WhIP

by footfungus

nederlands verhalen over mijn otp

71. SOUTHERN LIGHTS ZUTARA 4

flagship!"

Katara glares at the huge destroyer sailing out of the harbour and into the bay. The waves slap loudly against its massive hull. With a cough of thick black smoke, its engines roar to life. It gains speed as it enters open water.

"Veer about!" she calls, her fingers tightening on the mast. "We can't let them regroup!"

Woka barks a sharp command; the women assembled behind roar as one.

The narrow longboat swerves into an abrupt hairpin turn. Katara hangs onto the prow for dear life, the force of the shifting momentum threatening to send them all hurtling overboard.

They wrestle their icecraft back under control, cutting a path into the shadow of the colossal flagship. It lumbers forward, ignorant of their presence, belching columns of smoke and arcs of blazing cannonballs high into the air. Their aim strikes true, forcing the sky bison to disperse from their airborne formations. The sounds of cannon-fire and animal screams grow deafening.

Katara glances over her shoulder at the other Northern women. Understanding flickers like electricity between them.

They lunge forward in unison. A thick prong of water slashes upward, slicing into the flagship's hull with devastating precision. Another pummels the ship, nearly upending it as it skitters sideways from the force of the impact.

Fire gushes over its side, pouring toward them in a rolling tide.

Katara raises her hands; the others follow. The world plummets downward as water rushes out from beneath their icecraft, rising to form a thick barrier. Dull thuds ring out with every blast it withstands, the water a living wall that ripples with shockwaves. Ricocheting their impact back into her taut arms, every quivering muscle, every screaming joint -

A break in the fiery assault, and she pounces. "Now!"

The giant wall of water freezes, glinting dangerously in the comet's red light. Scythelike blades of ice slice at the flagship's stern in merciless succession.

"Finally! Metal!" Toph cries out belatedly. Leaning somewhat awkwardly against the helm, her fingers flex.

Strips of the stern peel away from its bolts. Its screeches pierce through the din. Followed by the unceremonious crash as they hit the water and sink into its hungry depths.

Then the resounding gurgle as waves rush into the flagship's exposed belly, filling its cavernous spaces. Katara raises a hand to shield her face from the boiling spray.

The wail of a plaintive horn, sounding an alarm. She narrows her eyes at the smaller boats jetting out from the harbour piers, rushing to ferry their commanders to safety.

Oh no they don't.

Her gaze flicks from the makeshift relay to the holes gaping along the hull of the sinking flagship. The beams of its darkened bulkheads peeking out like guts, its fuel gushing like blood to float in opalescent puddles atop the water's surface.

The choking scent assaults her nostrils. "Toph," she breathes, her hands moving of their own accord.

A grin splits her friend's face. Her unseeing eyes meet hers.

Not another word is needed between them.

A moment of stillness descends, fleeting with the light of the comet streaking across the sky overhead. The fumes of the thick oily fuel wafting through the air.

Then, they strike in unison. Exhaling, moving as though they share one mind, one bitter thought.

The pools of leaking fuel shudder for a treacherous moment. Maybe two.

But even under the comet's bloody glow, they finally yield. In the span of a heartbeat, it floats into the air, coalescing into a quivering shapeless mass glinting with its rainbow sheen.

Several sudden gasps punctuate the silence. "Cool," someone whispers, awestruck.

But Katara doesn't waver, and neither does Toph, planted in the same stance where they stand shoulder-to-shoulder at the head of their makeshift longboat.

As one, they lunge forward, propelled by the fury of the waves consuming the battlefront.

The flagship explodes.

Someone screams behind her, an order perhaps. Her knees buckle from the sudden acceleration, a hair's-breadth ahead of the concussive shockwaves radiating outward in pursuit.

"Oomph!" The sound escapes her as everything spins out of control. She loses balance, tumbling over with a jarring bolt.

Successive belated splashes of solid metal hitting water, as the ship's debris sails through the air. Distant screams, the suffocating smell of spent fuel stifling the breath in her lungs.

"I'm okay," she splutters, already shoving back to her feet. "Toph, where's Toph? Are you okay -"

The blind earthbender's hand finds hers in a vice-grip. "I'm here," she grunts, yanking herself upright. Her hands sweep at the front of her white cuirass, now stained black with soot. She grimaces, shaking her head vehemently. "If we live through this, I am never abandoning solid ground for anything."

Katara scrubs at her ears, trying to dispel the incessant ringing sounds. "I think you might be onto something there," she mutters to herself. Glances back gratefully at the other Northern waterbenders, working in tandem to steer the icecraft. "Thanks. And, uh - quick thinking, I guess…"

"A little warning next time?" Ulva demands, angry red splotches peeking through the white paint daubed on her cheeks.

"Sorry." Katara rubs the back of her head sheepishly. "I didn't really think anything would happen."

"Yeah," Toph agrees, appearing uncharacteristically penitent. "That was our bad. We'll try to keep the fuelbending to ourselves, I guess."

"Are you kidding?" Woka all but shrieks in her excitement. "That was awesome! Do it again! Just, uh…" she withers under the glare Ulva hurls in her direction, "...maybe next time, hit something that isn't close enough to rip us all to shreds?"

Toph inclines her head. "I can respect that."

Katara turns back to the harbour. The turrets and towers crowning the battlements atop its high walls appear darkened and crumbling, but still studded with bursts of answering fire. "Look!"

The billowing smoke parts before the buffeting winds, revealing the smouldering core of the flagship's bilge sinking slowly beneath the crashing waves. And the path that had been cleared straight to the harbour plaza's concrete beach, and the narrow piers jutting out from it. Occupied only by a line of small watercraft, scuttling back and forth from the wreck.

"That's our way in!" Katara calls, pointing ahead. "Let's go!"

Toph frowns. "Shouldn't we wait for the others? Twinkletoes and Sheddy could help us do some damage -"

"They'll catch up with us," Katara decides, even as doubt and desperation wars under her skin. A crashing battle, climbing like the caldera rising before her, silhouetted against a bloodstruck sky choked with fumes and fire and whizzing animal shapes.

And at the heart of its summit lies Zuko, fighting for his life somewhere.

Her fists clench with renewed resolve. "We have an opening. We've got to take it while it lasts."

Perhaps hearing the urgency in her voice, Toph doesn't protest further. "If you say so," she says instead. "It's your brother's master plan you're toying with."

"Yeah, well, Sokka would do the same thing if he was in our shoes," Katara answers grimly. Spares a glance over her shoulder, at the storm of chaos blurring everything into an indistinct mass from their vantage point. He'll be okay, he has to be.

The ringing in her ears grows steadily louder. It is the only thing she can hear.

Her mouth opens, her hand chops down. And though she's now deaf to the command that spits out of her mouth, their longboat tears ahead in answer.

The world bounces uneasily over restless waves. The harbour plaza and the curve of its walls surround them in a chokehold. They easily overtake the rescue boats, limping back and forth from the wreck bubbling in the open water.

Fire hurtles toward them from the walled battlements in searing bright ropes. Katara raises a wave to deflect it. But the force of the impact sends their boat tilting dangerously onto its side.

A dozen panicked shrieks echo somewhere behind her as they fight for balance. She scowls up at the towers, at the shadowy pinpricks of Ozai's soldiers manning the defences. Rushing from turret to turret, firing cannons and flaming crossbow-bolts indiscriminately below.

This would be a great time for the sky bison to show up.

But their airborne forces struggle, stuck beyond the mouth of the harbour pitted against a rallying line of ships. The whirling funnel that starts to shrink, still unable to carve through the stubborn naval defences. And amid it all, Ozai's sailors still hadn't yielded.

They're mad. No amount of fire can stop the winds or the seas, Katara thinks with rising desperation. Every stubborn ounce of lunacy possessing Ozai's soldiers meant more time wasted to force a surrender. Time they didn't have.

"Katara, this is suicide!" Ulva shouts in her ear. "We're getting pummelled out here!"

"We have no choice!" Katara barks. Her protesting arms resume their spiralling movements, and the water curves to form a dome overhead. "Do not stop approach!"

The Northern woman growls in frustration, but obeys nonetheless.

One blast after another follows the curving trajectory of their path. Slamming into the waters around them, sending the world into a roiling frenzy. Slowing their progress as the women begin to tire, splitting their efforts between steering and defending against the onslaught.

But when a well-aimed cannonball smashes right through her defensive dome, Katara screams out in pain. Shockwaves rattle through her shoulder joints, as though it had hit her directly.

Everything bucks wildly. Screams rip out, everyone loses balance. Katara's fingers find the helm, holding on for dear life. Floating blind and unmanned in open water, in range of every cannon and catapult lining the battlements. The harbour plaza lies a mere half-league away, almost within grasping distance of her outstretched fingers.

So close, she can almost hear Ozai's voice taunting her. How unfortunate. To come so far only to fail within sight of my city…

Her grip on the helm tightens reflexively.

The world devolves into turbulent, thrashing madness. Fire crashes all around them. Shrieks piece through the ringing in her ears, shrill and growing more distant by the second.

She turns her head to see one bloodbender after another tumbling into the gnashing waves.

In the end I claim them all.

The planes of the icecraft fissure and split. Piece after piece drops off, following the Northern women into the water's waiting jaws.

Somehow, a hand still finds hers and squeezes.

Blinking sea spray out of her eyes, Katara finds Toph's sightless gaze searching for her. Her face as bone-white as the bits of her plate armour still visible under the soot and scorch marks.

This is it. The blind earthbender's thoughts ripple across the lines of her face, her grip on the disintegrating icecraft slipping as everything sinks. This is as far as we get.

"I'm sorry." The words spring from her lips automatically. She hugs Toph around the shoulders. "I'm so sorry. I thought - I really thought -"

Toph blows her snarled bangs out of her face. "I know. Me too."

"I should have quit while we were ahead," Katara laments, hanging on to the sharp spiked prow for dear life. It is the only part of the makeshift longboat that remains, the rest of it already lost to the sea.

A wave batters them; Katara cries out, scrabbling for purchase. Saltwater drenches them from head to toe.

"Why?" Toph spits out a mouthful of water. "We'd have been goners either way."

"Yes, but -" Katara's arm tightens around her friend's straining shoulders. "At least you wouldn't have to drown at sea. You hate water."

Toph shrugs. "There are worse things." A cannonball whistles toward them, a fiery trail arcing in its wake. "At least we made them hurt."

The missile misses narrowly, striking so close that its heat grazes her salt-stained cheek.

Smoke obscures the air, hanging low over the bay in a thick grey shroud. Katara coughs and splutters, wishing with all her might that they had waited for Aang to come with them. At least he'd be able to keep the air clear.

She stares up at the sky, where the fight still rages on. Most of the sky bison were still stuck beyond the mouth of the harbour. Successive flashes of cannon fire, plumes of supercharged comet fire hem their advance, trapping them on the wrong side of the walls.

And yet, a few had still managed to slip through. Katara stares at them blankly, even as the cold sucking water starts to slurp at her wrists.

To her relief, the flying beasts engage the defenders manning the high walls. Barrelling bodily into the guards, sweeping them off the battlements like little rag dolls. They plummet to the ground screaming.

And with that, the onslaught bombarding the surface of the bay begins to ease. Katara grits her teeth, trying to summon the last scraps of her strength.

A booming sound echoes from up high. An angry red glow consumes one of the battlements, and then the others. The floating, twining shadows of three flying bison emerging from the wreckage of the defences burning to a crisp behind them. The remains of the catapults blaze as they tumble out of the sky, burning all the while.

"What's going on?" Toph sputters. "Did they stop?"

With a groan, Katara manages to freeze the rest of the surrounding water into a flat chunk of ice. "I think so. For now." She hauls Toph aboard the bobbing raftlike surface, collapses onto it gratefully. "The sky bison seem to be giving them a harder time than we did."

"Sky bison?" Toph frowns in confusion. "I don't hear any sky bison."

Katara rolls onto her back, fighting for every painstaking breath. "What are you talking about?" She points at one of the flying shapes, whizzing from one exploding turret to another. "I can see them, right there -"

A group of guards, mere pinpricks to her eye, rush toward the incoming sky bison. Bend a gush of fire in unison, a beam of bright red light jettisoning straight into its horned head.

Then, a bloodcurling screech splits the air.

Katara's jaw drops as the flying beast uncoils, stretching out to its full length. Its outline shifts into an unfamiliar, decidedly not bison-shaped silhouette.

It opens its mouth, bellowing ferociously. And from its elongated, narrow jaws, pours forth more fire.

Awe consumes her as the creature pushes forward, easily overpowering the small guards with a blinding golden blast of its own. It overwhelms the guards easily, reducing them to a scrabble of disorganised screaming children before barrelling into them head-on. Knocks them almost contemptuously, off the harbour walls to join their fellow brethren sinking below the teeming waves.

"Dragons," Katara breathes. Her heart races in disbelief as before her eyes, the sinuous rippling creature makes short work of the walled defences. "Not sky bison, Toph - they're dragons!"

"What -" A wave crashes over them, drowning the rest of Toph's outburst into a chorus of coughs and sputtered curses.

Katara doubles over, spitting saltwater out of her mouth. Turns around to see the disturbance approaching them - not more fire from the walled guards, but another icecraft. Uglier, shallower and wider than the one that had sank just before, but still floating.

Over the rim of its helm, the Northern bloodbenders slide into focus - their hair sopping wet, the war paint starting to smear, the blue garments waterlogged under the white plate armour…

"Come on!" Ulva yells, gesturing wildly at them.

An outward fling of her arm, a concerted motion of the bloodbenders on board the boat. The ice beneath their feet jerks suddenly upward, flinging them bodily through the air.

They land in the boat heavily. It careens wildly, flailing back and forth from the impact,

Before they can fully regain their balance, Woka lunges forward. "Punch it, ladies!"

They take off at breakneck speed, crossing the final stretch of water.

Ahead, the bare piers lie in wait. Little more than narrow strips of concrete protruding from the sloping harbour beach. The first inch of solid ground that they had encountered since sailing from the Earth Kingdom's shores.

Fire rushes toward them, dispelled by one of the bloodbenders on the boat with a grunt. More screams, the thudding of boots pounding along the empty beach as fast as possible.

In a trice, the piers fill with Ozai's soldiers, rushing from the small boats tied off haphazardly and floating crooked in the seething waters.

The command leaps to her mouth, a harsh guttural cry.

She doesn't turn back to look if the women respond. She doesn't need to.

One by one, the soldiers on the pier stiffen to a halt. Their eyes invisible through the shadows of their faceplates, concealing the last shreds of who they had been before donning their black armour that morning.

Their arms contort into ugly angles, and then their legs. Screams ring out - of terror, of pain - as they crumple helplessly to their knees.

Ice touches concrete. The impact sends tremours reverberating through her bones.

She vaults off the ice, onto the narrow pier. The ground shudders as the others follow suit. The soldiers barely notice, howling and sobbing in pain.

Katara's lips press together distastefully. In another life, she wishes, even as her arms find a rhythm of their own volition, another world where they hadn't picked the wrong side.

All of this might have been different.

Thick jets of water soar through the air. Twisting, spinning, glittering blood-red in the light, before batting one soldier after another off the pier.

The succession of heavy splashes trace their headlong rush toward the beach, a shallow incline of concrete brimming with reinforcements pouring from the fort at the head of the plaza.

"Stop them!" Through the melee of confused sounds, a single voice rings sharp and clear over everything else. "Stop the waterbenders now!"

Katara slides to a stop, a pace away from solid ground. Toph's fingers graze her hand in warning.

Tension winds tight through the group of Northern women. In response to some shared instinct, they spring immediately into a double file, springing at the ready for their Chief's command.

A burly man marches to the edge of the beach, positioning himself at the mouth of the pier where Katara and the rest of the women wait. Her eyes trace the crest of command pinned proudly to his cuirass, the arrogant heft of his broad shoulders. The dryness of his attire, while his men squelch miserably behind him, water gushing from the joints of their black armour.

Hatred courses through the air like electricity, its sparks flitting from soldier to soldier. Katara feels Woka bristle behind her at the sight of them. Someone actually spits on the ground, hissing a curse in a language the soldiers would never understand.

The big man leading them still has the audacity to scoff loudly. "I thought the Water Tribes would send their best. But you're all a bunch of women," he taunts, his voice grating in all its silky smugness. A gloved hand removes his faceplate and visor to bare his smirk for all to see. "Surrender now…and maybe we'll leave something recognizable for your husbands to mourn later."

Perhaps he meant them to be afraid. But Katara doesn't blink. She fixes him with a steady stare instead, one that makes the smirk slide off his face. A gust of powerful wind batters the harbour, fanning her purple cloak to flap wildly at full mast. The steel bolts of all the poorly-docked boats groan in response.

"You," Katara says mildly, when the wind finally dies down to leave a screaming silence in its wake. "You look important."

The man's face mottles from the top of his balding head to the edges of his tapered sideburns. "Important!" he rages, swelling with indignation. "Do you not know who I am? I am Admiral Zhao! Conqueror of the Northern Tribes, darkener of the moon -"

The loud crunch of Katara's boot taking a single step forward cuts him off mid tirade.

"Well, Admiral. I'm Katara. Chief of the Water Tribes," she answers, as calmly as she can to hide the tremors of disgust wracking her entire body. "And these -" she gestures at the double file of bloodbenders waiting behind her, quivering at the ready to strike, " - are some of the women of the Northern Water Tribe, that you so kindly admitted to conquering."

Zhao's face loses colour almost as quickly as it had gained it.

"Wouldn't you like to meet them?" Now Katara wears the smirk. Her, and every other Northern woman who had the good fortune to be standing with her on that pier. "I think they really want to meet you." She glances over her shoulder.

Ulva's lips curve dangerously. Woka bares her teeth into a humourless grin. Bunik quivers silently in her stance, every tendon in her neck visible and straining.

Somehow, Zhao still finds the nerve to scoff again. "Are you trying to threaten me?" he demands. His chest puffs outward; flames hiss at his fingertips. "What in Agni's name could a bunch of half-trained healer women do to me now that Sozin's Comet is here!" He raises a hand to point at the giant red streak in the sky, bright amid the black clouds crowning the summit of the caldera. "It'll take more than a bunch of girls drunk on delusions of power to defeat me now! I am invincible -"

Katara doesn't wait for him to finish. She raises a hand.

The women of the North waste no time. They surge forward in unison, a rippling column of blue crashing like a cresting wave past their Chief and into Zhao's soldiers who wait behind him, still awaiting their orders.

The orders that never come, because Zhao's mouth presses tightly shut. His entire body seizes up, as rigid and unmoving as a board. Only his eyes continue to move, darting wildly in panic as they take in the sight of all the men under his command falling and yielding before him.

Pitiful sounds emanate from him - tiny disgraceful squeaks, that would have been full-bellied screams of anger if he had been able to part his lips.

"Oh relax, Moon-Darkener," Woka chides. She sets to work tying the man's broad wrists behind his back, tugging one sailor's knot into the rope after another. "It's not like we took your bending away."

"Couldn't the Southern bloodbenders do that?" Ulva asks casually, nudging a groaning soldier with the side of her boot. "Maybe we should have gotten them to teach us how."

"No," Bunik answers tonelessly. "That's still too good for the Conqueror of the North." She lowers her face to level with the Admiral, frozen and helpless in his defeat. "How else could he know what it feels like, to be at the height of his power and completely cut off from it at the same time? To be completely at someone else's mercy, out of control of his own destiny?" A rare smile springs to her face, as wintry cold as her pale grey eyes. "You belong to us now. Your every breath, impulse, every heartbeat -" she raises a clawed, twisted hand for emphasis, "- is by our whim, and nothing else. How does it feel?"

Zhao goes suddenly silent. Perhaps contemplating the vivid picture of dishonour that awaited him.

"Compared to what he and his men did to us?" Woka snorts. "I say he's still getting off easy." She bends over, her grinning face inches from the Admiral's own. "How about it, then? Sure, you might watch your army lose and all your men fall before your eyes, and be completely helpless to stop your carefully cultivated legacy from being utterly tarnished…but at least you'll be alive."

Zhao's eyes widen in horrified understanding. More muffled, desperate sounds escape from him.

"Unless you surrender now," Ulva suggests, tapping him under the chin. "Maybe we'll even leave something recognizable for your Phoenix King to mourn later."

Even through the invisible grip binding the Admiral tightly in place, outrage flashes dangerously in his eyes.

"Looks like Admiral Moon-Darkener doesn't know a good deal when he sees one," Woka laments. "Oh well. Knock him out, ladies!"

An enthusiastic motion from all the Northern benders. The Admiral collapses to the ground with an unceremonious crunch. Blood trickles from his nose and the corner of his mouth.

A roar rings out from above. They stare up to see the serpentine silhouette of a dragon tear out to the mouth of the harbour, its webbed wings flexing with every powerful stroke.

Its mouth opens and rivers of fire pour out. Igniting the puddles of oily fuel floating leaking from the line of defending Fire Navy ships, and still floating atop the waves.

The ensuing carnage catches the defences from behind, unaware. The united forces take advantage of the chaos to make one final push inland.

A few sky bison slip past first, accompanied by more waterbenders mounted on improvised icecrafts.

"Twinkletoes!" Toph calls out, her face brightening as Appa lowers out of the sky. "Over here!"

Even though Aang is tiny in the distance, his grin flashes wide and visible. "You made it!"

"Of course we made it!" Toph hollers back. "No thanks to you."

"Hey," Aang retorts defensively. "You two had each other. I had to look out for Appa." He gestures to the bison's left flank, where a sizable chunk of charred black fur glares out in stark contrast against the white.

"Poor buddy," Toph comments with a frown. "He sounds okay enough though."

"That's better than a lot of the others out there." Aang's face turns uncharacteristically grim as he pulls back on the reins, guiding the bison to touch down lightly on the beach.

"What's going on out there?" Katara asks, as more waterbenders pull into the harbour and spring onto land. "Where are our ships?"

"They're coming," Aang assures her. "It got pretty tangled up back there. Thank the spirits that the comet affected the dragons too!"

"I'll say," Toph retorts, rubbing at her bracers idly. "We'd have been toast if they didn't show up when they did!"

"It's a good thing Mai's intel was solid after all," Katara muses, watching the dragons twine in graceful shining circles in the sky. A marked contrast to the shaggy bulk of the sky bison now streaming past the harbour walls in a steady flow. "Even if it was hard to believe that so many of the old firebending clans were willing to turn against Ozai after all."

Toph snorts. "You'd think they could have shown a little initiative. They have dragons, after all!"

"I imagine Azula didn't make it easy for them," Katara answers darkly. She glares at the summit of the caldera, already swallowed up in a thick veil of wafting black smoke. "She's still up there. Her and Ozai and everyone else."

"Not Zhao, though." Toph points at the man crumpled in a heap at the head of the pier.

"You got Zhao?" Aang raises his eyebrows, clearly impressed despite himself. "Well…that's…pretty good…I guess?"

"If we had all year, maybe!" Katara snaps in frustration. She casts one last resigned glare at the battle raging in the bay. "But the war won't be won out there. You know what Empire soldiers are like. They'd rather die fighting than admit defeat!"

Toph rotates her head, her neck cracking loudly with every motion. "So what I'm hearing is we need to force a surrender."

"We need to breach the palace!" Katara insists. "That's where Ozai and the rest should still be. That's where we need to hit if we want to gain control."

"And that's where Sparky will be," Toph finishes, catching on. "If he's still alive."

"Of course he's still alive!" Aang bursts out. "If he wasn't, Ozai for sure wouldn't be quiet about it. He wants us to surrender almost as much as we want him to."

The three of them fall silent, arriving at a silent understanding as the carnage continues to roil around them.

"Ulva," Katara says at last, the first to look away.

The stern-faced widow springs forward to stand at her shoulder. "Yes, Chief?"

"I'm leaving you in charge of the harbour," Katara tells her, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Hold the plaza and the beach until more of our forces can penetrate through to the piers."

Ulva bobs her head curtly. "Yes, Chief."

"Do not lose Zhao," Katara warns. "Even when he's all tied up, he's cunning. One lapse in someone's focus, and he'll escape."

Another nod. "I'll make sure he's secured."

"Good." Katara offers her a kind smile. "I am so proud of you. And everyone here." She gestures at the mouth of the harbour, frothing with a succession of tidal waves that slowly dwarf the remaining boats mustered in defence. "You've all come such a long way."

