the bait. "It catches up with you," he replies, fingernails digging into a particularly stubborn knot halfway up her back. The cuirass begins to take on the shape of her body, snug against the indent of her waist. He remembers trailing his hand against the curve of it, how she'd arched into his touch like in his most vivid dreams… "You should try to pace yourself tomorrow."

Yes. Resist. Divert. Think of the Dai Li coming to kill you, not…this. But somehow, the Dai Li seem less terrifying, less urgent. Fighting a groan, he moves up to the next knot, perfectly conscious of the way she squirms every time he starts on a new fastening.

If she's so uncomfortable, why is she still here? It makes no sense. A day earlier, he wouldn't have complained at the chance to be so close to her. Now it feels confusing, dangerous almost.

"We should have practiced in armour," Katara laments, still fiddling with her vambraces. "That was a stupid thing to forget."

Tie, knot, move up to the next fastening. His fingers fall into a rhythm as though they've memorized the curve of her back. As though somewhere in the back of his mind, in spite of his best efforts, he's been meditating on the shape of it all day. "Yeah," he agrees, stomach churning. "But Jeong-Jeong said we were never intended for use in combat."

She scoffs at that, a derisive sound with no real heat to it. "We're still soldiers. That was short-sighted of them."

Her appetite for battle strikes him as uncharacteristic. "You seem awfully eager to fight tomorrow," he remarks, inwardly cursing as he nearly tangles his own fingers into her laces. And yet, this is the same Katara who almost killed Chan. Just because she's been warm and friendly ever since doesn't change how dangerous she can be. He's a fool for forgetting that.

Her posture stiffens, and he isn't sure if it's because of him this time. "I just don't like the Dai Li," she states, her entire demeanour shifting to something hard and cold.

"Are you sure that's all?" The words slip out of him carelessly.

"Yeah." She breathes the word in finality and yet… I don't have to be Toph to know that she's lying.

"You just…seem a little different, today," he tries, feeling like he's treading on very thin ice.

"I'm fine," she insists stubbornly, fingers interlocking with each other in frustration. "Just…tired. I didn't get a lot of sleep."

He doesn't have the wherewithal to persist. "How long were you up for?" he asks instead, steering the conversation to safer waters.

"Late," she supplies. "It took ages to heal Jun." She breathes slowly as his fingers drift up to the last knot holding her cuirass together at the collar, just below where her spine meets the base of her neck. "What about you? Did…did you sleep okay?"

His fingers freeze at that simple question, suggestive in all the wrong places. There are flames somewhere beneath her skin now, licking at his knuckles, threatening to burn them if he isn't careful. "Not really."

He doesn't expand on why. He lets that sit in the air between them too.

"Oh. Yeah…about that," She draws in a ragged breath, stuttering now. "Are – are you sure we're okay?"

Her head turns to glance at him nervously over her shoulder. Surprised that she would even bring it up again, but secretly somewhat pleased nonetheless, he wishes for the darkness to swallow them, so that he wouldn't have to see the conflict warring over the profile of her face. It takes an inhuman level of effort to keep his voice steady. "Yeah. Why?"

"I – I can't help but feel like we're not," she continues hastily, and there's that same flush spreading over her cheeks from the night before, that fills him with heat and trepidation all at the same time, "That things are different now."

"They're not," he rasps, trying to tear his gaze away from hers but transfixed and utterly unable to. This is all my fault. I should have just left you alone.

"I know they're not, but –" Her face softens into the most petrifying thing he's seen all day, the way it fills him with all the hope he's trying to let go of – "I guess I'm just scared."

Scared. He hates the word with an intensity that unnerves him. "Scared of what?" Of me?

"I don't know," she confesses. Her lips press together as she wets them. "Everything's changing so quickly! We've got this really risky battle ahead of us tomorrow and I could –" She twists to face him, her shoulder pressing into his sternum without a care for the way his heartbeat accelerates beneath it. "I just – I need you to –"

"What?" he questions, more roughly than he intends. Her hands ball into fists and she's licked her lips half a dozen times by now. They capture all of his attention, wet and shiny and parted slightly in the feeble moonlight, moving closer to his face – too close – until they're all he can see.

It strikes him that she hasn't iced him to a tree yet. Dizzying, racing through him like adrenaline lanced with liquid fire: maybe she changed her mind, maybe she wants him after all? It's not too late, tell her the truth, just spit it out – maybe that's all she needs, that's why her breathing has suddenly become too loud and she's shaking almost as hard as he is.

But instead she offers him a wobbly smile. "I just need things to make sense," she whispers, as though that explains anything.

Reality crashes with the fresh sting of saltwater against a wound. He's the first to look away, hands resuming their motions as though of their own accord. His words lodge themselves in the back of his throat, damming against shaking breaths that can't escape him.

Mechanically, he ties off her laces. The cuirass fits her perfectly, smoke-coloured plates moulding to her body like an embrace. Warmth still shimmers off her skin, daring his fingertips to graze the outcrop of her bones, his lips along the shell of her ear and the hollow spaces where her pulse hums.

"Get some sleep, Katara," he says instead, his voice clipped. "You'll need your strength tomorrow."

He turns away from her and the maddening smell of smoke and waterlilies and the disappointment he imagines flashing in her eyes.

"Yeah," she stutters, retreating from him carefully. She picks up her sack of armour with one hand and when she smiles tightly, it lacks the open warmth of before. "You too."

She leaves before he has a chance to regret it. It's probably better this way. Being around her only filled his mind with stupid notions anyway.

Toph is already snoring by the time Katara returns to her room, utterly dazed, wrapped in a whirlwind of thoughts.

At the forefront of them should be any of the important things facing her tomorrow – a gruelling march to the Sun Warriors city? A life-threatening fight with the Dai Li? Meeting Jun's source, the so-called "Lee" whose handwriting and limited drawing ability reminded her so much of her brother, it couldn't possibly be a coincidence?

Instead, she's stuck on Zuko and how solid his body felt. It infuriates her. Contorting to yank all her fastenings loose, she ignores how the line of her back seems to prickle from his touch. Never mind that by now the fireball is all gone from her veins and yet her body still burns near him. Never mind that there's far too much cold in him to suit a son of fire, never mind how that dismays her.

None of that matters, she thinks vehemently. You have more important things to think about. Gritting her teeth, she pulls off all her armour and discards it unceremoniously in a heap on the floor. He's out there. It's got to be him.

Marching over to her chest by the window, she flips the lid open and sifts through it. Her bone flute, the frayed old robe she hasn't worn since Conquest Day – she puts it all aside until she finds the worn sealskin sachet at the very bottom.

She undoes its laces, reaches inside. Her mother's necklace, her grandmother's comb, Master Pakku's tile… they all greet her fingers, old memories no longer too painful to weather in this strange new life she's carved for herself.

But her hand closes firmly around Sokka's old boomerang. Soon, she vows silently, tucking it into the strap of her waterskin, I'll see you soon, wait for me. Her jaw sets with determination and adrenaline of a different sort flushes hot fire through her veins.

In spite of how tired she is, sleep doesn't come easily to her. And when it does, her dreams are uneasy as well.

She dreams of Sokka, the last time she saw him. Sokka tumbling off the rafters, landing heavily in the snow. Yelling as flames rise up around his body, pinning him off from the fences and the freedom beyond. Her wrists twisting clumsily, trying to douse some of it and give him a chance –

Go! She screams at him, her feet pounding heavily, I'm right behind you, run!

The panic not quite gone from his face as he scrambles back onto his feet, leaps, and scales the fence like his life depended on it. Faster, she urges him, closing the gap between them – but she was always the slower one between the two of them.

Hands, searing hot and full of fire catch her by the waist – one pair, two pairs, far too many holding her down. Tell us where your brother went and maybe you won't die screaming like he will, you little waterbending bitch –

A whir and a thunk and the weight of an unconscious guard crumpling on top of her. Fire, smouldering through her clothes, screaming agony on her skin.

Everything goes black and then white, but by the time she wakes Sokka is already long gone. Hot tears in her eyes freezing in the icy air, the boomerang glimmering by her knees somehow more real than the burns lining her torso and back.

She dreams of home and happiness and her mother's smile.

Your father thinks he's doing the right thing, Kya says softly, her voice almost sad as she runs a bone comb through Katara's hair. One day you'll be old enough to understand.

But Katara is young and understands little. Mom?

Her mother sighs, deftly braiding her hair. Agni's children are proud and powerful. They hold fast, love quickly, and burn bright as their namesakes, consuming all in their paths wherever they go. She ties the ends off with blue ribbon. Soon, you'll be among them. They might try to possess you for their own, or convince you that you'll never deserve them.

This is a weird story, Mom, Katara protests, making a face as her mother's gentle hands find her shoulders and turn her around. I don't like it.

And when that day comes, I want you to remember one thing. Kya's smile is bitter. Her fingers stroke the side of Katara's face, soothing and sure, before tilting her chin up to look her in the eyes.

Something inexplicably large grows in the back of Katara's throat as her mother kisses her forehead.

Remember, Katara, you are the ocean made flesh. Kya's voice is a whisper now, echoing all around her, and all fires bow to the sea.

Chapter 24: breaking point

Summary:

"A daring mission goes awry"

Chapter Text

disclaimer. alas... atla is property of bryke.

author's notes. welp i'm alive. embarrassed at how long this took but sincerely hope this is worth the wait (& that future updates won't take nearly as long...)

the biggest thank you to everyone who's been reading and commenting! your feedback both inspires me and terrifies me for the inevitable reaction to this latest part.

of course, this chapter would not be the same at all without circasurvival's tireless beta-reading & pep talks. everybody go thank her.

so fasten your seatbelts folks, i give you...

southern lights.

chapter xxiv. breaking point

hollow heart is all i have today
someone came and pulled away the veins
they stitched it up and put me on display

"venger" / perturbator

By midmorning, they cross the expanse of water separating the Sun Warriors island from the mainland.

Zuko's fingers dig tightly into his eelhound's harness, the island seeming to grow larger with their approach. It is vaguely forbidding even though the sky is brilliantly blue and sunlight glimmers over the surface of the water. The mountains ringing the island are covered with old, gnarled trees. Even the birds winging in the air are silent. Something about the place seems dark, sucking all the light of the day and replacing it with desolation.

Or it could just be Zuko's nerves talking, overriding his senses with paranoia so where everyone else sees an idyllic, abandoned island, he just sees an imminent, looming threat.

The pack of eelhounds, and Jun on her shirshu, tuck into a small cove that hugs the slopes of two mountains on the north side of the island. The lake itself seems to whisper and sigh as the waves swell up the craggy rock face and deposit them all gently ashore.

They all dismount quickly and quietly. The summits of both mountains tower above them, swirling with mist, blocking out the sun and drenching the entire cove in shadow.

Couldn't we have picked a less creepy spot? Zuko thinks to himself irately, stretching out his back and legs. This place has 'massacre' written all over it.

He's never been here before, but knows all about the legends of the Sun Warriors and their ancient, ruined city. They had been an early clan of firebenders, charged with guarding the Eternal Flame and the dragons. But a terrible cataclysm had struck their island, snuffed out the Flame, and driven them all away. Their descendants lived on, scattered throughout the Fire Nation in old, proud families – like the one Lu Ten was supposed to be marrying into. The island, however, remains a specter of its past.

He can't fault the Dai Li for choosing to convene here. There isn't a soul in sight who would witness them. It's a perfect rallying point.

"We are somewhat early. Rest while you can," Jeong-Jeong instructs, his voice a murmur in the stifling air.

He hauls a sack off his eelhound's harness, distributing its contents. Zuko looks at the rations pressed into his hand – a small cake, heavy for its size. He bites into it, the texture thick and spongy, flavour alarmingly sweet – but the more he chews at it, the more it begins to taste like ash.

"You doing okay?" Aang asks quietly. In the dank light of the cove, his skin is tinged almost green.

"Fine," he rasps, burying his nerves under well-practiced disaffection. He uncaps his waterskin and chugs its contents back until he nearly chokes. "You?"

"I've been better." Water slops down the sides of Aang's face.

Zuko feels slightly better. The Air Nomad, usually so imperturbable and calm, looks almost as shaken as Zuko feels. It reassures him in a way that watching the others doesn't.

Jeong-Jeong meditates by the rock wall, as implacably serene as the mountain itself. Suki and Ty Lee rib each other in hushed voices, battle nerves well concealed under ribald jokes and affectionate insults. Toph and Jun converse light-heartedly with each other. A little distance away, Katara sits by herself. Her jaw clenches tight and the tendons in her neck jut out like tense ropes under her skin.

He ignores the flip in his stomach. Instead, he stares blankly at the sky, at the swirling clouds of mist twisting into vaguely familiar shapes – a silvery serpent, a grey ostrich-horse, a fuzzy komodo rhino that seems to get larger the longer he looks at it.

It isn't until Jeong-Jeong's head snaps up in alert expectation that Zuko sees it: not just a beastly apparition in the mist like he'd initially thought, but a creature, lumbering, large, its bulk not suggesting the ability of flight and still strangely aerodynamic anyway.

Ty Lee nearly shrieks as the flying shaggy creature descends above the water and strikes a course directly for their cove. "What is that?"

But Aang's face lights up. "It's a sky bison!"

A deep rumbling animal sound fills the air, unlike anything Zuko has ever heard before.

He squints as the creature draws closer, privately grateful for Ty Lee's consternation because otherwise he would think he was hallucinating the whole thing. It lands in their midst much more lightly than he would have expected for such a bulky beast, air whipping through the small cove in a sharp breeze from the flap of its flat tail and six – six? – legs.

The sky bison, as Aang had called it, seems to occupy all of the space in the cove at once. Its shaggy fur is light grey and appears soft to the touch, lined with unlikely blue markings that resemble Aang's arrow tattoos. But Zuko's attention is captured by the beast's face – its protuberant eyes liquidly dark and nearly as large as his own head, mouth big enough to swallow him whole, curving shiny horns glinting with reflected sunlight – and the figure garbed in yellow perched atop its head.

"Master Iio," Jeong-Jeong greets solemnly as the yellow-clad figure steps off the sky bison's head and drifts toward the ground unnaturally slowly. "I see you received my message."

Close up, Zuko can see that the new arrival is a woman, tall and willowy in her build, with a faintly lined face and long black hair frosted with silver at the roots. Her yellow robes billow in the wind, a long, narrow wooden device is strapped to her back – Zuko nearly takes it for a sword – and there is no mistaking the blue arrows inked onto her forehead and hands.

"That I did," Iio quips. Her voice is deeper than one would expect from such a slender woman. "I would have been here sooner, but I took the liberty of stopping by Shu Jing."

Zuko barely has time to process that information before an increasingly familiar figure dressed in black and red, dark-skinned with jet hair pulled into a smooth topknot, jumps out of the sky bison's saddle.

"Master Piandao?" Zuko blurts out at the sight of his childhood broadsword teacher.

"Prince Zuko!" Piandao exclaims warmly, bowing with a short incline of his head. "I didn't expect to bump into you here! What a pleasant surprise."

Zuko flounders. As a child growing in Azula's shadow, praise had been scarce for him. Piandao had been one of the only people to give it to him, fostering his talents in a discipline his father regarded as shameful. His dual broadsword lessons were some of the brightest memories of his childhood.

"You've grown into a proper prince now!" Piandao remarks, grey eyes crinkling fondly as he claps him over the shoulder. "Look at how handsome you are! A few more years and you might just catch up to me!"

"Is it just the two of you?" Jeong-Jeong interrupts, his eyes flitting back and forth between Piandao and Iio. "I had hoped for more…"

"Pakku wasn't on Crescent Island when I stopped by," Master Iio replies evenly, standing very straight. "I was informed he had some business in the Earth territories. If I knew where exactly, I might have gone after him, but…" she shrugs, patting the sky bison's cheek sympathetically. "We were on a tight schedule, and Buri can only fly so fast."

"I see." There's a weighted pause as he returns Iio's steady gaze. "And no Gyatso either?"

The first hint of an expression crosses Iio's tranquil face – Zuko can't tell if it's annoyance or mournfulness or something else he can't read at all. "No Gyatso," she affirms, tucking her hands into her wide sleeves.

Aang kicks at the dirt aimlessly. "I can't believe it," he pronounces vehemently. "How could he not help us? It's only a day's ride by sky bison –"

"It seems," Iio interrupts, "that the Council of Elders has gotten a few strange notions." She meets Aang's troubled gaze. "I do not think Gyatso wished to stay away, young Aang. I believe his hands are tied."

"Whatever his motivations, he is of little use to us now," Jeong-Jeong declares grimly. He runs a hand along the side of his face. "No Pakku, no Gyatso. And no sign of Bumi either, I take it?"

Bumi? Zuko jams a finger in his ear, wondering if his hearing is failing him. But Iio and Piandao both shake their heads.

"Wait," Toph stutters disbelievingly. "Did you just say Bumi? As in mad King Bumi? The most badass, legendary earthbender that ever lived?"

"That's the one," Piandao supplies.

Toph lets out a sound that's halfway between a squeal and a choking noise. "You mean he's still alive?" she gushes. "Get out of here! I thought he died after his rebellion!"

Jun snorts. "What? Old Bumi, dead?" She shakes her head with a smirk. "No way. It'd take way more to kill off that crazy old bean."

"That's awesome!" Toph practically sings. "How do you all know each other?"

The silence that descends over the cove is markedly pointed. Iio, Jeong-Jeong, Piandao, and Jun all exchange unsure glances. The only sound is that of the sky bison seating itself on its haunches, its massive heavy head lowering to rest on the stony ground.

"Old friends?" Jun finally suggests.

Zuko raises his good eyebrow, trying and failing to think of a more unlikely group of people purporting to be friends.

And yet… Jeong-Jeong and Piandao knowing each other made sense. They were both military, and had even instructed the royal children at the palace. And Jeong-Jeong had claimed to be friends with Katara's old waterbending master, Pakku, hadn't he? And if that was true, perhaps it wasn't a stretch to imagine that he would know Master Iio, the leader of the Western Air Temple. After all, it was the closest Air Nomad territory to the Fire Empire's capital.

But it falls apart when he tries to think of how Jun fits into the picture. To say nothing of mad King Bumi – a rebel and a traitor to the Empire if there ever was one.

As far as he knows, Jun was just a common bounty hunter deeply indebted to his uncle – his cheeks burn in humiliation at the memory of that particular incident – but he doesn't know where or how that places her in this web.

Unless his uncle is directly involved too. Which, while completely sensible, also makes the pit of his stomach quail with unease. Because if Bumi was alive, and his uncle – poised to become the next ruler of the Fire Empire – knew about it, was actually in touch with the man responsible for the bloodiest rebellion of Azulon's reign…

Zuko's head hurts just thinking about it.

"So it looks like this is everyone," Piandao states, his light eyes sweeping across the small cove. "What are we waiting for?"

Jeong-Jeong sighs. "Jun has an informant – a spy, placed deep within the ranks of the Dai Li. He is supposed to meet us here and walk us through their defenses, so that we do not barge in blindly."

"You have a spy in the Dai Li?" Piandao spares Jun a quick glance. "I'm impressed."

"Well, he still hasn't shown up yet," Jun grumbles. "Save your admiration for when Lee actually gets here, yeah?"

Piandao's eyebrows lift fractionally. "Lee, huh?"

Master Iio cuts him off. "So this spy shows up and then we barge in blindly? I do not like the sound of that."

"Me neither," Jeong-Jeong admits, uncharacteristically wry. "Let us hope it doesn't come to that. Once Jun's spy gives us the details we need about the Dai Li's defensive movements, we will have what we need to draw the enemy into position by the time the rest of our troops catch up with us and ambush them."

"And how do you propose to do that?" Master Iio challenges.

"Quite simply." Jeong-Jeong's smile is almost conspiratory. "We infiltrate the Dai Li underground bunker…and then we smoke them out."

Something's not right. He's taking far too long.

Katara fights the urge to clamp her hands over her head and scream. All night, all morning, throughout the entirety of their breakneck ride from the base camp, her mind has been whispering taunts and conjuring up a thousand scenarios in which everything went horribly wrong. Like what if Sokka got caught trying to sneak out, or, worse still, it's all in her head and Jun's source wasn't really Sokka at all.

They'd always planned to escape to the North Pole. With the rumours that the Northern Water Tribe had escaped much of the damage of the Polar Wars – probably because it was so far away from the Fire Nation, Katara had always prayed that Sokka made it there successfully and was just biding his time. Maybe even looking for her. The possibility that he wasn't – that, worse, he was putting himself in unspeakable danger by being a Dai Li spy makes her teeth rattle in fear. How could he do such a dumb, risky thing?

But their approach requires the utmost silence and it grinds at her patience like a dull knife against stone. Everything has her on edge, from the stillness of the creepy old island to the quiet conversations unfolding around her. Jeong-Jeong muttering with the other two old masters who'd just arrived, Toph hero-worshipping old King Bumi like a starstruck fan at a rumble tournament, Suki and Ty Lee giggling, not appearing nervous at all or just hiding it really well.

And Zuko, talking with what looks like an old teacher of his. The sight of him is gratingly distracting. He looks bigger than normal; the sharp edges of his armour making his shoulders and chest appear even broader than they actually are. She catches herself longing for the familiarity of his simpler tunic, the unassuming glimpses of the muscled ridges lining his body. For some reason, it makes her mouth go dry.

She forces herself to ignore it. Sokka could be out there right now. Next to that, this…this thing with Zuko, whatever it was, would have to wait. Her only family left in the world...nothing else mattered but that.

"You're awfully quiet, Sugar Queen," Toph announces, sliding down to sit next to her before Katara can protest otherwise. "No hopeful speech from you yet?"

"Not today."

Toph cracks her knuckles loudly. "Personally, I've never been one for speeches anyway."

Katara says nothing and goes back to staring at her feet. The inside of her chest feels like a tube, empty and wringing, her heart ready to drop into her boots at the blink of an eye.

It doesn't help when Jun glances up at the sky and frowns.

"He should have been here by now," she mutters, her voice quiet but still managing to cut across every tepid conversation in the cove. "Something's not right."

It is the sound of Katara's worst fears slowly coming true.

"Maybe he got delayed," Piandao suggests. "Maybe it's taking a while to give everyone the slip and sneak out here safely. Give him a bit more time."

"We can't wait too long," Iio warns, crossing her arms across her chest. "This plan depends on precise timing. We have little margin for error as is. Every second we lose cuts things finer."

Jeong-Jeong raises a hand for silence. Everyone looks at him uncertainly. "We wait until the turn of the hour," he decides. "Pray that the informant shows."

Katara's blood runs cold. Something hot floods through her stomach, clenches it in an iron grip. Her fingers bite into the hard grey leather of her greaves in an effort to quell their trembling.

"We can't do that!" she counters, the world swaying around her as her eyes prickle. "We can't just leave him because it's inconvenient!"

"That's life, Sweetness," Toph says with a shrug.

"But –" Katara stutters stupidly, dashing at her eyes with the back of her hand before the tears have a chance to give her away, "but that's not fair!"

She doesn't realize how loud her voice is until Aang joins them. Lingering half a pace behind him is Zuko and the weight of his gaze. The pounding of her heart intensifies; it makes her frantic for all the wrong reasons.

"What's wrong?" Aang asks in concern.

Toph shrugs. "Beats me. Sugar Queen's in a tizzy over this Lee guy."

"I am not!" Katara denies hotly, struggling to keep her voice low. Stay strong, you have to stay strong. "It's just – everyone's depending on us! If we don't pull this off, we'll be leading them straight into a bloodbath, and if Jun's source doesn't show, we can't do that, and –"

"There's still time, Katara," Aang tries to reassure her, "he could still show up."

"Not that much more time," Katara points out. Every nerve is pulled taut, her chest positively squeezing itself in trepidation – what if he's hurt, what if something happened to him, I'm right here, I could help –

"He's probably waiting for the right moment to give them the slip," Zuko suggests gently. "He's in a risky position, being undercover and all, and if he rushes to us –"

"You think I don't know that?" Her voice is quiet and far sharper than she intends.

He gapes at her, dumbfounded and slightly hurt. "Huh?"

"You think I haven't thought about what happens if he isn't careful, or gets caught and blows our entire operation?" Part of her already feels guilty, but the rest is restless and impatient and scared, a tsunami in chains seeking any outlet it can find.

Zuko shakes his head in protest. "I never said that –"

"Then what are you trying to say?" Anger simmers in her veins, seething hot and a welcome distraction from the cacophony of other things she doesn't want to feel.

His face twists into a scowl and for one wild moment, she thinks he's going to snap back at her, give her a fight or something –

"Nothing," he forces out through gritted teeth. Smoke bursts from his nostrils and she catches the imperceptible roll of his eyes. "I wasn't trying to say anything."

He backs off instead. Somehow, impossibly, she manages to feel even worse than before. The cold look on Zuko's face sends shame dripping through her nauseous gut, but next to the thought of Sokka, it holds less weight.

"Enough," Jeong-Jeong finally announces. Everyone turns to look at him as he squints at the position of the sun in the sky. "We are overdue to strike as is. If Jun's informant has been compromised, we risk losing the element of surprise should he reveal our plan."

It tears Zuko away from his brooding silence as he stands a pointed distance away from his friends, keen to avoid the fight that Katara seems to be itching to start.

Jeong-Jeong continues grimly. "We can no longer afford to wait. With or without his information, we must proceed with the plan to the best of our ability."

Buri the sky bison rumbles blearily. Master Iio shakes her head in grim-faced resignation.

"Barging," she mutters to herself. "How does it always come to that?"

A strange, sickening gurgle breaks the stunned silence. "We can't do that!" Katara protests shrilly, her face going waxy pale. "We can't just leave him! Not after everything he did for us!"

Even through the fresh sting of her outburst, her distress manages to concern him. But he makes himself stare squarely at Jeong-Jeong, steeling himself against…whatever her damned problem was.

"This boy's fate is out of our hands now, Sifu Katara," Jeong-Jeong tells her steadily, though his face is sympathetic. "We must do what we can to make sure his bravery wasn't in vain."

"But –"

"Jeong-Jeong is right, young waterbender," Master Iio says firmly, and though her face is kinder than Jeong-Jeong's, it somehow appears far sterner. "We appreciate what this informant has done for us, but he knew the risks and took them willingly. If he is in trouble, the best way we can help him is to act immediately."

Katara goes quiet for a moment. Her shoulders slump. "Fine," she chokes.

A tiny part of him manages to observe that it isn't just him that's on the receiving end of her inexplicable temper, but the rest of him is irritated. We're all nervous, why does she have to take it out on the rest of us?

"Without Lee, we need to find another way to pin down the exact location of their bunker," Jun says.

Toph's face scrunches up. "What do we need to know?"

Jun snorts. "Details, mostly." She ticks them off on her fingers. "Their entrances, exits, patrol schedules, distribution of troops –"

Toph tilts her head thoughtfully. "I might be able to piece something together if I got a little closer to their hideout. I don't think we have time for a full stakeout, but I could probably get a good sense of their bunker's layout…"

Zuko crouches at the lip of the great canyon that splits the island nearly in two. It is a jagged scar running north to south, nearly the entire length of the flat sprawling valley.