"Thank you, Chief." Ulva's voice grows ragged as she hangs her head. "But we couldn't have done it without you. You - you led us here."

"I'm not sure it wasn't the other way around," Katara admits, her smile turning wry.

"Hey!" Toph shouts from Appa's saddle. "Are you two saps done your hopebending yet? We have a palace to breach!"

Katara grins sheepishly. "That's my cue."

"Take care, Chief." Ulva's hand grips Katara's forearm tightly. "Spirits be with you."

"I don't need the spirits," Katara replies steadily, gesturing at Toph and Aang waiting impatiently behind her. "Not with those two at my side."

Smoke billows up the steep slopes of the mountain, rising in thick clouds to graze Appa's paws.

Katara tries not to suffocate, even as every flap of Appa's flat tail dispels the worst of it. Eyes stinging, she readies her waterskins, the feeling strangely familiar even after seasons spent surrounded by the sea.

Water streams around her in a shining arc, reflecting the angry blaze that consumes the crumbling lower city. From their height, she can clearly see the fighting bristling through the narrow streets. Every now and then, another dragon darkens the sky overhead. Its deafening cries grating in her ears, as more fire rains down to batter the harbour walls.

A cough and a sputter rings out below, from one of the cliffs jutting out partway up the mountainside.

Appa swerves out of the way just in time to avoid the line of Fire Navy airships rising in unison from the squat rectangular building that they realise with growing horror, functioned as an airbase.

"Toph -" Aang starts, dropping Appa's reins.

The blind earthbender springs upright, her face twisted with determination. Her hands chop forward, fingers tearing for the gargantuan metal balloons sliding into their characteristic wedge formation.

One by one, slashes score their curving hulls. Ripping through the sheets of metal as though they were silk.

Air escapes through the cracks, hissing and superheated with steam. Katara pounces on the sudden opening, tugging at the charged water pressurising the hydraulics.

The sound of pipes bursting in succession ring out, a brisk contrast to the dull crashes from the fighting enveloping the harbour and its surroundings. By now, more ships have breached the Budo Bay, and the harbour walls face an onslaught from the dragons above as well as rising tidal waves from below.

"It's okay!" A familiar voice calls out, punctuated by a familiar chorus of growls.

More sky bison appear suddenly to join them, multiplying to check the flimsy airships launching from the lone airbase.

"We'll hold them here!" Master Sutra shouts, her billowing robes a yellow streak against her white armour. "You three go on!"

Aang digs his heels into Appa's fur in response.

They weave through the wreckage of the airships, the metal debris scattering below. Tumbling through the air, to be swallowed by the blaze spreading far beyond the limits of the embroiled lower city, and now starting to lick at the forests carpeting the base of the mountain.

As they gain altitude, the sounds of the fighting below grow faint. Everything seems to turn darker, even as the sky glows brighter still with the comet's intense light. It shines in its full glory, a blaze of pure golden light as large and round as the sun, streaking a white-hot trail that seems to swallow the day.

They crest the lip of the crater atop the mountain, to find the orderly streets of the upper city plunged into smoke and chaos. Dragons circle overhead in a number far greater than the showing at the harbour would have suggested. Jets of fire shoot upward from the streets below, as the Imperial foot soldiers try in vain to ward off the winged predators.

Katara's fingers tighten reflexively into the saddle as Aang yanks on the reins. With a bellow, Appa bounds forward, slicing across the sky and weaving through the blasts of fire that cut through their path.

A shadow looms over them, even as the triple eaves of the Imperial palace finally pierce through the haze. Aang sends them accelerating full speed toward it. Heedless of the threat diving straight toward them.

They careen headlong into the dragon plummeting nose-first to scatter the Imperial guards lining the palace gates. The force of the impact nearly flings them from the saddle; Appa's pained roar clashes with the shrill shriek of the dragon.

Its rider, a silhouette in golden armour, struggles to wrest it back under control. But through everything suddenly whirling and tumbling, all Katara can see are teeth, framing a colossal serpentine mouth, and -

Appa swerves just in time. Fire gushes everywhere. Incinerating the empty space where they had just been.

The dragon shrieks again, its massive head twisting on a muscular neck covered in scales. Its teeth still glistening from a snarling mouth parted in concentration, closing in on Appa's tail even as the bison weaves a convoluted pattern in the sky.

"Aang!" Katara screams.

The dragon's chest expands. Its mouth opens wider, sucking back air with such force it slows them down.

Aang's face turns white in panic. "Come on, Appa!" he pleads. "You can do it! Yip yip!"

The dragon's jaws widen, a horrible roar rising from its throat. Katara stares down the tunnel of its gullet. A piercing white glow glares right back at her, barrelling closer with every moment.

She isn't aware of closing her eyes. Grabbing Toph, hugging her close. She only feels the iron grip of fear encasing her entire body. Turning her limbs to stone, her joints to jelly.

The sensation of sudden weightlessness. Floating, falling, spiralling. Heat on her skin, screeching in her ears. Toph's fingers biting into her arms, quivering uncontrollably.

And yet, the pain that she dreads never arrives.

Instead, gravity takes over, dumping them in a heap back onto Appa's saddle with a decisive thump.

"What happened?" Toph gasps, the first to find her voice. "And how come we're not dragon kibble right now?"

"Appa pulled through!" Aang yells back, his voice muffled. Katara pushes herself upright to see him hugging the bison's head, his face buried in mounds of soft fur. "I have never seen him fly like that before! Look!"

Katara follows the Air Nomad's pointing finger and her jaw drops.

The enraged dragon still thrashes about, breathing fire everywhere in its frenzy. But it redirects its ire to the guards on the ground, who had taken advantage of the distraction to coordinate a unified strike.

Now they scatter every which way, screaming as the dragon topples the palace gates with every swipe of its heavy tail. Appa narrowly avoids the falling blocks of stone sailing through the air.

Aang snaps his glider. Debris flies out of their way, clearing the way ahead.

They approach the main palace tower with its three eaves, bypassing the violence bristling on the ground. The sight of it rising through the swirling smoke sends shivers of familiarity crawling down Katara's spine. This time, her blue attire is soaked with sweat and blood instead of rain, and they are bathed in the red glare of the comet instead of the full moon. And instead of escaping the grounds single-handedly to save Zuko from his father's clutches, now they boldly cut their path straight through to its heart.

Yet, the same destruction rages around her. The same desperation claws at her nerves.

Her arms strike up a rhythmic motion, as though to calm herself more than anything else.

A pressurised jet of water spirals around them in a constant orbit. Swallowing any wayward blasts of fire that hurtle in their direction.

But the palace guards barely notice them. Distracted entirely by the ruinous streams of dragonfire and the riders in their strange ancestral armour. Firebenders turning on firebenders, all in the name of the so-called Phoenix King's madness.

Agonised screams ring out from below. A squadron of Imperial firebenders, distinctive in their stark black uniforms, overwhelmed by a powerful jet of dragonfire emitting from a streak of plummeting jewel-green scales. The dragon pulls up out of its nose-dive, turning about to ascend past the last of the guard towers. Heedless of the blaze consuming an entire patch of courtyard, and the guards who lie dying in its clutches.

She grimaces at the sight despite herself. Ozai's followers had made their choice to blindly follow the orders of a depraved, bloodthirsty lunatic. And yet, they would reap no added glory for sacrificing their lives to his cause. She wonders if the Phoenix King would even acknowledge the blood they spilled in his name, the grieving families torn apart in his wake. If any of it would even matter, if they failed to force a surrender before long.

Nevertheless, she lowers her head. Pity still stabs in her chest.

They fly over the smouldering palace grounds, full of falling stones and dying soldiers. Death and destruction raining down all around them as the dragons wheel and break and dive, over and over. The fortress-like walls shatter in explosions of crumbling stone, powerless against their might.

Only the fire seems alive: flickering and glowing and expanding with every gust of the rising winds. The only thing that breathes, grows, thrives in that courtyard full of ash and stone.

It rages everywhere. Consuming the grounds, licking at collapsing buildings, chasing fleeing guards. Whipping to new heights, clashing between Ozai's imperial guards in their black armour and the dragonriders in gold. Gushing forth in floods breathed into existence in the iron lung forges of the dragons themselves.

And somewhere not so far in the distance, a cooler, sharper brilliance. A thread of gossamer white light, shooting upward as though to touch the streak of comet itself. Only to fizzle out in a puff of smoke, before torrents of blue fire swarm to replace it.

Katara isn't aware of screaming, of pointing, of saying anything at all. Only that the jerk of the sky bison's acceleration hooks a tightening band of tension around her chest, and the ringing in her ears grows deafening.

Then that blue fire draws ever closer, clashing with red and gold flames that steadily dwarf and then yield to its intensity in turn.

Below them, stone shatters into dust, greenery chars into cinders. The mighty palace walls tumble down in turn, rattling the ground with the force of its impact.

The crumbling stone courtyard slides into view.

They descend lower, past piles of rubble that moments ago could have been a grand pavilion or palace building. Until it all fades to a blur in her eyes. Black armour locked against golden plate, red flames pushing against brilliant white. The deep crimson of the open sky spanning the borders of the sacred duel grounds where the walls once stood. A barrier of blue flames rippling around its perimeter, illuminating a lone figure in its cool light until he is all she can see.

Zuko. Alone in the courtyard, surrounded by a whirl of fire raging in so many different hues. Gaunt, hair cropped shorter than before, his vest hanging in burnt tatters to frame his sunken, bloodied chest.

But alive, and still with enough fight in him to push a strained jet of golden fire in the direction of an enemy she cannot see.

She watches as though in slow motion, the tension gripping his wasted body at the effort to sustain his offensive. At the answering blaze that checks his, at his feet struggling to hold ground before inevitably slipping back an inch, and then another.

And suddenly, even the ringing in her ears goes quiet.

The edge of the saddle presses into her palms with the weight of her body, the ground rises up to meet her with the force of gravity. A flare of pain, a dull throb in her bad ankle.

People scream around her, after her. Fire blasts in her direction, and she deflects it without thinking.

Ahead of her, Zuko struggles to hold against his opponent. His knees buckle before he drops to them, arms juddering and back hunched with the effort to remain rooted.

A flash of crimson brocade, illuminated by the barrier of blue fire rising to replace the fallen walls. A sneering laugh piercing through the din, sending her blood roiling in her veins with its familiar contempt.

The Phoenix King hurls another blow at his kneeling, spent son. It propels toward him, a crescendo of white-hot flames whipping to impressive, comet-powered heights.

Katara wrenches forward in a motion so sudden it nearly jars her leg out of place. Water rushes toward her: the contents of her waterskins, the currents raging beneath the sewer grates, the sweat and blood coating every last fighter in their vicinity. It coalesces into a thick prong that coils in her grasp, and lashes outward with vicious, uncompromising force.

It meets Ozai's flames, douses it in a searing fizzle. Steam hisses upward in harmless curls.

Zuko's back is still to her, but she watches it stiffen in a slow, spreading realisation. Limps forward over the uneven stones as he turns slowly, disbelief written across the profile of his face.

He blinks at her, perhaps wondering if she was just another apparition in the mists. His mouth works wordlessly, but she hears him in the way his pulse begins to race.

Her feet follow suit, heedless of the old injury shooting jolts of pain in her ankle. Slipping and stumbling over the rubble strewn across the crumbling courtyard, dashing toward him screaming something unintelligible at the top of her lungs that must have been his name.

Fire blasts in her direction in a cruel wave. She sidesteps it, trips over a wayward block of stone. Pushes back up without missing a beat, ignoring the pain lancing up her leg and the bruises lining her hip.

It could all wait. None of it mattered, except the space separating her from Zuko. Growing smaller and smaller as she barrels obstinately forward, until it too finally shrinks to nothing.

And everything that had pushed them an entire world apart now vanishes with the last of the distance between them.

His lips move against her ear, an incomprehensible litany that she cannot hear. Tears pour down her face, disbelief and relief racking her entire body with shuddering sobs. Because how could he be here, how could they both be standing here, together, under a bleeding sky while dragons screamed overhead and the Imperial palace crumbled around them?

But she holds him with all the strength she can muster, and he hugs her back. He is so painfully thin that she can feel his bones, but the bare skin of his back is hot under her fingertips. His smell - soap, sweat, smoke, and charred cloth - all sharp in her nose, so familiar it makes her ache. His body quivering with every laboured breath, his chest against her ear drumming loud with his heartbeat. So loud it drowns out everything else - the explosions rattling around them, the blasts of red and blue fire raging in the distance around them.

"You're here," he gasps, the first words she can understand through the deafening chaos consuming the ruined courtyard. "You're here, you're really here…"

She clutches at him so hard the muscles in her arms begin to cramp. Words stick in her parched mouth, unable to push past the giant lump swelling in her throat. She tries to force them out, but only manages a hiccupping shudder.

But then something flickers in the corner of her eye. A flicker of blinding blazing blue, whipping straight toward them.

She stiffens, senses leaping to high alert. Grabs at Zuko, shoving him out of the way with every ounce of strength left to her.

The blue fire whips past them, smashing harmlessly into the stone a fair distance away.

Her heart hammers wildly. Tension thrums through her entire body. Water springs to her fingertips, bristling at the ready and longing to strike.

Through the dissipating haze, the Princess lumbers toward them, one foot dragging in a pronounced limp. Her stringy hair flows loose and unencumbered down her back, errant strands swaying with the wind.

Katara studies Azula's hunched shoulders, her teeth bared in a grimace. At her golden eyes darting feverishly in every direction, at the sparks hissing dangerously from her clawed, flexing fingers.

Zuko says something behind her, his voice rising urgently. But Katara only understands danger, heading straight toward them in the form of Zuko's unhinged prodigy sister.

"Take one more step forward," she spits out harshly, "and I'll end you."

"Wait!" Zuko's hand clamps on her shoulder, yanking her back none too gently. "Katara, don't!"

More fire barrels toward them, blinding white and searing as hot as the dragonfire filling the skies.

To Katara's unending shock, it's Azula who charges forward to meet it. With a cry of determination, she throws herself into the line of fire, deflecting the worst of it with a single precise sweep.

Katara blinks stupidly as the smoke clears around the panting princess. "Did - did she just -?"

"She's on our side," Zuko explains hurriedly. His grip on her shoulder loosens. "I think."

As though in response, Azula glances over her shoulder. Her golden eyes scan Katara, still standing defiantly in front of Zuko. Her mouth quirks at the corners, perplexed and amused and contemptuous all at once.

Then a yell in the distance, a glint of gold amid a whirling inferno of blazing fire and belching smoke. Azula shakes her head exasperatedly before turning away, staggering straight into the heart of the melee.

Katara frowns, still shell-shocked in confusion. "Are you sure about that?"

"No," Zuko confesses, his shoulders slumping. "But it seems to suit her for now."

"I see." Katara's frown deepens, but she shrugs nonetheless. "I guess I can work with that."

They stand for a moment, watching the battling flashes of blue and white flames, both crashing wildly out of control and drowning everyone else from view.

Then without warning, the ground rumbles. Not the tremors of falling walls or flying beasts landing around them, but of the earth cracking and splitting beneath their feet.

Even before she manages to regain her balance, a gust of wind batters the courtyard with enough force to clear away the thick shroud of smoke.

Enough to render the Phoenix King a tiny outline wreathed in gold, and his daughter staggering with the last of her strength to face him. Neither yields to the wind tearing at their skin, or the earth cracking beneath their feet.

Katara raises her arms to shield her face as the wind picks up yet more speed. Her feet slide back inch by treacherous inch. Behind her, Zuko collapses to his knees, grunting in pain as flecks of broken stone gnaw at his blistering wounds.

But of them all, Azula is the first to buckle against the howling gales.

Fear etches onto her bone-white face, illuminated in the crashing fury of her father's relentless onslaught.

Katara looks away, eyes streaming in the blinding light. A bloodcurdling scream pierces her ears.

The force of the impact sends the princess skidding bodily across the arena like a limp rag doll. Her body gouges tracks across the length of the stone arena.

Until she hits the ground for the last time, sliding and rolling to an ominous stop. Facedown and unmoving, dark blood staining the ground beneath her.

A strangled cry rings out. Zuko bolts toward his father, his face contorted into a pained snarl. White-hot fire brims in his palms, hurling one after the other at the Phoenix King's sneering face.

Katara flounders, her gaze flitting from Zuko to Azula's unmoving body lying some distance away, and then back to Zuko. With only a moment's hesitation, she chases after him. Water snaps into a lengthy coil, spiralling along the length of the arena in tandem with her fingertips.

A thud nearby, a sky bison's plaintive roar. A pair of feet light where it meets the ground, another shattering the earth under the force of their impact.

The wind shrieks. Deep fissures encircle the courtyard before widening to a chasm that only the truly foolhardy could breach.

Physically separating all the remaining fighters from their king, and his son, and the three benders who rapidly converge upon them.

By the foot of the remaining steps leading up to a levelled palace, Zuko's father flings off the remains of his jewelled breastplate. It hits the ground heavily, though the sound is swallowed by the ferocity of the wind descending upon the entire summit.

But his eyes meet the four young benders uniting shoulder-to-shoulder against him. The Eternal Flame kindled by the High Sage to consecrate the sacred duel grounds had long snuffed out. Whatever remains of its fire glitters in the Phoenix King's maddened eyes.

"Give it up, Dad." Zuko's voice is hoarse, but he draws strength from the presence of his friends at his side once more, at long last. "You're surrounded and outnumbered. You can't win this fight."

"Can't I?" his father goads. He slides the mantle off his shoulders in a single careless motion. The wind buffets it high into the sky, tracing patterns where the palace towers had once stood. "What would you know of winning? Surrender and failure are all you've ever known."

"Your invasion force is crumbling," Zuko challenges. He raises his hands in front of him defensively, wincing with the movement. As though in answer, his friends close in behind him, their hands resting on his shoulder, his back in unspoken solidarity. "All your men are standing down to Uncle and his allies as we speak."

"They're weak!" Trickles of red flame wreath the Phoenix King, illuminating his bloodshot eyes. "Everyone, all of you - from the lowliest reservist to my own daughter - you're all worthless." He makes a wheezing, laughing sound. "None of you deserve a place in my world."

"There won't be a world left if you keep this up," Zuko urges, even as the futility of the gesture rings hollow. "It's over. Sozin's Comet is here, and you still don't have enough power to win -"

"You're wrong!" his father snaps. He stretches his arms out wide. Threads of lightning hiss warningly around him. "I do have the power. I have enough power to purge the world in fire - once and for all!"

Zuko readies his stance, bracing for the ungodly currents of electricity that would surely strike him in the blink of an eye.

But his father spins on his heel and sends it crashing into one of the canyon-like rifts scoring the periphery of the courtyard. "And like the phoenix, a glorious new world will be reborn from the ashes!" His hands push outward, inexplicably aiming deep into the crevices of the earth. "A world that will finally be worthy of me!"

Fire gushes forth from his open hands. White-hot and supercharged, rivers of flame hot enough to cleave further into the fractured ground, and even incinerate rock under its unfathomable heat

"What is he doing?" Katara cries out, as the world shudders uncontrollably around them. Ozai continues undeterred, the jet of his fire expanding madly to a blazing deluge that forces the edges of the deep fissures to split further apart.

"He's going for the bedrock," Aang observes, the confusion audible in his voice. "But why? It's not like he can set it on fire -"

A deep grinding sound cuts him off. It rumbles upward, low and deafening, emanating from somewhere far below their feet.

Zuko stares, frozen in mute shock as his father throws his head back. With a yell, he somehow forces even more power into the current of fire pounding violently at the abyss now opening up before them.

"He doesn't have to," he breathes. The ground starts to vibrate with alarming regularity. The temperature spikes infernally, as though fire has already begun to lick at his skin again. "The palace - the entire upper city…it's built on a caldera. A sleeping volcano."

"He's trying to collapse it!" Toph gasps in a horrified realisation. "That kind of pressure could get everything to blow!"

A blur of blue in the corner of his vision. His father freezes in place, his arms springing harmlessly to his sides.

"We won't let you!" Katara declares, her hands quivering with the effort to maintain her twisted bloodbending stance. "We won't let you destroy your entire city!"

But his father levels his feverish gaze upon her. "It's too late!" he crows, laughing wildly as tears stream down his face. "It's already begun!"

As though in answer, an unearthly groan swallows the air.

Fresh cracks splinter across the rumbling ground, before collapsing and falling away, The fissures widen and deepen, already beginning to glow the same deep red as the sky overhead. Columns of noxious black fumes erupt from the rent earth.

"You had your chance! But no one can stop it now," his father continues in a frenzied triumph. "No one can stop the world from being reborn -"

A twist of Katara's wrists sends him crumpling wordlessly to the ground.

"Did you just -" Aang stutters with rising disbelief, "did you just murder him?"

"What good would that do now?" Katara snaps. "Besides, with the comet, he'd be too powerful to stop permanently. I just knocked him out a little. What do we do about that?"

They stare helplessly at the wreckage of the palace grounds. At the red veins spreading all across the earth. Splitting into jagged chasms, growing deeper with every passing moment. Unseating the last of the standing structures, walls and foundations collapsing as though in slow motion, sliding steadily into the ravening mouths of a thousand abysses opening up everywhere.

Screams ring out around them. In the distance, faint outlines of armoured men - both black and gold indistinguishable through the noxious volcanic fumes - scramble and flee. Clutching each other for balance as the ground crumbles beneath their feet, devouring the slow and the hesitant.

Toph slams her foot into the ground. The spidery cracks bypass the courtyard altogether. Leaving a solid platform of rock intact around them, while everything else slowly disintegrates away into the viscous magma seething slowly to the surface.

The vents belch out more toxic fumes, as the pressure beneath it continues to mount. Zuko claps a hand to his head, already dizzy.

Aang leaps forward, his fists a blur. The vicious winds pick up speed, clearing the poisonous gases threatening to suffocate them.

Zuko clutches at his throat, gratefully sucking in gulps of clean air. "Toph," he rasps, "what do you think?"

Even with the caldera cratering around them, venting poisonous geysers and molten rock sailing through the air like meteors, Toph manages a weak smile. "I think it's been too long since we got to lava-bend together, Sparky."

"My apologies." The corners of his mouth quirk upward despite it all. "I didn't mean to keep you waiting."

They leap into motion, pushing back against the weight of the magma rising up hissing and spitting to the surface of the earth. Zuko plants his feet, imagining that the stone under his feet had formed roots, stretching deep into the pools of awakening lava pressing against his clenched fists.

But though the universe had miraculously aligned to unite him with Toph and Aang and Katara, in the end they were just four unlucky teenagers. His father had unleashed the raw, destructive power of the earth's lifeblood upon them.

And even with his and Toph's combined strength, the magma still pushes upwards, into a pyroclastic flow that easily reaches the cratered surface.

"This - isn't - working!" Toph grunts, nearly doubled over in her straining efforts. "It's too much!"

"We have to be stronger!" Zuko yells, even as his burnt leg buckles under his weight. The lava begins to spill above ground, a mockery of their desperate efforts. A glowing red fountain spewing forth from the depths of hell.

Aang leaps in to join them, sending gust after gust of biting air in a vain attempt to repel the oncoming flow. The outer edge of the current darkens, cooling into a shallow layer of rock that momentarily dams the flow.

Zuko's heart leaps at the sight. Only to sink immeasurably as more lava pours over the freshly formed barrier. Overflowing, undisturbed, easily swallowing the cooling rock and assimilating it into its molten mass.

Popping sounds erupt around them - more clouds of poison fumes rushing through all the vents bursting through the earth.

"There's too much pressure," Toph grits out. Her feet slide backward along the stone. "We'll never be able to stop a literal volcano from erupting, Zuko."

Sweat pours down his face as the air grows unbearably hot. He stares at the flowing substance, spreading steadily across the surface and puddling into the deep canyons shredding the ground. Watches it bubble slowly to fill the crevices before levelling high enough to resume its flow.

An idea flickers in the back of his mind. "No," he agrees. "But maybe we can redirect it."

Katara inhales loudly. "The catacombs!" she cries, snapping out of her twisted bloodbending stance. Ozai's unconscious form nods listlessly at her feet. "I used them last time to escape. What if we -"

Zuko shakes his head. "They've probably been destroyed already."

"Only here." Katara gestures past the lava spilling over the collapsed palace grounds in a glowing red layer. "But those tunnels lead all the way down the mountainside, straight into the ocean. Lava moves slowly. There could be parts of them that are still intact!"

"You could waterbend currents through them," Aang suggests, "Create an underwater tide, to pull the lava down to the ocean -"

"And then Sparky and I can stem things up here!" Toph exclaims excitedly. "Syphon the overflow through the tunnels instead of up top."

A low explosion booms in the heart of the volcano. The rock on which they stand begins to splinter.

Still, Zuko turns to his companions. Their faces gaze resolutely back at him, the brightest lights in a world consumed by fire.

Something wells in his throat. "What if it doesn't work?" he asks, his voice breaking. "I - I don't want you to die."

Toph laughs harshly. "How else did you think today was gonna end?"

"At least we can try," Aang points out, irritably optimistic even in the face of certain doom.

"And we're together," Katara points out, her mouth curving into a soft smile. "That's got to count for something."

Everything goes blurry. His eyes begin to sting, and not for the choking sulphur fumes filling the air. "I didn't think I would ever see you again."

A coughing sound, a shuddering inhale. A pair of arms encircling him in an embrace, and then another, and another.

He doesn't know how long they stand there like that. The world falls apart around them, making the moments seem to stretch and collapse at once. He clutches at them, a lifeline in darkness. Still unable to believe that they're here, they're real, after so many months of utter despair.

"We're Team Avatar." Aang's voice is a thread of sound barely audible over the storm. "You really think we would have just left you behind?"

In his words, Zuko hears the weight of his weariness. The cost of the impossible battles they had fought, the insurmountable odds they had faced down and bested, just to claw a place at his side once more. The enormity of it presses down upon him with a force far greater than the volcanic flow slowly burying the toppled palace.

A tear trails down his cheek and he rubs it against his shoulder. "You're the best friends I could have asked for. Father didn't know who he was up against."

Something unspoken flickers between them. An understanding, a sense of shared purpose. And a reticence, an unwillingness to let go. Would this be the last time they held each other?

But then the rock starts to crumble again beneath their feet. Toph is the first to break away, reinforcing their battered platform with gritted teeth.

Overhead, an animal roar draws near. Zuko looks up to find Appa circling overhead. His liquid-brown eyes wide and fearful of the lava starting to spread freely across the ground. But still seeking out enough space to land safely.

He descends low enough for his paws to graze their heads. Growling loudly in alarm, as though urging them to escape.

"Sorry buddy," Aang says softly, reaching up to touch one of Appa's paws with a gentle hand. "There's no turning back for us now."

Another grumble, indignant this time. Appa pins them all with a baleful stare, reluctant to leave them despite the danger.

"Come on." Katara grabs at one of the sky bison's legs, clambering onto his shaggy head. "Help me find those escape tunnels, yeah?"

A flex of her hands sends water coalescing all around her in a rippling orbit.

Good luck, Zuko wants to say, but he doesn't get the words out in time. With a barked command, Appa and Katara are already flying off, shrinking in the distance as they make for the edge of the caldera.

But there's no time for regret. The ground still splinters beneath their feet. The lava pools against the periphery of the palace grounds, momentarily hemmed in place by the rubble from the fallen walls. Above it, the faint shadow of the sky bison whizzes past and disappears from sight.

"Come on!" Toph shouts at him.

They fall into a rhythm, familiar this time. He closes his eyes, feeling strangely connected to the chaos encompassing him on all sides.

The caldera collapsing beneath his feet, the poison clouds of volcanic gas filling the air. The lava, rising up from the hollow chamber at the heart of the mountain, oozing through the cracks gouged into the summit. The pressure of its flow increasing, compressing the volcanic chamber until its contents had but one way to escape.

Up. Through the craters studding the palace grounds -

Over. Spilling into the growing network of fissures carved into the surface -

Forward. Consuming earth and shrub and rubble alike, feeding on everything unfortunate enough to lie in its path -

On and on and on, until everything was gone. The palace first, then the elaborate estates of the upper city. Then the lower city with its innocent civilians, the Fire Navy sailors and ships docked at the harbour. Even the bulk of Uncle's allied fleet penetrating the harbour walls to surround the piers and storm the beach. All would fall to the unstoppable might of the volcano, to be buried far beneath the layers of rock that would form above it.

Their lives, their dreams, their stories. All would be snuffed out at once.

Wind streams against his ears. When Zuko inhales next, the air is sharp and painful in his nostrils - but clear of the noxious fumes that had been clouding his head.

And somehow, his awareness seems to expand. Not just of the lava erupting all around him, or how small his feeble body seemed by comparison.

He's aware of Aang, circling all around them in a spiralling motion. Summoning all the winds in the sky to his call, dispelling all the pyroclastic gases and viscera spewing forth from the depths of the volcano. Of the lava's surface, already starting to cool and harden against its chill bite.

He's aware of Toph, planted squarely next to him. Her movements in time with his, lending her strength to bolster his. Feeling earth and fire fuse to one amid the rhythm of their desperate limbs, cresting to meet the slower tide of the viscous lava forced out of its ruined dwelling-space.

He's even aware of Katara, flying on Appa's back to the lip of the summit. The strength of her arms pushing and pulling at all the water hidden atop the Imperial city. The plants, the plumbing, the air. All bursting ahead of the volcanic flow, before being forced back into the catacomb tunnels traversing the slope of the volcano like veins.

And though he's no waterbender, he imagines he can even sense the currents building within the network of tunnels, charting a course down the mountainside. Slow at first, and then picking up speed as the pitch increases, the water fuelled into a flood that cascades in a violent rush down the steep slope.

Faster and faster it flows, a tide that overpowers the resonance of the spreading lava. Until somehow, miraculously, he feels the pressure in the underground tunnels plummet away to nothing. Offering a path of lower resistance, the rush of underground water inviting, longing, redirecting…

Zuko straightens to his full height. Fighting the volcano had been impossible, but this was surrender. Merely guiding the lava through the myriad hidden tunnels leading away from the summit, and toward the hidden bay at the base of the island.

How long it takes them, he doesn't know. He doesn't care. All that matters is the steady pulsing motions gripping him in its overpowering rhythm. He doesn't open his eyes, merely trusting that the others feel it too, that their limbs, their hearts, their breaths move in time with his own.

And somehow, even as he senses the blazing menace of the comet recede from the sky, the overwhelming pressure of the rising lava finally starts to ebb.

His arms ache beyond comprehension. He feels like he had been lavabending for a thousand years. As though he had become one with the mountain and its fire, as though he could feel its age settling in every corner of his body.

But then the wind picks up speed, battering the lava with a renewed surge. And when a shallow crust of rock forms at its surface, and then grows thicker still, Zuko feels his own bending yield to it.

And when at last he finally stops, and feels the others do the same, they open their eyes to a darkening sky, choked with rising smoke and the haze of immense heat. To the blue of advancing twilight, the most beautiful colour Zuko has ever seen.

And as the trembling beneath their feet stutters and fades, they find each other again at the heart of the devastation. Silently gathered in an awestruck vigil as the lava yields to wind, to water, and then back to become one with the earth again.

Surrendering its infernal fire once and for all, cooling rapidly into glassy black stone. Plugging the caldera summit, springing out of the ocean's surface in islands trailing in the mountain's stretching shadow…

The foundations of a new world. Bathed in the light of a sunset that they all would live to see.

Chapter 66: ashes

Chapter Text

disclaimer. there is a universe out there where it belongs to me, but it is not this one.

author's notes. so apparently dec 2022 is the month i brought back fanfic fridays. only took 6 years to get here.

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter lxvi. ashes

feel the weight of a martyr
it could all be yours
if you echo birds of prey

"circle with me" / spiritbox

"Give it more fuel!"

"What do you think I'm doing?"

"Well it's not working!"

Sokka heaves another shovel of coal into the burners, wiping at his sweaty brow. He stares up at the big red balloon, already deflating in the superheated clouds that rise to surround them.

"The air's too hot!" he realises, dropping the shovel in alarm. It hits the floor with a low clang, sending the small basket swaying. "We're losing altitude!"

Suki glares at him. "So what are we supposed to do now? This was your idea!"

"Crash landing?" Sokka suggests meekly.

"Where?" Suki points at the surface of the caldera, rising up to meet them as the balloon starts to tumble out of the sky.

Sokka's jaw drops at the sheer devastation stretching out below them. He had expected to find the Imperial palace, the fabled capital city built atop the caldera that was the crown jewel of the Empire. Instead, the ground is riddled with veins of dull glowing red interspersed within a sheet of glassy jet black stone. Remnants of ruined buildings still stick out of the ridges of cooling lava - the rubble of old walls, extravagant pavilion roofs, towers and turrets slanting at improbable angles. Anchored by the sticky molten substance that had both precipitated their destruction, and now preserved for the years to follow.

"Oh hell," he breathes, his spirits sinking faster than their stolen war balloon, which hisses leaking air to plummet straight toward the smoking, not-quite-solid ground. "Suki, look sharp! Or we're going to hit that lava pit!"

"Which lava pit?" she thunders back, grabbing frantically at the ropes to steer the balloon in its sharp descent. "They're everywhere! We don't have anywhere to land!"

"There!" Sokka points at a shallow protrusion at the heart of the caldera, its broad surface peeking through the heavy mists. "That must be solid enough!"

"I'm trying!" Suki grits out, tugging at one rope and then another. Their basket swings to the left, and then to the right in a wide curving arc, dropping lower and lower with increasing speed.

"Oof!" The force of the impact rattles through Sokka's bones. The world spins wildly, pummelling his body on all sides.

The bottom of their basket catches on the lip of the low platform, tipping over at a sharp angle. They spill over its edge, rolling uncontrollably along the rough uneven stone. A crash and a whoosh, as the rest of the balloon collapses, the air emptying in a rush from the deflated crimson fabric. A high-pitched whine as the engines finally stop whirring.

Then a sharp grind and more pain. Stars dance in Sokka's eyes at the abrupt halt - a wall of solid rock jutting out of the ground, stopping him bodily with the force of its impact.

He blinks, dazed. Suki grunts, not too far away.

Through his confusion, he still hears her grumbling as she pushes herself to sit upright. "You didn't have to be so hard on us," she complains.

"Sorry," Toph's voice answers, as breezy and completely unconcerned as always. "I thought it was just Snoozles dropping in on us out of nowhere."

Then it's Sokka's turn to sit up. He rubs indignantly at the bump growing on the side of his head where it had collided unceremoniously with the rock. "Gee, thanks," he retorts snidely. "I'll take this concussion as a reminder of how much you care, Toph."

The rock wall disappears, sliding back into the ground without a trace.

"Oh, boo hoo," the earthbender retorts, turning her sightless face over her shoulder to smirk at him. "Add it to the list then."

Sokka opens his mouth to argue, but then frowns, the sight before him stilling his tongue.

For they hadn't landed on some strange rock formation at all, as he'd assumed. Rather, he finds the shallow platform to be some sort of old arena. Made of the same pockmarked, weathered grey rock as the other partially-submerged ruins jutting haphazardly out of the expanse of hardening lava. It had once been elegant and grandiose, but the remaining tiles are uneven and split in pieces by a network of glossy black veins. The same stone that covers the rest of the caldera.

Toph and Aang wait on one side of it, preoccupied with a large rock pillar erected in between them. Sokka's brow crumples in confusion but he decides not to ask any questions.

And some distance away, huddled in a corner of the ruined arena, he sees his sister in her familiar blue-and-white armour, flanked by figures dressed in crimson.

Relief overwhelms him at the sight of her, alive and otherwise unharmed in the middle of such overwhelming carnage. "Thank the spirits," he breathes. "She's okay. You're all okay."

"I know!" Suki exclaims. "How - how are you not a bunch of goners?"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Toph answers, her shoulders rigid and focused entirely on the nondescript pillar standing before her.

"We thought we would all be a bunch of goners," Sokka interjects, his mouth going dry. "Spent all that time organising a retreating evacuation, expecting the volcano to blow its top off. But it never did."

"Well, it wasn't that bad," Aang remarks, rubbing the back of his head bashfully. "It was just a volcano, that's all."

"That's all?" Sokka demands incredulously. "There must have been enough pressure to blow all of us into the spirit world! Not to mention the heat and the toxic gas and all the lava -" He momentarily falters, staring at the layers of cooling volcanic stone with dawning comprehension. "You - you guys did all that? And survived?"

"Sure did!" Aang's expression grows suddenly pensive. "Luckily, I don't think Ozai was able to trigger a proper eruption, even with Sozin's Comet supercharging his firebending. He's not a lava-bender, after all. But once the caldera started to collapse, it was too late to reverse it."

Sokka shakes his head numbly, feeling like the world had suddenly turned upside down. "You guys are nuts. I don't know how you're alive right now."

"Hey, join the club," Toph grits out. "By rights, we should all be a big pile of volcano dust - mmf!"

Her hands fling outward, flexing and quivering with a tension that Sokka by now recognizes as earthbending. But when he glances around, the rock-crusted landscape remains perfectly still.

"That'll hold him for now," Toph mutters grimly.

"How is it out there?" Aang asks, before Sokka can voice his confusion. "Is…is it over?"

"More or less," Sokka replies. His hand grazes the hilt of his sword strapped to his back. "Things got off to a pretty gnarly start, I won't lie. But things started turning in our favour once those bloodbenders gained control of the harbour." He stares at the eastern sky, turning away from the glare of the setting sun. "Still, those Phoenix army bastards gave us hell, even when we had them completely flanked! It was like they were on a suicide mission or something."

"That's the Empire way," Aang answers glumly. "They'd rather go down fighting than live with the dishonour of surrendering."

"Well, it really dragged things out longer than they needed to be!" Sokka snaps. "If it wasn't for the volcano, I think we'd still be fighting them to a bloody stalemate."

Aang tilts his head questioningly. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's one thing to go down fighting honourably in battle to defend their beloved Phoenix King," Suki cuts in witheringly. "But I don't think many of them signed up to be smothered by volcanic lava."

Toph scrunches her face distastefully. "I guess some of them still did?"

"Yeah." Suki lowers her head, kicking aimlessly at the scuffed rock. "Some by choice…and some not."

"We tried to save as many as we could," Sokka says, not sure who among them he's trying to assuage. "The moment we realised that the volcano was going to blow, the fighting mostly stopped. The sensible ones even helped us evacuate the upper and lower cities as fast as we could!"

"Others were just unhelpful,," Suki continues, crossing her arms. "They refused to let their families leave with us. Naturally…" She trails off, her voice growing hoarse with frustration.

Toph lets out a low whistle. "Who knew it was easier to stop a volcano from erupting than to save some brainwashed tyrant-worshipping idiots from their own stupidity?" She shakes her head, though her voice softens. "It's a shame that they took others down with them, though. Their families didn't deserve to die like that."

"No," Sokka agrees heavily. "No, they didn't."

A gloomy silence settles over them all. The wind tickles at his skin, dispersing the curls of steam still rising up from the hot soft stone.

He heaves a shuddering sigh, before turning his attention back to the far corner of the salvaged arena, where Katara still kneels over a prone figure dressed in red. Another red-clad figure huddles next to her. "That's him, isn't it?"

Suki's mouth parts in surprise, before she smiles weakly. "Yup. That's Zuko."

A strange sensation thrums in his chest, clawing up to tighten his throat. Nothing on this earth can keep you two apart for long, the voice in his mind reminds him, even as the broken arena yawns between them like some irreparable chasm. Like the feeling overwhelming him, that he was already losing Katara just as he had found her again.

He turns away, discomfited by the thought. "Great," he manages to croak. "They look, uh, a little busy. I'll go say hi later."

Toph quirks an eyebrow at him. "She's just trying to heal his sister. There's nothing to be so awkward about, Snoozles."

"I'm not being awkward!" he protests lamely. "I just…think she'd prefer to handle the magic water healing stuff on her own. Or, with uh…" he waves half-heartedly at the Fire Nation Prince, crouched next to her as though it was nothing, as though he had been there all along and she had never felt his absence, "you know."

Toph snorts. "Real convincing."

"Look at you, being an awkward, overprotective older brother," Suki observes, clapping her hand against her cheek. "I think it's kind of cute."

"Gee. Thanks." Sokka feels his ears redden, and turns back to Aang, eager to change the subject. "Anyway, what about Ozai? Please tell me he's a goner too -"

A blast of fire explodes from the top of the rock pillar. Sokka yelps as a man's head emerges from it, struggling and snarling to wrest himself free.

A pair of feral golden eyes pin him in place, burning feverishly in a face he had seen emblazoned on every propaganda poster hanging throughout the Earth colonies. "I am no goner!" Ozai roars, writhing against the narrow rock column trapping him in place. "I still live, you filthy peasant -"

Toph jerks her wrists with a loud sigh. The rock springs upward to cover Ozai's mouth, stifling his tirade into indistinct muffled protests. "Oh just shut up already," she grunts, shaking her head. "Man, can't Sweetness knock him out again?"

"Now Toph," Aang admonishes, "he's our prisoner now. Until we figure out what to do with him, we can't mistreat him -"

Toph's shoulders sag, as Ozai continues to struggle against his restraints with increasing desperation. "But this was so much easier when he was unconscious," she complains. Her sightless face scowls in Sokka's direction. "Where's Grandpa and the rest of them, anyway?"

Sokka turns back to the eerie, empty plain encircling them, the newly-formed cliffs ringing the edges of the crater. "They're just on their way up," he says softly. "They'll be here soon."

The wind gnaws at the exposed burns lining his leg and torso in angry blistering patches.

Zuko ignores it, kneeling over his sister's prone body. He doesn't know how long they've been there. Perhaps it had been mere moments since the lava had stilled and they found themselves miraculously still alive to witness the birth of a smoking, settling new world. Perhaps it had been centuries.

Azula's mouth is parted slightly, her hair sprawled out around her in a lifeless tangle. Her red silks are almost as tattered as his own, though stained nearly black with blood in too many places. Her face is a chalk-white mask; the only traces of colour are where the blood had trickled and dried into thin rusty trails along the corner of her mouth.

He tries not to think about any of that. Instead, he makes himself focus on the shallow swell of her breathing. The faint rustle illuminated by the glowing water that Katara passes over her torso again and again and again.

He doesn't ask any questions about how Azula fares. He doesn't need to. Katara had healed Chan, and then Aang, from chest injuries that would have killed lesser men. He should count his lucky stars that of every last person left in the world, it's her sitting next to him. Who else could he trust with his capricious sister's life?

But even he can read the unspoken messages written in the tension gripping Katara's body. Her lips are pressed into a tight line, and sweat drips constantly along the sides of her temples.

At length, his resolve breaks and he can hold it in no more. "It's not good, is it?"

But Katara shakes her head vehemently. "I can fix this," she insists, not taking her eyes off his sister. "I can do this."

Zuko turns away, sick to his stomach and unable to watch anymore. Rising on stiff legs, barely registering the utter exhaustion of his wasted body.

He still manages to marvel at the taste of salt in the air, polluted thick as it is with smoke and ash. At the sky peeking through the curtain of heavy mists, a pure blue deepening with the sun as it drops lower in the western sky. The comet had come and gone, and he's still alive. A terrible fight had been waged, the cost of which he has yet to appreciate - let alone mourn - but at least there would be survivors to tell the tale.

His friends had found him, his father had been defeated, they had saved the city from further destruction.

And he can see the sunset. A sight that he had never expected to see.

But he finds he can't savour this unexpected victory. Can't summon a scrap of triumph or jubilation in its wake. He wonders if the past months have finally broken him. If after so many weeks of resigning himself to the end, he could never bring himself to feel ever again.

But then a nearby rumble and the sounds of raised voices greet his ears, carried as though a long distance away by the calming winds. He swivels to see Toph and Aang, still guarding his father where they had trapped him. But now joined by two other people he doesn't recognize at first.

He staggers toward them, a mild curiosity managing to register if nothing else. He takes in the wreckage of a small war balloon, crumpled and sinking into the tarry, half-formed rock surrounding the remnants of the sacred duel grounds.

Trudging toward it, he barely notices the questioning glance Aang throws in his direction. Shakes his head before the Air Nomad can voice his concern.

Then he notices the girl standing with Toph, her painted face at odds with the stark landscape around them. "Suki?" he croaks, blinking in disbelief. "What - what are you doing here?"

The Kyoshi Warrior beams at him, rushing to grab him in a fierce hug. "Thank the spirits you're alive!" she exclaims, her voice ringing too loud in his ringing ears. "I fought in the battle, silly - we all did - wait until Ty Lee sees you, she'll be so relieved…"

She chatters on at length, her grip on him loosening before she lets go at last.

Fatigue dogs at Zuko's senses, making the world shimmer strangely. His unfocused eyes slide away from Suki, past Toph still clutching at his father's restraints like she was reining in a rampaging komodo-rhino, and to the other newcomer standing with Aang off to the side.

Zuko stares at the unfamiliar man, taking in the sword strapped to his back. He wears Water Tribe blue under his battle-scarred white armour. His hair is shaven at the sides and gathered back into a thick wolf-tail. A few beads glisten at his temples, his face daubed thick with war paint characteristic of the Water Tribe warriors.

Then, the man meets his probing gaze with big blue eyes the image of Katara's. And Zuko freezes, suddenly understanding exactly who the newcomer must be.

He takes a faltering step toward the Water Tribe warrior, not noticing how everyone else stops talking at once. The newcomer holds his stare, squaring his shoulders as though bracing for a fight.

Zuko stops in his tracks, still a respectable distance away. Silence settles over their small island in a shroud, nearly as thick as the heavy mists cloaking the summit.

"You must be Sokka," he finally manages.

The Water Tribe warrior starts. His expression shifts through a flurry of emotions - surprise, suspicion, relief…

"Yeah," Katara's brother says at last, taking a deliberate step forward. His mouth quirks into something between a smile and a scowl. "And you must be the jerkbender prince that my sister dragged all of us out here to rescue."

Zuko is suddenly keenly conscious of everyone else watching their interaction with bated breath. He raises a hand half-heartedly, eager to disperse the awkward tension gripping everything in its throes. "That's me."

Sokka's blue eyes flick down and then up, surveying him head to toe in a quick scan. Zuko swallows hard.

Then, to his surprise, Sokka just shrugs. "Yup," he pronounces, as though muttering to himself. "That all checks out, I guess."

Zuko frowns, confused. He opens his mouth, but is interrupted by a sudden commotion in the distance.

A dark cloud builds on the horizon, cresting the cliffs towering along the jagged edges of the crater. It cuts low across the sky, moving with unnatural speed.

It isn't until he registers the animal roars that Zuko recognises the sizable mass of flying creatures, bounding straight toward them. The familiar shaggy bulk of dozens of sky bison, interspersed with the sleek glittering silhouettes of a handful of dragons. Their jewel-bright scales flashing in the fading light as they screech and wheel through the air.

In a fluid motion, the dragons descend amid the smoking obsidian flats. They lie down, curling up in a ball to savour the immense heat radiating from the fresh rock.

But the bison hesitate to make landfall, choosing to hover uncertainly in the air instead. A chorus of frightened lowing rings out.

The ground trembles briefly. Zuko stiffens in alarm, before the small rock platform expands in size. More stone, cool and grey, pops out to cover the smoking plains in a thin sheet.

Then, amid gusts of cold biting wind, the herd of sky bison finally lands. Miraculously, the brittle sheet of rock holds their weight, shielding their bare paws from the heat of the volcanic rock.

One of the dragons raises its head to survey the shaggy creatures baying loudly in relief. It sniffs imperiously before settling back down on the smoking rock, as though it could think of no more comfortable spot in the world.

Zuko stares at the majestic creatures, transfixed by their immense size and the steady rumble of their breathing. Their mouths, their chests had glowed bright as furnaces during the height of the battle. But now they rest peacefully amid the devastation, appearing as harmless as a sleeping armadillo-bear.

Voices trail on the wind, high-pitched and indistinct to Zuko's ears. But he still senses the shift in the atmosphere, from numbing gloom to celebratory, as more of the day's survivors dismount and reunite. Thrilled to be alive, overjoyed to finally stand at the heart of the caldera and emerge as the day's victors.

Belatedly, Zuko hears someone calling his name.