At its heart is the ruined city, a thriving pinnacle of civilization reduced to a treacherous maze of rubble. Twining walls bearing faded murals lie toppled to pieces. The foundations of primitive dwellings crisscross along the ground, but the structures have long collapsed. And at the center is the pyramidal temple, the seat of the Eternal Flame, long extinguished. Everything but the base has fallen in, making the temple seem curiously fortress-like.

Small shadows crawl along the remnants of the temple walls. To Zuko, they seem either a trick of the light, or the Dai Li sentries Jun had warned them about.

A rumbling sound behind him and Toph pops out of the ground. Everyone silently gathers around her.

"Right," she says briskly, shaking herself off. "There're twelve sentries total. One pair manning each wall, and four on the ground watching the door. Good news is, the ones on the walls seem pretty bored and aren't patrolling at all, but the ones on the ground stand like they mean business."

"We'll focus our efforts on those ones then," Piandao decides, stroking his neatly trimmed beard thoughtfully. He glances at Suki, Ty Lee, and then Jun seated comfortably astride Nyla. "You girls seem like masters of stealth. Feel up to tag-teaming those sentries with me?"

Suki smirks. "Honestly, I'm just happy to be included."

"Yeah!" Ty Lee chirps, beaming brightly. "It's almost like we're part of your secret group!"

"I'm not fighting anyone," Jun declares, motioning to where beneath her armour, her bandaged side still heals. "But I can get you down there on Nyla quickly enough."

They exchange quick glances of determined understanding before springing onto Nyla's back.

"Give us about ten minutes," Piandao instructs. "And then, when you hear the signal, go ahead."

Jun digs her heels into Nyla's spurs and the four of them speed off without another word.

Zuko tries to follow their progress as Nyla bounds like a fleeting shadow down the canyon wall, weaving through the treacherous terrain effortlessly. But the darkness of the canyon bottom enshrouds them from his view.

Silence lingers in the wake of the shirshu's footfalls.

The midday sun beats down mercilessly, heating the dark metal of his armour steadily like it might roast him alive. His collar sits heavily on his shoulders; sweat already slicks the back of his neck. The cake sits oddly in his rolling stomach; he can still taste it in his mouth, spongy sickly sweet.

It feels like no time at all before a shrill chirrup shatters the funereal quiet. The air grows cloyingly still, like the entire valley is holding its breath.

Wordlessly, the six of them gather in a tight cluster.

Toph dips into a squat. "Showtime," she whispers.

The earth swallows them up.

The ground propels him through the earth like a tiger-shark chasing blood in the water. The sensation of being buried alive feels like being held in the jaws of a giant creature that hasn't decided if it wants to consume him or spit him back out. The force of the acceleration is unbearable, throwing his head back with a sharp crack, pressure threatening to pop his eyes clear from their sockets.

Thankfully their descent ends as suddenly as it started. Nobody makes a sound. There is nothing for his eyes to see. Nothing for his ears to hear besides feet crunching against dirt and blood singing through his ears, protesting against the silence.

"We're going in," Toph breathes shallowly, "follow the wall –"

He doesn't hear the earth crack open so much as he feels the air thin out to accommodate the passage Toph digs through the dirt. Placing a hand against the wall, he tentatively takes a step forward, and then another, trusting that his feet will meet only solid earth.

Soon enough, the faintest green light laps at the edges of the tunnel. The dark, suffocating tunnel yawns into the corner of a vaulted cavern lined with rows of glowing green crystals.

Well, even earthbenders need to see, Zuko thinks numbly. Flattening himself to the wall, he follows Toph as she weaves through the far spots where the crystals can't touch them with their glow.

Every now and then, she plants a hand against the wall to check if the coast is clear. He can't see the Dai Li, but he feels them by the sound of their boots hitting the ground, the way they displace the air as they march.

Toph clenches a fist. A series of small crevices opens up in the wall, feeding air into the wide tunnel. He jams a fist into one of them, heart hammering. Rushing wind flirts with his skin; the packed dirt is mossy and damp to the touch. He exhales slowly and the smell of smoke greets his nose.

That wasn't so bad, he thinks. Desperation and tentative relief propel him through the next series of rooms, the smoking crevices sealing up without a trace.

Faint whispering scatters through the silence. Indecipherable at first, and then progressing slowly to a low chorus of voices bouncing along the walls and corners.

"...know the plan...readying the sleepers...march by nightfall…"

Zuko stills, turning wild eyes at Toph. "Where is that coming from?"

"There's a bunch of them a couple of hallways over," she hisses. "They just sound a lot closer than they are. Come on, we're almost done here."

He complies, but the echoes follow him anyway. "...attack at dawn, they will be ill prepared, and their precious prince too…"

It's enough to keep his focus razor-sharp. He rifles through the little pockets Toph opens up in the walls, planting seeds of flames into the airshafts supplying the bunker like a vengeful wraith.

"That takes care of the air supply," Toph whispers, halting. "Now all we have to do is block off the escape routes."

"They'll be able to earthbend any blocks," Zuko points out. "We'll have to set those on fire too. It won't stop the benders from getting above ground, but they'll still need to evacuate all the sleepers. Hopefully that'll buy us more time."

Toph nods and squats again. This time, when the earth surrounds him and sends all of them hurtling upward to the middle level of the bunker, it doesn't feel like he's being buried alive.

The ascent halts abruptly and the earth encasing him opens up again. He races behind Toph as she navigates the serpentine maze toward the first escape route.

Until he rounds a corner, not seeing the panicked hand Toph throws up into the air in front of him – wait, wait! – caught up in his own momentum, processing the crunching footsteps a second too late.

And he smacks right into a very solid figure who most certainly had not been there before.

Fuck.

Zuko crumples to the ground, winded. His flaming fist illuminates him with an incriminating orange glow.

Two Dai Li agents, solid and definitely real, loom over him. They seem as tall as the corridor itself. Their faces are impossible to see under the brims of their pointed metal hats. Paralyzed in shock, Zuko barely has time to react before they've shifted into a bending stance, the earth shuddering beneath him –

Water rushes past him, pulled from the dampness of the rock lining the walls and ceiling. It knocks the two agents off their feet and sends them crumpling to the ground. Then it twines around them like a strange blue serpent and encases them in ice.

"That'll hold for a time," Katara blurts. Her arms remain cautiously outstretched. "But that ice is going to melt sooner or later and then they can bend themselves free."

"I'm working on it," Toph retorts, a strained edge in her voice. She opens up the wall. A long split renders the stone face cleanly in half. The cracking sound escalates to a roar. "Shit!"

Tiny cracks web out from the giant fissure in the wall, criss-crossing along its length and slowly undoing the dry and brittle ceiling. Fragmented pieces begin to fall from it, and then, more ominously, bigger chunks altogether.

"It's caving in!" Katara yells, trying to swish some of the falling debris out of the way with her water whip. "Toph, do something!"

The only reply is a strangled grunt that turns into a yell. Barely audible over the cacophony of falling rock, the cascade of half the ceiling caving in.

Boulders slam to the ground, piling up in a massive heap spanning the height of the corridor. Dust swirls heavy in the air. It coats Zuko's mouth and throat, making him cough and sputter.

He doesn't see the falling rock until too late.

"Ah!" he yelps, as blinding pain sparks the good side of his face. His hand clutches at the tender skin throbbing under his touch, eyes watering, nose running.

"Is everyone okay?" Aang cries out somewhere behind him.

Through the blood singing in his ears, he barely hears the faint groaning and muttering littering the air.

"We've been better." Master Iio's voice sounds like it comes from a far distance away. "Jeong-Jeong took quite the blow."

"So did I," Zuko gasps.

"I didn't think the entire ceiling would collapse!" Toph snarls.

"It must have weakened when I took the water from it," Katara chokes out. "I'm sorry, Toph, I didn't know –"

"The question is," Jeong-Jeong interrupts, his voice somewhat muffled, "how do we continue from here?"

Pain receding faintly for now, Zuko looks up. The dust settles enough to make things visible in the dim light.

A giant pile of rubble blocks off their retreat. Aang, Katara, and Toph seem okay, but – his heart plummets in realization – Jeong-Jeong and Master Iio are trapped on the other side.

"I could move all this out of the way," Toph suggests desperately. "It'd take a moment, but I could do it."

"We don't have a moment," Master Iio's steady voice filters through the rock. "There is no way this went unnoticed. We have just announced our presence to the entire Dai Li regiment stationed in this bunker. We must assume that they are headed this way right now."

A distant grumble of stone sliding against stone seems to grow louder with every passing second. "There's – there's a bunch of them heading this way," Toph confirms. For an instant, she sounds very much like a young blind girl. "What – what do we do?"

"We will hold them off," Jeong-Jeong announces grimly. "You four must carry on. Destroy the exit tunnels. We have already set fire to the air supply vents; we do not have long before the smoke drives everyone out."

"There's too many of them!" Toph argues. "You guys would never make it!"

"Maybe not," Iio admits. "But we would certainly make it difficult for them to pass."

"We can't do this!" Aang protests, but the corridor begins to quake. More rocks scatter from the ceiling.

"We have to," Zuko hears himself say. "You heard them. We have to keep going."

"He's right," Katara forces out, looking like she's eaten something very sour. "I hate doing this too, but we have to split up if we want to get this done. Otherwise it ends here and –" her voice catches, "the Dai Li win."

Aang looks blankly at Toph, who smashes her fist against the wall. As though in mockery of her fury, another rock falls from the ceiling and bounces off the giant pile blocking off the corridor.

"Let's go then," Toph spits. "And we'd better not fuck this up even more."

They race down the twining corridor away from the rubble. The sound of grinding stone fills the air; it seems to come from absolutely everywhere.

A small handful of Dai Li passes them by, forcing them to duck back into the corners and out of sight. Luckily, the agents are intent on the commotion unfolding behind them and they pass by mostly undisturbed. Every now and then they come face to face with one, but a steady trail of unconscious agents slowly grows in their wake.

"Guys, did we change the plan?" Toph grits out. Panting, she slides to a stop. "Are we just going to take everyone out down here by ourselves?"

"No, but if we don't hurry up, that might be the case," Katara wheezes. She doubles over, hands braced on her knees trying to catch her breath.

"I'm on it," Toph gripes, raising her hand. The wall slides open to reveal a serpentine path, similar to the one she'd created to get them inside. "Here we are. The first escape route. Sparky, do your stuff."

Zuko doesn't need to be told. He's already pushing, forcing his ragged breathing to a controlled exhale. The little path glows red and gold before Toph seals the path off again.

"Good," she says shortly. She places a hand on the wall; her brow furrows in focus. "Just one more, let's go."

The pounding of footfalls echo behind her as everyone collectively decides stealth is no longer a priority.

Somewhere in the distance, something crashes and grumbles. The ground shakes beneath their feet, the walls rattle, and earth scatters from the ceiling onto their heads.

The narrow hallway opens up into another large vaulted chamber. Echoes bounce off the rocks, thoroughly disorienting in their randomness.

...under attack, muster in the sleeper's bay…

…caught Wang over here wandering off…well, Mr. Fire, you're a tricky one aren't you…

…the Earth King has invited you to join him…

"That way," Toph wheezes. She jams a fist into her sternum as she struggles to catch her breath. "There's a room full of people right across from the last escape route though; we have to be quiet."

Lungs screaming and a stitch digging a steel-tipped arrow into a point between his ribs, he doggedly follows. The smell of smoke in the air grows urgently disorienting; it makes his head pound.

He spots it even before Toph puts up her hand for silence. The doorway is a large arch in the wall up ahead spilling light into the dark hallway. There's no telling how big the room within is, but from the chorus of monotonous voices coming from inside it, he gathers that it must be quite large.

"We are honoured," the voices say as one, "to accept his invitation."

Something about it makes his skin crawl.

"Wait," someone says breathlessly from behind, "those – those are the sleepers."

Zuko turns around to see a white-faced Katara staring at the doorway ahead.

"So?" Toph whispers. She flattens against the wall as a shadow from within the bright room stretches onto the ground in front of them.

"So," Katara echoes urgently, and even through the dim green glow of the bunker Zuko sees the desperation in her eyes, "they're putting them under right now! We have to stop it."

"No," Toph says murderously, jamming her hands on her hips. "There are at least twelve agents in there, and another seventy people just standing around. There are four of us."

"Exactly!" Katara pushes back. "There are seventy sleepers in that room! If we get them out of that trance quickly, that would put a huge dent in the Dai Li's numbers with one move."

"Are you crazy? We're on the clock here, Sugar Queen!"

"Katara does have a point," Aang admits grudgingly. He glances nervously at Toph. "As risky as it is, if we manage to free all the sleepers in that room, that's all the fewer people we'll have to fight later on."

"Your bleeding hearts are going to get us all killed," Toph seethes. Her face clouds in barely restrained fury as she glares in Zuko's direction. "Tell them, Sparky."

Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose. "Toph's right. It's too risky. We'll have to let it slide –"

"I knew you were going to say that," Katara scoffs.

"Come on," Zuko pleads, his voice somewhere between weary and desperate, "We're running out of air – and time!"

Something settles over her face, a steely resolve that darkens her eyes and seems to render her entire body stubbornly immovable. "Fine. But I'm going to do it with or without your help, so you might as well help me."

"Fucking Sugar Queen," Toph seethes. "If we die on this fucking rescue mission of hers, I swear I'm going to kill her!" A brief pause. "Damn your stupid crush on her."

"Oh, believe me," Zuko grits out, "I'm not too thrilled with her right now either. Let's just get this over with."

They slip past the room full of sleepers. Out of the corner of his eye, Zuko glimpses rows and rows of shadows with pointed hats. He thinks of Jet and shudders.

The wall at the end of the hallway slides open to reveal the last escape route.

A punch and a kick later, it goes up in carefully controlled flames.

"Right," Toph croaks, sealing it off. "Mission accomplished. Now let's get moving before the Dai Li figure out we're –"

The wall at the other end of the hallway splits open. Zuko finds himself staring at four uniformed agents standing directly across from them.

"- here," Toph groans.

A giant boulder hurtles toward his face. He deflects it with a flaming kick. Two prongs of rock surge at him from either side. He ducks out of the way, lands on his hands. Uses the stronger channel of his feet to send blast after blast ricocheting down the hallway.

The force of it knocks one enemy over. Another disappears into the ground, yelling about intruders. The remaining two pull up solid walls of rock from the ground, send them hurtling toward him.

He dodges the first slab, punches straight through the second one. The shattered rock reforms into a round boulder and whizzes back at the agent, slamming straight into his gut and taking him down.

A punch to the face later and the agents are out cold.

"We have to go," Zuko says breathlessly. He glances helplessly at the large room full of sleepers. The ground begins to quake and a cracking sound fills the air as the entire wall behind them slowly lowers. More dirt scatters from the ceiling, falling like strange rain, and dozens of Dai Li agents stand on the other side.

"Go get the others." Toph's stony expression reminds him of Katara's just moments ago. "These guys are mine."

"Are you sure–?"

"Go!"

Zuko knows better than to get in her way. He obeys, retreating back into the damned room with the damned sleepers.

The sight that greets his eyes is less grim than anticipated. Ten uniformed agents lie crumpled on the ground. Aang sweeps another one off his feet.

The sleepers have all been stripped of their pointed hats. Katara stands right in front of one. Her hands, gloved in glowing water, clap onto his temples. "Can't you hear me? The Earth King no longer wishes for your services at Lake Laogai –"

"They know we're here." Zuko's voice is hoarse even to his ears. "We have to leave."

"Almost done!" Aang's voice is followed by a vicious gust of air. His opponent lands with a sickening crunch and goes limp. "Katara, what are you doing?"

Katara shakes the unresponsive sleeper by the shoulders. Water splashes to the ground.

"It's not working!" she spits. She gestures aimlessly at the rows of sleepers, still as statues in their ranks. "I don't understand – why aren't they waking up?"

Zuko has had enough. "We're done here," he snarls, grabbing her by the shoulder. "You did your good deed, now we need to go –"

"But he isn't here!" Her voice drops in volume, as though she's talking to herself. "He isn't – this can't be all of them, there have to be more–"

"Who's 'he'?" he snaps, trying and failing to drag her from her spot.

"My brother!" The words blurt out of her mouth, ringing in the space between them.

"Your brother?" Zuko echoes. Dumbfounded, he lets go of her. "Your brother is here? Why didn't you say anything?"

"I –" Katara stammers. "It's complicated, I didn't want to say anything until I was sure –"

"So instead you decided to put all of our necks on the line? Without even telling us why?"

"I – I didn't –" she falters, withering under his glare, "I mean, he isn't here! I thought – Jun's spy, Lee – it had to be him! But—"

Suddenly, everything makes sense. Katara's desperation, her reckless obsession with Jun's informant, the devastation written across her face as the unfamiliar sleepers stumbled out of their stupor. The taste of smoke thickens in his mouth, the battle erupting around them grows loud in his ears.

"You put all of us at risk," Zuko cuts her off, so furious his voice grows chilly, "all while you didn't even know if your brother's here for sure. Do you value us so little, Katara?"

"I –" she sounds stricken. Her eyes widen in guilt at the accusation.

Something crashes loudly out in the hallway. He backs away from her, fearing her answer. He doesn't need another reason to feel sick to his stomach.

Dimly, he can hear Toph's defiant voice over the crashing sounds ("is that the best you've got, you pointy-tipped dunderheads? You'll have to do better than that – ow – ow, okay that hurt –")

"How are we going to get out?" Aang chokes, his voice strangled. "There's way too many of them outside!"

Screams from outside are cut off by an unpleasant grinding sound. "That's right!" Toph shouts triumphantly, "I am the greatest earthbender in the world! Don't you ever forget it!"

A thud and a yelp and then, mercifully, the ground stops roiling.

"Okay, we're stuck," Toph announces blithely. Her face creases in annoyance as she gets to her feet. "Cut that out, Twinkletoes! How's a blind girl supposed to see through this mess?"

"What do you mean, we're stuck?" Zuko demands, scrambling back on all fours. The room seems to spin around him; the air feels like poison in his lungs.

"I had to seal the entire corridor off," Toph explains, her voice uncharacteristically raspy. "Thankfully your smokescreen finally worked – everyone either ran off to get above ground or was crushed – but uh…"

"What about us?" he croaks, his voice more of a squeak than a rasp. He is dangerously lightheaded. The others don't look much better. Aang gasps for breath and Toph's shoulders are hunched in discomfort. He doesn't even want to look at Katara. "How are we going to get out?"

Toph tosses her head in irritation. "Gee Sparky, I don't know, do you happen to have the best earthbender in the world with you or not?" Her hands curl into fists. She sweeps into the deepest-rooted stance she can manage. "Everyone, hold onto your butts. Next stop: surface!"

The giant doorway grumbles shut. For a moment, it seems to Zuko that his worst fears are coming true as the room shrinks, corners and edges where ground, ceiling, and walls meet smoothing out into rounded arches. The roar of earth deforming around them is deafening, seeming to permeate every inch of his consciousness.

Then, the weight of the world piles up on top of his chest. He wants to scream, but the pressure is so immense it's impossible to fit air into his lungs. Faint stars pop throughout his vision.

Toph's face strains with what looks like immense effort. Her fists come crashing down.

Suddenly, gravity vanishes, sending everything flying off the ground. For a moment, he drifts weightlessly like a leaf in the air. Then the ceiling crashes into him.

"What part of hold onto your butts did all of you not understand?" Toph grates.

A booming thud resonates around him. He smashes back into the ground again. Red-hot pain sings through every nerve.

Toph stumbles back and groans. The wall behind her crumples open.

Daylight – sweet, beautiful daylight – pours through it.

"Did you –" Aang asks from somewhere, "just bend the entire room out of the bunker?"

Toph sways alarmingly, wiping sweat off her forehead. "Yup." Her voice is weak. "I thought that'd be a lot easier. Remind me to never do that again. Yeah."

And with that, she topples over.

"Toph!" Zuko jumps to his feet and races to her side. His stomach threatens to spew the remnants of Jeong-Jeong's cake all over the ground. Katara is white-faced and already applying glowing water to her temples.

"How could you be that reckless?" Aang explodes. His face mottles to a dark colour Zuko's never seen before. Come to think of it, he's never seen the young Air Nomad lose his cool, and the sight of it is almost as disconcerting as a weakened Toph.

"Wasn't reckless," Toph mumbles blearily. She struggles to push herself up to a sitting position.

"Are you kidding me?" Zuko nearly bellows. "If you hadn't just collapsed, I would kill you! How are you supposed to fight like this? We're supposed to be a team! But all we've done is bicker and keep secrets from each other –" he glares at Katara's stiffening back – "and take stupid risks! How are we supposed to hold all of them off like this?"

"Aw shucks, Sparky," Toph groans thickly. "You do care."

"Zuko's right," Aang says grimly. "We had one job, and we messed it up big time. There's no way the Dai Li missed a giant rock chamber flying out of the ground, and we don't even know if Jeong-Jeong and Master Iio made it out. This – this is bad, guys."

His words hang in the air ominously. The four of them exchange nervous glances with each other.

The uncertain pause breaks with the sharp staccato of approaching footfalls.

"What the fuck happened?" Jun's voice filters into the room. Her silhouette appears against the bright daylight streaming in through the doorway. Zuko faintly notes the unimpressed tilt of her head.

"We had to make a quick getaway," Toph gasps. "They had us pinned off."

"So much for sneaking up on them," Jun sniffs. "You guys better get your act together. The Dai Li are flushing out of their hidey hole like an angry swarm of buzzard-wasps looking for their next kill. And this escape pod isn't exactly subtle, you know."

"We know, we know," Aang groans, jamming his hands to his forehead. "Plus we have all these sleepers –"

His eyes flit back to the ranks of sleepers in their midst, as though suddenly remembering that they were still there. Most remain standing eerily still. But Zuko notices that a few have started to move, apparently shaken awake from the force of their crash landing.

"You rescued the sleepers?" Jun asks, sounding impressed.

"Sweetness had a death wish," Toph says nastily. She opens her sightless eyes enough to direct a glare in Katara's direction. "For herself and for all of us."

"The Dai Li are regrouping as we speak, and they're going to be on us in moments," Zuko cuts in before the tirade can start again. The hapless realization of what her impulse decision has wrought for them is written clearly on Katara's face, and he can't help but feel a tiny stab of sympathy. "What do we do?"

"Toph's not ready to fight yet," Aang points out sharply.

"And we need to keep these sleepers away from the battlefield," Katara says sheepishly. "Even if most of them won't wake up, they're…they're still innocent civilians. I'm not sure how easy it would be for the Dai Li to find them and get them to re-engage."

"And on top of all that," Aang continues despairingly, "we have to hold position until the rest of the division shows up."

"Oh, that's all?" Jun snorts, shaking her head derisively. "Bumi's left nut, we're all going to die here."

"No, we're not," Zuko decides. The feeling of certainty surprises him, but there's no time to question it. "Some of them seem to be waking up. Jun, you and Nyla are going to lead those ones away from the battlefield to safety."

"Great," Jun huffs. She glances cynically at the scattering of blinking, barely conscious people in the room. "And what's going to stop us from being pinned down by the Dai Li the minute they notice us?"

"Aang and I will distract them," Zuko tells her. "We'll draw them back to the far side of the canyon while you escape." He glances at Toph's drawn face. "Katara, you stay here with Toph until she's ready to bend again. Before you join us, Toph will seal this room shut to hide the rest. With luck, the Dai Li won't notice them here until the fight is done. Then we can figure out what to do with them."

"Sure thing, Sparky," Toph agrees weakly.

Katara nods hesitantly. "I – I'll do my best to get her healed up."

"Good." His voice is cool as he meets her gaze. "Don't be too long."

An explosion somewhere outside rocks the chamber viciously.

"Come on," he says roughly, gaze flitting from Katara to Aang, and then to the doorway, "let's go."

"Okay, you fuckers!" Jun shouts into the room as Zuko and Aang slip out abruptly. "You heard the prince, we don't have all day! Step lively and let's get out of here before the Dai Li kick our butts!"

There's a chorus of shuffling sounds as the small handful of dazed sleepers seem to finally take stock of their surroundings. With some dark muttering and cursing, they file slowly out of the chamber on wobbly legs, blinking in the violent daylight.

"Jun?" one of them asks incredulously, rubbing at his eyes as he approaches the tense bounty hunter.

Katara's head snaps up at the voice, but is disappointed when Jun's face splits into a relieved grin. "Wei!" Jun exclaims, clapping the man on his shoulder. "You're alive! I thought for sure those coneheads had gotten to you!"

"I'm not so sure they didn't," the sleeper called Wei admits wryly, thumping at the side of his head with the heel of his hand. "By the badgermoles, I've got a terrible headache…"

"It was your idea to save the sleepers?" Jun asks, staring at Katara with grudging respect. It fills her with a strange mix of pride and shame.

"Yeah," Katara mumbles. She tries to focus on healing Toph quickly, so that she doesn't have to process how hollow she feels. Hollow, like trying and failing to wake all the sleepers. The tragically small number who had woken from the trance, who wouldn't be civilian shields protecting the Dai Li from the army opposing them – a small tactical gain waged for too high a price.

The element of surprise, gone. Toph so thoroughly weakened. Zuko's cool fury rankling worse than his outrage. And threaded through it all – Sokka, still out there somewhere, but nowhere in sight.

"Well, you just saved an old buddy of mine," Jun speaks up, her voice odd, "and I know you didn't have to – so – uh, thank you…"

"Don't thank me," Katara grits out, "it was selfish – I just wanted to find Lee, and I couldn't even do that right –"

"Lee?" Wei blurts out in surprise. "You know Lee too?"

"I…I was looking for him," Katara answers unsteadily. "I think he's…I just – I need answers."

"I saw him," Wei tells her, his gaze flitting between Katara and Jun. "He was with the officers yesterday. But they caught him trying to sneak out earlier this morning and dragged him to a different room, with the newer recruits maybe –"

Katara's heart stops. "You mean –" She glances at the opening in the wall, where the crashes of the ongoing battle rumble like distant thunder, " – he's out there? Right now?"

"That's my guess."

"Kid," Jun advises, her voice uncharacteristically gentle, "just focus, okay? The Dai Li are a tough enemy and you need to be on your game. Lee knows how to take care of himself. You need to look out for yourself too."

"Thanks," Katara whispers weakly. The last of the awakened sleepers exits the room. Another explosion splits the air, sounding marginally closer than the first one. "Thanks for everything, Jun."

To her surprise, Jun holds out her hand. Katara clasps onto it, wincing at how strong the bounty hunter's grip is.

"See you on the other side, kid," Jun remarks. She quirks an eyebrow. "And give 'em hell."

Katara regrets not bringing more water with her.

It hits her as she steps out of the chamber. Her waterskins have usually been enough. But the island is stony and the water from the lake is far from reach.

There is little time to waste on that thought, however. At her side, Toph gingerly closes off the rock wall. The displaced room sits like a strange rock formation, not entirely as conspicuous as they'd feared.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Katara asks again.

"I'll be fine," Toph grunts, clearly still annoyed.

Katara opens her mouth to insist otherwise, but the ground crumples beneath her feet. Without warning, the dirt beneath them hurtles out of the ground, bouncing along the surface of the valley like a stone skipping on water. She yelps, nearly losing balance.

"Hang on," Toph warns belatedly.