He stirs, still trapped in a dreamlike haze, barely registering anything until his body buckles with the impact of another fierce embrace.

Zuko gasps, feeling the air slide out of his lungs. Feebly tries to move his arms, but can barely raise his hands amid Uncle Iroh's shaking girth.

His uncle only squeezes him tighter, burying his face into Zuko's shoulder, already hot and damp. Zuko tries to breathe, but it's too hard. Wishes he could feel the same relief or jubilation that everyone else seems to share, but is unable to summon any of it at all.

But tears still slide in scalding drops down his cheeks, and onto his uncle's balding head.

At length, Uncle Iroh pulls back, his hands resting gently on Zuko's thin shoulders. His amber eyes scan him swiftly, observing the toll his long imprisonment had wrought on his emaciated body. But when his gaze flicks back upward to meet Zuko's own, he only finds overwhelming softness there.

His uncle beams at him, his eyes tear-stained and creased at the corners. It's all too much for Zuko, a feast after months of slow starvation. The joy, the adulation - it overwhelms him. He fears drowning in it if he lets himself go.

He nods jerkily, his lip quivering dangerously.

Uncle's eyes are lit beacons in a craggy, weary face. Speaking the silent volumes neither can yet bring themselves to say aloud.

But before either can muster the strength to speak, another explosion shatters the excitement.

Zuko whips around in alarm, just in time to witness Toph tumbling backward, landing on her back with a heavy thud.

The trembling rock pillar explodes. Sharp fragments sail through the air, scattering upon the ground in a shower of gravel.

His father lunges wildly, blasting free of his unyielding prison. Twin balls of red fire appear in his shaking hands. A part of Zuko still remembers to quail before his father's unrelenting wrath.

In the blink of an eye, a swift gust of wind knocks Ozai off-balance. He hits the ground face-first. Without missing a beat, rock cuffs spring up around his wrists and ankles, forcing him to sit upright on his haunches.

A pebble sails through the air, rapping him unceremoniously on his forehead, right between his lowered eyebrows.

His father winces, before baring his teeth at Toph and Aang, moving to flank him on either side. "That's enough out of you," Aang scolds, grabbing him by his long goatee none too gently. "We could have treated you the way you handled your prisoners, but we chose to be merciful."

"I don't want your mercy!" Ozai hisses, spitting at Aang's feet. "I want to look into Iroh's eyes and snuff the light out of them -"

"Ozai."

Everyone steps out of the way, wordlessly creating a path for Uncle Iroh. Beneath his white armour, the billowing hems of his crimson robes still swell and sway with the calming wind.

Ozai glares hatefully at his brother. But Iroh approaches not as a victorious conqueror, but somberly, as though already in mourning.

"Enough." His uncle's voice is weary, pleading. As hollow as Zuko himself feels. "Sozin's Comet has come and gone, and we still stand. Your army has yielded honourably. It is time you accept that it is over."

"Never!" Ozai seethes, his eyes bulging wildly. "As long as I breathe, I will never surrender to you! I would rather die."

"If that is your wish," Iroh answers with a mildness that takes everyone aback - Ozai most of all.

Zuko studies the faint surprise that etches across his father's deranged face. Wonders if after a lifetime of avoiding conflict, Iroh's indifferent callousness had caught Ozai off guard. Perhaps he expected his brother to beg and wheedle, searching for yet another excuse to spare his life and avoid getting his hands dirty.

But Iroh continues, in that same empty voice. "People chose to follow you, pledged their loyalty to you, and you condemned them to a far worse fate. Why should you be spared it now?"

Ozai laughs harshly, struggling at his bindings to no avail. "What are you waiting for then, brother?" He raises his chin defiantly, offering up the underside of his throat in self-professed martyrdom. "Strike me down, end it. Stake your claim to your birthright once and for all."

"I will not," Iroh replies in a steely voice.

Ozai's lip curls contemptuously, but his brother continues, undeterred. "Your blind thirst for power has destroyed everything in its path. Killed our father, my son. Grievously harmed your wife and children." His voice hardens as he gestures at the wreckage of the former palace. "Obliterated our home, annihilated the entire city! Drenched its soil in untold volumes of blood!"

He holds out his hands, staring at them in horror as though they too were covered in the blood of the innocent. "I cannot bring myself to kill you, Ozai. That is my weakness. But I will not stop any of your innumerable enemies gathered here from indulging you to your fate as they see fit. I am not strong enough to spare them that one final satisfaction."

"Arrogant wretch!" Ozai growls, his teeth bared in a helpless challenge. "Even now, you still think yourself superior to me."

Iroh stares down at him sadly. "Only because you have debased yourself so thoroughly." He turns his back, already starting to walk away. "Goodbye, brother."

Ozai's eyes glint murderously at his brother's retreating back. Zuko's body coils with tension, recognizing before anyone else the spark of fire emanating there, carried on the harsh swell of his injured, feral panting -

His father opens his mouth to scream. A jet of searing red flame pours forth from his throat.

It catches his captors off guard. Before Zuko can shout a warning, Toph and Aang stumble backward. Struggling to regain their footing.

His father pounces, his entire body wreathed in a burst of flame and falling rocks. His hands, freed of their restraints, blur through rhythmic circles of crackling white.

A flash of lightning, followed by a deafening roar. Smoke trickles from the tips of Ozai's outstretched fingers, gushes upward from a scorched spot in the earth, inches from the spot where Uncle Iroh had just been standing.

Iroh's face darkens forbiddingly. A handful of white-armoured benders spring to his defence, surrounding Ozai on all sides.

But his father only throws his head back, laughing despite his failure. "You fools!" he crows, his voice ringing out in the shallow bowl of the caldera, amplified by the wind rising in warning. "I will never let you take me alive!"

A bright ring carves into the ground, encircling Ozai's feet. It whooshes upward, flames stretching their bloodied fingers to the level of his waist. Their crimson fire dances in his eyes; Zuko flinches when they flick momentarily to meet his horrified gaze.

"You think you have won today," Ozai taunts, his defiant glare passing from his son to rest loathfully upon his brother. "But like the phoenix, I will rise from the ashes once again. You will never outrun my legacy."

And then, to the shock of everyone gathered there, except Zuko himself, Ozai's fire rises higher still. Until they tower taller than the self-proclaimed Phoenix King, obscuring him from view and leaving only the keening pitch of his deranged laughter.

Zuko turns away as the column of fire suddenly constricts inward. His gut roils, the world swaying in a watery shimmer. His father's voice lingers on the wind, keening to high-pitched throaty wails - whether of pain or ecstasy, Zuko can no longer tell.

But then the scent of charred flesh meets his nose. Zuko claps his hands over his mouth, doubling over to retch violently at the ground. He heaves up only more air, the contents of his stomach long spent.

Gasping raggedly, he wipes at his eyes, at the tears streaming down his face. Barely notices when it all stops. When at long last, his father's cries succumb to the whooshing crescendo of his own fire, and the stunned silence that takes its place when it finally burns itself out.

Toph clears her throat, the first to find her voice. "Did…did he just kill himself?"

Aang sighs heavily. "Yup."

"Couldn't he have done that ages ago and spared us all the trouble?" Sokka interjects incredulously. "How rude."

"Maybe nobody told the guy that ashes just stay ashes," Toph remarks, shrugging. "Oh well."

And just like that, the spell of silence breaks. A babble of chatter erupts in its place, shock, revulsion, and relieved triumph coursing frenetically through the air.

It's over, Zuko can practically hear them all saying. Thank Agni, it's finally over...

He fixes his gaze determinedly elsewhere: at the sprawling obsidian flats coated in a thinning grey haze, the cliffs of the caldera rising sky-high with fresh jagged edges. The clouds passing the deep blue expanse of the sky, the small birds circling and cawing at each other, floating weightless on the thermal drafts.

He wishes he could be like them, cast adrift on the breeze. But instead, the inside of his chest feels leaden and cold, sinking into his feet like a stone plunging through sucking black water.

Suddenly, the sensation of hollowness is overwhelming, inescapable. Every part of his body alien to him, moving as though to the whims of some invisible puppeteer instead of his own. He barely knows his name, his face. Only the exhaustion seems real, a cresting wave that conceals within its depths everything else he isn't ready to face yet.

It still sweeps over him, a crashing numbing force that nearly knocks his legs out from under him. He opens his mouth, a hoarse sound of disbelief sliding past his lips. Barely notices when Aang and Toph move to join him, their lips pursed in grim sympathy. Aang's hand rests briefly on his shoulder; Toph wordlessly gives him a weak hug.

It isn't enough; nothing could ever be enough. Zuko struggles to speak, but finds himself at a loss. What could even describe the stranglehold of every ugly, complicated thing clawing at the leaden thing inside his chest?

But through it, he manages to muster a stab of gratitude to the pair of them. For abandoning the levity and the triumph of the moment to offer him the comfort of their presence, to stand vigil with him if nothing more.

He remains with them for as long as he can manage. Until even that small act becomes too much, and even accepting their comfort becomes unbearable.

The ground is uneven and treacherous under the iron blocks of his feet, stumbling one step after another away from the celebrating throngs of his uncle's followers. If any of that same grey emptiness gnaws away at Uncle Iroh as well, it is invisible to Zuko's cursory gaze. In the growing distance, his uncle is already engrossed in talks with one faction leader after another, the different colours of their uniforms fading to an indistinct grey smudge.

His feet move as though controlled by someone else's instincts, or perhaps by invisible marionette strings. They trudge toward the periphery of the ruined arena, its brittle edges a jagged cliff jutting out above the glassy black stone gleaming in the setting sunlight.

Something glints in the corner of Zuko's vision - a wink of gold mostly buried in the thick layer of volcanic dust coating the broken tiles of the old arena. A small grunt and he yanks it free, the sharp tines of the hammered metal digging into his palm, feeling more real than everything else unfolding around him.

He stares at the little object in his hand, something throbbing in his chest despite it all. An emotion he can no longer name - anger, pain, grief? Just another fire that had long fizzled out with the last of the comet's punishing rays.

His hand twitches impulsively with the urge to throw it away. Cast it into one of the dull red veins scoring the sheets of black glass far below his feet. Watch it sink below the surface, melting into the volcano's humming lifeblood, until like his father's flesh and bones, it too would disappear.

And all that remained would be another cloud of ashes to be dispersed on the wind.

But before he can bring himself to actually do it, Katara cries out his name. A gasp splits the air, punctuating the urgency in her voice.

In an instant, Zuko finds himself by her side. Where in spite of the tumult of his father's defiant last stand, Katara had not budged from her toil. She still kneels over his sister, her hands wreathed in glowing water, as though nothing else had happened in the world.

But instead of a lifeless corpse lying under her fingertips, Azula coughs and splutters, hacking up a lung. Her face is paler than all the ash covering the ground, but her body convulses, still fighting to live. Heedless of death floating in the air, its jaws closing in around her.

Her eyes meet his, widening once they recognize him. Her face turns even whiter, if possible.

Zuko tries to swallow, but the leaden thing in his chest seems to have migrated to his throat, clamping it tightly shut. He watches her silently, the expressions rippling across her face and illuminated in the bright blue of Katara's healing hands. Wariness, distrust, guilt…and sorrow.

He doesn't say a thing. Only when her coughing subsides and she draws a single, tortured breath, does he unclench his hand and hold it out to her.

Azula's mouth parts at the sight of her little flame crown, still glinting bright in his palm for all that it had endured. Her eyes flick to meet his again, narrowing with suspicion. "After everything I did…" she wheezes, straining to force out every whisper-soft syllable, "...how can you stand to be near me?"

Something like pain wracks across her face, but he recognizes it this time. Disappointment, self-loathing so intense it burrowed through the skin. Blazing signal fires of hopeless desperation in her golden eyes. The ones she shares with him, one of the many unhappy legacies their father had bequeathed to his children.

"Don't you remember?" Zuko asks gruffly, pressing Azula's crown into her feeble fingers. "I'm a sentimental idiot. Now shut up and let Katara work on you."

Azula chokes, blanching at the waterbender's name. Her head jerks upward, perhaps only noticing Katara's presence for the first time.

Zuko notices the slight upward quirk of Katara's mouth, the flash of amusement instantly suppressed in her eyes. "You'd be a cold body right now if it wasn't for me, Princess," she says primly. "You're welcome."

Azula slumps back against the ground, rolling her head back in resignation. "I was supposed to go down fighting," she laments in a hoarse voice. "You took that away from me."

Zuko frowns as his sister babbles on feverishly, her words interrupted by paroxysms of uncontrolled coughing and wracking sobs. And then, bouts of morose, mournful silence, where the only sound is the water pulsing in Katara's steady, capable hands.

She never intended to survive her duel with Father.

If he could still feel, he imagines hatred bubbling through him. Coursing through his veins, spilling curses out of his mouth that would tar the ground where his father's remains had scattered.

"How…" Azula heaves out, her rasping voice gaining strength with its fervour, "how can I go on? I'm -" she swallows, shivering so hard her teeth chatter, "I'm complicit in the murder of my own father - "

"Don't be so dramatic," Zuko cuts her off irritably. "Nobody murdered him. He lit himself on fire, expecting to be reborn from the ashes or something."

Azula blinks, momentarily lost for words.

"It didn't work," Zuko supplies, when her nonplussed silence stretches out.

"Of course it didn't work!" his sister snaps, sounding like herself once more for a brief moment. "He was utterly delusional."

Zuko smiles weakly despite himself.

But then her eyes scrunch shut again, her face crumpling in acute despair. "What am I supposed to do now?" she wails pitifully. "I wasn't supposed to live. I deserved to die. I wanted to die!"

"What good would that do?" Zuko asks her roughly. "How would your death make things better for any of the countless people you hurt?"

Azula falls suddenly silent, cowed under the weight of his glare. "Were you hoping that a tragic death in battle would earn you some kind of redemption? It doesn't work that way, Azula. If you were actually sorry for everything you did, you wouldn't take the coward's way out. You'd stick around and do something to make up for it!"

"To what end?" Azula demands, a new desperation taking hold of her. "I've used up every ounce of trust anyone ever spared me. Nobody would believe me ever again."

A tear trails down her face. Her hand closes tight around her crown. Zuko wonders if the sharp tines cut into her skin, if trails of blood fill her palm and drip into the dust lining the ground.

"You're right," he says at last. "You destroyed almost all of the goodwill anyone had toward you by your constant plotting and backstabbing -"

"I know -"

"But," Zuko allows, pinching the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh, "in the end, you did the right thing. Your schemes did help bring Father down once and for all."

The shock spreading over Azula's face mirrors his own. Katara's hands stop moving, the glow subsiding. But he continues doggedly anyway. "It wouldn't have happened without you."

"No," Katara admits grudgingly, surprising him. "I don't think we would have made it here in time otherwise."

Azula's eyes flick from the waterbender back to her brother, once again very wide. Her jaw clenches tightly; her lips press together in a thin line, as though bracing for another deadly blow. "But that's not enough, is it?"

"No," Zuko says firmly. His scowl deepens into a furrowed mask. "It's just a start."

Azula's breath hitches in her throat.

"Fortunately," Zuko continues, jabbing a thumb at Katara where she still kneels over Azula, "you've got one of the best healers in the world working on you. She'll see to it that you have a long life ahead of you."

In the corner of his eye, Katara's smirk blazes with a knowing determination. "A really long life," she agrees, not missing a beat. "Don't worry, Princess. You'll have plenty of time to make it up to everyone."

"Ugh." Azula covers her face with her hands, slumps back in a show of exasperated resignation. "Just kill me now already."

The hours pass by in a blur after that.

Word spreads quickly of the Phoenix King's death, quelling the last pockets of resistance among his most stubborn followers. By the time the sun sinks below the horizon to plunge the sky into its deep twilight glow, the fighting is finally over.

The relieved chatter passes over Zuko in a daze. He scarcely hears any of it, wrapped in a spare cloak and huddled at the back of Appa's overloaded saddle. Smoke still hangs thick in the air, even though most of the fires in the lower city have been put out. The distant orange glow of the smouldering forests illuminates the ravaged buildings, and the people already hard at work among its skeletal remains.

Waterbenders dousing the entire city with heavy jets of oceanwater. Airbenders on their gliders, flying through the air to clear the thick plumes of smoke. Earthbenders, already pulling on the charred debris to construct rows of sturdy shelters. Simple structures that could go up faster than the approaching nightfall.

The firebenders, perhaps having sated their appetite for bloodshed by now, work to restore some semblance of order to the ruined capital. Messenger-hawks are sent to the nearby islands, informing of the Phoenix army's defeat and subsequent fall of Caldera City. Logistics outposts spring up first, followed by designated shelters for the displaced, the injured, and the able-bodied survivors remaining among them. Supply lines are rerouted, new clean water-wells dug from thermal springs hidden deep below the ground.

As they make landfall, Zuko isn't sure what impresses him more. The scale of spontaneous and harmonious productivity breaking out all around him to return the city to a minimally habitable state. Or, the number of his father's staunch followers who still refuse to surrender or contribute to their collective survival, choosing instead to be held under lock and guard in hastily-erected prison holds at the edge of the forest.

That'll be a problem, he thinks, and his sense of weariness only intensifies.

He dismounts clumsily, jarring his leg with an awkward landing. Arms hook around his shoulders, supporting him as he hobbles along the twisted, uneven street.

Through the chaotic rush of people crowding the ruined lower city, he can still see Uncle, illuminated in torchlight at one of the outposts atop a cobbled hill. He is surrounded by people dressed in all sorts of colours, wearing white and black armour alike. Informing him of the wounded, the dying, the limited resources left after the war. Asking him how do we fix this, or what do we do next, or even, what will happen to us now?

He's dimly aware of fingers tightening around his arm momentarily, Katara hissing low under her breath. "Who set him loose?"

Zuko turns to see Zhao's burly silhouette marching up the street, to the hilltop outpost where Uncle Iroh sorts out the day's affairs. He grits his teeth, lurching to follow on the man's heels.

But his friends yank him away, steering him toward one of the field hospitals instead. "You're in no condition to go after him!"

He protests, the image of the man's proud shoulders, still square and arrogant under his drenched crimson-and-black uniform, dancing tauntingly before his eyes. But his friends' strength far exceeds his own, as usual, and they push him through the infirmary door without any regard for his misgivings.

But the overwhelmed medic informs them that all the beds are already occupied with the critically wounded. "You'll have to check the one down the street. Maybe they'll have room for you there?"

His friends argue, but to no avail. The medic rushes away in the middle of Toph's explosive tirade, summoned by a patient's blood curdling screams ringing out from further inside.

Fed up with it all, Zuko is about to turn away when the unexpected sound of his mother's voice stops him in his tracks. "Wait."

He stares at her, already sporting a bloodstained apron, her belt laden with small corked glass vials. Her hands are busy grinding down a pungent root in a stone mortar. "All the beds are taken. But Zuko, you can sit by your sister."

He swallows, his words escaping him at the sight of his mother, alive and in her element for once. "She's here already?"

"On the first airship down from the summit." Ursa's eyes soften as they scan him from head to toe. If she is relieved to see him still standing and in one piece, she keeps it to herself with the composure of a queen. "Now go, before the others see."

"I don't want to take the space away from someone who needs it more," Zuko objects.

But his mother shakes her head, before motioning them inside. "The space is already taken. Nobody said anything about doubling up yet, but I suspect that'll change soon enough. This way."

They follow hard on her tracks into a large rectangular hall, interspersed by a grid of low-walled cubicles, each scarcely large enough to fit a cot. The wails and pained screams of the wounded within break the muffled silence occasionally, bouncing off the flat rock surfaces.

"How is anyone supposed to get any rest in here?" Toph grumbles.

"I don't think there's any better option for these people right now," Katara admits, chewing her lip. "I'll see if I can spare any of our healers to come help here."

His mother glances over her shoulder at Katara. A strange expression flickers across her face. Then she rests a hand on a cubicle wall. "Here. Quiet now - she's finally asleep."

Zuko finds himself steered through the doorway and into a cramped enclosure, furnished with a single small cot and a roll of bedding on the ground immediately next to it. His sister's head peers out from under a thin blanket, rising and falling with her breathing. Her skin has regained some of its colour, and someone has cleaned and bandaged her wounds. Flashes of the white strips peek out at her wrists and ankles, which the blanket is too small to fully cover.

"I hope you don't mind taking the floor," his mother remarks, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. He winces at the pain that shoots through his entire body at that slight contact. "Azula's state was…"

"It's fine," he grates, shrugging off the hands that graze his shoulders, seeking to help him down. "I'm fine. Leave it."

He's conscious of all the eyes fixed attentively on him, their concerned gazes burning into his back as he lowers himself to the ground in an ungainly, jerky motion. Clambers onto the bedding, rolls over onto his side. Ruing his friends crowding behind his mother, the tight press of their bodies eating up the airless, cramped space of the makeshift infirmary cell. And appreciating it, at the same time.

"How is she doing?" he rasps, burrowing underneath the single threadbare coverlet. The ground is hard and unyielding beneath the thin sheet, but warmth still rises from the charred rock.

"Stable. For now." His mother sighs, before resuming the scraping of her pestle against the rough stone bowl. "I suppose I have Master Katara to thank for that -"

"Don't." Katara's voice is tight and strangely high-pitched. "It was the least I could do -"

His mother laughs bitterly. "My daughter can be complicated. Anyone in this room would be well within their rights to have left her to her fate." The smell of the pungent root fills the air, warring with the acrid tang of old smoke and loamy dampness that infiltrates everything.

"You don't know anyone in this room very well, then," Katara answers faintly. "The Princess did terrible, monstrous things. We haven't forgotten that. But…in the end, we couldn't have made it here without her help."

"Oh?" The pounding of the pestle ceases momentarily.

"Mai," Katara explains, and the ache in Zuko's head is suddenly fit to burst. "She spied on Ozai's councils for us, fed their plans back to us so we could counter-strategize. She even tipped us off about the capture of the old clans, and how there was a plan to set them loose and attack the city before the invasion fleet set sail." Her voice grows quiet. "We never quite understood how Azula never saw what she was up to. We thought she had drawn Mai closer into her confidence near the end because she was desperate."

"We never thought that she was the one orchestrating all those schemes. Or that she was counting on all that information reaching us in time," Toph speaks up.

"It runs deeper than that," Zuko speaks up, scrunching his eyes shut to ward off the pain building inside his skull. "She was the one who sentenced me. She came up with the idea of an Agni Kai the morning of the invasion." His jaw clenches, his fists clutch tightly at the blanket. "I thought it was her cruelty and her arrogance to have everyone present to watch. I thought it was a fluke that I lasted as long in that duel as I did. But that was all part of her design." His chest tightens, his breath shaking in his lungs. "She put her honour and reputation on the line, humiliated herself in front of Father and his entire inner circle…all to give us a chance of defeating him."

A stunned silence descends upon them, broken only by Azula's laboured breathing and the sound of patients in nearby cells shouting out in pain.

"Azula was utterly devoted to her father," his mother breathes. "Past the point of no return, I thought. I…I would never have expected her to be capable of planning such a thing."

"Nobody did," Zuko admits harshly. "That's why it worked. Who would have ever dreamed that Azula would go easy on me, just to buy everyone a little more time?"

A smatter of coughing from the cot interrupts him. Zuko's eyes snap open, to see Azula stirring feebly beneath her blanket. "What…" Her voice is so weak he strains to hear her, "what makes you think I went easy on you, Zuzu?" Her mouth purses before quirking fractionally upward at the corners. "I was looking forward to becoming an only child, remember?"

A surprised laugh escapes Zuko's throat. Azula's face twists, flickering between a smirk and a grimace all at once. Then, she winces visibly, clutching at her torso underneath the blanket.

"Alright. That's enough." Ursa leans into the room, steps neatly over Zuko's body lying on the floor to stand at Azula's bedside. "Time to go back to sleep, young lady."

"Do I have to?" his sister whines, as his mother fumbles with the vials hanging from her belt.

"Yes." Ursa uncorks a vial with her teeth, before pouring it into her daughter's parted mouth. "You'll feel better in the morning."

Azula swallows reluctantly. A shudder of disgust passes through her. "I…I have such awful dreams now," she whispers, sounding like a scared little girl. "Will they go away, Mother?"

"In time." His mother rests a hand on Azula's cheek gently.

His sister yawns widely, before drifting back to sleep. Her mouth still hangs open listlessly.