Everything becomes more apparent the closer they get to the unfolding mayhem. The battlefield sprawls between the mountains lining the southern shore and the jagged edge of the canyon. The Dai Li swarm in unison, pouring out from their bunker under the ruined city and taking on an inverted wedge formation. From this distance, they might be a strange colony of ants.

"There's no way to sneak up on them, is there?" Katara shouts to Toph over the roaring earth.

Toph shrugs. "The best defense is a good offense, I always say!"

Katara tugs the last of the water out of her skins. Stretches it out into the longest whip she can manage and sends it smashing into the Dai Li's rear-guard.

The first row topples over. Before anyone even registers their arrival, Katara reforms her whip and snaps it again. Rotating from her shoulders instead of the wrists, she lunges low to the ground and strikes. Ice and steam bursts everywhere, blinding everyone in the mess.

The solid rear-guard caves in. Katara and Toph storm through, wreaking havoc through the ranks.

"We need to get to the front of the line!" Katara yells instead, barely able to hear herself. Clanging metal and grinding earth clash against her ears.

"First, we need to get through this mess!" Toph barks. The roiling ground calms with a twist of her fists.

"On it," Katara heaves, slashing every which way with her whip. But for every agent she knocks down, it seems like another two pop up out of nowhere. To make things worse, it's all she can do to keep her balance. The ground swells like unbendable water beneath her feet.

Around them, the Dai Li loosen out of their tight formation, allowing their earthbenders to use close-range attacks without hurting each other. Boulders the size of ostrich-horses rain through the air, crash-landing hard on her heels. One catches her unexpectedly, wrenching her ankle with a loud pop.

She screams, trying to regain her balance.

Toph jams a fist into the ground. Seismic shockwaves radiate outward, sending Dai Li agents toppling over.

"Are you okay?" Toph bellows at Katara. The shockwaves freeze, ripples etched in the earth before rebounding back to them. With a grunt, Toph manages to stop them from pulverizing them where they stand.

A boulder whizzes through the air headed straight for Toph. Katara deflects it with a snap of her water, but the motion sends dull pain throbbing through her ankle. A yelp escapes her; wooziness lances straight into her gut.

Distracted, she almost doesn't notice the next boulder sailing toward her head.

"Katara, duck!"

Katara's leg crumples beneath her just in time to feel the scrape of dirt across her cheek. The boulder whirs overhead, its jagged edge ripping her skin open from forehead to temple. She barely even feels it through the fiery throb of her ankle.

"I need cover!" she screams hoarsely. Tries to coat her hands with what's left of her water. Blinks sweat stained red out of her eyes.

"I'm trying!" Toph shouts back. Her shoulders tremble and her back isn't nearly as straight as it usually is. "But you'd better make it quick!"

Katara tries not to think about how this is almost entirely her fault. Instead, she grits her teeth and tries to heal her foot as quickly as she can. Thankfully, the bones are intact but the supporting ligament is torn.

Toph punches at the incoming salvo of rock missiles. Her face scrunches up with every motion.

"Come on," Katara whispers desperately. Her glowing hands press into the swell of her ankle hard enough to hurt. Beneath it, her flesh knits together but nowhere near quickly enough. "Come on come on come on…"

One slips past Toph's guard and slams squarely into her gut.

"Oof!" she grunts, falling heavily to the ground. A small cloud of dust kicks up as she lands.

"Toph!" Katara shrieks, lunging for her, injured foot already forgotten.

"I'm okay!"

Water floods outward, cresting until it sweeps the small formation of attacking benders away, clearing a path for them.

Toph crows, newly heartened. "Good one, Sugar Queen! Now let's go help the others!"

The ground uproots itself beneath their feet and cannonballs through the air. They plow through the length of the Dai Li's formation. Enemy fighters tumble about, insubstantial as rag dolls.

From their vantage point, Katara can suddenly see the rest of the battle unfolding before her. Suki, Ty Lee, and Master Piandao slice through the middle of the Dai Li's front line, surprisingly effective at close range. They take advantage of the chaos, wedging through the reserves and cutting off supply to the leading left and right flanks, which put up a much stronger fight.

Katara's hopes rise at the sight of Jeong-Jeong and Master Iio, safe and sound. They work together strategically, seeds of firebending germinating in whirlwind funnels of air to produce staggering explosions. It disperses the left leading arm like chaff in the wind.

On the other side, Zuko and Aang fight back-to-back. They prevent the Dai Li from getting near enough to land any damaging blows, but are not offensive enough to stop the enemy from gaining ground. The approaching right flank creeps along steadily, trying to encircle the two benders and cut them off from help.

"They're in trouble! Go right!" Katara bellows.

Toph clamps her hands over her ears. "Take it easy, Sweetness! I'm blind, not deaf!"

She swivels around to bowl through the advancing formation.

Aang sweeps debris out of the sky with billowing blasts of air. Zuko channels ferocious plumes of flame in a wide sweeping arc, pushing the advancing semicircle back inch by precarious inch. The sleepers at the front retreat slowly, while the uniformed agents behind them bend in unison with eerily smooth precision.

The ground upturns beneath Aang's feet, knocking him over. Distracted, Zuko turns around. The strength of his fire wanes. He doesn't notice the boulder arcing through the air, heading straight for him.

But Katara does. Extending so hard she nearly throws her shoulder out of its socket, a thick coil of water snaps out to deflect it.

Zuko jumps in surprise at the near miss, but his mouth tightens into a grim line as he sees them.

"About time," he growls as they join him. "What took you so long?"

Katara glares at him, but her indignation is short-lived. The left shoulder of Zuko's cuirass is missing. His breathing is heavily laboured; he hunches slightly where his collarbone is broken at the shoulder. The good side of his face is swollen and bruised; it nearly rivals the scarred side in colour.

"Oh, don't mind us Sparky. We just had to cut through a million Dai Li to come save your ass," Toph heaves through clenched teeth.

An avalanche barrels toward them. Katara reforms her whip into a giant wall of water, sends it crashing over the oncoming rocks and sweeping them away. Some of them scatter and whiz back toward her, so quick she doesn't even notice them.

But Aang does and he blows them out of the way. They land with a thud by Toph's feet, and she catapults them squarely into the ranks of the Dai Li. Screams pierce the air, halted by unpleasant crunches.

"We need to draw them back," Aang gasps. "Get them in position for the ambush."

"We can't do shit if we don't figure out how to stop these earthbenders!" Toph protests. A stomp of her foot and the ground crumbles around them. "They're picking us off like horse-flies!"

"Toph, you focus on holding our ground," Zuko rasps. "The rest of us will cover you."

"They have their sleepers up front and their benders protected at the rear where we can't reach," Katara observes, squinting at the opposing forces.

"The sleepers can't bend. Even if the earthbenders are all the way at the back, we have to try take them out," Zuko urges hoarsely. "Otherwise Toph's right, we don't stand a chance."

They move into position without really thinking about it, Toph on the inside, Aang, Zuko, and Katara surrounding her back to back.

Katara lunges, but the pain in her foot is blindingly agonizing, and her body lags through the motions. Her attacks fall woefully short of the benders.

A crackle in the air, different from the sound of grinding stone, sends the hairs on the back of her neck standing right up. She drops to the ground, just before she hears Zuko roar, "Get down!"

The air splits above her. Lightning bounces from one pointed metal hat to another, sweeping down the lines like strange blue fireworks.

"That was brilliant, Sparky!" Toph shouts hoarsely. "Way to use their heads!"

The ground between the four of them and the Dai Li roils as though alive. A maelstrom of gnashing rocks and sharp stalagmites threatening to impale anyone stupid enough to cross.

Katara inches back, struggling. Her bound ankle is on fire; a sweaty gush of blood coats one side of her face. It hurts to breathe, it makes her dizzy, makes everything seem shimmery and slow.

She dimly registers the sound of Toph's voice. "There's more of them coming! Get back!" it shouts at her, "Katara, get back –"

The smash of rock, the crumbling of the ground before her. A shrill whistle of something cutting air, incoming –

"Watch out!" yells a different voice.

The words don't register in her ears so much as the jerk beneath her navel as she's flung off her feet. The world tumbles sideways, upside-down, rightside-up in the blink of an eye.

A decisive crunch where rock smashes into where she'd just been standing.

Weight of a different sort crushes against her back, solid yet very warm. There are arms locked around her waist, heavy puffs of breath harsh against her ear –

"What are you doing?" she gasps, trying to straighten out along the ground.

Zuko is already rolling off. "Trying to stop rocks from crushing you," he snaps, his words perfunctory. He yanks her by the wrist, pulling her to her feet none too gently. "Come on, let's go –"

Katara scrambles up with a wince, trying to ignore the way her ankle screams and her chest burns, and manages to stumble behind the wall Toph has erected with a furious cry. She gasps, hands on her knees.

"They're too scattered!" Aang groans. "We're not going to last if we have to pick them off one by one!"

"I could take them down with lightning if they were all close together," Zuko hisses through gritted teeth, clutching at his left shoulder.

"Katara and I could draw them out," Aang suggests. "We'll get close, lure them back so that Zuko can take them out with another lightning strike. What do you think, Katara?"

Katara leans her back against the wall for support, pressing a fist into her chest. "Sure," she wheezes. "Just give me a moment."

"Make sure to stay in the air," Zuko warns grimly. His eyes are afire, but there's none of the heat that she's used to seeing in them. "That ground is treacherous."

"Got it," Katara says with a nod.

For a second, Zuko's eyes soften as he looks at her. But then she flexes her fingers and the moment passes. The grass and dirt surrounding them shrivels dry and brown, tiny blades of water swarming into her grasp.

"Let's go," she says to Aang. He nods and leaps onto his air scooter.

A small slit opens up in the wall. Aang rushes through it first.

"Be careful," Zuko says, so quiet she almost doesn't hear it.

Katara nods again, heart hammering. Her throat closes too tight to warrant speech of any kind.

She charges through the opening and narrowly evades being crushed. Funneling her water into a giant whirlpool, she rises high above the gnashing ground.

The column of the Dai Li swells ahead, consolidating into one giant force, multiplying before her very eyes. Sleepers occupy the front line, stilted, almost puppet-like, in stark contrast to the earthbenders lined up against the lip of the canyon.

She bears down on her whirlpool as Aang approaches on his air scooter. They work in tandem to create chaos among the ranks and draw the sleepers out of their rigid formation. Katara raises a wall of water to pin them off from the benders at the rear. Aang weaves through the front lines, circling dangerously close and dancing out of reach like a vole-mouse evading a trap.

"You want to get us?" he yells. "Come and get us, then!"

At long last, shields drop to the ground. The sleepers march forward and then, finally, give chase.

Aang's light-hearted taunts barely betray the desperation hidden beneath. "Is that the best you can do? You'll have to wake up a lot earlier than that if you want to catch up with me –"

More rocks sail through the air. Deforming her whirlpool into a stream, Katara drops out of the way. Bending her remaining water into a wave, she surfs along the ground almost as effortlessly as Aang does on his scooter.

Something explodes behind her and sends half of the Dai Li benders toppling over. Katara looks over her shoulder to see Master Iio and Jeong-Jeong leap into the fray.

Turning back around, she spots Aang up ahead, a lone figure pursued by soldiers in gold hats and green uniforms. Toph's wall rises out of the ground like one of the ruined temple walls in the canyon below, seeming to grow larger the closer they get.

"Now!" Aang yells. He glides up the wall and leaps over its edge in one smooth motion. For a brief moment, it looks like he can fly.

A fissure opens up in the wall. Katara raises a hand to shield her eyes against the brightness.

Gossamer threads of lightning arc through the air quick as a whip.

It takes the first agent at an angle, wreathing around his pointed metal hat and rattling it with a deep booming thrum. The sparks hiss and roar before skittering along the ranks, webbing along the metal cones. One by one, the uniformed agents topple over in a sequence.

Most are unconscious before they even hit the ground. Some stir feebly with electric aftershocks. One of them even manages to get to his hands and knees, struggling to regain balance.

Katara watches his motions absently, the sounds of the battle seeming very far away.

The lone agent staggers to his feet. He moves strangely, as though he's forgotten how to use his limbs. Like fighting pins and needles, like he's woken up from a deep sleep.

She sweeps into a preparatory stance, ready to strike the moment the agent decides to move.

But the agent only turns his head in a swift scan of his surroundings. Then, he turns on his heel and runs.

Huh, Katara thinks as the agent races past her, away from both the battle and the ruined bunker beneath the ancient city. Looks like that one went rogue. Must have been a sleeper.

It isn't until the earth swells and sends him tumbling that she sees it. The dark green uniform is rumpled at the collar and the conical hat tilts off-kilter.

And the skin visible at his knuckles and neck is the same colour as hers.

Her heart seems to leap into her windpipe, the way the beat of it chokes the air out from her throat. The day is warm but her entire body feels encased in ice.

The rogue sleeper scrambles back to his feet and scales the rippling earth like his life depended on it.

She stares blankly. The conspicuous familiarity of his movements is overlaid with terror and a palpable confidence that is strangely alien to her.

Another agent tries to corner him. He flings a whirring bolt of metal that arcs a streaking silver glint in the sky, knocking his pursuer down before whizzing back into his hand with practiced precision.

A dull thud pounds in her chest, as though somehow, the boomerang must have struck her there too.

She screams.

"Nice one!" Toph crows. Her fist punches up in celebration. The fissure in the wall still smokes from the heat of Zuko's lightning strike.

"You got a clean shot!" Aang announces, landing lightly on his toes next to Toph. He peers through the fissure, examining the aftermath of the attack. "Looks like most of them are unconscious."

"There must have been about fifty of them," Zuko croaks, rubbing sweaty hair out of his eyes. "That probably took care of the last of the sleepers."

"Seems like it," Toph agrees, her face scrunching up in confusion. "Oh look, seems like one of them just woke up." She smirks. "Boy, he's freaking right out! Bet he didn't expect to find himself in the middle of a battlefield. What a nightmare for poor Snoozles over there."

Zuko frowns, peering through the fissure in the wall. Sure enough, a single uniformed agent rises unsteadily amidst the crumpled bodies. He tenses in apparent alarm, before turning tail and retreating altogether.

"Run, Snoozles, run!" Toph laughs as the lone agent wades through the gnashing earth of the battlefield, growing in ferocity with every step he takes. "I'll give it to those sleepers, they sure know how to keep up without twisting an ankle."

"Yeah," Zuko mutters. The buzz of lightning in his veins drops to a standstill as the escaping agent cuts right past Katara. From this distance, she is a tiny figure of blue and grey metal.

He isn't sure if he imagines the way she freezes in place, but next to him, Toph scowls impressively. "What the fuck is she doing?" she seethes.

"What?" Aang asks. Zuko looks back through the fissure in the wall. The slit is narrow but it's enough to see the escaping agent knock another one over with a boomerang.

Katara chases after him, heedless of the rockslide of Dai Li earthbenders hot on her heels.

"She's gonna get herself killed like that!" Toph snaps furiously. "None of us can cover her from here – what the fuck is she thinking?"

"We have to help her!" Aang insists firmly. "Now, come on, let's go –"

"Twinkletoes, wait –" Toph yells, but to no avail as Aang leaps aboard his air scooter and slips through the crack in the wall.

He is barely halfway through when a jagged rock splits through the fissure in the wall and ricochets everywhere. Zuko lets out a bloodcurdling roar as some of the shrapnel punches into his wounded shoulder.

Out of the way of the worst of the impact, he doubles over in agony.

But Aang isn't nearly so lucky.

Toph's clenched teeth are a flash of white in the corner of Zuko's eye as she seals the wall back up.

He hears the crunch of Aang's body falling to the ground, the faint "oomph" of all the wind being knocked from his lungs, and then, most ominously, nothing from him at all.

There's a roaring sound filling her ears – a deafening screeching roar that drowns out the chaos of the battlefield. It could just be a ringing in her head. It could be her voice, yelling her brother's name at the top of her lungs. She isn't sure.

The sleeper darts ahead, faster and more nimble than he had any right to be. His pointed metal hat hangs askew, betraying more of that nut-brown skin and a shaved scalp, a hint of a wolf-tail – it has to be –

She races after him, forgetting everything else. The ground elevates into a steep incline and she blindly races up it, too distracted to consider jumping or bending. All of her being is bent on closing the widening distance between her and the man in the uniform –

"Don't let him get away!" someone shouts from some distance behind. The ground writhes up trying to trap the escaping figure by the ankles.

The sleeper skips from one roiling patch of dirt to the next, barely slipping out of reach in time.

"If he squeals, it's over!" another voice shouts. Out of the corner of her eye, Katara sees someone gliding past on a panel of rock. "Use deadly force if you have to!"

A rock shaped like a hand whizzes through the air and clamps the escaping agent by the ankle. He lets out a cry. Another hand-shaped rock grabs him by the wrist, plummeting down to the ground and anchoring him in place.

Everything in her turns to pure instinct.

Puddled water soaking the ground leaps into her grasp. It whirs through the air in lashing coils, slamming into the pursuing benders. She bends all of it into a giant wave with a yell. A crackle and a chill in the air as she encases the pursuing force in six feet of solid ice. It gleams in the bright sunlight, already starting to drip and melt.

But it would have to be enough. Next to this, the world would have to wait.

Pushing through the scream of pain in her ankle, she bounds ahead, trying to close the gap. It's been three years and she still worries that she's the slower one of the two.

He breaks his hand free of the rock restraint just as she skids to a halt, wheezing for air. The man – taller and bigger than she remembers – removes the metal hat before turning to face her in surprise.

The sight of her brother's face is a punch to the gut flooding golden euphoria through every vein. Her breath judders in her lungs – a strangely elated sound – as she swiftly takes in his face, all the ways it's changed, how different he looks, how grown-up –

"Sokka." Her voice breaks; the tightness in her throat has nothing to do with exhaustion. The sound in her chest is somewhere between a laugh and a sob. She throws her arms around him, shaking uncontrollably. "I – I was right! It is you! Why – what are – thank the spirits you're okay…"

But everything was not okay. It niggles at her with a flash of unease at the slow confusion spreading over his face, the blank look in his blue eyes.

"Sorry," he says with her brother's voice. "Do I know you?"

Chapter 25: the illusion of separation

Chapter Text

disclaimer. atla belongs to bryke, but zutara are belong to us.

author's notes. making up for the terrible cliffhanger with this relatively quick update!

thanks to everyone for reading and commenting! and as always, much love to circasurvival for all her diligent beta-reading!

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter xxv. the illusion of separation

she read your mind and called it her terror
misplacing her sleep to keep the world nearer

"flood on the floor" / purity ring

"I'm sorry. Do I know you?"

The words float in the air, insubstantial as their meaning.

This can't be happening. This can't be real. A trick or a joke or something, any minute now he'll give it up.

Her grip on her brother's arms slackens for a moment, the sharp intake of air dying in her throat and abruptly turning into an uncertain scoff.

"Really? Is that the way you're going to play it?" she asks disbelievingly. Her hands jam onto her hips, denial barrelling through new panic. "Okay Sokka, you had me going there for a second. Ha ha, very funny."

Sokka stares at her quizzically. "Is it really? I have no idea what you're talking about. Who are you?"

Katara scoffs again, louder. "Quit joking around! After all this time, I risked my neck and literally almost broke my foot to save you in the middle of a giant life-or-death battle, and this is how you're choosing to thank me? This is serious!"

"Hey, I agree!" Sokka protests. "This is very serious! As in life-or-death, I-could-be-pulverized-into-mooselion-meat-any-moment-now level serious! So I'm…just gonna hightail it out of here, if you don't mind, whoever you are."

She lets out a strangled yell and shoves him by the shoulders. He goes tumbling down with an indignant yelp. "Whoever I am?" Katara yells hoarsely. "How can you even say that to me? After everything – Mom and Dad, the wars, the school –"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Sokka's tone holds no mirth. He scrambles to his feet. "I swear to you, I'm not joking around here!"

For the first time since the whole conversation, something other than blank confusion crosses his face. But it isn't recognition.

It's pity.

"No," Katara says, unsure of whether it is directed to him or herself. "No, this can't be right. You're Sokka, you're my brother –"

Annoyance crosses his face. "What are you even talking about? My name is Lee, and – and I would know if I had a sister!"

It flashes through her mind like a spark of Zuko's lightning. The Dai Li. Jet. The large rock chamber with all the sleepers, the bodiless voice echoing along the subterranean corridors…

A chill of fear crawls down her spine. "What did they do to you?"

"Who?"

"The Dai Li." Fury mounts where despair had been moments earlier. She steps up to him, ignoring the stab of pain in her ankle. "They took you, didn't they? Down into their secret lair under Lake Laogai and brainwashed you, just like they did with everyone else." She shakes her head, fumbles for the exact wording. "He has no more need for you – I mean – the Earth King no longer requires your services at Lake Laogai –"

He laughs. For a second, it feels like old times – Sokka finding some way to laugh even in the grimmest of moments. "Yeah, no, been there once already," he remarks, infuriatingly calm even as Katara's nerves skyrocket again. "Nice try, though."

It's like trying to rescue the sleepers all over again, except far worse. The failure from before should have tempered her expectations with a cold dash of reality, but nothing could have prepared her for this.

She grabs him by the temples, hands gloved in glowing water without even thinking about it.

"Get off me! What are you doing?" He yelps, trying to pull away.

"You have to remember," Katara pleads, running her hands along the sides of his temples, trying to feel for a block in his chi, anything that could betray an explanation. "Please, you can't have just forgotten everything –"

"Lady, I just told you, you've got the wrong guy!" Sokka's voice is almost petulant now.

Katara tries to focus. The roar of blood is loud in her ears; the only thing her fingers can really feel is the erratic tremble of her own pulse. But through it, one thing becomes alarmingly clear.

There is no sign of injury to Sokka's head. No tangled chi in the paths of his mind like there had been with Jet. Nothing to betray any foul play of any kind. And if Toph was here, Katara knows what she'd say.

He's telling the truth.

"You can't be." Her voice is a small child's, scared and on the verge of tears. "You're – you're him. You have to be."

A small distance away, something rumbles like a distant thunderclap. The ground begins to tremble again. A sound like a shattering glacier, or perhaps an avalanche, grows louder.

Sokka's hands close around her wrists in fear. They are bigger than she remembers – the Sokka of her memories was a tall, spindly teenager, while the one standing before her is near fully grown, built strong like a proper man from the Water Tribes.

"Look, whoever you are – whoever you think I am," he says wildly, his voice suddenly high-pitched and urgent, "It won't matter if those guys over there catch me, okay? I know too much. They want me dead. Do you understand that?"

Katara watches him through blurring eyes. Her throat is clamped so tight, she can't speak properly. She nods instead.

"I have to make it out of here alive. People are counting on me. If you really want to help me, you'll let me get out of here."

As though it was possible for her to refuse, even after everything. Katara nods again.

Sokka flashes her a grin of gratitude and she feels her heart break. "Thank you, magic water lady! I'll make it up to you one day, I promise!"

"How –" His voice, his face, his smile, all so familiar. Katara struggles to find her voice. "How will I find you again?"

"I'm big in the resistance," Sokka declares, shrugging nonchalantly. "Just ask for Lee."

The conspicuous familiarity chafes violently - how, from the tip of his wolf-tail to his annoying confidence in the face of insane odds, the man standing before her is so very obviously Sokka. And yet -

They did something to him. A new calm settles over her; a new hope to clutch at, however fragile. Something new, something I haven't seen yet. I just need time.

"I'm going to see you again," Katara promises grimly, already turning to face the crowd of Dai Li breaking free from her ice. "I'm going to get to the bottom of this. And when I find out what they did to you...I'm going to destroy them."

He pauses behind her.

"Man. I wouldn't want to get on your bad side!" he quips, but there's a waver of uncertainty in his voice where there hadn't been before. "Uh - thanks again! See you around, I guess. Lee out!"

The sound of his footfalls recedes toward the thick brush lining the base of the mountains. The world seems to go very quiet, even though the Dai Li have mostly broken free and there are shards of ice and broken rock flying everywhere.

Katara stares them down, seeing but not comprehending. She is pinned against a far corner of the battlefield, her friends nowhere near enough to help. Her ankle is close to giving out. The cut on her forehead still oozes, making everything dizzy. There are a little over a dozen of uniformed agents sliding up to meet her.

Somewhere in the distance, Sokka leaves her behind. Again.

She raises her wrists and the shards of ice whiz through the air like sharp knives. A lunge and then a tidal wave larger than before pummels through the approaching benders.

Their screams litter the air but she can't hear them. The sound doesn't register next to the snarl ripping through her throat.

They took him from me. They're going to pay.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck he isn't waking up! What do we do?"

"What can we do? We're literally pinned here! If I move at all, they're going to crush us!"

Zuko shakes Aang's shoulders violently. The unconscious Air Nomad's head bobbles unresponsively. Thin streams of blood dribble out the corner of his mouth.

His broken shoulder screams where it bleeds profusely. Giving up, he lets Aang go and clutches at it with his good hand.

"Where's Katara when you need her?" he hisses, twisting his head to stare blankly at the thick rock wall in front of him. It sinks into the ground, straining.

"Sugar Queen is a little preoccupied, in case you haven't noticed!" Toph snaps. "We have to see this through ourselves!"

"But how?" Zuko's fingers prod at his shoulder, already stiffening up under the blazing pain. "There are only two of us now! I don't even know how many are left, I don't know what the others are doing, if the rest of the troops are going to make it in time! There's just you and me, Toph! That's it!"

"Well it's not ideal," Toph grates, squatting deeper, shoulders shaking with the effort to keep the wall covering them. "But we can't keep hiding like this, Sparky. We need a new plan now!"

"This was all a big mistake!" The words burst out of him along with all the terror he can no longer hold back. "We weren't ready for this! Look at us! Aang's unconscious, Katara ran away, you can barely stand, I can't move my arm -"

As though in answer, Toph doubles over with a cry, knees digging into the dirt and muscles in her neck straining. The rock wall guarding them from the rest of the Dai Li shrinks foot by foot. Her arms lift back up, corded and shaking with enormous effort. The boulders littering the ground whiz toward the wall and stack along its top.

"Sparky, listen to me," she hisses, struggling back onto her feet as the top of the wall solidifies. "You're slipping. Get it together. We don't have time to feel sorry for ourselves -"

"I'm not feeling sorry for myself, okay? It's a fact! They're going to win. There's no way around it anymore. This is how we're going to die."

"No." A twist of Toph's fist sends a small pebble flying toward him. It raps him against the temple, harmless but hard enough to smart. "I'm not taking that for an answer! They have us surrounded, so you need to get back up and get your lightning in order now."

"I can't!" The pain in his body slips away; he can't feel anything but fear, all-encompassing, utterly paralyzing. "There's still so many of them left to fight! What if the others won't make it in time, how are we going to last -"

"Because we have to!" Her feet gouge into the ground as she tries to stay rooted. "This is the real deal! Twinkletoes is out for the count, Sweetness is out there somewhere on her own, and if we don't do something now, she'll be joining the club!"

It hammers into his fraying nerves. "O-okay," he stammers, scrambling to his feet.

The earth quivers beneath him. His body is gripped with uncontrollable tremors. Next to the sounds of the battle erupting beyond him, quiet is very hard to find. He tries to remember his uncle's lessons (accept everything, surrender) but all he can see are nightmares made real. Aang's unconscious body. Toph collapsing. Katara running away, pinned off in some corner, surrounded and alone.

How can I accept this?

The chi pooling in his gut sparks and fizzles out. Smoke trails from his fingertips harmlessly.

"I can't do it!" he chokes. Despair eats at the last of his control. "I have to be calm, Toph! How can I be calm now? I - I keep trying to push it all aside but I just can't."

"So don't!" Toph bellows. "What are you, some sissy Air Nomad who runs away when the going gets tough? You're Prince Zuko for crying out loud! Stop trying to push your problems away and start facing them head on!"

The wall covering them shrinks down to a couple of feet in height. He crouches behind it to stay out of sight.

"In a moment, we're going to be out of cover," Toph bites out, kneeling beside him. "I'm not wasting anymore time hiding. Whatever is waiting on the other side of that wall, we're going to face it. Sweetness needs us, and we're going to protect the rest of our friends. Together. Are you with me?"

Zuko's breath rattles in his chest; his heartbeat is erratic. But he squares his shoulders anyway and says, "Yes." His voice is even.

The world sways uncontrollably. The ground fissures and begins to split. The air is alive with flying rocks; they seem to surround him like a storm. But when Toph holds her hand out, he grips it firmly. Her fingers feel as clammy as his, and despite the stubborn set of her jaw, he sees the same fears reflected in her sightless eyes.

Then she throws her head back and her entire body relaxes.

The last few feet of wall covering them suddenly shatters. The pieces hang in the air, floating in a strange orbit. Through the cracks that open up between them, Zuko sees the Dai Li bending in unison directly in front of them. Jeong-Jeong and Iio pick them off at the edges; the others are out of sight.

The sharp edges of the rocks slowly turn inward until they're pointing straight at him. Then, obeying some unheard command, they rush toward him like flying daggers.

There's no time to think about anything except for the air rushing out of his lungs.

His feet stay planted to the ground. His aching body pushes through its agony, outward at the incoming onslaught.

Somewhere beside him, Toph does the same.

Bright fire seems to surround him in every direction. He squints through it, barely able to see. The air grows boiling hot. The incoming rock shards seem to grumble for a moment before the sound of whooshing liquid drowns it out.

Something crashes to the ground and barrels toward the opposing Dai Li contingent with the fury of rushing water - and the uncompromising strength of earth. Its glow is infernal.

Screams reach his ears from a long distance away. He blinks, barely registering the scene in front of him.

The battlefield looks like something straight out of hell, the ground rent and broken, smoking incessantly. And everywhere is a strange molten substance, red-hot and bubbling slowly. It carpets the surface of the earth, obeying his command like fire, but heavy - like a slow liquid.

"What the hell did you do, Sparky?" Toph yells, awestruck. Her fists close experimentally and she lunges forward.

The liquid fire bears down on the Dai Li with the weight of a thousand rocks. The enemy benders struggle, unable to redirect its flow.

The sight is dumbfounding - did this really happen - and the triumphant familiarity of it all threatens to overwhelm him.

After all, this is not the first time he's accidentally fused his bending in battle before, but it still feels just as surreal to him.

"You mean, what the hell did we do?" he corrects, his voice a mystified hush. All the complaints of his injured body slide away, fear and despair yielding to the sudden surge of energy welling up inside.

He twists into an offensive stance and follows through with a firebender's spiral kick. The fiery molten substance reels and breaks through the formation of enemy benders, splitting them off from each other effortlessly.

"We did that?" Toph's grin widens. "What the hell are we even bending right now?"

"I..." Zuko realizes with growing amazement, "I think it's lava!"

The power of it seems to echo somewhere in his gut, invigorating, intoxicatingly renewing. And where mere moments earlier he'd been tired, broken, defeated, now he feels more invincible with every passing second.

Toph drops into a squat and the lava swirls and explodes outward, raining hell onto the enemy benders. "Well, it seems like they can't defend against it! Wanna go roast some Dai Li butts?"

He stares down the line of enemy benders, fists clenching, a huff of surprise sticking in his throat. "It would be my honour."

The sun is low in the sky by now, the day deceptively short. It glares bright orange in her eyes, blinding.

A handful of enemy benders are scattered on the ground, unconscious. Only four remain, too quick, too clever, too powerful for her flagging strength.

She has them backed up against the edge of a deep fissure, trying to wash them into its depths. But her throat is so dry the sides stick together. Her body feels like lead, the weight of it screaming against exhausted muscles. Her water is all but gone, leaving her to bend the very sweat off her brow.

They pause, just out of her reach, watching her from under the brims of their hats. She grimaces at them, struggling for breath.

They took him from me, she tries to think, a mantra against the overwhelming weariness that threatens to cripple her, they took him -

She tries to attack again, but her form is weak and her legs can scarcely hold her weight up. The water that rushes at the enemy benders is more of a puddle than a stream; they swat it away with humiliating ease.

One seems to materialize right before her, too close for her to bend. But close enough to punch. Her fist follows through, an uppercut aimed to the jaw.

The agent disappears before she can touch him.

Something slams into the small of her back, knocking the wind out of her. She collapses to the ground, pinned under its weight. Nausea bubbles through her gut, bile rising in the back of her throat. She spits onto the ground, coughing up red.

Four pairs of boots crunch onto the ground around her. Her vision is dotted with strange black spots.

She tries to scrabble back up, but her body is deaf to the command of her mind. Her fists clench and unclench uselessly. A few drops of water dance on the surface of a puddle harmlessly.

A metal-gloved hand grabs her by the collar and drags her off her feet with enviable strength.

Her hands clutch at the one holding her by the throat. Her feet dangle off the ground. The neck of her armour digs into the back of her head.

The agent holding her tilts his head up and she can almost see his face under the shadow of his hat. His eyes are a pale green, luminous in the dark, but cold and emotionless even as his fist flexes around her neck.

She chokes on her breath, everything seeming to flash before her at once.

I hope he got away, she thinks, squeezing her eyes shut. I hope the others are okay.

In the distance, something seems to sigh.

The agent holding her stiffens. The cloth of his uniform whispers as he turns his head.

An answering rumble as the others surrounding her take off.

Huh?

Katara's eyes slit open. The darkening sky glows bright orange and pink, the sun still heavy on the horizon. Its cool red glow tinges the ground, alive with something -

She blinks, trying to make sense of the fiery red river charging along the ground. It flows and floods like water, yet all the Dai Li standing in its path crumple as though it was stone.

The hand around her neck lets go. She falls to the ground with a crunch. Lands on her side, pain shooting blinding white everywhere.

Stars dance through her vision as the agent turns away from her, toward the oncoming - thing. He hasn't uttered a sound the whole time, Katara realizes, but the set of his shoulders almost makes him look...scared.

The screams, the clanging of rock on metal, all of it seeming to fade to a muffled silence under the low slosh of the fiery river. It bubbles thickly, cascading into the deep fissures splitting the earth and filling them up.

She barely notices the ground swelling behind her. But it tunnels past her, across the length of the valley right to where the bulk of the Dai Li are pinned off by that glowing red substance.

The agent in front of her takes an inadvertent step back. The heel of his boot brushes her shin.

Her eyes stare blankly at the back of his uniform, dark green cloth and smoke grey armour glinting gold in the dying light. Something buzzes in her chest as she struggles to feel something other than fury and despair.

It takes a second before she registers the sudden change in the air. But as the temperature spikes infernally, her weakened body understands danger.

She rolls out of the way just as the sound splits the air.

A massive blast of fire rocks the earth, leaving a smoking crater where the agent had once stood.

The explosion buffets her across the ground. A high-pitched whistle keens loudly in her ears.

The world spins uncontrollably until she crashes into something very solid. A boot - another agent – she opens her eyes, the shrill whistle in her ears fades out to a drone.

But the soldier staring quizzically at her - and the rows of troops lined up behind him - are dressed in deep crimson instead.

She doesn't hear the command shouted in the air to charge, doesn't see the scores of armoured earthbenders leap out of the ground and flank the remaining Dai Li where they stand, trapped and now solidly outnumbered.

All she can really understand is the world swimming around her, a dizzying clash of too many people rushing down the slopes of the ringing mountains, and explosions splitting the air everywhere.

Somewhere, an indomitable buzz of vengeance hisses commands that her bone-weary limbs can no longer understand. Get up, it snaps. Finish it. They took him from you. Make them pay -

A glove emblazoned with the flame-red Empire insignia reaches for her. With a gasp that sounds almost reluctant, darkness finally wrenches her under.

The sun has nearly set by the time the fighting finally stops.

By now the entire valley resembles the ruined city at the heart of the canyon. Except there is no city anymore, the ancient structures smashed to unrecognizable piles of rubble that carelessly scatter the earth. The smooth grassy plains are gouged, scorched, and smoking. Small pools of cooling lava still glow here and there, dotting the former battlefield like swollen red fireflies.

There is a flurry of activity everywhere. Where there had only been nine fighters holding the entire Dai Li force at bay, suddenly hundreds of Fire Empire soldiers dressed in red and green mill about. They put up tents, set up campfires, sort out the wounded, the dead, and the prisoners of war.

"But do you think any of them will actually talk?" Zuko asks grumpily from outside the infirmary tent. Makeshift cots line the area immediately outside it for the less critically wounded. It hasn't been long since he found himself marched off the front lines and seated onto one by the army medics.

You need prompt medical attention, Your Highness, they had explained to him reverently, you and your friend too.

Why, you held almost the entire force at bay nearly single-handedly... Surely after so heroically protecting the Empire from this heinous attack, you can allow yourself a little rest.

Let the others take it from here, Prince Zuko...

Everything that followed was a confusing rush of medical muttering. A small army of medics descended upon on him, plucking off his broken armour and checking everywhere for injuries. Vile-tasting tonics were poured into his mouth, his agonized shoulder stitched up and poulticed carefully, healing salves slathered across the unscarred, heavily bruised side of his face. Only one medic remains, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline, winding clean white bandages along his broken collarbone.

Toph lies sullenly on the cot next to his. Someone had attempted to force a healing tonic down her throat before she lost her cool and yelled at them to leave her alone.

Zuko jerks away from the hovering medic, done with his cast and now poking uncomfortably at the muscles just above his ribcage. "Get off me! Can't you see I'm fine?"

"With - with all due respect, Your Highness," the medic manages to squeak back, "you have several broken bones and - and some hairline fractures that really should be looked at -"

"I said it's fine." Twin flames burst out of his nostrils.

The man falters, before bobbing his head and dipping into a bow that annoys him to the core. "Y - yes, Your Highness! My deepest apologies, Prince Zuko. Perhaps you would like something else to be comfortable? Something hot to eat, perhaps someone to draw up a soothing warm bath -"

"No! Just - just go away!" Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose as the medic backs away, hands wringing.

Toph quirks an eyebrow. "Suddenly you're a real celebrity around here, aren't you?"

"I'm the same exiled prince I was this morning," he mutters. "Nobody cared less back then. Why is everyone fussing now?"

"Because this morning you weren't the exiled prince who heroically saved the Empire," Toph sings in mocking imitation, waving her hands dramatically to emphasize her point.

Zuko groans. "Not you too."

"Hey, as one-half of the Empire-saving duo who isn't getting offered hot baths, I've gotta claim my bounty some way or another." She grins cheekily. "And please stop glaring at me, you know I can't see you anyway."

Zuko drops his gaze to the ground, where he proceeds to glare at the tops of his scuffed black boots.

We made it. Despite everything that went wrong, we made it. We held back the Dai Li, the ambush worked, and now everyone thinks I'm a hero.

He should be elated, but he just feels restless.

The valley is wide around him and the fattening sickle of moon hangs high in the sky above. Yet he feels as if he's caught in some invisible snare.

He glances at the infirmary tent again, its entryway curtained off. A faint whiff of burning herbs and strong ointments escapes from it, but apart from that, nothing. It is the largest structure in the whole valley, except for maybe the prisoners' hold on the far side.

It hasn't been longer than an hour since they'd dragged Aang's unconscious form in there; since Katara, prone and feebly stirring, had been carried in on a makeshift stretcher. The thought of her brings back a surge of complicated feelings he'd rather not dwell on.

Instead, he's racked with guilt. Which is ridiculous, because it was Katara's own inexplicably stupid decision to run off by herself in the middle of the battle and get herself pummelled half to death. None of this is his fault.

But it rankles nonetheless.

A hand clamps down on his injured shoulder. He shakes it off vehemently. "I said no more! What part of 'I'm fine' do you not understand -"

"Now, is that any way to speak to family?"

Zuko freezes before whipping around to face the newcomer.

Standing before him, wearing a smirk of amusement, is Prince Lu Ten.

"Cousin?" Zuko chokes out, equal parts humiliated and ecstatic. He scrambles to his feet; every single muscle in his body burns in protest at the sudden motion.

"Zuko!" The little smirk grows into a grin that reminds him wrenchingly of his uncle. Lu Ten's arms wrap around his shoulders in a fierce hug. "It's been too long - just look at you! You're nearly as tall as I am, now!"

Zuko lets out a tiny burble of indignation, but he is far too spent for banter. "It's good to see you too," he says awkwardly instead. "I see you got our message in time."

"Just barely! Good thing we were already sailing south for the capital when Master Jeong-Jeong's falcon-hawk reached us. I'll admit, I wasn't sure if the old man was exaggerating or not, but from the looks of it he wasn't messing around."

"No. He wasn't." Through the delight of seeing his cousin again, Zuko manages to feel clumsy and tongue-tied.

"Apparently not! Although," Lu Ten tilts his head to the side and gives Zuko a shrewdly appraising once-over, "it seems like you almost didn't need us at all! Saviour of the Empire, they're calling you!"

"Uh…" Zuko feels his face flush at the unexpected praise. Somehow instead of pride, he just feels embarrassed in the scrutiny of the battle's aftermath. He rubs at the back of his head with his uninjured arm. "Well, I think you know by now not to set too much store by what people say."

Lu Ten whistles airily. "And he's modest, too! You really have been spending a lot of time under Father's wing, haven't you?"

"Uh…"

"It's okay to take a little credit once in a while! Anyway, what am I asking you for? I was there, I saw the whole thing! Was that lava I saw you bending? How in Agni's name did you accomplish that?"

"I'm not entirely sure." Zuko coughs, turning to glance at Toph briefly. "Maybe Toph has some ideas."

"Toph Beifong? A friend, I take it?"

"Nah. More like a chaperone," Toph quips in response, before turning her head back to face the darkening sky overhead.

Zuko scowls even as Lu Ten laughs again. "It's a long story," he supplies, suddenly eager to change the subject. "You said you were sailing to the capital. Why?"

Lu Ten gives him a funny look. "For the coronation, of course. Why else?"

The word punches straight into Zuko's gut. "Coronation?"

Lu Ten's eyes, the same amber hue as Uncle's, soften a touch. "You mean nobody told you?"

Zuko shakes his head slowly.

Sympathy crosses Lu Ten's face. It makes Zuko feel very small. "Walk with me," he says steadily. "It appears we have a lot to talk about."

"Apparently." Zuko heaves the word out, hoping he doesn't sound bitter. He tosses a glance over his shoulder where Toph is patiently lying on her cot, pretending not to listen. "Toph, excuse me. I'll be back."

She nods. "Go ahead. It sounds awfully dramatic."

Zuko sighs. "Family matters usually are."

Katara awakens with a start, a hand flying to her chest where her heart drums in a panic. Her eyes dart around the unfamiliar space, her breath trembles in short uncontrolled bursts.

A second later, the pain hits. Every single part of her body hurts, ranging from a dull throb to a blinding, searing bite.

And playing through her mind are wisps of memory, flashes of sheer chaos.

She remembers a fight, a brutal, terrible fight. Underground in the bunker, and then utter carnage in broad daylight.

She remembers fear, pain, desperation. Sparks of lightning racing through the air, some strange fiery river that she surely must have hallucinated.

Vaguely, she remembers gasping and struggling uselessly, ground to a pulp against a faceless enemy - the Dai Li and their sleepers...

And then it hits her with a rush of horror.

Sokka had been there. She'd thrown her arms around him. And he'd looked at her like she was a complete stranger, as though he didn't know her at all…

He didn't remember who he was.

"Katara?" mumbles a sleepy voice.

Her head cranes to the side, where she can make out a narrow pallet right next to a giant brazier, glowing with dim red coals. And lying in that cot, so pale he almost seems to glow in the dark -

"Aang?" Katara asks, confused for a moment. "What - what are you doing here? Are you okay? What happened?"

"I'm not sure." Aang's voice is brittle; as her eyes adjust to the dim light, she is able to see him struggle to sit up. "We were fighting against the Dai Li - there were a lot of them, but then –"

Her teeth bite into her lip; her heart thuds to an uncertain halt.

"Zuko knocked most of the sleepers out with his lightning - it was a brilliant shot!" Aang lets out a small laugh that turns into more of a wheeze. "Seemed for a second like we were winning! Then uh, you ran away and I got worried –"

Katara turns to face him sharply as he continues, somewhat abashed, "—I remember trying to follow you and then, uh...well, not much else."

The dam at the back of Katara's mind bursts, giving way to a host of things it's been trying to ignore.

Aang, trying to support her down in the bunker when she'd stupidly, selfishly pushed to rescue the sleepers. Toph, furiously trying to talk her out of it. Collapsing when everything ended up backfiring. Zuko backing away from her, his face sick with betrayal. She can hear his voice clearly; it seems to ring in her ears, accusing. Do you value us so little?

And then, abandoning them all on the battlefield without sparing a single thought. All in a last-ditch effort to find Sokka, only to be left behind again. She sees it as clearly as she can see Aang, deathly pale and bedridden, with his entire torso wrapped in bandages, so frail he can barely move.

Suddenly, the ache of her whole body isn't enough to drown out the sickening tide of guilt that threatens to overwhelm her like one of her giant waves.

"You got hurt," she whispers, horrified. "You got hurt trying to protect me."

Aang tries to shrug gingerly, but ends up wincing at the effort. "It was an accident, Katara! I should have been a little more careful –"

Her bottom lip quivers; her throat closes up tight. Through it, her voice is a wavering thread of sound. "This is all my fault."

"It's not your fault –"

"But it is!" she very nearly screams. "We had a plan and I messed everything up and nearly got all of you killed! You can say it, Aang!"

"We all do things we're not proud of when we're scared, Katara. I can't hold that against you."

"But I wasn't scared! I was selfish, and I didn't think of any of you at all and – and –" and it didn't even matter, Sokka didn't even know me and he ran away again, what was the point?

"You had no idea that it would turn out like this," Aang maintains, and through the dark his big grey eyes seem to shine. "The Dai Li were the ones who knocked me out, Katara - if anyone's to blame, it's them. Look, what's done is done, and it isn't healthy to keep blaming yourself, you won't move on that way!"

"What if I don't want to? What if that's what I deserve?" Guilt rises like her gorge and she nearly vomits over the side of her bed, except it's been so many hours since she's last eaten, there's nothing left in her stomach to bring up.

"Katara, stop it!" Aang's faint voice seems to rise in volume. "I can't see you like this - please stop doing that to yourself, it's not going to help you –"

The air in the dim room is suddenly too hot, too stifling; it feels too much like the cloying deathtrap of the Dai Li bunker. She pushes herself off her pallet, swaying a little as her head spins alarmingly.

"Katara, what are you doing? You're still hurt!"

She staggers to the curtained flap covering the doorway, pushes it aside. The night time air assaults her senses, bracingly brisk and with a faintly briny taste of sea.

"Whoa there, Sweetness, what's going on?" A new voice, stronger, concerned even through its brashness. Toph.

Katara stares at her mutely, vaguely seeing the bandages and the bruises lining the blind girl's body. More visible to her mind's eye is Toph collapsing, spent to exhaustion from saving them all. Because I made her drop everything and save the sleepers. Because I only cared about finding Sokka.

"The medics said total bed rest for you," Toph continues, swinging off her cot and crossing her arms stubbornly. "So, whatever it is, it can wait. Back you go –"

"I can't go in there," she blurts out, stumbling even as Toph makes to grab her by the arm. "I can't –"

"Stop talking stupid and go back to bed, Sugar Queen!" Toph snaps. "What the heck's gotten into you today?"

Katara's breathing is too deep, too quick; there's a band around her chest like she's suffocating. The rush of salty air in her nostrils just makes her head spin faster.

"Just leave me alone," she chokes in a strangled voice.

Katara steps away from Toph, who is saying something she doesn't hear. Away from the infirmary with Aang and his broken body and his transcendent goodness, away from everything that makes her feel anything at all.

Each step sends pain lancing through her body and she welcomes it. Her pace quickens to a run and she blunders through the encampment, heedless of the heads turning in her wake.

She runs and runs until she reaches the shoreline, where all she can hear and smell is briny seawater. It laps at her toes, at her senses, and briefly, for a moment, it feels comforting.

In the palm of the ocean, nothing else seems to matter. The water pulls at her with all its weight. For a moment, its call is enticing: she could just slip in, let it bear everything away.

Instead, she lifts her arms and pushes back with all her strength.

"Today?" Zuko echoes disbelievingly. "The coronation was today?"

Lu Ten nods grimly. "We received word on the new year. It was scheduled for sundown." He glances at the sky, where only a faint band of pale blue lingers on the distant horizon. "Well, looks like we're both out of luck, it must be over by now. Hell of a start to their reign, though—"

"How am I only hearing about this now?" Zuko spits, momentary disbelief fading to stung indignation. "Nobody told me. Nobody ever tells me anything!"

"My father never sent for you?" Lu Ten asks sharply.

"No. Did he send for you?"

Lu Ten glances at his feet nervously. "Well – well, yes, once he reached the capital and found everything a bit of a shambles, really –"

Now it's Zuko's turn to stare at his feet. "I see."

Lu Ten's admission hurts a lot more than he cares to admit. It seems like ages ago since he'd been shut up in his room, wishing he could be by his uncle's side. Now it just makes him feel foolish, for wanting yet another thing he couldn't have.

"I'm sure he meant to," his cousin tells him gently, and his eyes are wide and earnest. "Things probably just got in the way, what with how sudden everything is –"

"He still had time to summon you," Zuko points out, trying hard to keep the accusation from his voice.

Lu Ten still flinches. "Yeah, but -" but he's my father. It lingers unsaid between the two of them.

Zuko knows it's not Lu Ten's fault, but he still can't stop the twinge of resentment that rages through him. "I get it," he says stiffly. "It's not my place. Forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive. You're family, Zuko. No matter what your father says." Lu Ten's arm closes on his shoulder. "Your place is wherever you want it to be, little cousin. Even if it's back at the palace –"

"I'm not going back there," Zuko grits out stubbornly. He crosses his arms defensively across his chest. "I won't go where I'm not wanted."

"Not even for my wedding?"

Zuko stares sharply at his cousin, who raises his eyebrows in return. "Did my father keep this delightful bit of news from you as well?"

"No," Zuko stammers, shaking his head. "No, he told me about that. To the Mao girl, right?"

"That's the one. See? You're not entirely in the dark, just behind on some recent developments." He grins suddenly. "For example, you probably don't know that my wedding's a fortnight away!"

"What?" Zuko demands, shocked. "So soon?"

"I guess." Lu Ten shrugs. "My father just wrote that the Empire needed to see a show of strength from the royal family, and what better way to do that than promise more heirs on the way? So...wedding time."

"But Emperor Azulon just passed away! His funeral was barely a week ago. Now Uncle wants to get you married off? Isn't this all happening a little quickly?" The more he mulls over Lu Ten's words, the more unsettled he becomes. "And what about this attack? Why would Uncle choose a coronation over helping us? Shouldn't he be worried about keeping the Empire safe first?"

"Politics, little cousin. Strength comes from unity within, remember? In light of this attack, it's important now more than ever to show that the Empire is unafraid and not without leadership. But…" Lu Ten's grin hitches, turning into a grimace, "the succession has raised a lot more questions than Father would have liked. Without the luxury of appearing at odds...I expect he believes a grandson or two would cement his position nicely."

"You mean against my father," Zuko realizes slowly, staring at his cousin in a different light. Lu Ten stands a shade of an inch shorter than him, but built broad and strong like Uncle Iroh. The little flame crown glimmers where it sits on his topknot; beneath it, long black hair streams down his back. His face, long and narrow like Zuko's, is square at the jaw and lined with the sharply trimmed whiskers of a fully-grown, virile Fire Nation man. Lu Ten is many years older than Zuko, but only now does he really appreciate what that means. "Azula is a strong heir, but she hasn't even turned eighteen. She will hardly be producing sons anytime soon."

Lu Ten's smile fades. "Something like that, I imagine. But if your father gets it in his head that he also needs grandsons," Lu Ten cocks an eyebrow as he continues, "...well, let's just say you might find yourself summoned back to court sooner than you'd like."

Zuko sputters loudly at that. He shudders at the thought of being called back home only to be used like a stud ostrich-horse. "I don't think so." Somehow his voice stays steady. "Azula would poison any son I'd manage to father in its sleep. Besides, my father would never cast her aside – not for me, anyway."

"You should come back anyway. Show him what he's missing. Once everything gets sorted out here, I'm sailing back home. You should join me."

The invitation catches Zuko off-guard. Home. The thought fills him with a yearning he can barely describe, a sense of incompleteness that makes him ache whenever he thinks about it. For a moment it disappears, dimmed in the bright hope rearing its head at Lu Ten's simple offer.

I could go home with Lu Ten. I could sleep in my own bed, I could see the turtleducks again, I could…

And then it fizzles out as he remembers everything else. There would be no war councils for him, no duties, nothing but dishonour from his family. He would simply exist on the fringes, irrelevant and inconsequential.

"I won't go where I'm not wanted," he repeats quietly. "Besides…there are people who need me here."

Lu Ten raises his eyebrows but his expression is sympathetic. "Well, I'm not going to force you, little cousin. If you're sure –"

"I am."

"Okay, okay, if you insist." Lu Ten smiles slyly at him. "But if you happen to change your mind, you know where to find me."

Zuko returns to the infirmary tent, only to find Toph pacing and fuming by its entrance.

"What happened?" he asks, still distracted. The flap of curtain at the tent's entrance is pulled back a crack, swaying in the slight breeze.

"Sugar Queen happened," Toph retorts witheringly, jamming her hands on her hips and rolling her sightless eyes. "Story of the day, apparently! I don't know who slipped what in her bean curd this morning, but I've had it up to here with her nonsense!" She gestures at her neck emphatically.

Zuko rubs at his temples, inadvertently smearing his fingers with the herbal salve that he'd forgotten was all over his face. He groans, wiping them off on his stained uniform - Agni, I need to get out of this thing. "What did she do this time?"

"Beats me! She just freaked out and left!" Toph throws her hands up in frustration. "Scared the pebbles out of Twinkletoes too -"

"Aang's awake?" Zuko pushes the curtain aside and pokes his head in. In the light streaming in from outside, he can vaguely see Aang's pale form seated half-upright on his pallet. Relief surges through him, a welcome distraction from the simmering resentment of earlier. "How are you feeling now?"

Aang shrugs gingerly, wincing at the small motion. "Honestly? I don't feel much at all. I think they gave me a lot of herbs for the pain while I was out cold." He smiles weakly. "It's probably better that way, huh?"

"Well, a giant rock to the chest couldn't have been good for you," Zuko says, somewhat uncomfortably. "You really had us worried back there."

"Sorry to make you worry," Aang offers apologetically. "But I think Katara took it pretty badly when she came around."