Zuko waits until the sound of her small snores become even and rhythmic. Then he sits up, flinching at the pain that explodes throughout his entire body. "What can I do to help, Mother? I can -"

"You can follow your sister's example, and sleep," his mother admonishes, turning on her heel to stare down at him sternly. "You're in no condition to help anyone."

"I'm not an invalid," he grumbles. "Besides, there's so much left to do, and Zhao - Zhao -"

"Zhao can wait," his mother replies patiently. "I'm sure Iroh is more than capable of handling him. And even if he isn't, I'm sure he has some of your reliable friends to help him sort out the situation." Her appraising gaze flicks toward the doorway, where the three of them still hover, bristling with anxiety and unspoken concern for him.

"Yeah, don't worry about Zhao, Sparky. I'm sure Sweetness will tear him a new one if he tries any funny stuff with Grampa -"

Zuko chokes on a snort as his mother's eyebrows rise in visible confusion. "That's just Toph-speak, Mother. You're not losing your mind."

"For once," she mutters under her breath. Then she plucks yet another vial from her belt and hands it to him. "Now drink up."

"Your Highness!"

Another woman appears in the doorway, more harried and dishevelled than the medic who had first turned them away. In the distance, a man's anguished screams rise over the general lull of the surrounding cells. "One of the sailors needs more of that pain-draft you gave him earlier."

Ursa springs to her feet, seeming more stern and capable than Zuko had ever seen in his life. "Don't call me that. And he's already been given as a high a dose as I dare." She steps around him, pushes through the wall of his three friends, and already marches away, her brisk voice trailing behind her. "Perhaps a sleeping draft will help…"

A strange feeling stirs through him as the sound of his mother's voice slowly fades away. It occurs to him that all his life, he had never seen her outside of his father's shadow. As anything but a nervous, fragile, cowering thing. But now, with her husband dead and left with only the wreckage of their life together, he finally sees her in her element. An expert herbalist, a healer in her own right. Was this the life she would have chosen for herself, if the Emperor hadn't picked her to be his son's bride?

"Well, Sparky. You heard your mom." Toph leans against the doorframe, tilting her head. "You'd better take that potion and get some shut-eye already."

"Yeah," he grumbles. He holds it to his lips, his fingers shaking but unable to move any further.

"What is it?" Aang asks sharply, noticing his distress. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing." He uncorks the vial, stares at its contents unhappily. And before he can stop it, the sensation cascades through him. The numbing taste of sunshade, its cloying burn dousing all the pathways of chi in his body. Day after day throughout his long, lonely imprisonment.

"Is it the nightmares?" Katara kneels next to him, her face creased with worry. "Are you afraid of them too?"

"I don't want to sleep." It blurts out of him, a surprising, pathetic confession held back so tightly after months of isolation. "What…what if I wake up and this was all a dream? You're all still far away, and I'm trapped in my prison cell…"

Fingers trail through his grimy, tangled hair. A shuddering breath escapes him through their touch, like clear autumn raindrops trickling along his scalp.

"Zuko." Katara's voice is low and firm next to his ear. "Zuko, look at me. Please."

He swallows, flinching reflexively. Then, mustering his strength, he makes himself face them. Toph, still leaning against the wall with her arms crossed across her chest. Aang, already taking a step into the cramped cell, his tattooed hand grazing the doorpost.

And Katara, kneeling on the ground beside him, watching him intently, as though there was no one else in the world. How long had he waited to see her again? And now that she was finally here, how could it be so hard to hold her pleading gaze, when doing so had been the one thing that had kept him going?

"I just," he mumbles, his voice breaking with every word, "I don't want to be alone again."

The world blurs, his throat constricts tightly. He lowers his gaze to the ground, where hot wet droplets are already staining the thin white sheet of his bedroll.

"You won't." Katara's hand finds his face, gently wiping the tears before resting on his cheek. His eyes flutter shut. "We're here. You'll wake up, and we'll still be here."

"We're not going anywhere, Zuko. And we won't let anything happen to you."

"You really think after bringing back a dead moon spirit and sailing halfway across the world and stopping a volcano from blowing its top, you're going to get rid of us now?" Toph's smirk is audible in her voice. "Face it, Sparky. We're here to stay. Get used to it."

Zuko nods, unable to speak. Bringing the vial to his lips with shaking fingers, downs it in a single gulp while staring at the three of them. As though making sure they wouldn't disappear, as though making sure their dimly lit silhouettes wouldn't evaporate into apparitions of mist the moment the potion took effect.

And as it does and the fog of slumber rises up to dull his senses, gentle hands help him back onto the ground, smoothing the bedroll around him. "You promise?" he mumbles blearily, the words barely coherent on a tongue that is suddenly too heavy for his mouth. "You'll still…be here when…I wake up?"

"I promise." It is the last thing he hears before sleep finally claims him. "We'll still be here in the morning. You'll see."

Chapter 67: reunions

Chapter Text

disclaimer. nada.

author's notes. my offering for the holidays. i might put up a couple more within the week if time permits.

warning for some adult content in this one, proceed as you see fit.

as always, feel free to find me on tumblr, i always love hearing from you.

i give you…

southern lights.

chapter lxvii. reunions

when your escape is your destruction
what do you turn to?

"seven seas" / emancipator

Mercifully, Zuko does not remember his dreams when he awakens early the next morning.

How he knows that it's morning, he isn't quite sure. The light in the makeshift infirmary remains unchanged, and everything is quieter than before. Not the peaceful silence of sleep, but charged somehow. As though everyone in the building waits for something, as though the air itself is swollen with a storm that he can smell but refuses to break just yet. A lingering tension, the hovering shroud of death waiting overhead to claim everyone still.

He pushes the coverlet away, and only then does he realise that it is cold and sopping wet to the touch. That his entire torso is drenched with clammy sweat, even as an indescribable heat gnaws beneath his skin, threatening to consume him entirely in its flaming jaws.

Shivering uncontrollably, he sits upright, squinting in the murky light. His cell is empty, except for Azula, still snoring softly on the cot.

His heart sinks. Where are they?

He is halfway to his feet before an anxious hissing erupts in the hallway. The world spins and sways around him. The ground jerks upward dangerously quick to level with his eyes -

"Hold on!"

"Got him!"

"Let's get him down, easy. Easy, now -"

Hands, impossibly strong hands. Grabbing at his shoulders, his arms, his back. Supporting the dead weight of his limp body, lowering him back down onto the ground as though he was a delicate bloom in a prize flower garden.

"He's burning hot!"

"I think he's got a fever."

"You think Zuko's mom has something for that?"

"I can go ask." A blur of motion in the corner of his eye, and then brisk footsteps disappearing down the hallway.

Zuko grunts, his mouth parched dry and exhaustion dragging his entire body downward, as though it had turned to stone.

"How're you feeling, sleepyhead?" Toph's voice takes on a teasing note. "Have a nice snoozle?"

"Here." Aang hands him a cup of clear water. It is warm and loamy, but Zuko still downs it to the dregs in moments. Half of it slops down his face, trickles down his chest in a blissful sensation.

"Thanks," he rasps out, wiping at his mouth with the back of a hand.

"No problem," Aang replies, plucking the cup from his fingers. "You look like you really needed that."

"It's just so hot," Zuko mumbles. "I need to cool down."

"That must be the fever talking," Aang explains. "Katara went to get a draft from your mother. And a dry blanket."

"Oh." Zuko blinks, staring at the two of them hovering at his side. Their forms too solid to be hallucinations in the dark. "You're really here."

Aang makes a funny sound. "Of course we're here. Promised you, didn't we?"

"Hm." Zuko slumps, raking a hand through his saturated hair. "I suppose if it was a dream, that's what you'd say too."

"I could knock your head in with my earthbending," Toph suggests innocently. "Would you dream of that?"

"Good point," Zuko admits, wincing. "I don't think I like that idea though."

"Me neither. That would be a real waste after all the effort we spent coming here to rescue you. Now just sit tight until Sweetness gets back."

"Right." He wraps his arms around his knees, huddling into his chest. "Thanks for staying. And for uh…for not being a hallucination, I guess."

They don't have to wait long before the sound of approaching footsteps breaks the uneasy silence. Voices arguing, low at first and then growing in clarity, if not in volume.

" - it's just inhumane, you can't just move him in this state!"

"I understand your frustrations, but as Zuko is recovering well -"

"You put him on a boat or a sky bison, and we'll see how well his recovery goes after that!"

A weary sigh that he recognizes as his mother's. "That's why you need to go with him." She marches purposefully into the room, Katara trailing angrily on her heels.

"Go where?" Zuko asks, frowning.

His mother sighs again, before touching his forehead with the back of her hand. "Hm. Running too hot for the dragonsclaw." She fiddles at her belt, before plucking a vial thoughtfully. "The willowbark should do the trick. Open up."

He opens his mouth and swallows the potion his mother pours down his throat. Katara lingers in the doorway, a looming, brooding presence.

"You didn't answer my question," he says, when his mother corks the empty vial and places it back in her apron pocket. "What's going on?"

Ursa pinches the bridge of her nose. "With the number of wounded needing help, and the space constraints in the lower city…some hard decisions had to be made."

Zuko's brow furrows, as he pieces together the snatches of the argument he had managed to hear. "You're sending us away?"

"It's not my decision," Ursa answers stiffly. "But the upper city was completely destroyed, and we have two cities and six armies' worth of wounded to attend, and nowhere near enough space or resources to deal with it. Triaging is an unenviable task in times like these…but a necessary one."

"I see," he breathes, suddenly uneasy. "And Uncle? Shouldn't he be told, he might want us close by, just in case -"

"Iroh was the one who gave the order," his mother says bitterly. "Anyone who can be moved is to be moved away from the capital. Where there's space and healers enough to take care of you -"

"Think of it this way," Aang interjects, as calm and infuriatingly reasonable as ever. "It means you're not dying. You're doing well enough that you don't need to be here! That's a good thing, Zuko."

"Exactly." Ursa smiles gratefully at the Air Nomad, who rubs the back of his head bashfully in response. "Besides…I suspect Iroh has an ulterior motive for sending you away from here like this."

"Let me guess," Zuko heaves out, feeling some of the old hurt start to well up again, "it's too dangerous here. He can't afford anything to happen to me, and he wants to keep me safe."

His mother laughs bitterly. "If that's the case, he has a strange way of showing it. He's sending you to recuperate at Ember Island -"

"Ember Island?" Zuko tries to lunge to his feet, except the world spins and he plants himself back down. Stars wink in and out of his vision, but he pays it no heed. "What - that's absurd! I'm not an invalid, why is he shipping me off to a beach town full of senile old aristocrats?"

"Think, Zuko." His mother's expression hardens, so much so that Zuko is uncomfortably reminded of his sister. "The capital is in shambles now, and everyone's attention is on imminent survival. There hasn't been time to speak of justice yet…but who do you imagine were the first people to flee from here?"

Zuko frowns, before it hits him. "Father's advisors," he breathes, remembering Zhao's silhouette marching purposefully up the streets to meet with his uncle. "His commanders, his most loyal supporters…"

"Senile old aristocrats," his mother agrees flatly. "Like you said."

"But…but why would they leave in the first place?" Zuko asks, scratching his head. "Doing so would be seen as an act of defeat. That they're leaving an opening for Uncle to assume power over the capital, and that none of them will challenge him."

"Sounds pretty sweet, if you ask me," Toph quips with a careless shrug. "Let those old geezers retire in their boring beach town. Why should any of us care what they have to think?"

"Isn't - isn't it obvious?" A hoarse voice rasps from the back of the infirmary cell, followed instantly by a violent coughing fit.

Zuko's gaze snaps toward the cot. His eyes widen as Azula gasps and fights for air, struggling to sit upright. Strands of her hair fly wildly in every direction, plastering to her flushed, sweaty face.

But though her shoulders rise and fall with the effort of each heaving, panting breath, her faltering voice still retains its usual disdain. "If I was a war criminal looking to get away with as much as possible," she croaks, her bright fevered eyes flitting condescendingly from Toph to his mother, and then to Zuko himself, "would I stick around in a ravaged wreck of a city, in plain sight where all my enemies could be reminded of my crimes every time they saw me? Or would I retreat to the nearest comfortable property I owned, close enough to all my collaborators and old friends to drum up sympathy and support from everyone in the homeland who's currently mad that we lost the war to a bunch of colonials?"

"Azula's right," his mother says grimly, and surprise flickers across his sister's wan face. "We cannot allow any plots or conspiracies to simmer unchecked. The aristocracy on that island could present a serious threat to any peace Iroh and the others hope to establish."

"So that's why General Iroh wants to send you there," Aang guesses, turning suddenly pale with understanding. "For appearances, he gets to lead by example when decreeing that all the wounded should be moved from the capital in order to preserve the limited resources here. But really, he just wants an excuse to have someone he trusts to keep an eye on things on Ember Island!"

"Yes, genius. I believe Mother just spelled that out already," Azula retorts witheringly. "And considering we have our own family home on that same island, it's not a bad idea. Though…" Her nostrils flare distastefully as she surveys the four of them crowded into the small cell. "I don't know why Uncle wants Zuzu there, of all people. He should send someone with actual experience running plots and political intrigues. Like me."

"Hey," Zuko warns, scowling at her forbiddingly. "Since you're somewhat of a war criminal yourself, how exactly do you expect anyone to trust you with that kind of task?"

Her face falls. "I despise Zhao and his ilk. Why won't you believe me?"

"Let me think. Maybe it was that time you had me arrested in order to save Zhao from an assassination plot that you came up with?" Zuko answers heatedly. "Have you already forgotten about that? Or would you like me to refresh your memory? I could keep going all day."

She sighs, twiddling with the edge of her frayed blanket. "Can't we just move on? You're alive, Father's dead, and now we've got to stop Zhao before he forces us to endure yet another irritating scheme of his."

"Sure. We can move on." He glowers at her. "Just as soon as you undo all the horrific things you've done to everyone around you, not just me. How about it?"

"That's not fair!" Azula protests hotly. "I did my piece! I stopped Father from turning everything into ashes -"

"Only when it finally benefited you!" Zuko snaps, his temper flaring. "That's not how this works. You don't get to slink back to us claiming a change of heart when your motivations were as self-serving as they always were!"

Her mouth opens and closes wordlessly. For once, Zuko thinks, he had managed to gain the upper hand and leave his sister completely speechless.

"Trusting you blindly isn't a mistake I'll ever make again," he tells her brusquely. "You made me pay a hard price for that lesson. And if you felt any remorse about it at all, you'd accept that without question. Now sit down and let Mother take care of you."

His sister's face mottles furiously, but she only crosses her arms and says nothing more. Perhaps she was having second thoughts about turning against their father after all, Zuko thinks dismissively. Or perhaps even she recognized that this was a fight she had no hope of winning.

"You're a brave boy, Zuko," his mother says softly. "I'm sure you'll find a way to manage the situation out there. Iroh was convinced that you could handle it."

"I appreciate the show of confidence," he grunts, pinching the bridge of his nose. "When do the transports come?"

"Soon," his mother admits. "Iroh wants the harbour city infirmaries cleared out by midday, to ease the strain on the healers stationed here."

"Lovely." Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose, thinking hard. "And when did Zhao and his cronies depart exactly?"

"In the early hours of the morning, according to Iroh's sources," his mother answers, averting her gaze. "They left by boat. I doubt they had any quicker means of travelling there."

Azula snorts darkly. "Even if they were all packed onto some rickety old steam-powered tugboat, they've probably already made themselves comfortable by now. Ember Island isn't that far away."

"Which means if we leave now, we can eat into their head start," Zuko muses. He turns to Aang, holds his probing gaze. "It's a quick flight as the sky bison flies."

Aang grins. "Sounds like another adventure for Team Avatar! What do you say?"

"Count me in," Toph declares, pushing off the wall to stand with her arms crossed next to Aang. "It's been a while since we had the whole group together! What do you say, Sweetness?"

She turns her sightless face in the direction of where Katara waits, still scowling disapprovingly in the doorway. "I hate that Iroh's deploying us like this so soon after the invasion," she admits reluctantly, pointedly avoiding meeting his eyes now. A dark flush colours her cheeks. "But I don't think there's a choice. And - and even if it's potentially dangerous….we'll be safer if the four of us stick together."

Zuko nods curtly, the lump sticking in his dry throat. "Good," he agrees, pushing himself upright on tottering feet. "Tell Uncle we're on our way, and we'll take care of the Zhao problem on our own."

"Do you have any idea how?" Azula asks baldly, even as his mother nods her grim assent. "Or are you just going to barge into his villa waving your dual swords and hope for the best again?"

Zuko narrows his eyes. His legs are unsteady under his weight, and he sways, clutching at the wall behind him for balance. "I'll figure it out. I always do."

"Of course you'd say that." Azula rolls her eyes. "Look, Kei Ling has contacts everywhere. At least engage some of her spies on Ember Island."

"That's -" He pauses, blinking stupidly as her words sink in. "That's not a bad idea, actually."

"I never have bad ideas," Azula declares with a haughty sniff. "If you won't let me come with you, won't you at least take a moment to hear how I would handle Zhao in this situation?"

A chorus of surprised coughs smatters through the air. Zuko glances at Aang, at Toph, at Katara, before nodding tersely. "I think we can spare a moment."

The sun touches the ocean, its dazzling halo swallowed by the waiting jaws of the hungry blue expanse to birth the first of the evening's stars.

Katara stares at it, legs dangling over the edge of the narrow dock where she sits alone. No matter how the lingering brightness of the sun's rays seared their imprints into her vision, until her eyes water from holding it all in her sight.

Another sunset, she tells herself, still numb from head to toe in disbelief. Another sunrise, and another sunset since the comet.

It feels surreal to be sitting here, surrounded by the tranquil waters and tropical beaches of Zuko's family home on Ember Island. That the world could still be so beautiful and so quiet, in spite of the death and destruction that had rained down upon it only the day before.

Yesterday at dawn, we didn't think we could breach Azulon's gates. The thought brings a rueful smile to her lips. Now…now…

The wind stirs. In its whispers, Katara thinks she can hear her friends' voices, faint from the sprawling mansion at the top of the hill. Pictures them just as she had seen them last, with a sudden pang. Aang clearing mounds of dust off the abandoned furniture. Toph levelling the sunken floors. Zuko, white-faced and limping, and still holding audiences behind closed doors with a seemingly unending lineup of his sister's spies…

She hugs her knees against her chest, suddenly cold all over in spite of the day's lingering heat. In the distance, the sun slips below the horizon. Plunging the sky into inky blackness, except for the rosy afterglow already fading in its wake.

But the rest of the night wouldn't wait. And with that final thought, she pushes to her feet, stretches to her full height.

The wind picks up, snatching at the myriad little braids woven through her hair. Clacking at her beads, rifling at the airy red silks she had donned earlier that day - light and cool enough for the immense heat of the tropical volcanic island, but now feeling scandalously insubstantial.

Her hands stroke the exposed skin of her upper arms, a vain attempt to ward off the bite of the wind as she trudges back. Up the slope of the high hill, following the curved path that led to the royal family's old holiday home.

The aroma of a richly spiced stew hits her the moment she pushes through the heavy wooden doors. Her stomach grumbles in answer, her mouth waters instinctively. "What's for dinner?" she asks, coming to a halt in one of the dusty rooms.

Someone had lit a roaring fire in the grate, and a pot of something bubbles delectably atop it. Toph is sprawled out in front of it, savouring the warmth with open hands. "Some Fire Nation thing," she replies, turning her sightless face to the doorway as Katara steps inside. "Sparky threw it on after we got here."

Katara raises her eyebrows as she kneels next to Toph. Fights a shiver as the warmth of the fire cascades all over her. "Where is he?"

"Still holed up with his interrogations," Toph replies with a shrug. "Seems like those old viperfoxes have been awfully productive since they got here."

"That's not good," Katara murmurs, glancing uselessly at the closed door at the end of the hallway, and the flickering strip of light filling the small gap between it and the floor. "But he needs to pace himself. He's not exactly in the greatest shape yet either."

"I'm sure he knows that," Toph remarks, her face softening for a brief moment. "But when it comes to stuff like this, he's almost as stubborn as you are."

Katara turns back to stare at the flames leaping in the hearth. "I wish there was more we could do to help him."

"We're here. I'm sure that's more than enough." Toph shrugs again. "The guy spent the past couple of seasons alone in a prison cell. This is all probably a huge shock to him, Sweetness. Give it some time."

"I know! I just -" Her fingers twist at the silken folds draping around her hips. "I just don't want him to overexert himself. And would it kill him to eat a little? He doesn't need to keep starving himself -"

"Who's starving himself?" The creak of a door swinging on rusty hinges, followed by the thud and click as it shuts.

Katara snaps upright as though struck by a jolt of lightning. "N - nothing," she stammers weakly, craning her head to track Zuko's limping progress into the room. His clothes hang loosely off his painfully thin frame, his hair is shorter and more dishevelled than she has ever seen it, tumbling over a wan face drawn tight with exhaustion.

But his eyes scan the room quickly, sweeping over her in no more than a cursory glance. As though she was one of the moth-eaten tapestries lining the walls, or the musty carpets lining the creaky wooden floor. And despite all her best efforts to the contrary, she can't help the twinge of hurt that strikes in her chest…

"You guys haven't eaten yet?" he asks, taken aback. "Dinner was ready an hour ago."

"Was it?" Toph retorts loudly, grabbing at her stomach. "And you just let us continue to starve, Sparky. Shame on you."

"I thought you'd help yourself," Zuko mumbles. A dusting of red appears on his cheeks, and Katara swallows nervously at the sight of it. "I - I didn't realise -"

"Relax. I'm just jerking your chain." Toph saunters to her feet, grabbing one of the chipped earthenware bowls stacked atop the mantel. "It smells great."

"Thanks." Zuko's face remains impassive. "Where's Aang?"

"Off taking a bath or something." Toph's face wrinkles with distaste. "Your sister isn't the only princess around here."

"What about Zuko's sister?" Aang inquires, stepping into the room as though nothing was amiss. The smell of sweet saffron soap wafts through the air in his wake.

"Nothing," Toph answers with a smirk.

Aang frowns with confusion, before shaking his head and helping himself to a bowl of stew. "This smells great, Zuko!" he proclaims, flashing a beatific grin. "I didn't even know you could cook!"

Zuko stares at his feet, kicking at the wooden floor idly. "Mother taught me. She and I would make it all the time using the plants from her garden."

Everyone watches him expectantly, but he says nothing more. Instead, with a groan, he flops down on one of the sagging armchairs by the windows.

Katara doesn't even register springing to her feet in a desperate panic. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he grunts, even as his hands run along the sides of his face. "I'm just exhausted."

"You need to eat something," she insists, her voice sounding shrill even to her ears. "You're pushing yourself too hard."

He waves a hand vaguely, brushing off the suggestion. "I'm fine. It was just a longer day than I expected."

"Because you're pushing yourself too hard!" Katara repeats, this time with a bite of impatience. "You came here to recover too, remember? Did you even see the infirmary they set up here?"

"You don't need to fuss over me," Zuko grumbles, pushing the heels of his palms into his eyes. "I can take care of myself, you know."

Katara exhales loudly through teeth gritted with frustration. "Can someone else talk some sense into him?"

"Look, normally I'm all for butting out of people's business, but I've got to go with Sweetness on this one." Toph places her spoon in her bowl, sets it down on the floor in front of her crossed feet. "You're no good to anyone if you keel over, Sparky."

"I appreciate the concern. But I know my own limits," Zuko answers hoarsely, without moving from his prone position on the couch. "I've keeled over plenty of times out here on my own, and I'm still here -"

"Oh good, you're an expert then." Toph rolls her sightless eyes. "A season or two on your own, and you've already forgotten about us? I see how it is."

"I didn't forget about you," Zuko snaps, this time lowering his hands to glare at Toph. It is the first time he has looked at any of them properly since arriving on the island. "I just don't appreciate it when you all treat me like a helpless child."

Toph opens her mouth, a snide retort brimming on the tip of her tongue. But before she can get the words out, Aang steps in delicately. "We don't think you're helpless," he interjects, calm as ever. "We just haven't seen you in a while, and we were all really worried about you. Also, you look terrible."