"Badly?" Zuko echoes. "What do you mean?"

"Did you not catch the part where she freaked out and left?" Toph deadpans. She marches over to join him at the infirmary entrance, leaning against the wooden frame for support.

Zuko glances at the pallet next to Aang's. It is empty, the sheets rumpled as though its occupant had left in some distress.

Something like guilt burrows its way into his conscience before he has a chance to stop it.

"She was upset, Toph," Aang reproaches. "I think she blamed herself for what happened to me."

"Well, she should! If she'd just stayed and watched our backs instead of running off like some unpredictable idiot, this wouldn't have happened to you!"

"You don't know that," Aang counters, his quiet voice a foil to Toph's mounting agitation. "The battle was really intense. I might have gotten knocked out anyway."

"Well, that would have still sucked," Toph admits before her face darkens, "but at least I wouldn't be blaming Sugar Queen for it!"

Zuko isn't sure if he agrees with Toph or not when he abruptly remembers how she'd argued with him before the battle, with them all in the bunker. It should frustrate him too, but it only makes him feel worse in a way he can't quite understand.

"I think you're just blaming her because it's easier for you to cope that way," Aang suggests, his grey eyes seeming to stare right through Toph and all her bluster.

Her jaw drops and she flounders for a moment before regaining composure. "Now I get why she ran off after talking to you," she huffs through clenched teeth, turning away.

Aang blanches. It is more than Zuko can take. "Enough," he snaps. Both of them start but he pays them no heed as he barrels on. "Today was a hard day, okay? We clearly all have a lot of issues to work through, but we've already lost one member of the team! Don't you two start as well."

Aang sighs. "Yeah…"

Toph scuffs her heel against the ground. "Right." She turns her sightless gaze back into the infirmary. "Sorry, Twinkletoes. Low blow there."

Aang gives her an uncertain smile. "That's okay. Apparently I need to work on my pep talks, if they keep making you guys run away."

"No kidding," Toph snorts. "So. Who's going to go talk some sense into Sugar Queen?"

"Well…" Aang raises his hands defensively. "I can't exactly move. Plus, she might feel worse if it's me. Since she thinks it's her fault."

"Right, Twinkletoes stays here." Toph claps a hand on Zuko's forearm. "Thanks for volunteering, Sparky!"

Zuko recoils. After everything that's happened in the last couple of days, he thinks there's hardly anyone Katara would want to see less. "Me? Why me?"

"Because no good deed goes unpunished."

"Yeah," Aang pipes up, "and between the two of you, Toph isn't exactly...gentle."

"Plus, if there's anyone here who's an expert in handling angry Sugar Queen," Toph continues breezily, "it's you, Sparky!"

Zuko groans, rubbing at his forehead and getting salve on his fingers again. "Great," he mutters, wiping at his uniform vehemently. "Just what I needed to make my day. Where is she?"

Toph's face scrunches up in focus, before she points toward one of the nearby mountains. "There seems to be a lot of flooding going on in that one spot."

Sighing, he heads off in the direction that Toph pointed out to him.

He sidesteps the main encampment and the roaring cheer of the soldiers celebrating their victory with growing boisterousness. His pace is very slow; his body feels like it's filled with stones, the way exhaustion dogs at his limbs.

But the encampment is only a short distance inland and it doesn't take very long before the sounds of celebration fade to silence, before the unearthly roar of the sea takes its place.

It grows louder with every step he takes, seeming to bounce off the slopes of the mountains rising on either side. For some reason, he feels nervous. It's been a long while since the last time he'd been nervous to face her, but here he is.

His mind keeps turning back to the bunker, in the room with all the sleepers. He doesn't know why he keeps dwelling on it, but he can't shake the way she'd looked then. Not angry, not combative, just…

Devastated.

Except that didn't even begin to cover it. No, it was stubborn, heartbreaking despair that had been written all over her face. And instead of recognizing that, he'd accused her of being selfish and turned away.

And then she ran away mid-battle without a second thought and fought until she couldn't stand.

The guilt twists deeper and deeper.

Wind nips at his face and as he looks up, the shoreline comes in view.

For a second it's beautiful and calm, the sea rippling almost black along the grey stone of the shore, the dark blue sky bedecked with glowing cloudy swirls.

Then the water peels back from the shore, rising higher in the air than any tide had the right to be. He watches a safe distance away as it towers and halts, a giant barrier of cold rushing darkness that seems to blot out the moon.

At its foot stands just one girl, arms stretched up high, shaking with exertion. Next to the towering giant wave, she appears absurdly tiny.

Then her arms push down and the colossal wall of water crashes back thunderously. It foams and writhes into turbulent white-capped peaks, big at first and then smaller as the water calms.

He picks his way over to where Katara stands, perfectly dry and breathing heavily. Even as he draws nearer, she bends her arms and the water parts down the middle, as though unveiling a path straight into the heart of the sea.

She makes a sound and the water collapses back into place.

"Just like old times, huh?" he says suddenly and her back stiffens in surprise at his voice. "You know, I was starting to miss them."

She glances at him over her shoulder before turning back to face the water. "Leave me alone. I don't need another lecture about how I should be feeling."

"Who said anything about a lecture?" He decides against joining her, settling to stand some small distance behind her.

Her fist closes slowly. She lets out a long, shuddering sigh before turning around to face him. "What do you want."

Zuko weighs his options, wondering what to say.

"Are you here to gloat? Maybe an I told you so?" Katara continues, stepping up to him. "After all, you were right –"

"No," he interrupts, shaking his head. "No, that wasn't fair. I shouldn't have said that to you."

"Yes, you should have!" Katara exclaims, sounding dangerously close to tears. She jabs a thumb to her chest. "I needed to hear it, okay? You were right, I should have told you guys something. I thought – when it came to him, I didn't have a choice but...I guess I was wrong…"

He thought she'd looked devastated down in the bunker, but that's nothing compared to what she looks like now. Her guilt, combined with… "I'm sorry you couldn't find your brother," he says.

She stays silent for so long, he begins to fear that he's overstepped, misjudged the situation entirely. He braces himself for the inevitable backlash when, to his dismay, she deflates instead.

"I did find him," she admits hoarsely, her voice trembling nearly as much as she is. "I was right. Lee, Jun's spy – he was my brother. But...but he didn't know who I was."

The sound of crashing water seems to fade. "That's – that's awful," Zuko stammers, feeling entirely useless. "Was – was it the Dai Li? Did they brainwash him? Maybe they –"

"No," Katara shakes her head. Her hands fiddle with the belt of her tassets, twisting viciously. "He wasn't brainwashed the way Jet was – and he didn't hurt his head either, I checked. This...this is something I haven't seen before."

"The other sleepers haven't woken up either," Zuko points out, insides hollowing at the realization. "Maybe something's changed. They could have –"

"This is different," Katara insists. Beneath the quaver of her voice, Zuko hears the iron. "Somehow, he just – just woke up with a completely different set of memories. I don't know what the Dai Li did – or how they could have done it! Spirits, I don't even know for sure if it was them..." Her lips press together in a very tight line, as though her fury is the glue holding her very self together.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, entirely out of his depth. Everything he wants to say seems trite, inadequate, unhelpful.

"And then he ran away. Again." Her voice wobbles dangerously; her arms fold across her chest like a fortress. "He left me behind once and – and then he didn't even know me and he disappeared again, and…and I just don't understand anymore." She shuts her eyes. "Why did I bother? What's the point?"

Something in his chest lurches at the sound of her voice; the sight of her so broken and defeated feels viscerally painful. He tugs at her shoulder. "Ugh, come here."

She tries to shake him off half-heartedly. "I said leave me alone—"

He pulls her tight against his chest, deaf to her protests. His arms wrap around her already shuddering shoulders, as the fight goes out of her and the sobs begin to crack through at long last.

For a while, the only thing he can really focus on is how fragile she feels in his arms – and still so very solidly real. Her fingers twist feebly at the stained fabric of his uniform. He presses his cheek into the top of her head; a few of her hairs stick to the salve on the bruised side of his face. She smells quite strongly of sweat and metallic earth – the delicate fragrance of waterlilies long gone by now - but still like her.

And how it makes everything else seem inconsequential. The looming threat of the Dai Li now at bay, meaningless. The wheels of family politics back home, irrelevant. Her feelings still impossible for him to unravel, and how little it seems to matter.

"You'll find him one day," he tries to assure her nervously. The sobs calm to slow, hiccupping gulps of air and the tension racking through her whole body fades.

"H-how?" Her voice muffles into the shirt of his uniform, warm and wet with her tears. "He could have gone anywhere…" She clutches at his shoulders, pressing closer to him as though trying to find solace in the crook of his neck, and he winces as she accidentally jostles the sling on his shoulder. "The world is so big. He could be half an ocean away by now."

He snorts, recalling how easily she had parted the water just moments earlier. "Like the ocean's big enough to stop you," he mutters into her hair.

"I'm just one person," she whispers. "And I'm so tired."

They stay like that for quite some time, Katara clinging to the warmth of his body, Zuko absently running his hand along the fall of her hair.

Somewhere in the sky, moonlight pierces through a filament of cloud. At length, her breathing calms back down and Zuko finds the courage to speak.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" he asks bluntly. "Why keep it to yourself like that?"

She looks up at him, clearly caught off guard. "I – I don't know," she confesses, chewing at her lip guiltily. "I didn't – I couldn't –" Her eyes, small and puffy from crying, dart from his face to the ground for an instant, and then back up. "He's my last memory of home. The last good thing," she tries to explain, watching him carefully. "Do you know what that means?"

The last good thing. Zuko casts about in his head, trying to understand her meaning.

He thinks of his life back home, before the Agni Kai changed everything. Master Piandao's approving nod as he mastered the dual swords. Sitting by the garden pond, feeding turtleducks with his mother. Family vacations taken on Ember Island, when Azula was just his baby sister, too young to be competition. His father's hand heavy on his shoulder as they walked in the tall grass side by side.

His throat tightens at that last one, surprised that he can still remember it after all this time.

And then he thinks of Lu Ten's blithe offer to take him home. How even after all these years away, he'd still refused – I won't go where I'm not wanted, there are people who need me here – and how the longer he stands here, the more sense that decision seems to make.

"Yes," he answers simply.

The strangest expression flits across her face. Her eyes seem to soften, flickering to his mouth for a short moment.

Then she leans in. Her face draws closer, too close.

His heart scampers in anticipation even as it plummets in the panicked clarity jolting through him. It hasn't been so long since the last time he broke and kissed her and suddenly complicated everything between them. And after the day they've just had, the last thing he wants is to invite yet another messy complication.

Besides, he still isn't sure what it is that she wants from him. And as much as he would like to believe that the press of her body into his is deliberate, a part of his conscience yells at him with his uncle's voice, reminding him – there's too much going on, nobody's thinking straight, this wouldn't be right –

With more reluctance than he's willing to admit, he turns his head carefully away instead. It makes her pull back, suddenly aware of her surroundings. Confusion and faint disappointment crease across her face.

"And you're not alone," he blurts out, a wilful distraction against the mortification blooming bright red on her cheeks. "I need you. We need you."

He nearly kicks himself for slipping. But then she smiles weakly at him. "I think I need you too," she admits, wiping at her face. She pauses, suddenly worried. "Toph is going to kill me, isn't she?"

Something in his chest swells inexplicably as he shakes his head. "It's all a front. Don't let her fool you. She's actually really worried about you..."

Most of the encampment has fallen asleep for the night by the time they return. Only the posted sentries, and a handful of others, remain awake and alert to their surroundings.

Katara feels many things as she limps toward the infirmary tent, her weight braced against Zuko's side. Guilt, pain, heartbreak, hopelessness...

Toph lies on her makeshift cot in front of the infirmary tent. She sits up at their approach, momentarily amused before her face scrunches up forbiddingly. Katara stops in her tracks. She can't help but feel a little nervous at the shift.

"Well, look who finally decided to show up," Toph grouses. "About time, too. Twinkletoes was getting really worried about you."

"I wasn't the only one!" Aang protests weakly from inside the tent.

Katara pauses at the doorway, pushing the curtain flap aside.

"I—" she begins hesitantly. Because through all the things Katara feels, some manage to surprise her.

She glances inside, at Aang sitting on his pallet with all his bandages, and then back outside, to where Zuko leans against the door frame and Toph stands with her arms crossed stubbornly.

"I'm sorry I left you all in the middle of the battle," she manages to say. "I'm sorry you all got hurt because of me. I...I should have been there, and I wasn't. I put you all at risk because I couldn't see past what I needed for myself."

"You don't have to apologize, Katara," Aang says firmly. "We get it. Everyone can see that you're sorry."

"Not everyone," Toph complains, tapping a foot against the ground. "Besides...she isn't exactly wrong, either."

Katara's gaze flits between each of them. "Of course I have to. I want to," she says softly, feeling lighter by the second. "I don't know what I can do to make it up to you guys. But if I think of something, I'll do it."

Toph whistles. "Now you're speaking my language, Sweetness! I'll have to think of something good…"

"How about you tell us what happened?" Aang suggests gently, taking Katara aback. "Tell us why."

Her throat tightens in response.

"I don't want to hear some lame story," Toph sniffs, "I wanted something good."

"Toph," Zuko says wearily, rubbing at his temples and accidentally getting salve all over his fingers, "she already knows that you're not actually mad at her. You might as well cut it out."

A strange group to be sure, but one where she belongs. Where she feels safe. Trusted. Maybe even loved.

"Fine," she hears herself say. "I'll tell you. But it's a long story…"

It is just after breakfast the next morning when Jun, in the process of saddling Nyla up, finds herself interrupted.

"Leaving so soon?" Katara inquires casually, leaning on a wooden walking-stick.

Jun runs a hand along Nyla's reins as she sizes up the young Water Tribe girl, sporting more bandages and casts than she can possibly count. "Yeah," she replies nonchalantly. "I came to warn you guys about the Dai Li attack, help you guys out if you needed it. Well, the fight's over, and my work here is done. Time to get going."

"Do you have a lot of work waiting for you back home?"

Jun narrows her eyes as the girl shifts uncomfortably before her. "Something like that," she answers carefully. "Why, what's up?"

Katara's unsettlingly blue eyes alight upon Nyla. "Your shirshu can track scents, right? That's how you find people."

"That's right," Jun agrees, wondering how long the girl would waffle before getting to the point.

"And how do you get a hold of these people's scents?" Katara presses curiously, but her eyes blaze uncomfortably. "What do you need to track them down?"

Jun shrugs. "Could be anything that belonged to them. Anything they touched." She pats Nyla on the snout. "Why, do you need me to track someone down for you?"

Katara nods solemnly, her feigned nonchalance dropping abruptly. "I do. What's your price?"

Jun laughs loudly at that. "After saving my life and rescuing one of my old buddies? There's no price for you. What do you need me to do?"

Katara fiddles at her belt and unclips something from her waterskin. "There's someone important to me. I lost him long ago. I...I need to know what happened to him."

Jun whistles through her teeth. "Sounds easy enough. Was it a boyfriend or something?"

Katara shakes her head. "A brother," she corrects, pressing a long, curving metal object into Jun's hand. "This belonged to him."

Jun blinks at the worn old boomerang in her grasp. Then she looks more carefully at Katara, the resemblance so striking it suddenly seems obvious. "A brother, huh? I didn't think Lee had a sister."

Katara looks at the ground darkly. "Neither did he. I need answers, Jun. I have to know what happened to him, how he could forget everything."

Jun frowns. Lee was a useful spy and he'd pulled her out of a sticky spot more than once. But beyond that, she knows next to nothing about him. As a bounty hunter, Jun never wondered about things she didn't get paid to solve. But the ferally injured Water Tribe girl standing before her manages to raise her curiosity.

"Well, there's one way to get to the bottom of it." Jun brings the boomerang to Nyla's nose. Nyla sniffs a couple of times before she raises her head, slavering and growling low in her throat. Jun pats her on the neck before remarking, "Looks like she caught the scent. Should be smooth sailing from here."

"Good." Katara limps forward. Ill-concealed anger flares in her eyes. "Find him," she commands in a low voice. "Find out where he is, where he's been...and bring him back to me."

Jun's hand closes tightly around the boomerang. She gives it a twirl before stashing it away in her belt.

"Consider it done."

Chapter 26: a different kind of blue

Summary:

Zuko receives another letter.

Chapter Text

disclaimer. atla is property of bryke, i gain no compensation from this beyond self-esteem and brownie points.

author's notes. thank you everyone reading and following for your kind words of encouragement! even if i haven't had time to reply, your comments seriously mean the world to me. & as always, major shoutout to circasurvival for her invaluable contributions.

as a responsible human being, i'm putting an advance warning for this chapter here (adultish content as well as references to child abuse & dubious consent welp).

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter xxvi. a different kind of blue

living life to reach the sky
grounded he can't stay
holding on where he was from
lost his grip it's gone

"hymn for him" / submotion orchestra

"Ow!"

"Sorry! Did that hurt?"

"No...no, it's okay -"

"He said ow, Sweetness. Hate to break it to you, but people usually say that when they hurt."

They are all gathered in the healing tent, after returning to their base camp from the Sun Warriors island in a journey that could only be described as organized chaos. Katara remembers very little of it, having been barely conscious for its duration. For the two days since, her hours have been filled with extended healing sessions that leave her bone-weary.

She withdraws her water-gloved hands from Aang's abdomen and turns to glare across the infirmary bay where Toph sits cross-legged next to Zuko on an empty bed by the doorway. Narrows her eyes before remembering that Toph couldn't see her anyway. She turns back to Aang, shirtless and lying flat on the bed before her.

The tattooed skin is still deeply bruised and swollen but thankfully no longer indented where a couple of his ribs had caved in.

"The swelling should go down now that I've got the bones fused back in place," she tells him apologetically. "It looks a lot uglier than it is, but the bruising will be easy to fix."

"Thanks," Aang wheezes gratefully. "You've become pretty good at this, Katara."

She grimaces. "Well luckily for you, I've got plenty of experience with fixing broken ribs."

"Yeah. I know. Talk about irony." He sits up slowly before gingerly trying to get to his feet.

Katara rushes to his side in an instant. "Whoa, take it easy!"

"I just wanted some fresh air," Aang complains, planting a hand on her shoulder. "I've been stuck in bed for three whole days. My neck hurts. My back hurts. Heck, I'll bet even the bed hurts!"

They both glance at his mattress, rumpled and clearly indented with the shape of his body.

"Fine," Katara concedes. "One short walk. But no further than the mess hall, otherwise –"

"I wouldn't dream of it," Aang promises innocently. He leans on her, bracing more of his weight on her shoulder until—

"Ow!" Katara yelps as her ankle crumples and nearly brings the both of them down. "Sorry. I'm not completely done fixing myself up either."

"Would you look at these two invalids," Toph quips, sidling over. "Sweetness, go worry about yourself for a change. I'll take it from here." She slips her shoulder under Aang's arm, easily supporting his weight.

Katara watches the pair hobble out the infirmary. "I don't know how I feel about that," she mumbles to herself.

But Zuko shrugs. "She's right, though. You've been healing all of us this whole time. But you got hurt almost as badly."

She can't help but feel a faint stab of envy at how close Zuko and Toph are - how easy it is for them, how utterly without complications. "I didn't get half my chest smashed in by a rock though."

"You can't hold that against yourself forever. He forgave you, we all did."

"I know," Katara allows. Something like restlessness itches beneath her skin with every moment she stands here just talking. "I'll get over it. Eventually."

He looks back at the ground and it becomes slightly easier to breathe. Only slightly. The restlessness seems to chafe now, urging her to move until she finally caves.

His head shoots back up as she plops onto the bed next to him, so close her knee digs into the side of his thigh. "What are you doing?"

"I needed to sit down," she replies faintly, closing her eyes. The agitation eases its iron grip on her chest, lurking to a simmer so quiet she barely notices it.

"You didn't have to –" he begins, before sighing defeatedly. "Whatever makes you comfortable."

Through all the blood rushing to her face, she manages to feel annoyed by his awkwardness. Raising her wrists, water whizzes toward her from the large pot by the fireplace.

They sit in silence while she works on her ankle, a silence slightly too heavy to be called companionable. It settles on her shoulders while she heals, distracting her from the mess of sinew and ligament knotted beneath her skin.

With her heart juddering nervously and the faint heat of his body so close on hand, it's hard for her to collect her thoughts into a pattern that makes any sort of sense. The past few days lump into a chaotic whirl at the back of her mind, but a lot of things that make them chaotic are because of him.

He was the one who started this whole sorry mess - he'd kissed her, not the other way around. And then we were drinking, he'd explained... and if it had been left at that, she thinks she could have come to terms with it.

But then there was everything that came afterward. The entire battle weighing heavy like a stone in her chest. How he'd held her so tightly – the feeling of his body like an anchor at a time when all she wanted was to slip away with the tide.

And then, infuriatingly, he's been avoiding her ever since. But even through his wariness, he doesn't look like he doesn't want to be near her either, and it just doesn't make sense.

"What?" Zuko asks, and only then does she realize that she's been staring. "Do I have something on my face?"

"Your bruises," Katara says somewhat lamely, lifting a glowing hand. "I can heal them."

"Y-you don't have to," Zuko stutters. He quickly glances at the doorway, but Toph and Aang are nowhere to be seen. "You already fixed my shoulder. These are just bruises, your foot is more important –"

"I need a break from my foot."

Zuko sighs, then swivels around, elbows resting on his knees. "Fine. But they don't even hurt that much anymo—"

He falls immediately silent as her hand presses against his cheek.

Up close, the injured side of his face looks worse than she'd expected. From forehead to jaw, his skin is a tapestry of black and blue.

Zuko closes his eyes as she traces the line of his temple up to his forehead. Strands of his thick bangs graze the back of her hand. He remains very still and calm, but his pulse under her thumb jitters as badly as her own does.

"Is everything okay?" he manages to ask at length, when her hand lingers.

A nervous laugh nearly escapes her. "I'm checking for fractures," she tells him, not untruthfully. "You must have gotten hit pretty badly to get a mark like this. Who knows what a head trauma like that could do? And the last thing we need is for you to start behaving unpredictably."

"I think it's a little late for that," he mutters, opening his eyes. The air between them crackles with hidden electricity.

The water spills out of her control and crawls down his chest. "Hold still," she snaps, flustered.

"I don't think I moved," Zuko answers unsteadily. His gaze, soft and suddenly charged, seems to pin her in place.

Her skin buzzes everywhere it touches his.

We were drinking, he'd said.

He leans in so close he seems to tower over her.

This doesn't make sense.

And the only sound is the frantic rhythm of her own heartbeat.

But it feels right.

His lips part. As if to say something, as if to -

Neither hear the abrupt crunch of footsteps that announces the swish of the curtained doorway being pulled aside.

"There you are, little cousin! The others said I'd find you here – oh."

Katara nearly squeaks, scrambling to the other side of the bed as fast as she can. Horrified embarrassment stains her face a darker shade of red as she spots Prince Lu Ten casually leaning against the doorway, an impishly wide grin splitting his face.

"Sorry, is this a bad time? I could always come back later –"

"No!" Zuko yelps, his voice high-pitched. "No…it's okay. What is it?"

"Really? I sure wouldn't be okay," Prince Lu Ten remarks, giving Katara an amused once-over. She instantly wishes she could evaporate on the spot. Instead, she gets up and limps to the other side of the room, pretending to busy herself with much more important tasks like organizing rolls of bandages by their size. "Who's this? I don't think we've been introduced. Where are your manners, little cousin? Did Father teach you nothing?"

Zuko lets out a rumbling groan. "This is Katara."

"Katara?" Lu Ten's grin widens. "Well, I'm little Zuko's older and much wiser cousin, Lu Ten."

She ducks her head in acknowledgment. Even through the amusement glimmering in his eyes, the family resemblance is plain - Zuko's neat features blended into General Iroh's stockier build...and his meddling sense of humour too, apparently.

"What do you do around here? Are you the healer?" Lu Ten continues curiously.

"No, I'm not that great at healing. I'm just a waterbender."

"She's our division's waterbending master," Zuko interjects, though his gaze is solidly trained on the ground and the bit of his face that is visible to her glows bright red.

Lu Ten's eyebrows rise to the level of his hairline. "My mistake. Didn't mean to offend." Katara isn't sure who the last bit is aimed at, but then Lu Ten turns back to her. "A master waterbender, huh? That's pretty impressive – at your age too!"

Katara bristles. For some reason, Zuko's cousin sets her on edge. "I'm almost eighteen."

"Ah. Same as Azula. But she's a real prodigy – I remember Lo and Li saying that benders like her only come once in a century or something –"

"A generation, actually," Zuko corrects, sounding abruptly surly. "But it took Katara less than six months to become a master. Even Azula needed longer than that."

Katara watches the two of them converse in growing bewilderment. Why is he showing me off like that?

"Why were you looking for me anyway?" Zuko asks his cousin bluntly.

"Oh right, I completely forgot," Lu Ten apologizes. His smile turns aggravatingly cryptic as he fumbles at his belt. "A letter came for you earlier this morning."

Zuko shrugs, unimpressed. "You took all this trouble to tell me about some letter?"

"Not just some letter," his cousin drawls, sounding more than a little smug as he dangles a sealed scroll in the air. "A letter from home."

Katara feels like a chilly breeze must have entered the room, the way Zuko freezes absolutely still at his cousin's words. "From home?" he repeats, sounding stricken. "From Uncle, you mean?"

"The Emperor's seal is on it, so that's what I assumed." Lu Ten shrugs. "I didn't open it or anything–"

Zuko's urgency is palpable as he barrels through the tent flaps. When Lu Ten's questioning gaze turns to her, she shrugs in answer. "He misses his home."

"And - and you're not bothered by that?"

She stares at him, her annoyance ultimately getting the better of her. "What exactly are you trying to accomplish here?"

Lu Ten blinks, momentarily taken aback by her bluntness before he bursts out laughing. "I like you!" he declares to her mounting surprise. "You should come to my wedding."

Katara frowns, nonplussed. "But...I don't even know you."

"Doesn't matter. You're military, you'll have to show up to the capital to pay your respects. It's courtesy." Lu Ten smirks at the aghast look spreading across her face. "In fact, my father will probably expect it – especially if you were close with him."

"What makes you think I was close with him?"

"You're close with Zuko. That's enough." Lu Ten's cheerful face grows jarringly solemn. "In all my years, I don't think I've ever seen anyone accomplish that."

Now Katara really doesn't appreciate the direction this conversation is heading. "I'm sure there are others." She tries to redirect it as though it was just water. "I mean, he had a girlfriend too -"

"Oh yeah, Ukano's girl. One of Azula's, I thought," Lu Ten acknowledges, waving his hand dismissively. "Like I was saying, he's a good kid but he doesn't exactly let anyone in - especially with everything he's been through. You know?"

He looks at her expectantly. But Katara ducks her head back down to stare at the ground, evading his pointed amber gaze. "I…I really need to fix my foot."

An awkward silence lingers as Lu Ten hovers by the doorway. "Of course," he says, his voice falsely bright. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Master Katara. I'm sure I'll see you around soon."

"Yes," Katara supplies, feeling somewhat tongue-tied. "It was an honour to meet you too...Your Highness."

He tuts at that. "So formal," he sniffs, shaking his head before leaving the room.

Katara's shoulders slump in relief - he's gone, finally - before Lu Ten's voice interrupts the silence.

"You know, Zuko's going to need friends back home," he says casually, poking his head back into the tent, and Katara shrieks. "Good friends are hard to come by. Especially at court."

The bottom seems to drop out of Katara's stomach. "He's going back home?" she demands, trying and failing to keep her voice from shaking.

"My father just summoned Zuko back to the palace. You saw him, did that look like someone who wanted to stay here?" Lu Ten watches her shrewdly. For a moment she's reminded of General Iroh's assessing gaze. Then his voice lowers. "Thing is, I don't think Zuko really knows what he's going back to. The royal court is a den of viper-weasels, you know? And if someone...close...to him was to watch his back, I'd feel a lot more comfortable about bringing him along with me."

Katara glowers at him. "Are you asking me to drop everything and go back to the Fire Empire capital – the city responsible for destroying my culture and my home – because you think someone needs to babysit your cousin?"

"You're looking at it wrong," Lu Ten says with another wave of his hand, but then his expression turns serious. "Here we have a waterbending master with an obvious philanthropic streak and no small vendetta against the people who started the polar wars. Would she really choose to languish in some obscure corner of the Fire Nation when the opportunity to go make some friends who could actually make a difference for her people, literally came knocking on her front door?"

Katara gapes at him, spluttering.

He smiles disarmingly at her. "Think about it."

The curtain sways slowly in his wake.

Zuko slams the door shut behind him, panting heavily.

The paper in his hand is pure white and heavy, with a fine grain that rubs against his callused fingertips. His hands shake badly as he struggles to peel the wax seal off, but it is nowhere near the frenzy taking place in the hollows of his chest. The wax sticks to the underside of his nails.

The five-pronged flame of the Emperor's crown winks back at him in the sunlight streaming through his windows.

When he finally unfurls the letter, the first line makes him choke on his breath; it sends molten lead pouring into his stomach.

Zuko, my son, it reads in an unfamiliar hand, you have been away for far too long.

Katara fights a sharp gasp as the sky bison lands abruptly.

"Whoa!" Ty Lee gushes, barely audible over the loud whump that fills the air. "That was so cool! Thanks for the lift, Master Iio!"

"Well, Buri needed to stretch her legs," the Air Nomad answers from her perch atop the bison's head. "And with all the injuries sustained, walking hardly seemed appropriate."

"Or efficient," Suki interjects, her wrist braced and slung tight against her chest.

"Speak for yourself," Toph mutters, her face an unsettling shade of green. "Me, I prefer solid ground any day."

Feeling like her legs have suddenly turned to churning jelly with the force of the landing, Katara privately agrees.

"But what fun is that?" Ty Lee complains, balancing on her hands along the saddle's edge with enviable ease, before somersaulting neatly to the ground.

"How did you two nutjobs ever convince me to do this?" Toph grumbles, vainly tracing the worn leather of the saddle floor. "I should have just stayed in the healer's tent with Twinkletoes."

"You needed a break!" Suki reminds her, nudging her in the ribs with her good arm. "Besides, I can't spend more than an hour in that tent without going stir-crazy."

"Maybe Suki's onto something," Katara mumbles darkly, struggling to get to her unsteady feet. "Stir-crazy sounds just about right."

Suki flutters her lashes innocently. "Well, isn't it a good thing we offered to take Master Iio into town, just us girls?"

"Certainly," Master Iio replies as she loops the bison's reins around its curving horns and ties them in place, before floating down to the ground. "What could possibly complicate such a thing?"

"I don't know. Did Circus Freak need to buy another dress?" Toph asks acidly, before jamming her fists together. A pillar of rock rises up from the ground until it is level with the height of the saddle. "Hop on."

Katara clambers onto the sturdy rock surface. Suki and Toph follow before it collapses, depositing them safely to the ground. They fall in step behind Iio.

Around them, the sparsely inhabited town quickly become a dense marketplace, winding and crammed full of shouting vendors.

Ty Lee claps her hands together. "So, what do you think of the big news? There's a royal wedding coming up!"

Katara's stomach churns in dread remembered from earlier that morning. "Were you planning on going to that?"

"Are you kidding?" Ty Lee exclaims. "It's a royal wedding, Katara! We haven't had one of those since before I can remember! Were you planning on not going?"

"I don't know." Katara fidgets uncomfortably. "Would it be a big deal if I didn't?"

"Well, since it's basically a national celebration and our entire division is getting leave for it, you'd better have a good excuse." Ty Lee sniffs disapprovingly.

"Your friend brings up a prudent point," Master Iio comments as they pass by a fruit vendor's cart. "Appearances are everything, especially in times when people easily take offense." She pauses, tilting her head at the brightly coloured dragonfruits lining the display. "I'll take ten of those, please."

The merchant counts them out, sparing her a sideways glance. His eyebrows rise. "An Air Nomad, huh? You're awful far from home, aren't you?"

Iio tucks her hands into her wide sleeves. "Quite. Although it's lucky that I am. Our temples are good for many things, but we can hardly grow such excellent fruits there."

"That I'll bet." The merchant relaxes instantly. "Fire Nation fruit is the best in the world!"

"I can't disagree with you, friend." A rare small smile crosses Iio's mouth. "Perhaps I'll pick up some ash bananas while I have the chance."

"Excellent choice!" He plants a basket onto the counter and begins to fill it up. "There's a new royal decree stopping food shipments out of the Fire Nation, so it's going to be much harder to get these once you're back home. You're wise to stock up."

Iio's eyebrows rise. "I did hear about that. It was a bold countermeasure. I had thought Grand - Emperor Iroh would take a gentler approach..."

The merchant shrugs. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. Iroh's got a good heart, but that didn't stop the Dai Li from destroying the Sun Warrior's city. They would have attacked the rest of us too, if Prince Zuko, Agni bless him, hadn't defeated them all –"

Toph chokes on her spit and begins coughing violently. The insides of Katara's stomach seem to turn to water.

"Be careful not to give too much weight to the stories," Iio advises. "I fought at the Sun Warrior's isle alongside Prince Zuko and hundreds of others."

The merchant's eyes widen. "You witnessed the battle with your own eyes?"

"We all did." Iio gestures behind her.

A high-pitched squeal emanates from the merchant's throat as he clasps his hands together. "So you saw it, then? Saw Prince Zuko bend lava and turn the very earth against the Dai Li? What was it like? Was he gravely injured? Will he be okay?"

"He wasn't the only one who bent lava!" Toph bursts out. "I was there too. Heck, if it wasn't for me, he would have curled up and rolled over like a little baby."

"Toph," Katara hisses warningly.

The fruit merchant's face closes up oddly. "But...but you're an earthbender."

"Last time I checked."

"Why would an earthbender side with the Fire Empire against the Dai Li?" the merchant demands suspiciously.

"Loads of people from the former Earth Kingdom fight for the Empire," Suki reminds him. "And also think the Dai Li were wrong for attacking out of the blue like that."

"Plenty more are celebrating behind the walls of Ba Sing Se, clamouring for an end to the Empire," the merchant states, hands clutching at the basket tightly.

"Well, they don't speak for all of us!" Suki insists, her face mottling alarmingly red. "We fought alongside Zuko - he's a friend of ours - and got hurt protecting the Empire too." She gestures at her arm emphatically. "Doesn't that count for anything?"

The merchant flounders, eyes widening. "Well - well maybe that's true," he concedes haplessly. "But it doesn't change that maybe Ozai's right. Who knows what they're plotting against us? We need to make an example out of them fast." He pushes the basket across the counter. "That'll be eight coppers."

Iio presses the coins into the merchant's hand. "Thank you, friend. Do you know where I might get my hands on some fire flakes?"

As they meander through the crowded marketplace, Suki's face clouds increasingly darker.

"What's wrong?" Ty Lee asks eventually. "You look like someone murdered your pet sparrowkeet."

Suki shakes her head, unusually grim. "I don't know. That guy at the fruit stall really freaked me out."

"Why?" Ty Lee presses. "It was just one guy."

Suki scoffs. "You don't get it, do you? You're Fire Nation through and through. Nobody would ever question your being there."

"Nobody would question you either!" Ty Lee protests, taken aback.

"But he did," Suki points out. "We've been loyal to the Empire this whole time. But what's going to happen if the Empire decides take their frustration with the Dai Li out on the rest of us? And Kyoshi Island is one of the first points of entry to the mainland Earth territories. If these decrees start piling up…" the resentment in her voice gives way to worry as she trails off.

"Kyoshi Island has some of the strongest warriors in the world," Ty Lee pushes back. "I'm sure they would think twice before trying to attack it."

"Well, that's the problem," Toph mutters. "Nobody wants to think anymore."

Engrossed by the conversation, Katara nearly misses the familiar figure standing by the town's postal kiosk as they walk past it. But Iio's sharp voice cuts everyone off abruptly.

"Piandao?"

The swordmaster turns in surprise, distracted from a letter he'd been poring over. "Iio! Fancy running into you here!"

"Indeed. I was looking for some fire flakes. Air Temple cuisine is incredibly bland." Iio raises an eyebrow. "What about you? Did you walk all this way to check your mail?"

Piandao laughs airily, but he quickly pockets the crumpled letter in his hand. Katara dimly makes out a cracked wax seal, white and imprinted with what looks like a flower. "When are you planning on heading out?"

"I haven't decided," Iio answers, shrugging. "Soon, though. Will I be dropping you off at Shu Jing?"

Piandao runs a hand along his neatly-trimmed beard. "Actually...I have some urgent business elsewhere. Would you mind if I stopped by Kyoshi instead?"

Iio drums her fingers against her basket thoughtfully. "That is a little out of my way," she admits. "We would have to leave sooner rather than later to make that journey."

"You're going to Kyoshi Island?" Suki interjects skeptically. "Why?"

Piandao's smile tightens. "I have to meet someone there."

"Who? Kyoshi Island isn't that big."

"Well, you've been away for quite some time," Piandao points out wryly.

"For too long, it seems," Suki retorts. She turns to Iio instead, resolute. "I'll come too."

"What?" Ty Lee gasps, hands flying to her face in shock. "Suki, why?"

"Because I have to make sure things are okay back home," Suki declares, staring levelly at Piandao. "And you'd be hard-pressed to find someone better to accompany you there than an actual Kyoshi Warrior."

Piandao blinks in surprise. "Well...how can I refuse such a generous offer?"

"But the wedding!" Ty Lee protests, aghast. "You're going to miss it!"

"I'll live," Suki replies grimly. "If I'm getting some time off, I'd rather spend it at home."

Ty Lee whirls on Katara and Toph. "You two have to come now!" she pleads. "I'm not taking no for an answer!"

"Why does it matter to you?" Toph asks. "Personally, I can't think of anything more boring than going to some stuffy royal wedding -"

"It'll be fun!" Ty Lee wheedles. "Come on, you could even stay at my family's house - I have six sisters, we definitely have room for two more!"

Toph cackles suddenly. "Wait, you're telling me we could stay in a house with seven Circus Freaks? Now this I've gotta see…"

Katara swallows nervously, Prince Lu Ten's words echoing like a knell in the back of her mind. Good friends are hard to come by...Would she really choose to languish in some obscure corner of the Fire Nation…

"Oh look!" Iio exclaims from up ahead. "Fire flakes!"

"Fine," Katara hears herself say, surprising everyone. "I'll go. But – but only because Toph's going, too."

You will perhaps be confused to receive this. If so, you would not be wrong. I was a hard father, as was my father before me. In passing his lessons on to you, I was content to allow you to languish in exile for as long as it took to make something of yourself.

And now, you have. News of your courageous, single-handed victory during the treasonous Dai Li attack on the cradle of our civilization has spread like wildfire around the capital. It is all anyone can speak of.

I am proud of you, Prince Zuko. I am proud to call you my son. And I am proud to welcome you back home to the palace, and to the station of Crown Prince that is your birthright.

You will have many questions, grievances, doubts. Whatever they are, we can discuss them when you are back. Times grow grave and we must keep our family close.

I remain,

Your esteemed father.

Zuko feels like he's burning up, as though he's gripped in the jaws of a fire-breathing dragon. But ice cold sweat manages to prickle everywhere, saturating his threadbare tunic all down his back.

The room, spartan and humbly furnished, seem to close in around him. The stone walls dance around in circles, the floor seems to sway under his unsteady feet.

His fingers dig into the scar on his face, vehemently tracing its edges. You will learn respect...and suffering will be your teacher. He doesn't even need to look in the mirror to know its shape, permanently etched onto his face in fire.

His other hand tightens into a fist; the scroll crumples in his grasp. Shock, resentment, and morbid curiosity all vie for his attention before the latter wins. He unrolls the letter and reads it yet again.

The words still don't make sense to him.

Late that night, Katara dreams that she is back in New Ozai.

The dark cramped room a small cell with rocky walls and rickety furniture. Her bed little more than a cot, its frame worn and pallet threadbare. A sliver of window, its view of the cloudy sky crisscrossed with iron bars forbidding any escape.

It is so familiar that the part of her accustomed to freedom begins to panic.

The door to her room creaks as it opens and then closes. Slow footfalls approach the bed. The slight indent of the mattress as someone climbs on.

"Hey." Jet's voice is quiet. He doesn't say anything else but it hangs in the air with the weight of expectation. You know what you have to do.

The sound of cloth slithering to the ground only punctuates her silence.

Her heart begins to pound fretfully in her chest. She stares out the window, at the bright patch in the sky where the moon hides behind a wisp of cloud. Revulsion coils in her stomach, but habit already begins to dull it.

Resignedly, she reaches for the knot holding her bindings together.

"Wait," he says unexpectedly. "Stop."

Her brow furrows. She glances over her shoulder to see his silhouette outlined faintly against the dying torches flanking her door. The rumpled hair shadowing his face, the strong bare chest rising and falling with desire. "Why?"

"It shouldn't be like this." In the darkness, his voice sounds funny.

She scowls. "Then how should it be?"

His arm closes around her waist and drags her back flush against the hard lines of his torso. She gasps at the sudden unexpected movement.

"What are you doing?" she hisses, because he is behaving very oddly indeed. His lips, slowly, impractically, skim the line of her neck and it winds a different type of tension straight through her body.

Warm fingers peel the edge of her bindings, pushing it to the side. Cool air tickles the exposed skin at her shoulder and then it's his mouth pressing onto it, far hotter than she remembers.

The revulsion that knotted her stomach seems to flow away. In its place awakens something decidedly different – a hunger, long dormant, that stirs her blood everywhere his skin touches hers.

"Do you like that?" he murmurs, words muffling into her skin. His hand splays along the flat of her stomach, his mouth trails slow open-mouthed kisses along the line of her collarbone turning her flesh to liquid fire.

She nods breathlessly. The panic is gone by now, but her heart still pounds heavily. It resonates all through her body, right to where her thighs unconsciously clench together.

Then his lips capture hers and she collapses into the kiss, dizzyingly and bruisingly hard. His arm around her waist crushes like a vice. It should hurt, but the hunger sifting through her veins makes everything else seem unimportant.

Surrendering to it, she pushes him over and straddles him. Her hips tilt into his, seeking to ease the ache building there. The bindings at her chest slip off, but the night air isn't enough to cool the heat of her skin.

Breathing heavily, she glances through heavy-lidded eyes down at him. A splinter of moonlight dances across the chiseled planes of his chest.

His hand cups her jaw, pulling her closer. "I never meant to hurt you," he rasps, tilting his head so she can see him illuminated in the faint white light – the rumpled black hair, the harsh red scar, the strange gold eyes hazing over – "I'll never hurt you again," Zuko promises.

Katara's eyes snap open, a scream buried somewhere in her throat.

She sits up. Panting heavily, she takes stock of her surroundings – of her room, of Toph soundly asleep in the bunk below, of the fire crackling away in the hearth opposite.

The waxing moon hangs in the sky outside the window. She stares at it, the flush on her face deepening. The ache in her body pulses prominently, rivalling the one building in her chest. A long, slow sigh hisses through her teeth - of relief, of disappointment, she doesn't quite know.

What she does know for certain is that she is quite possibly losing her mind.

Toph's sleepy voice interrupts the silence just as Katara is belting on her warm blue robe.

"You alright, Sweetness?"

Katara shakes her head fiercely, already halfway to the door. "Fine. I just need a walk or something."

Even through the shadows, she can see Toph's face scrunch up in confusion. "Now? It's way past curfew. Won't you get in trouble?"

Katara's hand hesitates as it closes around the doorknob. "Only if they catch me," she retorts, sounding far braver than she feels.

Toph nods in approval. "That's the stuff," she mumbles, settling back to sleep. "Have a nice walk. Hope it clears your head."

"Yeah," Katara mutters darkly, slipping out of the room as Toph's gentle snores start up again. "Me too."

No matter how many times Zuko reads it, he still can't wrap his head around it.

He envisions coming home with Lu Ten, expecting a prince's welcome and being greeted by scornful jeers instead. To think you fell for such an obvious ploy, his sister might sigh. It was too easy.

His father is a monster, he knows it.

But this is everything he has always wanted to hear.

The paper begins to smoke at the edges where his fingers touch it. He crushes the letter in his fist; wills hot flame into the palm of his hand. Watches its flickering golden edges lick at the crumpled folds. The pure white paper fades black with soot, its corners crumbling even further into cinders.

Part of him feels a savage satisfaction at the sight. But the rest of him feels sick to his stomach. The scarred part of his face feels like it's on fire, and his shoulder burns with the memory of his father's hand and his approval. Suddenly he can't stand it anymore.

Zuko hurls the smouldering letter to the floor. It glows against the stone, half-burnt and curling.

He stomps on it until the dying flames go out. The letter is flimsy and discoloured now, barely decipherable for the burn marks and holes singed through it. He picks it up off the floor and it feels like an enormous weight in his hand. But when he drops it onto his desk, it flutters through the air, feather-light.

His room feels too dark, too small. How long has he been shut up in here? Minutes? Hours? He has no idea. But the air tastes stale and heavy and it makes him want to throw up.

Before he knows it, he's rushing to his bedroom door and swinging it wide open. Every inch of him is bent on escape – he isn't sure where exactly, but anywhere would be better than this tiny room that smelled like smoke and burnt white paper –

"Oof!" The sound bursts out of him with a grunt as he careens bodily into a very solid person who goes tumbling to the ground.

"Sorry," he gasps, instinctively extending a hand to help the fallen person back to their feet. The hallway outside his door is poorly lit, and only as she gets back to her feet does Zuko register the pale blue robe.

"Katara? What – what are you doing here?" His already frantic heart goes into overdrive at the sight of her standing outside his door, the first and last person he wants to see.

She brushes herself off indignantly. "I – I was worried about you! Nobody's seen you all day...and then you didn't come to dinner and that was hours ago -"

"It's the middle of the night," he realizes. Suddenly her presence at his door makes him feel very much like a creature trapped. "Why are you here?"

"I—" Her quiet voice shakes. "I needed to talk to you."

"In the middle of the night?" he echoes hoarsely. His head threatens to explode, his skin feels like it can barely held him together.

"I didn't want to be interrupted again," Katara answers. She takes a step forward.

The door swings shut behind her.

"This – this really isn't the best time," he stutters, inadvertently backing away from her.

"It never is," she agrees, her voice oddly muted. "But – I –"

He doesn't notice how disheveled she looks, as though she'd woken up from sleep and raced over without a second thought. He doesn't see the furrows scrunching her forehead, the telltale flush darkening her face.

In fact, he doesn't realize much at all until she steps right up to him and grabs him by the front of his shirt.

She yanks at it sharply and it feels vaguely like the tug on his heartstrings, and when her lips find his, they are clumsy and desperate.

This was not going the way she planned.

To be fair, seeking him out in the dead of the night in search of an ill-defined sense of closure wasn't her brightest idea yet. But she hadn't expected the sight of him to draw all her attention to the chafe in her skin until -

Her fingers crumple into his tunic. Zuko lets out a little sound of surprise, but he doesn't pull away. Her lips mash clumsily into his, seeking some of the spark from last time. Only instead of the beguiling surrender of alcohol and firelight, she is paralyzed by all of the awkwardness and terror that should have been there in its place.

It goes on for a moment far briefer than it seems. But then his entire body stiffens up, catching her with the iron fist of reality – what am I doing, he doesn't –

She wrenches away, though her hands stupidly still clutch at his shirt. "I – I'm sorry –" she stammers as he meets her gaze, stunned. His eyes are wide but already softening at the corners, and it makes her painfully aware of the warm wetness on her lips. "I couldn't take it anymore, I –"

His mouth crashes back onto hers before she can quite finish.

Relief shudders through her entire body as his hands tangle into her hair, all awkwardness evaporating in an instant. He slams her against the door and she blinks back stars, momentarily winded and yes sighs the part of her that understood long before she truly did, that she's been starving for this.

From the soft groan rumbling deep in his chest, apparently so has he. His mouth is hungry against her own, seeming to devour the small sounds that escape from her. The rough stubble where he hasn't shaved chafes against her jaw. His fingers pull at the back of her robe, hips grinding a slow, desperate rhythm into hers.

Oh… Heat gushes through her body, making her jerk against the bulge stiffening where her need aches hardest.

Growling under his breath, he presses back in answer, his grip tightening almost painfully at the swell of her hip. Blindly, she tears apart the knot holding his tunic together, ripping at the soft cloth until there's only skin beneath her fingers, bare and blistering hot.

By the time they break away, she is gasping raggedly and he is hissing through clenched teeth as though trying to contain the most persistent of flames.

"Wait," he pants, eyes widening in newfound panic as her unfastened blue robe slides to the ground, "slow down – I can't – what...what are you doing?"

Katara trembles, but it isn't from the cold. Her fingers trace the hollowed ridges of the muscles lining his chest down to his hip. "Am I being too subtle? What do you think I'm doing?"

Zuko freezes, seeming like one small motion could end him on the spot. "You mean – you want this," he splutters, staring at her in growing bewilderment. "For real. You're – you're serious."

Even through the heat shifting urgent currents through her core, she manages to blush under the intensity of his scrutiny. "I – yeah…?"

He takes a step back, still clearly stunned. His hands rake through his hair, clenching at his temples. Katara begins to worry that he might keel over if he doesn't say something soon.

And then Zuko bursts out laughing.

Now it is her turn to freeze. In all the time she has known him, she's never seen him smile properly, let alone laugh. The sight is overwhelmingly disarming.

He wipes at the corner of his eyes, where there are tears streaming out the corners. "S-sorry," he chokes, struggling to regain composure.

But she crosses her arms sternly. "Are you making fun of me?"

"No!" He shakes his head quickly. The laughter stops but the incredulous smile lingers on his face and she can't stop staring at it. "I wasn't laughing at you," he explains haltingly. "It's just – I mean – really? All this time and you pick now to reciprocate?"

"I didn't pick anything," she grumbles before it catches up to her. "Wait. All this time? Reciprocate? What do you mean?"

Zuko stares at her unblinkingly and suddenly, the missing piece seems to click into place. All the things that don't make sense about him instantly become so obvious, she is amazed at how she could have possibly thought otherwise.

"Oh," she breathes. Her heart leaps into her throat to catch on the giant lump growing there. "Wow...I didn't even – and I thought Toph was the blind one."

He snorts, his bare chest rising and falling.

She stares at him again, as though seeing him for the first time. "For how long?"

Zuko looks away. "I'm not sure."

"Since you broke up with Mai?" Katara guesses cautiously. But he glances at her nervously and shock pummels through her. "Wait, before that?"

He chews at his lip guiltily. "Like I said...I'm not sure."

Katara slumps against the door, utterly dazed. "Oh," she repeats numbly, trying to wrap her head around it. "But – but that doesn't make any sense. We weren't even friends then. I was terrible to you. I hated you."

"You don't have to remind me."

Katara tries to remember, but it feels like an eternity ago: how viciously she'd despised him and his courtesy. Looking back, it makes her sick to her stomach. "I can't believe it. All this time and you never said anything!"

"You didn't exactly make it easy."

"I didn't make it easy?" she exclaims, stung. She jabs her finger at his chest. "You've been running away from me this whole time! And - and I thought it was all in my head, maybe it was just a stupid drunk thing we did, but then this morning – and I...I thought it couldn't be right, you had to feel the same way –"

"Of course I did. You have no idea how much," he insists roughly, and there's an edge in his voice that makes her shiver as he reaches for her. "But…"

Katara's heart tumbles as his face darkens. "But what?"

He shakes his head despairingly. "I...I don't know if I can. This is pretty terrible timing."

She swallows, suddenly afraid. "Because your uncle summoned you to court and you're going back home?"

The expression on his face turns stormy but he says nothing.

"That's – I actually wanted to talk to you about that," she continues, thrown by his growing silence but bravely pushing on. "Your cousin, he asked me to go with you guys, to watch your back…" She trails off awkwardly as Zuko's face twists into a forbidding scowl. "Yeah, I didn't really buy it either—"

"My uncle didn't summon me back to the palace, Katara," Zuko cuts her off. The muscles of his neck and shoulders strain visibly. "My father did."

Katara's blood chills in her veins; the heat swirling in her gut instantly becomes ice. "No…"

"He said he was proud of me," Zuko chokes, and she isn't sure if it is anguish or hope that makes his voice shake. "He said that he wanted to welcome me back home, that I'd redeemed myself in his eyes…"

Goosebumps prickle along her skin, the cold of the night finally catching up to her. "He said that?"

"In writing," Zuko emphasizes. He gestures vaguely to the desk beneath the window opposite. "He said the family needed to be close in times like this, Katara. He said I was family. I –" His voice cracks, sounding for an instant like that of a very young boy's. "I could finally be the prince I was destined to be. I could have it all back."

The desperation in his voice makes breathing very difficult. Katara chooses her next words carefully. "Do you...do you believe him?"

Zuko glares at his feet. His hands clench into white-knuckled fists.

"I don't know," he admits at last. "At first I thought it was a joke, or a trap, that he must be trying to get to me in some way. But…" He raises his anxious gaze and it nearly breaks her heart to see. "But what if it's not? What if he means it?"

"After everything he did, you still want to go back?" Katara grinds out incredulously. "To forgive him?"

"Do you think I want to feel like this?" Zuko bursts out, incensed. "I wish I didn't care, Katara! I really do! I even tried burning the letter, pretend it never existed but I just couldn't. Don't hold that over my head."

"I wasn't doing that!" Katara corrects in alarm. "But you said it yourself before. You don't have to go back to him."

"Wouldn't you do the same if you were in my place?" Zuko demands, staring at her heatedly. "I need this. I thought you of all people would understand."

From anyone else, it would sound like censure. But Zuko knew how she'd abandoned them all over the slightest chance of finding Sokka and he'd held her tightly in his arms anyway.

Katara looks at him and she doesn't see cruelty or selfish obstinacy. Only a sheer, desperate loneliness that she understands far too well.

"Look," she heaves, marching up to him and grabbing his wrists, "if you want to go home and – and try make up with your horrible father because that's what you need – even if he's probably lying and this is an obvious trap of some kind…I don't get it. But I understand."

To her surprise his arms wrap around her, pulling her tightly against his shaking body. "Thank you," he whispers, his face pressing into her hair. "This…this isn't ideal, I know."

Her heart, captive in her chest, flutters aimlessly at his touch. "When do you leave?"