"Thanks," Zuko scoffs, crossing his arms in front of him and hunching into a little ball. "And here I thought you were supposed to be the diplomatic one."

Aang raises his hands entreatingly. "What would you say if it was one of us?"

Zuko freezes, before leaning his head back against the sagging armrest. "Ugh. Fine. I'll eat something, then."

"Good," Toph reprimands, picking up her bowl again. "Then go help yourself. No, Sweetness -" Her clouded eyes land upon Katara sternly, as though she could see her clearly. "You stay right there. Like he said, he doesn't need anyone fussing over him. He's a big boy, after all. He can do everything, all by himself. Right Sparky?"

A challenging edge enters her rough voice. Zuko scowls, before pushing himself to his feet, tottering slightly, and then collapsing right back down onto the seat with a soft thump. Twin spots of red flush across his ashen face.

Katara fights to stay rooted in place.

The tense silence turns expectant, broken at last when Zuko finally clears his throat. "Maybe, uh -" he bites out grudgingly, embarrassed, "maybe I could use a hand after all -"

"Finally!" Toph exclaims loudly, as Katara turns on her heel and marches over to the pot on the stove as fast as her aching feet will permit. "He sees sense at last!"

Katara loses track of the sniping barbs the two hotheads lob back and forth at each other. Her lips press together, biting back the flood of words welling up within her, rushing to the tip of her tongue…

"Here," she says instead, pressing a heaping bowl into his hands, feeling like she's giving away a precious burden in the process.

His fingers graze hers as he accepts, and she feels his touch curling along every last inch of her skin. She swallows the whimper building in her throat as his eyes find hers, and suddenly, the rest of time stands still.

Because this time his glance isn't some fleeting, distracted thing, but instead holds hers, seeing her. Lingering just long enough to darken imperceptibly, glimmering with a hunger that carves its need into every hollow of her rigid, trembling body. One that it longs to sate in return…

But then he withdraws his fingers and the moment passes by. "Thanks," he rasps hoarsely, already looking away again.

She sighs before she too turns away. Chews at her lip as, upon his corner of the couch, Zuko finally begins to eat.

But the tension coiling through every impulse in her aching wooden body remains, a constant discomfort.

How long had it been since he had looked at her like that? How could she have endured the past long months without revelling in its electrifying intensity? How could he? How could he bear being so distant when she had fought so hard to claw her way back to his side again?

So much to say, and no way to say any of it. Her jaw clenches even tighter. Where do I even begin?

If the others are just as uneasy, they do a better job of hiding it. Aang deftly changes the subject, sharing tidings gleaned from passing Air Nomads tasked with transport duty. Toph interjects every now and then, riposting witheringly at every opportunity. Neither comment on Katara's unusual silence, or her ceaseless pacing back and forth in front of the fire.

"...Bodhi said they're converting the rest of the prison holds into infirmaries too. Overflow sites, now that they've eased some of the load on the lower city," Aang explains, shovelling another bite of stew into his mouth and chewing happily.

Toph whistles, impressed. "And that's just after one day? Not bad. But where are all of the Loser Lord junkies going?" Her spoon scrapes the bottom of her bowl. "Unless they mysteriously ended up among the seriously wounded overnight."

Aang throws her a scandalised glare. "That would be barbaric!" he chides, visibly horrified at the thought. "No, they're being transferred off the main island and into some high security prison further north. Some place called the boiled lock or something?"

"The Boiling Rock," Zuko grunts, setting his bowl onto his knees with a groan. His voice suddenly turns savage. "It's where I'd toss Father if he hadn't offed himself like the coward he always was."

A discomfited silence is all the rest of them can muster in response.

"R-right," Aang manages falteringly at last. "Anyway. Sounds like they won't be causing much trouble over there, at least. They'll only have the pleasure of their own company."

"If only we could have tossed them into an actual volcano when Sparky's dad blew his top," Toph remarks, stretching her arms above her head with an unpleasant cracking of joints. "Oh well. At least they're getting what they deserve. Unlike the overpuffed, hot-air-spewing gasbags skulking around on this island."

"No." Zuko's sarcastic voice is a vicious thrust. "They just get to retreat to their holiday homes here. To recuperate away from the masses."

Aang raises a sceptical eyebrow. "Do they expect anyone to believe them? If they needed to recover so badly, why would they retire to this island with all their troops in tow?"

"Does it matter? They think they can get away with blatantly lying to curry any sort of support around here," Zuko spits out loathingly. "I heard it from one informant after another. Oh, we thought the war would be fought fairly, or oh we had no idea Ozai would go crazy and try to destroy the capital, or it's Ozai who made the caldera erupt, otherwise we would have won." He rolls his eyes in rising aggravation.

"Why are they even bothering?" Toph complains, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. "We spanked them fair and square. Can't they just admit defeat with a shred of that honour they keep yammering on about?"

Aang shakes his head, rising to his feet to collect the dirty, empty bowls. "I don't think they think of it that way. For people who think it was their destiny to win the war, this is probably just one big setback to them, nothing more. They can afford to hunker down and wait for a better moment to strike. Plus…from the looks of all the houses around here, there's a lot of wealth and power situated on this island."

"It's the who's who of the Imperial court," Zuko supplies grimly. "There's a reason my family used to vacation here, after all."

"And now they're hosting treasonous tea parties with your dad's old supporters?" Toph shakes her head. "Sounds like something my dad would do, come to think of it. Regime changes aren't exactly good for hoarding money."

"Well, there you have it then," Zuko mumbles darkly. "They're probably gambling on finding a new kingmaker here, since they don't have many friends left in other places. Agni, when will it end already?"

"Sounds like we've got our work cut out for us." Toph's face furrows in the direction of the fire in its grate, in front of which Katara still paces restlessly. Then she yawns loudly. "But those old jerks won't take care of themselves, and we're not gonna get anything done if we're a bunch of sleep-deprived zombies. I'm gonna get some shut-eye."

"Me too," Aang says quickly, offering her a hand. "We did just save the world. No harm in getting a little rest while you can, everyone."

"You go ahead," Katara says quickly, as Zuko makes no effort to move, or even indicate that he hears their suggestions. "Good night, you two."

Aang raises a hand in a grateful wave. Toph's mouth quirks upward knowingly, just before the pair of them wander off into the hallway and disappear into the respective rooms they had claimed earlier in the day.

And then, as though the past seasons had never happened, the two of them are alone together again. This time, the air is warm with anticipation, and a dilapidated sitting room with its soaring ceiling surrounds them instead of the brutal arctic sky. And in place of the screaming tundra, only the fire remains to keep them company.

But shadows reach across the worn wooden floor, leaping and flickering and touching everything in their vicinity with darkness. It plays across the planes of Zuko's hollowed face, colouring it in flashing stripes of gold and grey as he stares absently into the distance.

Katara sighs, turning away to face the windows. They span the entire wall from floor to ceiling, grimy from years of neglect, but still permitting a staggering view of the cliffside. The lush foliage crowning the faint white bars of the sandy beaches far below, and the endless expanse of a starry night sky reflected in the black glass of the ocean underneath it.

She stares at it for a moment that melts into the low rumble of her unsteady breathing. Her fingers find the gauzy white curtains, and the heavier red drapes framing the window panes. But she sees none of it, feels none of it.

All she can really focus on is his silent, reticent presence on the other side of the room, and how he had felt in her arms the day before. The broad planes of his body had wasted away to little more than skin and bone and ridges of wiry muscle. His hair, an overgrown mess tangling about the nape of his neck - so different from the lengths of black silk she had loved to run her fingers through. And his eyes the most uncomfortable change of all: still blazing bright as wildfire, but made more intense by the bony hollows of his emaciated face.

But for all the damage that his imprisonment had inflicted upon him, his heart had still felt the same when it beat in time against her own. That at least hadn't changed.

She could only pray that the rest of him would follow soon enough. She had crossed the entire world to this very spot, and all she could do now was to wait for him to come to her.

Because though the war was ending, there were still so many fires to put out everywhere. And after so long, would Zuko even want her back? He had yet to say more than a word to her one way or another.

A hissing sound emanates from the fireplace, as something sputters and pops. Behind her somewhere, still spread across that sagging old couch, Zuko clears his throat. An awkward sound that shatters the oppressive silence.

She swallows, summoning her courage. She wouldn't think of her misgivings, not just yet. Not when she had seen the proof of his feelings, simmering in the heat of his gaze. No, she would just have to hold faith tight in her heart, step off the edge, and trust that she would find solid ground beneath her feet again. Like she had done so many times before.

"It must feel so strange for you to be back here," she chances, her gaze still trained out the window.

Her voice is quiet, barely audible to her own ears. For a moment, she isn't sure he had even heard her.

But then he exhales sharply - whether in relief or irritation, she is no longer sure. "Strange," he echoes, and she too has to strain to hear his voice. "The last time I came here, my family was actually happy. Now…now…"

He falls into a fitful silence, overwhelmed by his thoughts. For her part, Katara says nothing. She busies herself instead with drawing the curtains shut: first the gauzy inner layer, followed by the musty red brocade. They blot out the starry night sky and the lush green leaves fluttering in the cooling breeze. The room plunges into darkness, the shadows deepening into writhing black veins, pulsing and intruding everywhere the roaring golden firelight doesn't touch.

"It's my dad," Zuko whispers hoarsely. "This whole place, it…it reminds me of him."

Katara takes a tentative step forward, and then another, until he is only a few paces away. "That must be really difficult," she says, kneeling on the ground instead of trying to find space to settle in next to him.

Physical distance had been easier to understand. But this…

"Not really." Zuko shakes his head. "His days were numbered the moment you all breached the harbour." His hands rake through his hair repeatedly, helplessly. "At least he spared anyone else from having that guilt on their conscience."

"Still," Katara presses, as Zuko's voice hardens once again with that biting vehemence. "You have happy memories here. It must be hard to square all of those with everything that came after."

He clears his throat again, sounding almost moments away from tears. "Y-yeah."

Against her better efforts, she reaches out to grab his hand. "It's okay," she blurts out, not sure who she is trying to convince. "It'll all be okay."

His fingers freeze in her grasp. Under the skin, his pulse flails wildly, racing just as frenetically as her own.

It makes her feel just a little better. That, underneath the impermeable facade, he is just as lost as she is. That despite the overwhelming, momentous unfolding of the previous day's events, maybe a part of him that he can no longer ignore is still happy to see her again.

But then he pushes away, rising unsteadily to his feet. "It's getting late," he says instead, heedless of the way her heart sinks in her chest. "Goodnight, Katara."

Without waiting for a response, he staggers toward the door, pausing only to raise a halfhearted hand. The fire in the grate extinguishes, replaced by glowing red embers and plumes of curling grey smoke.

Stumbling in the dark, Katara manages to follow hard on his heels, undeterred. If he notices her trailing his steps, he gives no outward indication of it at all.

The old mansion sprawls with a network of hallways and staircases that everyone else would have difficulty keeping straight in their head. But Zuko has them memorised, his feet navigating the twists and turns as though the last time he had been here was only yesterday.

Maybe he had been. Maybe time had always been an illusion and now it was unravelling all around him with the last of his sanity.

But the lumbering clomp of limping footsteps reminds him that he at least isn't alone in his madness. Katara's presence looms behind him like a purposeful shadow. All the words she holds back ring shrill in his ears, deafening in the silence that envelops them.

She at least waits until they're well out of earshot of the rest, and for that, he's grateful. He's surprised he can still feel that much at all.

"A-are you still angry with me?" Her voice is quiet, hoarse with some emotion he can't quite place.

He turns to face her, his fingers hovering above the doorknob of his old room. Though he wonders why he bothers, when the absolute darkness hides her entirely from view. "Still?"

She swallows hard, and he perceives the tension gripping her entire body even if he can't see it. "Well…" Her voice grows softer, and now trembling enough for him to recognize nervousness through overtired senses. "It's been so long and you haven't said a word to me and I wondered if - I mean…things didn't exactly end well last time…"

He frowns, at first bewildered and completely unable to understand what she's talking about. Whenever he thinks back to the night of the siege, he never remembers much besides the usual horror that haunted his nightmares: the moon dripping red as blood before vanishing from the sky, Katara tumbling lifeless into the snow while his father's men surrounded her with fire.

But as she shifts her weight uncomfortably from her good leg to her weakened one, it comes back to him. A reluctantly unearthed memory, hazy but unmistakable. Their ugly spat in the middle of the night, out beyond the walls of Aujuittuq, amid a frozen tundra screaming with winds that could strip flesh from bone.

"Oh," he breathes. "That."

"I…I don't know what to say." The creak of the old floorboards as Katara takes a hesitant step forward. Perhaps misinterpreting his silence as hostility, perhaps thinking him capable of holding a grudge for nearly as long as she could. "I don't know how to apologise for what I said to you."

Her voice breaks. More faint creaking as she totters toward him, as close as she dares. Because she's afraid, he manages to understand, through the haze of everything. She's afraid, and guilty, after all this time.

"You were just trying to tell me the truth. And I…" She takes a shuddering breath, the sound inches away from his face. "I couldn't hear it. I didn't want to hear it. And I took it all out on you, and I am so ashamed of how I behaved."

It's too much for him to bear. That after so many months without her, holding on to every memory of her to power through every lonely day that had followed, longing for her to stand before him just one more time…

"I shouldn't have done that," she continues raggedly, the words forced out from some dam splitting in her chest. "Y-you didn't deserve to be treated like that. You deserved better than what I gave you."

And now that the day he's wished for has arrived, he is too exhausted and wrung out to feel any of it. And it agitates him beyond belief, that the happy reunion he'd always envisioned was instead unfolding like this. With her tearful and penitent, and him too exhausted to meet her anywhere near where she wanted him to be.

And the list of demands growing longer and longer, without any hope of peace or respite at the end of it all…

It's not fair. This isn't how I wanted it to go.

"I'm sorry." Her voice falls to little more than a whisper, but without any sign of slowing, "I'm so sorry. I was so out of line, and out of control, and - and if I could make it better, I would do anything -"

It is too much for him to take. His hands find her shoulders, already stiffening in surprise.

Her tirade sputters out mid-sentence as he pulls her close, the way he wanted to for all the lonely months passed alone in despair. As though maybe holding her would be enough to ward off the inexplicable terror rearing all around him. As though maybe it would be enough to find a moment, just a single moment of stillness.

Haven't we earned that much at least?

He doesn't say anything. She goes suddenly motionless before clutching back at him with shaking, desperate fingers. What could he possibly say now that he finally has her in his arms again? When her heart trembles like a leaf against his chest, fluttering in time with his own? When her lips mouth empty, silent words into the crook of his neck before rising up to trap his own in a frantic press, when the heat skittering through his veins is the only sensation that has felt real since the end of his imprisonment?

"I missed you," he hears her breathe, her voice harsh where it muffles into his skin.

It stirs something buried deep inside him, frozen beneath layers of grief and stone and still yearning to be set free. A spark, a flame, coaxed to life by the sheer desperation of her surrender, the words he has only dreamed of hearing through the long lonely months. "Oh spirits, Zuko, I missed you so much…"

The door buckles against his back. The sound of it bouncing off the wall and slamming back shut somehow the only thing he registers.

But in spite of the friction building its slippery heat along every spot where her body presses into his, everything else is still numb.

"Katara…" he tries to say at last, struggling to balance as the edge of the bed digs into the back of his thighs. "Stop - I can't -"

The moonlight streaming through his windows illuminates her eyes, widening in horror as she breaks away. "I didn't mean to -"

"It's okay." He sits heavily on the old mattress; it creaks loudly, protesting at his weight. "I - I just don't know if I can -"

The bed springs slightly as she clambers down next to him, her knees digging into the side of his thigh. "It's okay." Her voice is shrill with worry, and it grates in his ears. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"It's not about want," he rasps hoarsely, staring at the shadows of his old room, faintly lit in silver moonlight. "I…I just don't…"

He trails off, at a loss. But she doesn't say anything more, waiting with a patience that he has grown unaccustomed to.

At length, her fingers find his, wrapping around them with a tight, reassuring squeeze. "I'm here," she tells him softly. "I'm here…as long as you want me."

His eyes scrunch shut tightly, as though that will help hold the rest of his flailing mind together. "I…I wish I had enough in me to want."

He hears her swallow carefully, letting out a hint of a dark chuckle. "I think I know what that feels like."

Something stirs inside him at that, a memory if nothing more. Because if anyone could understand the overwhelming tide of raw emotions trapping him in their hollow depths, it would be her. "I'm tired, Katara," is all he can manage. "I'm just one person and I'm so tired."

Her arms close around him, her head leans on his shoulder. "Then rest," she says. "Do you want to be alone right now? I can leave -"

"No," he answers automatically, tensing at once. "Stay. Please."

If she is confused by his conflicting needs, she keeps it mostly to herself. "Only if you want me to -"

"I do." Zuko lowers his head, his throat closing up. "I really do."

He feels her smile faintly against his shoulder. "At least there's one thing."

"Huh?"

She raises her head to stare at the profile of his face; her eyes are so luminous in the darkness, filling his vision with their glossy blue glow. "You just said you didn't have enough in you to want. But maybe it's not as bad as you think." Her smile is tender when she holds his gaze. "In the darkest of times, hope is something you give yourself."

He stares at her wordlessly for a moment, maybe two. "Did…did you just quote one of Uncle's proverbs at me?"

She looks away, spluttering defensively. "S-so what if I did? He's got a few good ones every now and then -"

Zuko can't help the delirious laughter that escapes him. The last time we fought, she would rather have died than associate with Uncle. Now she's here, trying to pull him out of despair with cryptic words pulled straight from the old man's mouth.

"Yeah," Katara admits, ducking her head bashfully. "I suppose I'd be laughing if I was in your shoes, too."

"I'm glad you two found peace with each other," he says at last, wiping at the water streaming from his eyes. "That sounds like quite a story."

She shrugs diffidently. "How about your story?" Her voice hushes with awe. "Zuko, you survived months in your father's clutches and even got your sister to change sides! How -"

"It was you." It bursts out of him, unbidden. After everything that had worn him down, he is too weak to hold any of it back anymore. "Every day I was stuck in that cell, I thought…if you were trapped like I was, you would still find some way to fight back."

Even in the dark, he can see her eyes widen, and then instantly mist over. "Zuko…"

"I know things were complicated between us. I know that things got ugly in the end. I know that I wanted more than you had to give - I see that now. But…" he draws in a shuddering breath, and though it is terrifying to admit, the conviction that floods him is the first fleeting hint of peace that he's felt in ages. "When I remembered you back in the North, alone and powerless and still unwilling to back down…I - I felt like I had no choice but to do the same."

She falls into a stunned silence, her fingers tracing meaningless patterns along the back of his hand. He expects her to get up and walk away, he expects her to retreat from him, the way she always would whenever he broke before her and went too far.

But this time she stays, frozen in place by his side. At length, she draws a single, shuddering breath that shatters the invisible line between them. "Me too."

He stares at her fully, trying to perceive her expression in the faint moonlight. She squares her shoulders, still trembling with some of that same certainty that races through his veins. "That's how I did it, Zuko. That's how I made it here." And now her eyes are twin fires blazing bright blue and fiercely determined where they hold his own, as the confession quietly slips out. "I thought of you. When I thought of you…I could do anything."

His breath hitches, and for an instant everything goes suddenly very still. Except for the moonlight streaming through the clouded windows, fading abruptly to a dim glow. It plunges everything else into almost absolute darkness. So dark that it seems like everything around him is empty, time had stopped, and the rest of the world had vanished.

Everything except her.

He reaches for her blindly in the dark. She lets out the faintest whimper as his fingers graze the tops of her forearms, skimming the cool skin of her inner elbows and the slope of her broad, strong shoulders.

The tension saps out of her instantly, the firm curves of her body melting into the contours of his. Her hands burrow into his hair, nails raking against his scalp. Little breathy sounds stifle in her throat, quivering under the graze of his lips. He relishes them hungrily, taking his time to remind himself of the taste of her skin and how prominently the shoals of her pulse judder in response to such a simple thing. How she arches into the trail his fingers lazily trace down the channel of her spine, just how far her back curves to answer the craving resting unspoken in his touch…

She makes an impatient, desperate sound, and suddenly he can't help the smirk tugging at his mouth. The familiarity of it all is so acute that it is almost painful. The undulating rhythm that builds in the sway of her body as she settles over him, longing for him, needing him to break. "I missed you too," he finally croaks, his hands cupping her face and staring up through the heavy beaded curtains of her hair at her face in disbelief and longing. "Agni, I…I missed you so much -"

Her hands rest on his shoulders, her knees dig into the mattress to brace her weight. Her legs frame the waistband of his trousers already tenting to graze her inner thigh. A slight bounce as she shifts ever so slightly, and now he's the one whimpering quietly in response. Her mouth is searing hot against his ear as she whispers, "Show me."

Her voice is raw with a desperation he has never heard her use before. Intrigue winds a tight coil into the pit of his stomach, where every other thought goes to die. The only thing that remains is the desperate friction swelling where she slowly rocks against him. He makes another strangled, helpless sound and she makes quick work of the ties holding his tunic together. "You said you missed me," she challenges, her voice a low growl that he barely recognises. Her teeth scrape along the lobe of his ear, nibbling gently. "Show me."

He grabs her at the hips, pulling her right where he needed her the most. Her mouth flutters open in a silent exclamation. The answering spring of her body is immediate, desperate. He couldn't remember the last time she had needed him so fervently. Where her fingers fumble and work at his fastenings in a chaotic frenzy, his are measured and methodical. Partly to savour the heady buzz of her desire, but also to remind himself that this was real, this wasn't some dream conjured up by his lonely imagination -

She lowers herself in one smooth motion, sinking him to the hilt. He fights not to drown in the liquid heat that engulfs him. A stream of muttered curses jumble out of his mouth, barely audible over the keening cry of relief that she lets out. His arms encircle her waist, struggling to seek purchase even as she sets a pace with wild abandon. Lost to the recesses of her pleasure and nearly makes him do the same.

"Slow down," he grumbles, his grip tightening around her like a vice. "You're going to break something if you keep that up."

She pulls back, her hair plastered in strands to her face, flushed and smiling sheepishly in response. "Sorry. I couldn't help it. It's been so long -"

"I know." His hands clamber up the line of her back. One settles around the jutting protrusion of her shoulder-blades; the other twists around the fall of her hair and yanks back sharply. She gasps at the sudden motion, and then again as his forehead presses into the crook of her neck. His mouth opens against the swell of her breast, spilling over the top of her flimsy red halter, and she makes another whimpering sound in response. "But you're not getting off that easily."

He finds another rhythm, punctuated at first by the steady creaking of the old mattress springs, complaining loudly with every deliberate thrust. Then, by the throaty noises that slide out of her parted mouth - soft at first and then growing steadily louder until they bounce off the worn wooden walls in a confusing jumbled echo.

"Shh," he hisses into her ear. "Do you want the others to hear?"

"I don't care," she gasps breathlessly, her nails biting painfully into his shoulders. Her hips tilt into his insistently, seeking a pace that could bring her any relief. "Zuko, I'm so close -"

"Already?"

"I told you I missed you, didn't I?" A bite of impatience enters her voice, just as she pushes back onto him with enough force to send his eyes rolling back into his skull.

Any lingering concern about the others overhearing promptly vanishes. Only the frantic rhythm remains, consuming him with the swell of its desperate heat. And the precious sounds slipping through the part of her lips, dancing so very close to his own. He catches them, teeth raking along the fullness of her bottom lip, unable to bear even that slightest distance anymore. Greedily drinks down every gasp he tears from her as though it was the finest plum wine.

But it's far more intoxicating when she finally goes rigid, entirely consumed by the violent contractions coaxing him to his own release. He swallows her muffled cries, lets his own spill into hers.

They collapse onto the creaky old mattress, ignoring the reproachful screech it lets out in answer. He pulls her over him, stroking the sweat-dampened fall of her beaded, braided hair. Her short heaving breaths are puffs of hot air against his neck, and her body draped over his is a bliss he never thought he would experience again. The weight of her, the heat, the familiar pull of her scent…

Everything wrong with the world would always remain, but in this moment, he cannot spare them another thought. He could only thank his stars that he was here, and she was here, and that if nothing else remained, at least they were able to steal this one moment in time together.

It's more than I ever thought we would get. After everything, he supposes he should feel grateful for that much, at least.