"Lu Ten is leaving at first light tomorrow." He pulls away and the space seems to yawn out between them. "I haven't even thought about packing…"

"Please. Don't do this alone," Katara tries again, her voice steadier this time. "I already made that mistake once. I can't lose someone else."

"I know," Zuko repeats, something softening in his eyes at her words. "But you need to regain your strength."

Katara scowls at him but doesn't retort. She knows a losing battle when she sees one.

"Fine," she grumbles. "I'll stay here and behave until the healers give me the all-clear. But I'm going to have to make an appearance at your cousin's wedding. So you have until then to figure out just how messed up your dad really is."

"I can take care of myself," Zuko insists.

"Well, so can I!"

Zuko grabs her by the shoulders, a gesture so sharp she nearly yelps. "My business with my father is between me and him, okay? He's been asking after you at court for months now, and that was before any of this happened. If he did anything to you, just to get to…" He trails off before swallowing hard. His grip on her skin loosens. "I don't want you to get hurt because of me."

She closes her hands around his face. The ache in her chest wells like a storm. "That's not what I'm afraid of."

This time he doesn't freeze when she kisses him. He surges back instead, lips insistently clinging to hers, reluctant to part. His heart pounds against her chest, a furious unyielding rhythm that fills her head and makes it difficult to think about anything besides the urge to explore the firm contours of his body.

It makes another farewell at first light seem more daunting than anything she can possibly take.

She breaks away instead. "I...I should go," she croaks, plucking her robe off the floor and sliding it back over her shoulders instead. "My roommate might be blind, but she'd still notice if I was gone."

He clears his throat awkwardly as she knots her belt hurriedly. "Right."

"You should start packing then," Katara says with what feels like the last ounce of her strength. "Um…goodbye, I guess…"

She has pulled the door wide open by the time his hand closes around hers.

"This isn't goodbye," he swears with a vehemence that manages to surprise her. "I'll see you soon. When you come to my cousin's wedding."

The air becomes unbearably hot.

"I'm counting on it," Katara makes herself say as nonchalantly as she can. "I've never been to the capital before. You should show me around."

A soft chuckle of surprise escapes him. "Say the word. I'll show you whatever you want."

She turns back to face him, faltering at the sight of him. The look in his eyes makes her want to hide, it makes the strange tumult in her chest swell and threaten to burst at the seams.

"Good luck," she whispers faintly instead. "I hope you find all the answers you're looking for."

Hurriedly, she turns away and flees.

The door slams shut behind her.

Something behind it crashes viciously, like the sound of a fist smashing into stone.

Dawn filters a dull red glow through the canopy of bare branches overhead. Zuko barely notices as he barrels through the pathway cutting through the forest separating the base camp from the river.

Behind him recedes everything he's known for the past six years. The practice arena with its crumbling pillars, the mess hall with its creaky benches. His uncle's pavilion where they'd played pai sho into the night. The clearing where he'd bent lightning for the first time. The square stone room, his home for so long, where so much had happened. Everything with Mai. Almost getting killed by an assassin in the night, until Katara had showed up and saved him. Katara…

It twinges like a stitch piercing straight through his chest.

But the room is now empty, stripped of his presence as though he'd never been there to begin with. Everything he owns is crammed into the pack on his shoulders, and it weighs down on him more with every step he takes.

"Wait!" he shouts hoarsely as he crashes out of the forest and slides to a stop by the stony riverside. His mind threatens to flood with memories of the last time he stood here, but the skiff bobbing in the water holds them firmly at bay. "I'm coming too!"

Lu Ten shakes his head at his men. "See? I told you he'd come." A triumphant grin splits his face. "Load up Prince Zuko's things, and set a course for open waters."

The pack is ripped off Zuko's shoulders, but the weight pressing down on him seems to get even heavier as Lu Ten claps him on the back.

"We're going home."

Chapter 27: pawns, knights, and kings

Summary:

Zuko returns home.

Chapter Text

disclaimer. ATLA is property of bryke, i own nothing familiar.

author's notes. thank you to everyone who is reading and commenting, i'm so touched! and massive kudos to circasurvival for beta-reading, as always.

since it's been a while, i'd recommend a quick re-read of chapters 12, 16, and 19 for optimal digestion of this next chapter. as well, to be safe, im putting up a content warning for ozai's abusive fuckery, consider yourselves warned.

onward to aggressive politicking and royal family dysfunction!

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter xxvii. pawns, knights, and kings

you were a wild thing pretending to be tame
i was a wild thing trapped inside a cage

"static"/timecop1983

"...and when the cradle of our civilization was destroyed and all hope seemed lost, who should return to save the motherland but your Prince Zuko?"

"Brave and prodigious, he threw himself between the barbaric enemy and turned the very earth against them. He created lava, the ultimate victory of fire over earth!"

The twin voices of the elderly palace seneschals screech into the early morning air, blending with the building roar of the crowds surrounding the palace.

"And the Dai Li fell! And the Empire was saved!"

Zuko cringes at the overblown story Lo and Li are bellowing to the hordes of cheering people lining the royal avenue. At first the screams are confusing and unintelligible, but the closer their procession draws to the palace gates, the more clear they become.

"Zuko!" they chant in unison as the royal palanquin passes them by. "Zuko! Zuko!"

Lounging beside him, Lu Ten smirks easily. "Quite the turnout, isn't it? Even I've never gotten this warm of a welcome."

Blood rushes to Zuko's face but it isn't pride that heats him through. "They're making it sound like I did it myself. But I didn't."

The palace gates groan open. Manicured gardens carpet the sloping ground, dotted with the villas and pavilions of the imperial estate. The triple-eaved spire of the royal palace looms menacingly above it all.

"Don't go repeating that too loudly, little cousin. Not only does it make for an exceptionally dull story by comparison, it might also change your father's mind about you."

Then they are ushered up the steps to the walkway above the main gates. The stone steps are more worn than he remembers, the parapets shorter. Even the air feels denser, tainted with the stench of city and the sulfur fumes of the caldera itself.

"...and in this dark hour, your Princes have come home!"

With every step he takes toward the grand balcony, the more it feels like the weight of the entire palace itself is pressing down on his shoulders. His hair has been scraped back into a topknot so tight it makes his head hurt. Lu Ten stands with his back enviably straight as an attendant fusses with his armour, and Zuko wonders how he can bear it so easily.

"Returning from his service in our navy is your Crown Prince Lu Ten!"

Lu Ten marches out to join Lo and Li. Even in the cloudy morning, his crown gleams brightly.

"And after six long years away from home -"

The attendant turns to Zuko, head bowed in deference. "Welcome home, Your Highness. If I may-"

" - we welcome back your young heroic prince -"

Something is pinned to the base of Zuko's topknot, sending sharp pain shooting through his scalp.

"- Zuko!"

The attendant has to clear his throat gently a couple of times before Zuko's feet remember how to work. As he wades across the balcony to Lu Ten's side, the cheers from below are so loud he fears that they might knock him over.

A thrill of longing rattles through him, a homesickness that makes less sense the more he thinks about it.

I'm here. I'm home. It isn't a joke. But even as it unfolds around him, it feels surreal.

Zuko doesn't remember withdrawing from the balcony and the cheering masses, but as they descend the stone steps back to the courtyard, something strikes him as odd. The grounds are a flurry of activity, the palace servants hastily preparing the grounds as though for a giant celebration.

"But where are all the courtiers?" he asks, frowning. "The councillors, the ambassadors…shouldn't they be meeting now?"

Lu Ten shrugs. "Father said they suspended court sessions in light of the Dai Li attack. I suppose everyone's home for now."

"Why?"

"To show respect," Lu Ten explains. "A short recess. They'll be resuming tomorrow to respond to this...slight...from the Earth colonies."

Zuko's heart sinks with new worry. "Oh." The battle is a fresh wound in his memory, but it feels far removed from the serene opulence of his surroundings. It had never occurred to him that its ripples could stretch this far.

Lu Ten waves it off as they climb the steps of the palace's main entrance. "I'm going to find Dad. Come with me?"

Zuko shakes his head. There's only one person who he needs to see.

A small throng of attendants waiting at the palace doors spring into action at their approach. Lu Ten is whisked away by a small party of them, but the rest stay behind, awkwardly awaiting Zuko's order.

It sticks in his throat uncomfortably, but when he speaks his voice is a prince's calm command. "Take me to him."

To Zuko's surprise, they bypass the throne room. Instead, he is guided down the corridor leading to the royal suites.

Somehow, with the ascent to the throne, Zuko had expected his father to shift into finer quarters. But when they stop, it's outside his father's old bedroom.

"His Majesty awaits," one mutters as they bow in unison and retreat.

He raises his fist and knocks twice on the door. The sound booms deep and loud, matching the pounding in his chest.

"Enter," answers the silken voice from within, dragging like sharp claws along his insides.

Feeling very much like a fire ferret entering the lair of a hungry pythonaconda, Zuko steps inside.

It looks exactly as he remembers. Bay windows line the far wall, blood-red curtains pulled back and offering a fine view of the garden with the turtleduck pond. The bright grey sky outside illuminates the neatly-made canopy bed and numerous bookshelves, and renders the man sitting at the large desk in front of them an imposing silhouette.

There's a quiet clink and the low slosh of liquid before it speaks. "Prince Zuko. Welcome home...my loyal son."

The breath dammed in his lungs escapes painfully. "H-hello, Father." Stepping out of the backlit glare, Zuko sees his father's face more clearly – and the curl of his mouth into its thin-lipped smile.

"At long last." The chair scrapes against the ground as Ozai rises. His shadow looms dark and hulking across the bright light of the window. "You have redeemed yourself, Prince Zuko. You have proven yourself more than worthy of the honour that befits your station."

Zuko bows belatedly, heart drumming too fast to speak. His prince's crown feels far too heavy on his head.

His father sidesteps the desk, thoughtfully running a hand along its polished wooden surface. "You may have faltered when you were young...but when the time came to protect our land against the treachery of our enemies, you were not weak."

Ozai halts directly across from him, now the same height as him but no less intimidating. Then his father's hand clamps onto his shoulder and his touch nearly burns. "In this dark hour, I am proud to call you my heir."

For an instant, Zuko forgets how to breathe. He stares blankly at his father with the golden eyes they both share, waiting for some cruel punchline to drop at his expense.

"Have the years away made you simple?" Ozai asks irritably when Zuko fails to answer.

"No!" Zuko scrambles at the chance before it slips through his grasp. "I – I just don't understand, Father. What about Azula?"

He wonders if he imagines his father's nails digging into his shoulder before he lets go. "What about her?"

"I – I thought you –" favoured her. Why cast her aside for me now? Zuko nearly bites his tongue to keep the impertinent question clenched behind his teeth.

"My daughter is not someone to cross lightly. And yet…" Ozai stalks a slow circle around Zuko like a buzzard-wasp contemplating a fresh carcass, "for all her prowess and experience, Azula remains untested. Meanwhile, our enemies close in all around us."

"Enemies?"

"It is clear the Earth colonies are plotting against us, bidding for their freedom perhaps. Their resistance claimed responsibility for my father's life. The Dai Li destroyed the Sun Warrior's city. Make no mistake, their next strike will be far more brazen. And when it comes, it will not do to have some unseasoned child by my side." The five-pointed flame lodged high in his topknot glints blindingly. "No…it should be a proven defender of our Empire who bears this - honour."

His lips twist back into their thin mockery of a smile. Zuko lowers his gaze, searching for something to say. Thank you, Father. I've wanted this for so long, Father.

But the words turn sour in his mouth and apart from the headache pounding where his hair has been tied into its regal topknot, Zuko cannot feel anything at all.

"Many a greater man would kowtow to the ground for this favour. Do you have such little regard for it?" Ozai's eyes glitter coldly as they flicker across the scar on Zuko's face. He tilts his head in amusement, as though savouring some private joke. "Then again, you were always wilful. But one way or another, you will learn every lesson I have to teach you."

It sears through Zuko, possessing him entirely before he has a chance to think.

"I'm sorry, Father," he blurts out. "I wouldn't want you to think I wasn't showing enough respect."

Ozai's smile vanishes. "Insolent child." The temperature in the air spikes infernally. "Have you learned nothing, that you dare defy me again?"

Zuko shrivels into a bow despite the blood singing hot in his ears. "Forgive me...I've been away for so long. Defiance is all I know," he rasps, though his penitence grates in his throat. "The Dai Li discovered that the hard way. As a wise Emperor, I hope you will be more patient with me than they were."

The laughable words fill the air, practically begging his father to set him on fire again.

But Ozai frowns, hesitating instead. "Hm. Well," he sniffs at last, "I am not fool enough to make the same mistake our enemies made, of course."

Zuko doesn't dare to breathe, still bracing for the sting of his father's displeasure.

"I will not tolerate this disrespect from you again. As my heir, you will learn to observe the decorums of your station, and you will learn them quickly. And should you fail me a second time...I warn you, my patience will wear thin."

Zuko can scarcely believe his ears. That's it? Where is the man who scarred my face when I pleaded for mercy? Maybe his mother hadn't lied, maybe he had changed after all… "Yes Father. Thank you, Father. I...I won't let you down." He bobs his head in relief. "I promise."

The frown eases at the corners but Ozai's brow still furrows in deep, calculated thought.

"I was hard on you, Prince Zuko. I was hard on you because I saw in you the same weakness that my late father disdained in me." His father's voice, usually so coldly controlled, quavers vehemently. "I taught you the lesson I wish he had cared enough to teach me."

Ozai's fists clench tightly and Zuko swears they must be squeezing around his heart, threatening to split his chest apart. He touches the edge of his scar disbelievingly. "You call what you did caring?"

"Of course. It made you the man you are today, did it not?"

A thousand protests wither in Zuko's throat as his father smiles at him. "I—I suppose it did," he chokes instead, feeling sick.

"Then it was a lesson well learned." The blaze of pride in his father's golden eyes bleeds through the scarred fortress Zuko has built within himself. "You are my son, Prince Zuko – my own flesh and blood. And you are more like me than you will ever know."

The pronouncement sits oddly, making him feel very young – as though he had strayed too far into the waters on Ember Island, and his father had jumped in to rescue him.

"We will be a family again, as we once were. And though difficult times lie ahead, only my enemies need fear," his father continues, seating himself back at his desk and picking up a sheaf of paper. "Go now, Prince Zuko. Take the day to settle in. Tomorrow, you will resume your duties as I see fit."

"Of course. I am your loyal son," Zuko ducks his head, breath rattling as he backs away. "I won't let you down again."

"No," Ozai agrees. "You won't."

The remainder of the day passes by in a blur.

His humble pack of belongings is nowhere to be found. Instead, a swarm of attendants descend upon him – washing, grooming, measuring…

"A Prince of the Empire doesn't go about dressed as a common soldier!" sniffs the head tailor as he prods with his invasive tape measure.

But Zuko was last fitted for his ceremonial attire when he was far smaller. And to the tailor's great chagrin, he attends dinner that evening still dressed in his velvet military uniform.

Even though the night is gloomy and stiflingly humid, the informal dining room manages to be bright and cheerful, the walls and floor the warm hue of weathered wood. It reminds Zuko of the benches in the mess hall back at the army base, and he finds it oddly heartening.

A low rectangular table runs along the length of the room, laden with an impressive spread fit for royalty. It is mostly empty, except for two people seated near one end: Lu Ten, and directly across from him is -

"Is that you, Zuzu? I could barely recognize you with that hideous scar."

Zuko's hackles rise as Azula claps a hand over her left eye in emphasis. But Lu Ten snorts loudly before he can say anything. "Zuzu? Now there's something I haven't heard in ages! Right, Zuko?"

"Right," Zuko answers stiffly, choosing a seat next to Lu Ten so that he could be as far away from his sister as possible. His cousin leans in, muttering conspiratorially.

"Quick, if you're having second thoughts and want to run back to the army, just say the word. I'll go with you!"

"Why, Cousin," Azula says sweetly, reaching for her glass, "keep talking like that and one might worry you weren't happy about returning home."

Lu Ten shrugs. "You've never left the palace, Azula. You don't know how constricting this place can be." He makes a wry face. "Especially when your whole day is taken up by sessions with the royal tailors for wedding clothes!"

They are spared from further response as the doors swing open abruptly.

"...cannot delay, the Imperial Court resumes tomorrow –"

"Lord Mao and his wife are on their way as we speak, it would be a grave insult to keep them waiting –"

"Do your son's future in-laws command the Empire, or do you, brother?"

Zuko looks up as his father's impatient voice lances through the air sharply. A pace behind him, his uncle rubs at his forehead wearily.

"We can discuss this later." At once, Uncle Iroh's face creases into a delighted smile as he approaches the dinner table. "Nephew! I had heard you were back! How wonderful to see you home again."

"Thank you," Zuko answers, cheeks flushing under his uncle's fond gaze. "It's wonderful to be home again."

"Indeed," interjects his father, who takes the seat next to Azula. "It has been a happy reunion all around."

Uncle Iroh settles in beside his brother. The expression on his face cools enough for Zuko to see the newer creases lining his eyes and forehead, ones that surely hadn't been there the last time he'd seen him. Had that been only two weeks ago?

Lu Ten grins mischievously at Ozai. "Hey Zozo, how's it going? Long time, no see. Did you miss me?"

Zuko nearly chokes on a lungful of spit at the familiar, undignified diminutive. What's Lu Ten thinking? Father's going to kill him for that.

Ozai tenses, fingers twisting into his napkin. "Nephew –"

But Lu Ten continues, blithely unfazed. "I see you've finally learned how to hold your neck straight with that crown pinned to your head all the time. Do you ever take it off? Or do you sleep with it on too?"

"This is highly unnecessary," Ozai retorts, a touch petulantly. The napkin in his hands begins to smoke.

"It's okay if you do, it wouldn't be the weirdest thing about you." Lu Ten rests his chin on his hand. "What about bathing, do you take it off when you wash yourself at least? Please say you do."

The smell of smouldering linen seems to fill the air, drowning out the decadent aromas of all the food laid on the table. Zuko's scar prickles with unease; the scent instantly transports him back to the last time his father reacted badly to a perceived slight.

But to Zuko's utter shock, Ozai merely smiles at Lu Ten – a gesture surely meant to reassure but only manages to chill. "I see the years away and a looming wedding have not changed you, my nephew. Still...if you do not find a way to temper that wit of yours, you may find your marriage somewhat short-lived."

Lu Ten makes a face at his own father, but finds Iroh's expression to be far sterner. "Buzzkill," he mutters almost inaudibly to himself.

Ozai lets go of his smouldering napkin, and for some reason it worries Zuko more than his sudden, implacable anger would. As everyone helps themselves to dinner, he glances at the empty spot at the table next to him. "Where's Mother?"

Ozai stills as all eyes settle expectantly on him. "She won't be joining us."

"Why?" Iroh asks, frowning. "Is she still sick?"

"You know Ursa. Her constitution has always been so...fragile."

"Uncle said she was having night terrors. That was months ago," Zuko says disbelievingly. "And she hasn't gotten any better at all?"

"She was doing well for a time. But the passing of my father has undone her greatly, I fear."

"Undone? What do you mean?"

"He means the poor woman's fallen off the deep end," Azula sighs theatrically. "Lost her mind. Keeps babbling nonsense."

"Azula," Ozai warns. "Your mother is a brave, kind woman who is going through...a difficult time. You mustn't speak this way of her. It will not do to have a Princess of the Empire show such disrespect."

"Maybe I could visit her," Zuko suggests, ignoring the subtle roll of Azula's eyes. "Does she even know I'm back?"

"No, Prince Zuko. The healers have prescribed solitary bed rest for her. Any visitors could undo what little progress she has made. Especially you."

"Me?" Zuko demands indignantly. "Why me?"

"You may no longer be the source of my greatest shame, my son. But the same cannot be said of your mother."

Her confession whispers through his mind in agreement. I am so sorry that I wasn't a stronger mother. It had only enraged him before, but now it makes him feel strangely guilty.

"I fear that seeing you will only make her relive everything all over again," his father continues. "And who knows what that could do to someone in her condition? It is far kinder this way. And she must save her strength for Lu Ten's wedding."

Lu Ten clears his throat uncomfortably. "Uncle, if she isn't doing well…she doesn't have to come—"

"Nonsense. She is the Queen Consort and she will fulfill her duties. Just as we all shall." Ozai pauses for a moment to chew and swallow delicately before continuing. "Speaking of duties, brother, I had a thought."

"Did you?" Iroh asks mildly, not looking up from his plate.

"Yes. It occurs to me that since our obligations are essentially two-fold leading up to your son's wedding, we should share them with our most accomplished children. For example, I thought Prince Zuko could lead the royal council sessions—"

Zuko looks up, stunned. "Me?"

But his father holds his gaze, even as Azula coughs loudly. "Who would be better suited to respond to the Dai Li than the man who defeated them so decisively in battle? What do you think, brother?"

Iroh merely raises his eyebrows. "Sounds like a great improvement already."

"Father!" Azula blurts out. "Shouldn't someone with more political experience be tasked with this? Managing the council requires more skill than prowess on a battlefield, and I—"

"My decision stands, Azula," Ozai maintains firmly. "Rest assured that in time, you too will be given a role according to your uses."

Azula flounders, looking as though she'd been slapped across the face. She makes to protest further, but a voice at the door interrupts. "Apologies for the intrusion, Majesties. The interior security council awaits your presence."

"Already?" Iroh stares at his half-eaten dinner longingly.

"It would seem so," Ozai sighs, getting to his feet. "No matter. Lord Mao will simply have to wait his turn."

"Lu Ten," Iroh says. "Lord Mao is expecting an audience very soon. Please take care of it for me. Regrettably, I have no end of meetings today."

With no shortage of grumbling, Lu Ten leaves, trailing behind Uncle Iroh and Ozai.

Zuko turns back to his meal, only to realize that he and Azula are the only ones left.

"So...Father wants you to handle the council…" she mutters, plucking a dragonfruit from the fruit bowl.

Zuko's heart skitters fitfully at the unexpected news. "I can't believe he gave me a chance to prove myself."

She smirks, paring the fruit's deep purple rind from its bone-white flesh. "You're fooling yourself if you think he means this as an honour to you."

"You're wrong," he says automatically, tamping down the part of him that worries that she's right."You're just jealous he didn't pick you."

Azula rolls her eyes again, popping a segment of fruit into her mouth. "Have it your way then. But when you fail – and you will – don't say I didn't warn you. However will you manage when you've been languishing on the edge of civilization for so long?"

"What, haven't you heard?" Sarcasm lodges like a spine in his throat. "I'm the defender of the Empire now."

The sharp frown that slashes across her face is her only response. Zuko sits a little straighter. Azula's long shadow has darkened so many of his memories. Getting the last word in is surprisingly gratifying.

She clears her throat, swiftly regaining composure. "I'm dining with Mai tomorrow. You should join us if you're available."

The abrupt change of subject catches him off guard. "You – you and Mai are –"

"We're fine, yes. We've had our differences in the past..." she takes a slow sip of her wine before continuing, "but she's a loyal friend who knows her place."

Suddenly, he is very aware of just how keen Azula's gaze is, and the heightened pace of his heartbeat makes her words distort slowly in his ears. "How wonderful for you," he manages to snark back, the scowl on his face heavy like a mummer's mask.

"I forgive you, you know. For stealing her away from me." She heaves an affected sigh. "My oldest, closest friend…"

"With how easily she came to me, I didn't think you were capable of retaining any."

Azula's expression hardens. "You had a chance to be sensible, brother. But you let yet another perfect opportunity slip through your fingers, like you always do. And for what? A head full of uncle's absurd ideas...and some most inappropriate relations with commoners."

Zuko freezes; his voice comes out clipped. "Inappropriate relations."

"Yes." Azula's lips curve into a predatory smile. "I was most intrigued to hear some of my friend's stories from her time at the Special Forces Division. Especially concerning – what did she call it again?" She taps at her chin with a sharp fingernail. "Oh yes, the Avatar project."

She knows. There's no way she doesn't. The realization renders every muscle in his body utterly incapable of movement.

Azula continues in mocking delight. "Pull the four elements together in an attempt to recreate the Avatar? This farce has Uncle's sentimental nonsense stamped all over it. Our Empire's glorious defender…working alongside colony riff-raff as though they were his equal. How very shameful."

Cold relief tempers the way Zuko's face burns at the slight. "These are all bending prodigies that you're talking about, Azula. When they arrive to attend Lu Ten's wedding, I would advise you not to call any of them colony riff-raff in their presence. Otherwise, you may find yourself outclassed."

"Hardly," Azula scoffs, as though the idea is inconceivable. She sets her wineglass back on the table. "So…tell me about the waterbender."

Azula's tone doesn't change, but the words seem to clench around his neck, digging into his jugular as though they were her clawed fingers.

"Who?" he chokes, feigning ignorance about his giant Katara-shaped weakness.

"Oh, don't be coy. The new waterbending master in your group." Azula drawls. "Mai's told me so much about her."

She knows she knows she knows – "Then why waste your time asking me if you already know everything?"

"Because it's so interesting to hear that you'll trip over yourself to defend her honour, with never a thought for your own – well, as though you had any left to preserve…"

She glances at him, daring him to speak. But Zuko holds fast, staring unyieldingly back at her. His stubborn silence stretches out until she continues, voice lowered.

"I've been told she's very formidable…and talented! A real force to be reckoned with."

Zuko's fingers tighten around his glass as she flings his words back at him. I never said that to Mai. That's what I told Uncle when he wrote asking my opinion of Katara.

"And pretty! Well, for a waterbender anyway." This time, Azula's laugh sounds like a scoff. "But you know what they say about Water Tribe girls. And the way our men lose their heads for a taste of them. Especially the ones with…weaker constitutions."

Her taunt hangs in the air, daring him to speak.

"Mai told you all this?" he chances, even as his mind races suspiciously.

"Of course. She was very upset when she found out she was snubbed for a Water Tribe peasant. And can you blame her?" Azula laughs again, but it niggles like a hangnail at the edge of Zuko's senses. Something out of place, not quite right... "If I were in her shoes, I would never have endured the slight! But Mai has always been weak where she should have been strong…and strong where she should have been weak."

She's lying. The realization clicks abruptly. Azula doesn't know anything. She's just guessing and taunting, waiting for me to give something away like she always does.

In fact, what surprises Zuko most about the whole thing is that Azula seems almost as annoyed as he does. Which could only mean…

Mai didn't tell her about it.

His mouth goes dry as the epiphany strikes, straightening the defeated slump of his shoulders. For once, he feels the way Azula must always feel: like he has the upper hand, like next to him she is tiny and insignificant. "Are you done? You're boring me."

Now it is his turn to catch Azula off guard. "Struck a nerve, have I?"

"I've heard enough nonsense stories about me for one day," he says, careful to keep his voice coolly dispassionate, as though her opinion of him held no weight at all. "Since you're convinced of their truth, nothing I say will change your mind. But I didn't think you would fall for such simple bait, Azula. I thought you were smarter than that. After all these years apart, it seems we are both disappointing to each other."

Her face falls and a small part of him manages to feel guilty about it. But the rest of him, ensnared in all the memories of her undermining him at every turn, basks quietly in her stunned silence.

Zuko sips his wine. Azula reaches for the sharp paring knife by the fruit bowl.