When his thumbs caress her cheeks, he is surprised to find a hot wetness there too. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asks, suddenly alarmed.

But she burrows in closer to the hollows of his shoulders, her hair tickling where it grazes at his skin. "No. I'm okay. I'm…more than okay. Just…" and she trails off, every laboured breath still a struggle.

He shifts his weight, rolling over onto his side so that they lie face-to-face. And then winces as the aches from all his fresh injuries steadily remind him of their existence as the euphoric, adrenaline-fuelled rush slowly begins to fade.

Katara runs her fingers along the line of his cheek, as though trying to commit it to memory. Her red silks are as dishevelled as her hair. The moonlight plays across the valley of her bare waist, sloping into the rise of her full hip. Illuminating the old scars there, the ones he barely notices anymore.

But when he rests his hand upon one of them, she makes a strangled, sob-like sound, before pressing even closer to him.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

She shakes her head, touches her lips to the dip of his collarbone.

He fights a shiver, and catches the underside of her chin to tilt her head upward. "Hey," he says softly, noticing the tears dribbling down her cheeks, silver trails in the gentle moonlight. "What is it?"

Her bottom lip quivers dangerously as her eyes rake over his face. "I still can't believe you're here," she whispers. Her fingertips run delicately along the edges of his bandages, as though suddenly afraid that he could fall apart at any second. "It doesn't feel real."

His hand closes around hers, squeezing it tightly. "No," he agrees. "It doesn't."

"I was so scared," she confesses, her voice breaking even as she struggles to hold back more tears. "I thought I'd lost you."

His eyes soften. "I'm right here."

"I know. But -" she suddenly props herself up on her elbow to meet his gaze full on. "After all that time without you - not knowing if you were alive or - or -" dead, she chokes on the word, still unable to say it out loud. "And after how I left things between us, and…and then you just threw your whole life away for nothing!"

"It wasn't nothing." His arm encircles her waist, his hand resting on the small of her back. "Listen to me, Katara. You are not nothing. You are…you are so incredible, you're so important to me. How can you not know that by now?"

She draws another shaky breath, shaking her head vehemently. "I don't understand how you can still say that after how awful I was with you."

"Because that doesn't change how I feel about you." He cups the curve of her cheek and her watery eyes flutter shut at that simple touch. "You were in a bad place, and you said and did some pretty awful things. But - but that never made you an awful person." He pulls her face closer, pressing his forehead against hers, feeling her heart thrumming against his. "Look at everything you've done. Look at who you've become." He shakes his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "This is the person I always saw in you. This is who I knew you could be."

"Only because of you," she murmurs, her lips moving against the edge of his hand. "I…I don't know how I could have survived the siege and the war and all that. I just kept going, because I had to see you again. I couldn't let that be the end for us." She opens her eyes, some of her tears still clinging to her lashes, glistening like diamonds in the moonlight. "And because I knew it's what you would do. I don't think you realise just how much you inspire me."

"You've got it backwards," he counters quietly, even as his smile widens. "You're the one who inspires me."

She giggles helplessly, turning her face into the palm of his hand.

"But I don't understand." Now he's the one struggling to prop himself up on his elbow, so that he can see her more clearly in what little light remains in the room. "You were safe. Once you got your waterbending back and ended the siege of the North... You had no idea if I was alive or not, you had no way of knowing you could get here in time. So why…"

He feels her tense up, but plunges onward, a growing part of him no longer able to push it away anymore and needing to know - "Why did you come back?" He lets out a huff of disbelieving laughter, shaking his head again, trying to make sense of it all. "You found it all - the respect, the authority, the community you always wanted. You found your place in the world, you got named Chief in a place that had exiled you for waterbending! Hell, you even found your brother and somehow got his memories back! You had everything you ever wanted, and more."

She exhales unsteadily, a burst of hot air against his palm. Apart from her stiffening back and the skyrocketing rhythm of her heartbeat where her chest presses flush against his own, she gives no answer.

"I don't understand," he repeats into the silence. "Everything that was precious to you, Katara, everything you fought tooth and nail for… And you just dragged it all to the other side of the world on a suicide mission? Why?"

He feels her breath in slowly, the tension in her body shifting ever so slightly. She raises her chin ever so slightly, her eyes flick over to meet his.

"You once said that the ocean wasn't big enough to stop me," she reminds him. "Remember? After the Sun Warriors battle, when I thought I lost Sokka -"

"I remember." A blink of his eyes would bring him back there - back to the edge of the black waters and the starry sky and Katara entwined in his arms, the rest of the world and its ugliness forgotten.

"Then why are you surprised?" Though her voice finds its strength, he feels her heartbeat racing, and her touch turns cold, jittery. "I always come back for the people I love."

It hangs in the air between them, the shrinking distance suddenly charged.

He swallows slowly, going very still. "Love?" he repeats, suddenly feeling like every inch of his skin is a drawstring, taut and unable to hold back the storm that rages in his chest at that simple, innocuous word. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she asks. Her hand closes over his, her trembling fingers interlacing with his. "Zuko…I love you."

It rings in his ears, over and over again.

He wasn't sure what he had expected her to say, after all. With everything that had passed between them, and the time and distance that had followed thereafter, perhaps he had given up hope of ever hearing her say it back to him. "Really?"

A small, helpless laugh escapes the sweet curve of her precious mouth. "Is it that hard for you to believe?"

"I…I just…" He grabs both of her hands, sitting up in an abrupt motion that he would live to regret some other time. "I don't understand. How? When? The last we spoke, you…"

She averts her gaze, staring somewhere around the star-shaped scar that frames his heart. "I was such an idiot," she says softly. "The whole time, we…and I couldn't even recognise what was right in front of my face. Or…or maybe I did, and I was afraid -"

He lets out the breath he didn't realise he had been holding. "You needed to come to it on your own."

"I didn't even do that," she laments, hanging her head, "Aang was the one who figured it out for me, for spirits' sake -"

"Wait," he interrupts. "Aang knows?"

"They all do." Her gaze lowers still, now keenly studying the pattern of the old threads on the musty red coverlets.

"Who exactly is they all?" he demands.

"Um." And if he had made her flush before, it pales in comparison to just how deep her cheeks darken, obvious to him even in the dimness of the room. "Well, Toph always knew, and then Aang guessed, and then some of the Northern girls figured it out when they saw you sneaking out of my tent that one time, and then Sokka said he found out from visiting a magic swamp, whatever that means, and uh…"

He sighs through gritted teeth. "Okay. Scratch that. Who doesn't know? Uncle Iroh? Please tell me my uncle doesn't know -"

She rubs at the back of her neck, and he couldn't remember the last time he had seen her appear so uncomfortable. "No…he knows too."

"How?" he thunders, taken aback. "I don't understand! You wanted to keep everything between us a secret, so how did -"

"Don't get mad," she interrupts him, speaking quickly and in a rather high-pitched voice, "but…I might have…announced it…in front of the entire tribe. And your uncle's army. And Admiral Chan's fleet. And all the Air Nomads too." She takes a deep breath, her shoulders slumping helplessly. "Please don't be too mad at me -"

"You did what?"

"I'm sorry!" Katara yelps. Her arms wrap across her chest defensively. "I didn't mean to! It was a really emotionally charged day, okay? We'd just brought back the moon and gotten our bending back and I broke out of prison and fought through an entire flagship of soldiers, and then forced Admiral Chan to surrender -"

"Wow," Zuko marvels, his eyes widening. "You weren't kidding. Sounds like a hell of a day."

"No, that was just ten minutes of the eclipse. Then Sokka came back, and the Tribe demoted Hahn and randomly decided to name me Chief in his place and I guess it all just kind of…slipped out?"

Zuko raises an eyebrow. "I didn't realise that had to be part of your Water Tribe Chief acceptance speech."

She punches his arm weakly. "Don't be a jerk. Hahn accused me of being a Fire Nation whore in front of the entire Tribe. I had to shut him down somehow and, well…"

He smirks, trying to envision the colourful encounter that she had just described. "Well…if that didn't shut him up, nothing would. At least you didn't threaten to duel him for the Chief's mantle or something."

Katara clears her throat, now clearly embarrassed. "We-ell…"

He groans and shakes his head. "You're impossible."

"I've heard."

"I wish I had been there." It slips out of him wistfully. "I wish I'd been there with you."

"But you were," Katara insists to his surprise, placing her hand over his heart. "You were always with me." Then it curls into a fist that she presses against her chest. "Right here."

Something chokes in his throat, and he can no longer fight it. "I love you," he rasps, his fingers wrapping around hers, enveloping them with his steady, pulsing warmth. "I love you so much." He flounders as she leans in close, presses a kiss to the tip of his nose, and something in him gives way. "I don't want to lose you again."

She doesn't answer him. She only holds him closer still, as though to ward off the march of time itself.

Because beyond the sheltering embrace of darkness, everything that would try to pull them apart once more still remained.

Waiting in the burgeoning light of day, already approaching with the turn of the world.

Chapter 68: new sun

Chapter Text

disclaimer. here in 2023 and it still isn't mine. oh well.

author's notes. happy new year! have another update.

i give you…

southern lights.

chapter lxviii.new sun

i've been paper thin
so why can't i fly?
why can't i move without wind?

"surface" / bonobo

It begins the next morning, as the sun climbs bravely over the horizon.

Katara is in the middle of re-braiding her freshly washed hair, sliding the intricate carved ornaments along the thick strands. Normally, she had Woka or Ikkuma or one of the other Northern girls to give her a hand, but here in one of the abandoned bedrooms in Zuko's Ember Island home, she could hardly expect anything other than to go at it alone.

Zuko finishes tying off the sash belting his waist and sits back down on the edge of the bed. "Almost done?" he asks, his voice still gravelly in the early hour.

She wonders how she doesn't turn red from the heat of his gaze, raking over her from head to toe in a swift motion. Her fingers stiffen; one of the small beads slips out of her grasp and rolls away across the floor.

"Not even close," she laments, bending over to scoop it back up. She grimaces at the motion, her entire body one locked mess of screaming overworn muscles and sinew. The toll the battle under the comet had exacted upon her.

Not to mention last night, she thinks with a blush. It's not like you were following your own sensible healer advice and resting, exactly…

"Can I help?" Zuko asks, leaning forward.

She chokes, turns away from the grimy claw-footed mirror to gawk at him. She's shocked to see a smattering of pink blooming on his cheeks, even as his eyes hold her gaze patiently.

"I -" she stammers, running a hand along a half-braided chunk of hair, nails tangling into its coiling lengths. "I don't -"

Truth be told, she wasn't quite sure why the idea unnerved her. Zuko had been more than willing to participate in whatever customs he could, back in the Northern tribe. He had always come to it honestly and respectfully. She had no reason to expect that he would do so any differently now.

But something about him braiding her hair felt so much more personal than wearing a parka she had sewn with her own hands. Or joining on a morning tigerseal-hunt, or exchanging their ancestral stories while the bonfires burned low into the night. She had treasured all of those customs too, shared them willingly. Why was this the line she felt the need to defend?

"I'm the Chief," Katara explains rather feebly, as if that made any of it make sense. "I think I can manage on my own."

"Fair enough," Zuko remarks, already looking away. He yawns, stretching his arms above his head with a crack of his shoulders, and winces at the answering pain that must have wracked through his entire body in the process.

Katara turns back to the mirror, discomfited. She finishes threading a handful of beads into the braid before tucking it into the intricate array woven into a knot at the nape of her neck. Her lips purse at the heavy mass of hair that escapes the confines of the painstakingly-crafted arrangement to tumble past her waist. Already, the back of her neck is damp from the humid heat in the air.

"It's good enough," she says half-heartedly, setting down the fine bone-toothed comb. "Otherwise I'll be in here all day."

Zuko glances at her, whistling softly. "It's very…intricate."

She shrugs before rummaging for the small pot of black paint lying at the bottom of her pack. "In the Water Tribes, we take our hair very seriously."

"I think I get it," Zuko remarks. "It's not exactly the same, but…hair is important to Fire Nation nobles as well. When Azula cut mine -" He touches the ragged ends of his own cropped lengths, frowning where it grazes his jaw. "Yeah."

"Azula did that to you?" Katara asks, pausing suddenly. "I just thought it was something that happened to prisoners here."

"Well in my case, she just wanted to humiliate me," Zuko explains. A closed expression settles over his gaunt face. "It'll grow back. It's already coming in fast -"

"I like it," Katara admits, surprising him. He gapes at her and she looks away, flustered. "I mean…I liked your long hair too. But this…this is a good look on you too."

"It's the cut of a humiliated prince," Zuko tells her, aghast. "It's not supposed to look good."

"Maybe not," she answers quickly, uncapping the paint pot with shaking fingers. Her face in the mirror reddens profusely before her very eyes. "I didn't say you had to keep it. I-I just - oh, never mind..."

And breaking off uncomfortably, she dips two fingers into the soft black paste. Then she gazes at her reflection, takes a deep breath, and draws the lines as precisely as she can manage. Across her cheeks, in stripes down her chin. Radiating from the point in between her eyes to her hairline on either side of her part, forming a proud vee that adorns her forehead like a crown.

"Those are new," Zuko observes, his voice hushed as Katara screws the cap shut and replaces the little pot into her pack. "Do…do they mean anything?"

Katara shrugs on her mantle. "It used to be traditional for Water Tribe women," she explains, adjusting the carved tassels where they hang against her chest. "Atka told me about it. About the rites of passage that Water Tribe children used to go through when it was time to become adults. Boys would go ice dodging, and girls would get their tattoos. But long ago, when the Northern Tribe decided they had no need for women's wisdom in their affairs and rejected the old ways, they abandoned the practice."

She gazes in the mirror, barely recognising the face that stares back at her with fierce, burning eyes. "After Princess Yue's sacrifice to the moon spirit…it just seemed right to restore the tradition. But we have so few left among us who know how to apply ink to skin, so the paint will have to do for now. When I get back home, I guess that'll have to be one of my first projects…"

An awkward silence descends as she trails off absently.

At first, she doesn't notice it, preoccupied with the stern-faced Chief watching her through the mirror's surface. Wondering what the others saw when they looked at her, if she struck a figure that would inspire respect, fear, awe - or perhaps some combination of all three at once. Considering all the work that remained to her, the thankless toil of building bridges and rebuilding them, a constant cycle of toil for as long as she held her post…

But then Zuko clears his throat, startling her. "I should go," he says, pushing back up to his feet with a grimace of pain. "You take your time."

He leaves the room before Katara has a chance to get another word in.

By the time she looks up, he is already staggering to the stairs at the end of the hallway, flashes of white bandages still peeking through the folds of his soft red finery.

Someone is knocking urgently at the front door before Zuko even makes it to the main landing.

He hobbles as fast as he can manage, one hand resting against the corridor wall for support. His other arm clutches at the edges of the gold brocade sash, looped twice around his nonexistent waist. Underneath it, his burns scream in blistering agony with every twitch of his skin. But he grits his teeth against it and presses on.

Snatches of a conversation reach his ears long before he trudges into to the grand foyer. Toph pushes the door open a crack, listening with a raised eyebrow to whatever story the person outside tries to peddle.

"What's going on?" he rasps, slowing to a halt and clutching at his abdomen with both hands. Trying to ease the jolts of pain wracking through him with every movement…

"Shady things, by the sounds of it," Toph remarks, pushing the door open further to admit a shaking, red-faced man who whirls on her irately. She raises a hand to staunch his tirade before it can even start. "Now, are you sure you want to waste time on me instead of your prince right there?"

"Stop antagonising him, Toph," Zuko grumbles, trying to draw himself up to his tallest height without crumpling under the teeth gnawing at his bandaged skin. He turns to the newcomer, already dropping into a bow at the sight of him. "You'll have to forgive my friend. She can be rather abrasive at times."

"I would hardly expect less from an Earth colony heiress," the man grumbles, before settling onto his knee. His narrow face loses some of its redness, but his tawny eyes glint with a shrewd alertness that reminds Zuko instantly of the woman who had sent him. "I bring you tidings under orders from my master, Kei Ling."

"Yes," Zuko mutters, rubbing at his temples wearily. "I've been expecting you."

"Your Highness." The man places a fist against his chest, his face lowered to gaze somewhere around the direction of Zuko's shins. "Earlier this morning, messengers were dispatched from Lord Ikeda's villa, inviting some of his old friends over for breakfast and tea in his garden. To view the blossoms on his estate."

"You came all this way to snitch on some old geezers and their fancy flowers?" Toph complains, crossing her arms with a huff. "Way to waste all of our time -"

Zuko raises a hand, and she falls silent at the motion. "It's the wrong season for blossoms," he says with a frown, still holding the informant's intent gaze. "What is Lord Ikeda really cultivating in his gardens?"

"Whatever it is, he invited several of your father's closest friends to admire it." The informant holds out a steady hand. "Including the ones recently arrived from the capital yesterday. Zhao, Bujing, Ukano -"

Zuko sighs as he retrieves the small scroll of paper from the informant's fingers. "I imagine they weren't the only ones invited."

"Indeed not, Your Highness." The man lowers his head, his gaze now hovering in the space between Zuko's feet. "Many other victims of the Blue Spirit's purge were also summoned."

"I see." Zuko's eyes widen, and then narrow, at the list of names scrawled onto the scroll in Ikeda's own hand. "Victims, they call themselves? I spared their worthless lives."

"Remember," the informant warns, "there is not much goodwill toward yourself, or your uncle on this island. These are old, powerful men who do not enjoy being slighted."

"I'm surprised they haven't gotten used to it already." Zuko rolls up the scroll again. "Uncle will find this list most intriguing. But we need to act quickly. Although… I should probably thank these conspiring noblemen for choosing to convene so close to home."

The informant raises his head at that, surprise poorly concealed in his glimmering eyes. "These are men of violence, who crave bloodshed and vengeance. Especially against you, Prince Zuko. Didn't you intimidate and threaten most of them into abandoning their posts in the Capital?"

"I did," Zuko answers, his eyes resting upon Toph's impassive face as she leans against the door, absorbing the whole terse exchange.

"Some…" the informant struggles to voice his thoughts in a manner diplomatic enough to fit his station, "some might consider it foolhardy to barge into such a meeting uninvited."

Toph smirks, and the sound of approaching footsteps greets Zuko's ears. He glances over his shoulder, to find Katara strapping on her water-skins and Aang snapping his glider shut with a decisive click.

"Well," Zuko hears himself say, pocketing the little scroll instead, "I guess some people have no idea how convincing we can be."

Lord Ikeda's estate lay on the far side of the mountain, atop a cove at its foot overlooking one of the many soft white beaches of Ember Island. The rumbling sound of incoming surf pounding the jagged towering rocks jutting out of the water fills the air, along with faint droplets of salt spray covering the area in a fine transparent veil.

From the air, approaching on Appa's back, it is little more than a rectangle of flat green lawns and sloping golden roofs, glinting with the light of the morning sun. A network of trees grow against the tall red walls of its perimeter, its foliage pale green and already starting to blush with the first tinges of autumn.

Katara snorts when she sees it, shaking her head. "So much for blossoms."

"Sounds to me like the only thing blossoming in that garden is one really lame conspiracy," Toph agrees with a nod of her head.

"Seriously," Aang huffs, tugging at Appa's rein to guide him onto one of the bare rocks cropping out from the mountainside. "I can't believe these guys couldn't come up with anything better than meet me in my garden for tea and cherry blossoms."

Zuko shrugs. "They were my father's staunchest supporters. Are you surprised by their lack of imagination?"

"No," Toph admits flatly. "Just disappointed."

They land silently, their elevation high enough to survey the nobleman's estate from above.

Aang lands noiselessly next to them a moment later. "Looks like everything's going as expected," he remarks, sliding his glider into its holster strapped to his back. "I couldn't recognize most of the people, but the numbers match up with the names on Zuko's sheet. Lord Ikeda just sent his servants away."

"Perfect," Zuko says grimly, staring at the polished iron gates barring the estate doors in front of them. "Now, remember. I'll handle the talking. I just need you to look as threatening as possible."

"We are threatening," Katara protests, crossing her arms with a pout.

The clacking of her beaded hair greets his ears as he glances at her again. She flushes under his brief onceover, her hands falling from the intricate array of braids knotted at the back of her neck. But the fine lines of black paint scoring her face leap out, accentuating the strength in her proud features. Her heavy mantle and blue cotton dress remain immaculate.

He looks away, swallowing hard. "Toph," he manages hoarsely, "won't you do the honour?" He gestures sardonically at the locked iron gates barring the way before them.

"I thought you'd never ask." A decisive jerk of her wrists, and they crumple with a loud screech.

A pair of dozing guards snap awake at the sound, jogging back toward their posts. Through the bone white of their faceplates, Zuko catches their mouths dropping as they freeze in place.

Not that he could blame them. Bad enough that they were napping on the job, he thinks with grim amusement, but to find their master's number one enemy breaking and entering through the front door?

One recovers more quickly than Zuko expects, brandishing a spear in his face. "Halt!" the guard manages weakly, sounding like he would very much rather be anywhere else in the world at that very moment. "This…this is the private property of Lord Ikeda. Wh-what is your business here, Your Highness?"

Zuko gives him a quick once-over from helm to boot. "I wanted to see the blossoms," he answers mildly, careful to keep his face neutral. Behind him, he can feel the others' energy radiating outward, speaking the volumes that he couldn't - Katara's ferocious scowl, Aang's guileless smile, Toph's insolent smirk… "Regrettably, I received no personal invitation, but I assume that was an oversight on your lord's end."

He steps through the warped gate still swinging on its misshapen hinges with its small squeaks of protest. The guard offers just as much resistance, his gloved fingers trembling where they clutch at the spearhaft, lowering just a fraction. Zuko studies the faint slump of the man's posture, the rise of his throat as he swallows nervously.

"Don't worry about announcing us," he says, not unkindly as he marches past the hapless guards without a second glance. "My friends and I can see ourselves in."

Whatever courage the unfortunate man had struggled to muster dies as the others fall in step with Zuko. He shrinks into a bow instead, as though attempting to hide in the manicured hedges themselves. "Of…of course, Your Highness. Whatever pleases you."

Zuko's mouth twists involuntarily. Whatever pleases me. It would have pleased him to stay back in the ruins of the capital, with the few remaining members of his grieving family. It would have pleased him to convalesce at the old family home on the other side of the island and while away the remaining hours of his newfound freedom with Katara, cloistered away from prying judging eyes…

Barging into a company of old enemies was important, he admits grudgingly, but please him it certainly did not.

His feet traverse the old path winding around the grand redstone villa, through the arches of foliage shielding them from the harsh morning sun in a gentle green canopy. His eyes skim his surroundings in quick darting motions, noting the placement of every last root and branch and stone. The distant aroma of floral teas wafting from the garden, where snatches of hushed voices filter through the filigree of the changing autumn leaves.

He catches fragments of their conversation, words barely distinct amid peals of cold laughter and the clink of chipped porcelain cups. More loud is his uncle's voice whispering cautions in the back of his mind. Be careful, my nephew, he would have said if he were here. The cornered wolf is the most dangerous of them all.

And at the brim of his hyper-focused awareness of everything and everywhere, the solid presence of the other three, trailing silent and purposefully on his heels like one menacing shadow. Aang's footfalls light and in step with his own, water sloshing in Katara's waterskins. The barely perceptible hum of Toph's seismic sense, the finest of vibrations sweeping along the limits of their immediate surroundings…

It visualises in his mind's eye, crystal clear and perfectly formed, long before he pushes out of the shadows to linger quietly in their midst. The rolling green mounds of lush grass carpeting Lord Ikeda's tea gardens, lined with fragrant bushes clustered with the last of the season's hummingbees. Low bamboo tables set along the periphery, under the shade of the ash banana trees laden not with the promised blossoms, but instead with ripening fruit.

Zuko crosses his arms and waits, dispassionately observing the seated, slighted aristocrats as they sip at their tea. It doesn't take long for him to find their ringleaders seated at the head of the beautiful garden - Lord Ikeda playing host to Zhao and Bujing and the remainder of his father's commanders. Pouring their tea, cultivating space for them to give voice to every last one of the indignities visited upon them and their beloved, dead sovereign.

" - whoever said that the Great Gates would never be taken was clearly mistaken -"

"They weren't taken! They snuck past using some nasty trick!"