"Well...we can't have that, can we?" She grabs a plumegranate with her deep, red-stained fingers. "After all, you are my noble big brother –" a flash of the knife slices the fruit cleanly in half, exposing shiny wet flesh dribbling dark red juices onto the white porcelain plate. "And I wouldn't want to disappoint you."

That night, for the first time in many years, Zuko gets to sleep in his own bed.

His childhood room feels strangely constricting, like a favourite shirt shrunk far too tight. The canopy bed is nearly four times the size of his old one. When he lies on it, his entire body sinks into the sheer softness, as though all the regal finery is trying to drown him.

He sleeps miserably. By the time his father summons him to the morning council meeting, Zuko has been wide awake for hours.

The headache from earlier still drums against his temples as he's ushered into the palanquin and led to a small villa on the other side of the palace grounds. An attendant announces his presence as he enters the parlour where the small council is gathered.

The room itself is small and opulent, starkly different from the sprawling throne room which had been the scene of his last council meeting. But dim, with the curtains drawn tight against the large windows lining the back wall, blocking the feeble morning light and the stunning view of the harbour city. Everywhere he is surrounded by wealth, every inch of the room decorated in red and gold so brilliant it makes his eyes hurt.

"Ah. Prince Zuko." His father rises from where he sits at the head of the room. Seven elaborately-dressed men are seated in a semi-circle across from him. "Make yourself welcome among the chief council. They are here to serve you, after all."

Zuko inclines his head stiffly, an awkward answer sticking in his throat.

"Councillors, you will doubtless remember my loyal son." His father smiles thinly. "Our Empire's most...valiant defender."

Curious eyes settle upon him, seeming to crawl along his skin like flies on a corpse.

"In these troubled times, Prince Zuko has come to offer his considerable, worldly experience." His father's smile widens unsettlingly. "And not a moment too soon, for the Imperial Court reconvenes at sundown. They will expect a strong show of leadership from this council. I have no doubt that you will be equal to this deeply important task."

Zuko bows his head, fists clenching in an attempt to stop his hands from shaking. "Yes, Your Majesty. I will see that an appropriate response is made."

"Good," his father says coolly. "I trust you have made it your utmost priority to learn the name and office of every councillor by now?"

"I—" Zuko freezes in cold fear. His father's predatory smile widens unsettlingly.

You're fooling yourself if you think he means this as an honour to you, Azula's voice hisses malevolently in his ear. For an instant, he feels trapped and utterly out of his depth.

"Then again, my son only arrived yesterday. Perhaps this is too much to ask of him," his father continues, but cold amusement drips from his voice.

"No, Father," Zuko speaks up, squaring his shoulders as he marches to his father's side. I may have been away for the last six years, but I still grew up in the palace. They can't take that away from me. "I am familiar with them all."

He glances at the seven silent councillors who watch him with varying measures of judgment, and their names float into his memory one by one as he lists them off. "Interior Minister Qin of civilian affairs. Admiral Liang of the western Imperial fleet, Admiral Chan of the eastern –"

Chan's father meets his gaze sullenly and it makes Zuko flounder with a swift feeling of unease.

"Go on," his father prompts.

"H-High General Shinu," Zuko continues, distinctly unsettled but heartening quickly at the sight of a familiar face.

Shinu inclines his head approvingly. "Prince Zuko has served with my division for several years now, and helped strategize the counterattack against the Dai Li. It is a pleasure to welcome his direction on this council."

Zuko ducks his head in acknowledgment, cheeks burning in response to the General's praise. "Thank you. I'm honoured. Uh…" He turns to the man sitting next to Shinu, a spindly old spectre also dressed in a military uniform, and his face scrunches in recognition. "Commander Bujing? It's been some time –"

"General Bujing," his father corrects.

"Oh." Zuko lets that sink in for a moment. From what he could remember of the man from a lifetime ago, he had been as eagerly bloodthirsty as his father. His stomach curdles even as he quickly recovers. "Yes. General Bujing. My mistake."

The old man sniffs disdainfully.

Zuko turns to the next councillor and wavers. Mai's father glowers at him but remains as stubbornly silent as his daughter. "...Governor Ukano. I trust you and your family are well?"

Ukano's gaze flickers past Zuko to where his father sits, before settling back on him coolly. "In that at least, your trust is well placed."

Gritting his teeth, Zuko turns to the last member of the council – a burly, greying man that he knew all too well.

"Commander Zhao?" He turns to his father, careful to keep his expression neutral even as his heart stutters in disbelief. The last he had seen Zhao, the man had been far too satisfied with the outcome of the Agni Kai.

"Why Prince Zuko, returned home at last!" Zhao replies, smirking insolently. "It's been far too long since your presence has...graced our council."

Zuko's fingers dig into his palms at the thinly veiled barb.

"Commander Zhao has been a most valuable asset to us since his recent promotion to this council," his father supplies, but an undisguised glow of warmth enters his voice where before it had been stone cold. "He led a most impressive counterattack against an uprising in Gaoling, earlier this season."

Zhao brightens at the recognition and the sight of it bores angrily through Zuko's gut. "Quite a feat for a city so far inland," he returns, meeting Zhao's presumptuous stare with a glower of his own.

Zhao chuckles unpleasantly. "The trick is to know your enemy, Prince Zuko. Know who they are, what they want most in this world...and what they would die to protect."

The pompous loft of his voice makes Zuko's hackles rise. "It appears Zhao's promotion has also turned him into a philosopher."

Admiral Liang fails to conceal a sharp inhale of surprised laughter. But his father frowns at him. "Commander Zhao is a hero of the Empire like yourself, Prince Zuko. He does not deserve this disrespect." His voice does not change from its sibilant calm, but it lashes like a whip nonetheless.

Zuko is instantly transported back to the last time he had stood before the council. Sweat drenches the back of his silk undertunic as he makes himself unflinchingly hold his father's hard stare. "I should have been clearer, Father. I was only expressing my admiration for Commander Zhao's many talents."

But at length his father breaks away and Zuko's teeth nearly chatter with relief. "Sadly, I have other matters to attend to. I look forward to the strategy this council will put forth at court tonight." Ozai gestures at his empty seat. "Prince Zuko, you have leave to proceed. I entrust the safety of the realm in your…capable hands."

Or else, warns his father's weighted pause with the sharpness of a double-edged sword. Zuko's throat tightens with growing dread at the unexpected test.

Ozai sweeps out of the room without another word, but the room remains subdued in his absence, as though his shadow still lingers.

"Well, I appreciate your admiration, Your Highness – even if your manner of eloquence is not entirely what this council is used to." The complacent smile returns onto Zhao's face. "I can only wonder what praises you would sing if you heard of the invaluable information I acquired during my forays into the Si Wong desert."

"The Si Wong desert?" Zuko echoes, his brow crumpling sardonically. "Your skills as Commander must be impressive indeed, to steer your fleet so far from the sea."

Zhao's smile hitches into a grimace. The seething grind of his jaw is nearly audible.

With a blaze that reminds him vaguely of the way he felt when he'd bent lava, Zuko turns on his heel and seats himself in his father's chair.

"...for the last time, there have already been an unprecedented number of rebellions this year. We have stopped food shipments to the colonies. Respond violently now, and it could tear the Empire apart."

"The Empire is already breaking. Those Dai Li saw to it when they attacked us unprovoked. If we do not retaliate in kind, we will be seen as weak."

"An attack by one group in the Earth colonies doesn't mean all of them. What about the citizens who are loyal to us, who fight for us?"

"Indeed. How tragic that those who attacked us didn't think of their own countrymen first..."

Zuko rubs his forehead in frustration. Far from being able to influence the decision of the council like he'd hoped, he feels utterly helpless. The council was divided, going back and forth for what seemed like hours only to stall at a complete impasse.

"I would remind the council that a solution will need to be proposed to the court this evening," he grits out. "We're running out of time. So far we have three in favour of using our Earth colony ambassadors to intercede with the Dai Li on our behalf –"

Admiral Liang, Minister Qin, and General Shinu all nod grimly in response.

"And then, we have another three proposing to cut off all ties with the colonies and attack them instead," Zuko continues, struggling to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

"The Earth colonies have shown time and time again that they cannot be trusted, Your Highness," Mai's father supplies with a shrug. "Why beat a dead ostrich-horse?"

"The Earth colonies are inhabited by Empire citizens far outnumbering the Dai Li," Shinu retorts. "Countless earthbenders fight among our ranks, their farmers harvest most of our food –"

"For all we know, these farmers could be supporting the Dai Li in their bid for freedom!" General Bujing cuts him off with an impatient wave of his hand.

Zuko sighs. "As discerning as your gut feelings are, General, this council will have to rely on something more concrete before recklessly gambling the Empire's stability."

"Stability?" Zhao echoes, scoffing. "Who still believes the Empire remains stable when insurgents have threatened the very foundation of our civilization?"

Zuko resists the urge to raise his eyebrow as Zhao gets to his feet, impassioned. Flame flickers at his fingertips as he continues. "They destroyed the Sun Warriors Isle! Does that affront to our history, our identity as firebenders, mean nothing to you, Your Highness?"

Zuko feels everyone stare at him as Zhao bristles in open challenge. But he stays seated in his father's hard, uncomfortable chair and meets Zhao's gaze with a haughty one of his own. "Having personally fought in the battle, it means more to me than you could possibly understand, Commander. But I would shelve my pride if it meant our people could continue eating. Would you?"

The flames at Zhao's fingertips vanish, trailing curls of smoke in their wake.

"Rash decisions in the past have had consequences that affect us still," Zuko continues, his mouth dry. "Remember what happened with the Water Tribes."

Admiral Chan frowns suddenly. Zuko turns to him desperately. "Admiral Chan, you've been very quiet this whole meeting. The council is locked in its support. Which do you favour?"

But the Admiral's frown deepens as he shakes his head. "I cannot make up my mind, Your Highness."

"I see." Zuko wonders if he sounds as dejected as he feels. He glances at the other councillors, stubbornly set in their decisions. "Leave us."

One by one, the six councillors bow in varying degrees of deference and filter out of the room.

"You seem worried, Admiral," Zuko begins cautiously once the room empties. "Is there something on your mind? Perhaps we can speak more frankly in private."

Admiral Chan shakes his head, his brow furrowed deeply in thought.

"Half of this council wants a diplomatic solution, and the other half wants vengeance," Zuko continues. "You must have an opinion, one way or another."

"Vengeance," the Admiral echoes, rolling his eyes. "I would call it justice. But you seem to favour your uncle over your father, do you not?"

Zuko cocks his head. "I don't understand you, Admiral."

"You know as well as I do where this is headed," Admiral Chan maintains, crossing his arms. "Why waste time suing for peace when both sides want to fight?"

"I – I don't believe they do," Zuko insists, taken aback. "You know what's at stake here. There are better ways to teach the Dai Li a lesson, but we can't punish innocent people for it –"

"And yet," Admiral Chan says flatly, "when you stood against an army of them, you showed the world that you truly are your father's son. Decisive and unafraid to act. So why are you hesitating now?"

The words send dread inexplicably crawling up Zuko's spine. He thinks of Toph's hand closing around his, of Aang's crumpled body on the ground. Of Katara's voice quietly insisting, you're nothing like him. "Is that what you think?"

"That's what everyone thinks," Admiral Chan replies grimly. "So if you will ask me to temper my doubts while the fate of the Empire lies in the balance, I must know. Who do you serve, Your Highness?"

"The people of the Empire," Zuko answers, bewildered. "The same as you, I hope."

Admiral Chan watches him carefully. "Of course. But as you are well aware, there is more than one right way to do that." To Zuko's surprise, he bows deeply. "I'll take your leave now. Thank you for speaking with me, Your Highness. It's made everything very clear."

He leaves and the air stirs faintly – perhaps with the breath Zuko didn't realize he had been holding until he remembers to breathe again.

The sound of the bells reverberates through the air, calling out the hour to all within earshot.

Sundown, Prince Zuko, it warns. You're cutting it close.

He tries to ignore it as he marches through the corridor leading to the throne room where the Imperial Court had already gathered. The double doors swing open as a herald announces his entrance.

The Emperor's throne room yawns open all around him, windowless and lit by flickering golden lamplight. Its red walls tower so high they recede into shadow. Against the opposite wall beneath a twisting dragon wrought from pure gold, sits the throne of the Empire on a raised dais. Its red satin cushions are spacious enough to fit two men, but it remains strikingly empty. Instead, Iroh and Ozai sit in two chairs, modest by comparison, at the edge of the dais - ostensibly to spare them the indignity of sharing a seat.

Somber men dressed in elaborate silk robes are assembled in rows before the throne. Most are arrayed in deep scarlet and black, but a small pocket in the corner wear different colours: greens, golds, whites…

The hall remains deafeningly silent, seeming to hold its breath as Zuko takes his seat beside Azula at the head of the assembly. Lu Ten is already lounging comfortably in his spot directly in front of the chief council. Zuko sneaks a glance at Admiral Chan's impassive face, his nerves tightening inexplicably.

"We are all gathered to address the urgent matter at hand," Iroh begins without delay. "It has been almost a week since the attack on our soil by the Dai Li. We will hear from the chief council regarding their plan to find justice without disrupting the order of our Empire, but first, I will call upon Ambassador Kwei."

A reedy, bespectacled man seated in the corner of the assembly almost leaps to his feet in answer.

"Ambassador, you have had five days to communicate with your counterparts back home. What news do they have of this attack?"

"We are just as confused as everyone else," Ambassador Kwei answers in a high, anxious voice. "We – we always thought the Dai Li swore fealty to the Empire. Nobody can imagine why they would choose to strike now –"

"Nobody can imagine?" Ozai repeats mockingly. "A dozen rebellions a season in your damned cities and you would have us believe that the Empire has the unequivocal loyalty of your citizens."

Lu Ten swivels around in his chair to exchange a withering glance with General Shinu. "By Agni, looks like they'll put a crown on anyone's head these days," he quips in a voice loud enough to carry through the entire room.

Ozai glares at his nephew as Shinu shakes his head in agreement.

"My people didn't ask for this, Your Majesty," Kwei gulps, and Ozai turns back to him, the insult seemingly forgotten. In a sea of crimson and black, the brilliant green silk of the ambassador's attire stands out like a beacon in the night. Or a target. "Please, you must believe me. If the council gives me leave to go back to Ba Sing Se, we will root out the Dai Li and have all of them tried as the traitors that they are –"

"Prince Zuko," Ozai breathes, stemming the ambassador's anxious tirade. "As the new leader of our chief council, we would like to hear from you. What have you decided?"

If the air in the room had been hot and unpleasantly thick before, now it seems to Zuko that there is none of it left at all. He swallows as he gets to his feet. "The council is of two minds, Your Majesty," he admits, his face flushing as Azula smirks beside him. "It is unanimously decided that the Dai Li must answer for what they have done –"

"As it should," his father cuts him off. "If we do not answer this insult in kind, the entire Empire will understand us to be weak."

Iroh casts a sidelong glance at him. "Since when have restraint and reason been understood as weakness?"

"Since it became clear that His Majesty, Emperor Iroh, values his colonies more than the homeland!" Admiral Chan's outburst snaps through the swollen air as he leaps to his feet.

"This is neither the time nor place to bring up old matters, Admiral," Iroh answers sharply. "Especially those that have long since been resolved."

"I beg to differ," Admiral Chan holds his ground stubbornly. "As a father who received no justice for his son, I worry that you are too easily moved to pity for the colonials when you should be demanding justice for our people instead. Will you show the Dai Li the same mercy you showed that waterbender for attacking my son? Will that be a sufficient resolution for you, Your Majesty?"

Suddenly the Admiral's sullen reticence makes alarming sense to Zuko. He remembers how a lifetime ago, he'd pulled Katara, hissing, spitting, feral, away from Chan's broken body. So much had changed since then that it had felt right to bury the memory. That it would be resurrected now, at the outset of a court session meant to dictate the Empire's response to a brazen assault on its sovereignty, feels abrasively improper.

"That waterbender healed your son too," Iroh retorts in exasperation. "Have you forgotten that part too?"

"So even now you would have us rely on the charity of our enemies. But my conscience will not allow me to stand by and watch this happen again." Admiral Chan turns to face the rest of the court defiantly. "Earlier today, Prince Zuko wisely reminded me that the duty of the council is to protect the people of the Empire, no matter the cost. And so it is the will of his council, by majority, that we sever all ties with the Earth colonies, as they have shamelessly sheltered the repeated treasons of the Dai Li and their resistance against our Empire."

His words ring with finality into the shocked silence of the throne room.

"Very well," Ozai says smoothly. "Gentlemen of the court, you have heard the council's decision. All those in support —"

"This is the council's decision?" Iroh demands disbelievingly. "Prince Zuko, was this the intent of your deliberations?"

"No!" Zuko bursts out, panicking. Your manner of eloquence is not what this court is used to, Zhao's taunt echoes in his ears, but he barrels on anyway. "The Dai Li did us a wrong, but attacking the Earth colonies won't right it. It would just convince them that all their rebellions against us were right, that we are their enemy. It—" He desperately glances at his father's growing scowl, his uncle's tight-lipped nod, the sea of faces staring impassively back at him. "It would tear the Empire apart. Nobody wants that, do they?"

"You are of this opinion even after you witnessed the wanton destruction of the Sun Warriors city?" his father demands. "After you single-handedly held off the enemy?"

"The stories exaggerated, Father," Zuko pushes back, something within him snapping and unleashing a growing tide of shame long held at bay. "I had help from other bending masters. And the lava?" He snorts derisively. "That wasn't a mastery of fire over earth at all! It was a fusion of my bending and of Toph Beifong's – an earthbender."

Voices chorus along the assembly, growing louder in combined shock, but Zuko speaks over them, too incensed to stop.

"Think about it! An earthbender – one of the strongest ones I've ever seen – was just as instrumental in defeating the Dai Li as I was! So why aren't you spreading stories about her too? Is it too inconvenient to admit that most people from the Earth colonies aren't just collateral, but they're our friends too?" A stunned silence fills the room as Zuko glares at the courtiers, breathing heavily as he sits down again.

"Well, what else would you expect from a boy who had to get his lessons in royalty burned across his own face?" Zhao mutters snidely.

"Prince Zuko speaks an important truth," Iroh urges, as Zuko fights the impulse to lunge at Zhao. "For all that divides us, we are still one Empire. And better for it."

But only a tepid silence follows, easily broken as Azula lets out a small scoff.

"How stirring. But tell me, Uncle, if my brother's rapport with the colony peasants is as fabled as it is…why then did the Dai Li try to have him assassinated in the night?"

Gasps and shouts of outrage buffet in every direction. The dread lurking in Zuko's gut seems to harden into stone.

"Where did you hear of this, Princess?" Iroh asks tightly.

"I'm glad you asked, Uncle." Azula runs a hand along a strand of hair. A smile dripping with calculated poise plays on her painted lips, and it makes Zuko very nervous. "Since the attack, we've taken to intercepting messages from the Dai Li stronghold at Ba Sing Se. To my surprise, several of them mentioned some most salacious plots. Your own subordinates confirmed the matter when pressed."

Iroh closes his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You knew?" Zuko's heart nearly stops at the sound of his father's voice, as menacingly unrestrained as it had been during their Agni Kai. "You knew that the Dai Li had secretly plotted an attempt on my own son's life, and you hid it from the court to force a peace that neither side even wants?"

Iroh's eyes snap open to glare at his younger brother. "Enough of this farce, Ozai—"

"A farce?" Ozai repeats, incensed. "You call my concern for my son's life a farce?"

Azula runs a pointed fingernail along her chin. "The citizens of the colonies may be innocents, but what did my brother do to warrant being attacked by an assassin in his own bed? After all, Uncle, he takes after you: a better friend to them than most. Clearly, friendship is not enough for them."

"That's not how it happened—" Zuko tries to say, but the babble of panicked voices grows louder, drowning reason far below the surface.

"His Majesty wouldn't even bat an eyelash when the Dai Li came for his own nephew…"

"...turning the other cheek while facing a two-headed rat-viper…"

"…showing too much restraint…"

"Silence," Ozai hisses, and the assembly obeys. "The council's proposal stands. Gentlemen of the court, please decide once and for all what your response will be."

A buzz of voices, like the drone of a swarm of buzzard-wasps hovering in the air, is his only answer. It rises in volume, the hum of a faraway storm and its inevitable, imminent approach.

"Please. Gentlemen of the court, I beg you. Think very carefully about what it is that you are preparing to do." A pleading note of unusual desperation slides into Iroh's voice as he gets to his feet. "If you sanction this, you will uproot the stability of the Empire and our own people will pay the price. Emperor Sozin, General Roku...they will be rolling in their graves as we speak—"

"But if we stand back now, what happens if the Dai Li come back for our people?" Admiral Chan cuts him off loudly. "For our cities, for the throne?"

Zhao scoffs. "Let's not forget that the Earth colony resistance was responsible for the poisoning attempt that ultimately claimed Emperor Azulon's life. They've already come for the throne."

"With all this in mind," Ozai replies impatiently, "all those in favour of ending ties with the colonies, make yourselves known."

One by one, the courtiers stand in agreement, their fluttering robes red as bloody gauntlets. The air in the room grows suffocating, making it impossible to breathe.

"The court has spoken. The crown must obey." Ozai rises to his feet. "Escort Ambassador Kwei and the rest of the Earth colony from the premises, and send them on the first ship back to Ba Sing Se."

Armoured royal guards march toward the small pocket of the assembly where Ambassador Kwei sits with all the other Earth colony diplomats. Cries echo loudly as they are marshalled from the room, a blur of chaos barely perceived over a swelling thunderclap of applause resounding through the air.

"That will be all for today." Ozai's mouth twists in satisfaction, an expression that could only be described as sinister. "Court is dismissed."

Without another word, he sweeps off the dais and through the curtained exit at the side of the room.

Iroh follows hard on his heels, his gentle face clouding with terrible fury.

Zuko gets to his feet unsteadily. The buzz of voices – excited, triumphant, nervous, hushed – echoes discordantly around him.

"What – what just happened?" he croaks.

"What was necessary," Azula replies primly.

Lu Ten shakes his head as the three of them exit the throne room – Azula calm, Zuko apprehensive, Lu Ten strangely quiet.

Fragments of a heated argument filter through the curtain even before Azula pulls it to the side.

"Do you realize what you have done? You just cost us the Empire!" Uncle Iroh's voice is unrestrainedly livid. "In all my wildest dreams, I never imagined someone of my own blood could be so recklessly foolish!"

"Recklessly foolish is what you call someone who brings their enemy to bed," his father replies coolly. "Perhaps you should shift your attention to your son's wedding, and simply follow my example when it comes important state matters."

"Follow your example, and we will be lucky to rule over a pile of ash by the turn of the month! All you have shown is that you remain a blundering, ignorant boy who understands nothing. Thank Agni our father has passed, that he was at least spared from having to witness your shame and the thankless task of cleaning up after you yet again!"

Zuko enters just in time to feel the sudden chill that descends upon the hot, sticky air. His uncle and his father stand a pace apart, Iroh's rage blazing white-hot and infernal, Ozai's seething quiet and cold as ice.

"Just remember brother," his father warns, staring at his brother with intense dislike. "You started this. Not me."

"I started this?" Iroh echoes incredulously. "I started this?"

"You could not possibly think to hide the attempt on my son's life without consequence," Ozai continues. "Just because he means little more to you than a tile in one of your silly games—"

"You must forgive me," Iroh says with the cold might of a winter storm. "I was not aware you placed any value on Zuko's life after you burned his face and banished him from his home."

"And so you thought to claim him as your own?" Ozai snaps, marching up to Iroh until they are face to face. "Remember this well, Iroh. Never again will you take anything that belongs to me."

He turns away, but the threat still claws the breath from Zuko's chest.

"Apparently disappointment runs in the family," Azula mutters into his ear, before Ozai's voice echoes through the corridor.

"Zuko. Azula. Come." The command slices through the air like a snap of the fingers.

Zuko glances helplessly at his uncle. Then he trails after Azula and his father.

"You did well, Azula," his father says as they linger at the doorway of his suite. "And as for you, Prince Zuko—"

"Father, I can explain," Zuko blurts out.

"Explain what? You did exactly what I needed you to do." Zuko looks up in shock as his father's gaze bores through him slyly. "Starting tomorrow, you will sit with the military council and plan a detailed invasion of the Earth colonies."

"What?" Zuko asks, feeling the blood drain from his face. "Father, I can't—"

"With the entire army amassing at the capital for the royal wedding, we will be ideally positioned to launch an assault." His father's smile makes the inside of his mouth taste like ash. "With luck, by the turn of the moon, we will have the colonies back under our heel where they belong. And it will all be thanks to you, our Empire's glorious defender."

Ozai enters his room and closes the door behind him.

Zuko stands frozen in mute horror, the palatial walls of the corridor closing in on him like a trap.

Chapter 28: sleeping giant

Summary:

Katara gets a letter. Suki returns home to find a stranger in their midst.

Chapter Text

disclaimer. i own nothing recognizable and gain no compensation from the writing of this except in the way of your lovely heartwarming comments, dear readers!

author's notes. happy new year! i totally thought i'd uploaded this one already but spotted it in my backlog (which is a testament to how consequential this one is...)

anyway, here it is and better late than never!

thank you so much to everyone reading and following and commenting! (i swear, i read everything and take it all to heart) anddd serious thanks to circasurvival for beta-reading, she is the best!

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter xxviii. sleeping giant

outside we heard hammers
noises sound like the end
and we will never see them again

"travel is dangerous" / mogwai

The calm of the water should have felt soothing.

It is the fourth day in a row at sea. The mountains of the Fire Nation archipelago are mere shadows in the distance, faint jagged shapes that fade into the heavy mists that obscure the horizon the further south they sail.

Other things remain constant. Like the smell of smoke from the Imperial fleet ferrying them to the capital, the taste of the briny sea air, the steady ebb and flow of the waves that rock their vessel...

Toph doesn't handle the last bit well. She remains confined to her bed, clammy and nauseous. How am I supposed to see in this giant metal monster anyway? she'd mumbled blearily before clamping the pillow back over her face.

Katara stands at the prow and feels the tug of the sea. An unending expanse of water pulling at her bones, whispering to them of its power.

It should have felt soothing to her.

Instead its vast quiet makes a trapped creature of her, restless within the walls of the ship. Sometimes she paces, measuring the dimensions of the deck with her limping footsteps. Most of the time, she waits aimlessly as the capital, some unimaginable distance away, draws ever nearer. Too quickly...and yet nowhere near quickly enough.

It had been four days since they'd departed from the humble army base in its nondescript, remote corner of the Fire Nation homeland. Five days since Suki had bid them farewell and set out for her home with Master Iio and Piandao. A full week since Zuko had gotten the summons from his father to return home. A week that stretches far longer than it should, with dread and anticipation and regrets all flung together.

She can't stop thinking about the last time she'd seen him. It feels surreal in her memory. The way he looked at her, his gaze soft and heated all at once, and how it made her heart race. The sound of his laugh. The insistent press of his body against hers, the sheer urgency of their desires laid bare for the taking.

Instead, she'd grown cold feet and backed off, and then he'd gone home to be swallowed by his duties there. And now, after a week with no word from him, of wondering what part of him would remain intact after his father was through with him, she finds herself wishing more and more that she'd seized that moment with him when she had the chance. When, even now, the thought of it feels insane.