"Who knew Iroh was capable of such underhanded tactics?" Zuko easily recognizes Zhao's voice, gathering volume in rousing indignation. "Faking a retreat to lure all our ships in pursuit, and then spring an ambush? Where is the honour in such trickery?"

"Well, what's done is done now," answers Governor Ukano's bored voice, reminding Zuko impossibly of Mai's. "Iroh and his ilk have claimed leadership of the capital, and you all very courageously slunk like cowards with your tails tucked between your legs -"

"You're in no position to talk, Ukano!" someone calls out irately. "Doesn't Princess Azula count your daughter among one of her closest friends? You have the best chance of ingratiating yourself with these so-called victors, and you still chose to flee."

Ukano scoffs quietly. "And risk sullying my family name amid that rabble of traitors and colony trash? I would rather languish here for the rest of my days."

"How noble of you," Zhao sneers. "But intentions alone won't see us back to the seat of power. We need to be strategic. If Iroh wants to play the gracious conqueror, let him. He will squander all goodwill by capitulating to the colonies, his focus torn between rebuilding and reparations. Give him one season of famine, maybe two. The time will be ripe then, my friends, to take him down once and for all…"

A breeze stirs the broad banana leaves, interrupting Zhao's tirade with whispers of their own. If the arrogant old men bothered to listen, they would have heard the warning in its rustling. You're not alone, the trees try to tell their ignorant masters, you're being watched…

But it all falls upon deaf ears. A chorus of fists pounding vehemently against the bamboo tables is their only response.

Zuko fights a sigh. As the Blue Spirit, he had long perfected the arts of stealth. How to melt into the shadows, how to become invisible in plain sight. But his father had refused to outlive the war he had started, and now the sun hangs bright in the sky. Whatever he chose to do to these men now, he would have to do with broad daylight as his witness.

Tearing his eyes away from the scene unfolding before them, he spares a glance at Katara. Her gaze flicks to meet his, her mouth pressed tightly into a thin line. When he gives the smallest terse nod, he imagines he sees a savage triumph blazing in her eyes.

The slightest swish of her hand upends the teapot at Zhao's table. The man pauses mid-sentence, frowning at the puddle of hot liquid seeping into the porous bamboo surface.

Lord Ikeda springs upward, his face already reddening profusely. "A thousand apologies!" he splutters, mopping at the table with an embroidered handkerchief pulled from somewhere in his voluminous robes. "I'll call the servants to clean up this mess -"

The clack of a second teapot tipping over cuts him off. And then another, and then another.

Confusion ripples across the garden in a dark cloud. In a single unified motion, all the teacups rise out of their drinkers' hands, to drop and shatter upon the ground.

Suddenly, the yelps of alarmed men leaping out of the way to avoid the spray of scalding tea, or fine shards of porcelain whizzing through the air to scratch at brocade hemlines.

"Gentlemen," Lord Ikeda tries to speak over the commotion, "there is no need to panic -"

"Wanna bet?" Zuko hears Toph mutter under her breath. A tug of her fists sweeps all the fine porcelain shards across the breadth of the garden, to collect neatly in a glittering mound at his feet.

The garden goes deathly silent.

Zuko remains motionless as every eye lands upon him in mute horror. "Lord Ikeda," he says smoothly, tucking his hands into his sleeves. "I took the liberty of seeing myself in."

The unfortunate host drops his tea-sodden handkerchief. His mouth moves wordlessly as Zuko steps over the pile of shattered porcelain dust with careless aplomb. When he finds his voice again, it is little more than a squeak. "P-Prince Zuko! What…how…?"

"I trusted that such a group of loyal Fire Nation patriots would welcome my presence here this morning," Zuko barrels over him, as though he hadn't mustered out a single word of protest. "I must admit, the blossoms are underwhelming at this time of year. But in my opinion, whatever fruit you're sowing here is just about ready for harvesting."

"What are you talking about?" Zhao snaps, pushing to his feet angrily.

Zuko gestures vaguely at the bundles of ash bananas clustered like heavy jewels upon the surrounding trees. "Lord Ikeda has a fine yield waiting. Unless you planned to reap something else this morning."

Zhao bares his teeth, bears down upon Zuko until they are nearly nose to nose. "You have some nerve!" he hisses, spittle flying from his mouth with every word. "Barging into a private gathering uninvited, with a rabble of colony peasants in tow no less -"

"Tsk." Zuko shakes his head slowly. "That's no way to talk about our nation's most powerful allies. They helped free the capital, after all."

He relishes the apoplectic rage that twists Zhao's enraged face. "Free the capital?" he echoes angrily.

"Of course. If left to his own devices, my father would have seen the entire island destroyed. You yourself denounced his destructive actions just the other night, did you not?" Zuko quirks an eyebrow at the burly man now seething with rage in front of him. "I trust the only reason you aren't thanking my friends here on bended knee is because you plan a more formal gesture of gratitude, something more fitting of your station -"

"How dare you!" Zhao explodes, his face turning an impressive shade of red. "You think you can intimidate me, or anyone else here? We don't fear you, your uncle, or your little friends. You may have eked out a fluke victory yesterday, but we would rather die than surrender to the likes of you!"

Somewhere behind them, Zuko thinks he hears Toph snort. But the burly admiral's grotesque face fills his vision, and he holds his gaze patiently. "Be careful what you wish for, Zhao," he says as softly as he can. Yet, in the pindrop silence that grips the entire garden, his voice is almost deafening. "Every man brave enough to show his face in this secret meeting owes their life to the mercy of the Blue Spirit." His lips curl into a humourless smile. "Imagine what I could do now that I no longer wear my mask."

His words ring through the morning air with the timbre of unsheathed steel. And judging from the slow gulps and poorly disguised fear suffusing through every last one of Lord Ikeda's quivering guests, Zuko surmises that they must have produced a similarly chilling effect.

"Prince Zuko." Bujing's hand settles on Zhao's shoulder, pulling him back. But the spindly old General's eyes burn hateful and cold as they rake his face in a longing challenge. "Was that a threat?"

"I have no need for threats," Zuko answers, easily holding the old man's stare. "The so-called Phoenix King is dead, and your tenuous claims to power died with him. Uncle rules in the remains of the Capital, supported by civilians and the old clans alike. To say nothing of the other nations…" He trails off, casting a meaningful glance over his shoulder where Katara, Toph, and Aang still wait patiently in full view of the entire party. "Well. I can't speak for them. But I imagine you would find Uncle and myself far more patient with your antics, all things considered."

A few chuckles and snorts greet his ears at the suggestion. "Of course," Zhao drawls, shrugging off Bujing's arm. "The fabled forgiveness of the great Dragon of the West. Agni help us. " He turns to the rest of the stunned guests, trying to stir them up in a rousing show of fervour. "We are the last, most loyal guard of the Phoenix King's army. If we don't act now, when our homeland is at its most fragile -"

"Hm." Zuko taps his chin thoughtfully, and the single motion cuts Zhao off instantly. "Thank you for volunteering, Zhao."

The Admiral blinks, clearly taken aback by Zuko's newfound audacity. "What?"

"Well, as you said. Our homeland - particularly the Capital - is in an exceptionally fragile state. It is imperative that we all come together, dedicate every resource available to the war restoration effort." Zuko clasps his hands behind his back, turning away from the bristling commanders to address the rest of Ikeda's party. "But even so, I'm humbled by the generosity of every self-avowed patriot gathered here today." He pauses before letting the anvil drop. "Very few men would be loyal enough to remit their entire estates to the throne in such trying times -"

"Wait," Lord Ikeda interrupts, his face blanching as realisation dawns upon him. "You…we what?"

"Well, seeing as the war efforts kept your coffers overflowing to begin with, it seems only fair," Zuko continues, as though he doesn't hear the spluttering protests choking all around him. He paces back to the other end of the garden, as though he was just a prince out on his morning stroll, serene and unperturbed by all else that unfolds around him. "Rather than subject you to the indignity of having your assets seized like common criminals, I thought it would be far more suitable that you be seen as the loyal, selfless heroes of the Empire that you all claim to be -"

The uproar spreading across the garden cuts him off. Tables flip over and the remaining teapots clatter to the ground as the disgraced noblemen leap to their feet. The flash of fire brimming in clenched fists gleams in the corner of Zuko's eye.

"This is outrageous!"

"He must have gone mad!"

"To wander in here without so much as a guard and threaten our livelihoods -"

Zuko clears his throat. The angered nobles fall into an uneasy silence, but the menacing red glow of their fire only grows brighter.

"You misunderstand the situation," he says, raising his hands in what could almost be taken as an entreating gesture. Almost. "What greater testament to your honour could there be than for the citizens of our great nation to see my father's most stalwart supporters turn around and offer their wealth to restore the very land he destroyed? We would let you keep one of your residences, of course, you would be permitted that much, so long as all of this -" he waves vaguely at the garden around them, "- ceases immediately."

"What you're suggesting is little more than house arrest!" Governor Ukano shouts, staggering toward him in a fury so blind that he nearly trips over one of the toppled tables.

Zuko shrugs. "I hear that the maximum-security cells in the Boiling Rock are far less comfortable. If you disagree, we will be more than happy to accommodate you there."

Zhao lets out a scornful laugh, twisting into an offensive bending stance. "Who is this we you keep referring to, Prince Zuko?" he goads. "I don't see the Imperial guards with you, or even any soldiers for that matter. Do you honestly expect us to believe that the four of you could take all of us to the Boiling Rock against our will?"

"Why not?" Zuko counters, sensing his friends twitching with impatience behind him. "You're all just men. We stopped the eruption of the caldera itself."

"You're bluffing," Zhao huffs in disbelief. He lunges forward to punch a flaming fist in Zuko's direction. But a screaming gust of wind intercepts its trajectory, batting it off-course.

Zuko watches it set fire to a nearby flowerbush without moving a muscle. In the periphery of his vision, Aang relaxes, touching the glider strapped to his back for reassurance if nothing else. "That was ill-advised, Zhao," he says lightly, folding his arms across his chest. "Not that I can fault you for the impulse to start practising firebending forms, but I had hoped your aim would be better."

"I've had enough of this!" Zhao roars, whirling around to face his fellow conspirators. "The young prince's foolishness has gone too far! Does he really think he can get away with this?"

"If you do this, it will be the last thing you ever do," Bujing warns. "Royal blood or not, you will never set foot out of here alive."

Zuko raises his eyebrows. "How exactly would that help your cause? My friends and I saved the capital, and everyone knows it. Killing us in cold blood would only make you even more of a pariah in the eyes of the world. Oh, and Katara here is the Chief of the Water Tribes, so if you hurt her now, you might plunge the nation back into another war it cannot sustain." He rubs at the back of his head. "And even if you managed to get past all that, you would then have to negotiate much more unfavourable terms with someone far less considerate than myself. My sister, for example."

Some of the noblemen visibly shudder in horror at the thought of "negotiations" with Azula.

"The Princess is still bedridden from that embarrassment of an Agni Kai!" Zhao retorts, even as his face grows shiny with sweat. "Prince Zuko, did you honestly think you can waltz in here, make empty threats that you have no hope of enforcing, and get away with it? What makes you so confident that we won't put up a fight?"

Zuko picks at the undersides of his nails. "Actually…I was hoping that you would." His eyes flick upward to meet Zhao's through the curtain of his dishevelled bangs. "Why do you think I brought my friends along?"

He savours the sight of all the blood receding from Zhao's mottled face, and the cold wash of fear setting in where fury had once galvanised him. Zuko wonders what they must look like to Zhao and his cronies - the four unlikely companions standing shoulder to shoulder in a united, uncompromising front. "My father immolated himself when it became clear that there was no path to victory left to him. How disappointing that his closest followers lack the same initiative."

He takes a single step forward, and dry grass crunches under the sole of his foot. Zhao unconsciously takes a step backward in response.

"I think I have been more than gracious here, Zhao." Zuko allows his voice to harden, just a touch. "But test my patience again, and you will learn that you and your allies are in fact less of a threat to us than an erupting volcano."

Zhao bares his teeth in a snarl. Sparks hiss from his twitching fingertips.

Zuko stares at him down unflinchingly, as the man lets out a yell. His fists smash into the ground, setting small patches of grass alight.

But the embers dim and quickly fizzle out to little more than smoke, trickling in curls between the man's shaking, clenched fingers.

"Wise choice." Zuko nods curtly, even as his nostrils flare. He surveys the remaining nobles, now ashen and slowly finding their seats again. "I have already notified the transitional leadership in the Capital of your generosity. My uncle has given the order for his agents to take custody of your assets…or rather, your incredibly selfless donation to the restoration efforts." Zuko offers them a very grim smile. "Cooperate, and we can consider all this a small price for showing you mercy. But any further attempts to revive any sort of conspiracy in my father's name…and you will swiftly share in his fate."

The only answer he receives is the sound of more wind stirring through the flat banana leaves. From Zhao and the rest of his father's supporters, he hears only a mutinous silence.

"But none of you seem bold enough to give us that satisfaction." Zuko turns his back to them in a gesture of contemptuous dismissal. "My uncle's men will be here momentarily. Contemplate which of your extensive properties you wish to retain as your residence, where you will live out the remainder of your days without causing further trouble."

He pauses at the edge of the thick hedges to glance over his shoulder one last time. "It goes without saying that should you flee justice again, you will not find us so lenient a second time." His smirk burns, scathing. "Enjoy the rest of Lord Ikeda's blossoms."

"You dragged us all the way along for that?" Toph complains on the flight back home. "We didn't even get to do anything!"

"Sorry!" Zuko exclaims, reddening on the spot. "How was I supposed to know they'd all be such cowards? Zhao has a terrible temper, I was sure he'd try to get more than one measly hit in -"

"I think all things considered, not having to resort to violence was the best outcome?" Aang suggests hopefully from his perch atop Appa's head.

Katara blows a wayward strand out of her eyes. "Speak for yourself, Aang. Those men wouldn't have hesitated to kill us if they thought they could get away with it."

"Still, though." Toph yawns, stretching her arms above her head with a cracking of her joints. "They spouted an awful lot of hot air before cowing like a bunch of ninnies to four teenagers."

"Cowards always do," Zuko sighs, resting his chin on his hand morosely.

Katara chances a touch to his elbow, and feels a jolt go through him in response. "But you didn't give them an inch. I'm sure your uncle would be very proud of how you handled things back there." She beams at him, and the flush on his face deepens still. "You should be, too."

He gapes at her, his mouth parting slightly in surprise. She tries not to stare at it, tries not to remember the heat of it pressed against her skin…

Toph rolls her sightless eyes. "Get a room, you two," she complains.

Katara offers her a sheepish grin. Zuko shrugs away, retreating back into the strange silence that had preoccupied him since morning.

"So…" Aang speaks up, shrill and desperate to change the subject, "what's on the docket for the rest of today? And, uh…" he leans forward, squinting at the tiny figure pacing before the front doors of Zuko's old vacation home, "is that Sokka waiting at the door?"

Katara bolts to the edge of the saddle, peering down at the ground. Her eyes widen. "It is!" she exclaims, her fingers digging into the worn old leather. Unease drums an anxious rhythm in her chest. "What's he doing here?"

"Beats me," Toph remarks with an affected sigh. "But I was so looking forward to the beautiful sound of not-his-squeaky-voice."

"Sokka's voice doesn't squeak," Katara reproaches, shaking her head. "It's more like a squawk, come to think of it…"

"Especially when he gets agitated," Toph agrees with a scoff. "Which is quite often, actually."

A thud and a jarring impact that resonates right through Katara's bones. She shakes her head before vaulting over the bison's side to land heavily on the gravel path.

Sokka spins on his heel as she bears down on him. His scowl punches something like guilt into the pit of her stomach. "And just where have you been?" he demands without so much as a word of greeting. "You told us you'd be back by dawn!"

"I know, I know," Katara admits, rubbing the back of her neck. The mantle hanging over her shoulders suddenly feels very heavy. "Something came up, alright?"

Sokka tosses a nasty glare at Zuko, struggling to dismount with Toph and Aang's help. "Oh, I bet it did," he grumbles. "But I'm sure your other very capable friends here can handle it." His hand clamps on her wrist without warning. "Come on -"

"Hey!" Katara protests as Sokka drags her down the stairs winding down the hillside. Away from the old holiday home and her friends gawking mutely before it. "Sokka! What's gotten into you?"

"I'd ask you the same question but I don't think I want to know!" her brother snaps. "Katara, you're the Chief of the Water Tribes now! You can't just run off and abandon your duties whenever your boyfriend comes calling!"

"That's not what happened!" Katara grumbles, her cheeks stinging at the accusation buried in her brother's barbs. "I told Atka and Atanek to hold down the fort while I was gone, it's not like I just shirked off my Chief duties for fun! Besides, Iroh needed us -"

"Oh yeah. I'm sure that'll go over real well with the others," Sokka grates sarcastically. "They'll be so happy to see their new Chief taking orders from the new leader of the Fire Empire after everything they've done."

"I wasn't taking orders from him!" Katara argues hotly. "There was a situation, okay? Ozai's closest followers were planning to organise a coup or something, and we stopped them -"

"It doesn't matter!" Sokka explodes, staggering to a halt as they reach the bottom of the hill and white sand sinks beneath their feet. He spins around, resting his hands on Katara's shoulders. "Katara, you just ran off and left your people without a leader in a foreign land for two whole days! And this was after you dragged them on a breakneck journey across the world to fight Iroh's war. How do you imagine that reflects upon you?"

Katara's jaw drops before she hoists it back up into a scowl of her own. "That's not fair!" she retorts, jamming her hands on her hips. "This wasn't just Iroh's war, and everyone knew it. We all took on the risk of coming here -"

"And not everyone made it." Sokka's eyes soften momentarily. "Katara, I know it's not fair. But you have people that you're responsible for now. People that you dragged here. Who got injured in the fight, who died because they did what you told them to!"

Katara opens her mouth to argue but the words die on her lips. Her eyes begin to burn, and she raises a hand to rub at them furiously.

"And right now, those people need to know their chief fights for them," Sokka continues gently, his grip on her shoulders loosening. "Not for some Fire Nation internal dispute that, frankly, Iroh is more than capable of handling by himself at this point -"

"You're right."

Sokka makes a strange choking sound. "What did you say?"

"I said you're right." Katara presses the heels of her hands against her aching eyes, shrugging out of Sokka's grasp. "I thought Ozai was the biggest threat to our people's safety. But he's gone now, and…and anything his followers get up to from now on…I'm not the one who can stop it."

The events of that morning play through her mind, with Zuko standing tall and capable against that garden full of wealthy conspirators. He had barely needed to lift a finger to quash the sad fledgling rebellion before it even had a chance to grow. Why had she thought he needed her there by his side in the first place?

"I guess I just needed to see it for myself," she mumbles, ignoring the way her heart slowly sinks in her chest. "That Ozai's war ended with him. I needed to make sure - Sokka, I thought it was the right thing to do -"

"Hey." Sokka's hands close over her own, big enough to swallow them entirely. "Don't beat yourself up over it now. That's my job."

"And what's my job, Sokka?" She stares at him pleadingly, overcome by the weight of it all. "I have to lead the Tribes, I have to be there for my people. I have to protect us from threats outside our lands, I have to make sure we have close ties with people like my friends, who can help us rebuild -"

Her brother is the first to look away. His shoulders slump. "When you put it that way…it does sound like a lot."

"I'm just one person," she says quietly. "And I'm still figuring it all out."

"Of course you are," Sokka replies without missing a beat. His eyes find hers again, the mirror image of her own. "Just remember…you don't have to do it all alone, yeah? I'm here for you."

"I know." She gives him a watery smile. "I guess I'm still getting used to that too."

He winces, but says nothing in return. There was nothing else for him to say.

"Come on," Katara sighs, trudging past him to the single Water Tribe skiff beached in the foaming shallows. "I've been away long enough as is."

It isn't until the sun dips low in the sky that Katara finally stumbles back onto her skiff, docked at one of the few intact piers. So bone-weary from her visits that she scarcely notices the others already waiting for her on board, until one of them clears their throat.

"Chief." Ulva's voice finds her from a thousand fathoms away.

Katara freezes, her hand planting against the wall to brace the weight of her leaden body. Her eyes widen in surprise to see the small group seated around the little table in her cabin: Pakku, Ulva, Suluk, Atanek, and Atka, patiently waiting for their Chief to return and relieve them of their duties.

Sokka waits apart from them, his back to the room as he stares intently out the window. Low in the sky, the faint sliver of moonrise pierces the cool blue glow of twilight.

"How long have you been waiting here?" Katara asks, staggering across the floor to sink onto her knees at the head of the table. Her joints creak with every movement, the tassels hanging against her chest clack loudly as she shifts her weight, trying to find a comfortable position.

"Long enough," Ulva admits, finally meeting Katara's eyes. "It…it has been somewhat chaotic without you here."

"I'm sorry," Katara says automatically. "I got caught up in a situation -"

"It doesn't matter." Sokka turns away from the window, his face uncharacteristically stern. "Yes, Katara's the chief, but things can't fall apart when she steps away for a moment. That's not how good leadership works."

An uncomfortable silence settles around the table.

"The boy is right," Atka pronounces heavily. "Apply too much pressure to a single point and see what happens. The Tribes now face challenges that no chief before has ever had to face."

"All the same," Ulva says quietly, her head bowed low, "people are free to feel how they want about it."

"What do you mean?" Katara asks, her mouth going dry. "Feel what, exactly?"

She catches the others exchanging uneasy glances among themselves, each growing more reluctant to speak as the seconds wear on.

But at last, giant chieftain Suluk finds his voice. "The war ended two days ago," he answers simply. "Now our people grow restless."

"Already?" Katara echoes, taken aback.

"Most of the Northern fighters long to return to their families," Atanek explains, taking up the narrative in measured tones. "They think of their home, still lying in ruins after the siege, and near every able-bodied bender gone from its shores. They think of the equinox two days ago, and how every day that remains is a race against the onset of winter. And how little protects their loved ones from the elements should the seasons turn before their return."

Katara swallows slowly, absorbing the older chieftains' counsel with tightly pursed lips. "I see," she answers curtly. "And the Southern survivors?"

Atka bows her head, strands of grizzled hair shielding her lined face from view. "Most of us have no idea what is left of our home," she explains, holding out her knotted hands. "It has been so many years since we have seen its shores."

"So everyone's impatient now," Katara guesses, resting her steepled fingers on the weathered driftwood surface. "Every day spent here is an insult to their sacrifice."

"You must understand." Atanek holds her gaze in earnest. "When you declared Ozai's illegitimate reign as the greatest threat to our safety, your people answered. They left their homes, they endured a grueling journey across the world to fight to liberate the very nation that caused most of our grief for the past century. All that, they did for you. Because they believed in you."

"I know," Katara acknowledges, "but -"

"And now," Ulva interjects nervously, "the longer we wait here, the more discontent is sown among our ranks. Even among the other women, I start to hear it. We did our duty, we spilled our blood, we gave our lives for a country that will never do anything for us in kind."

Katara absently picks at the slivers peeling off the tabletop, statue-still under the intense scrutiny everyone levels upon her. "Everyone's done so much. I acknowledge that," she admits, every word foreign on her tongue. "But our resources are so limited, and we have a lot of work ahead of us. I haven't forgotten that."

She's mildly hurt by the communal sigh of relief that ensues across the little table. "I just thought everyone could benefit from a little more rest," she continues into the expectant silence, now fiddling with the carved tassels hanging against her chest. "It was a long and difficult journey here, and it will be equally so on the way back. We need to replenish our stores, repair our ships, tend to our wounded. But we will go home soon. I promise."

Suluk and Atanek glance at each other thoughtfully. "I am sure many among us will be relieved to hear that from you," Atanek says at last. "By your leave…can we spread the word among the others?"

"Tell whoever you like," Katara grumbles, stung. "I have a lot of things competing for my attention. I need people to be patient while I figure this out." She hangs her head, suddenly feeling very small. "Nobody taught me how to be a Chief."

"Indeed," Atanek agrees, a little too readily for Katara's taste. "Which is why it is important to take counsel from wise people."

"Your father counted trusted advisors from several different areas of the tribe," Atka speaks up. "He was a capable warrior but what did he know of shipbuilding, or repairing shelters, or storing up our inventories for the winter?" She offers Katara a gentle smile. "A wise leader must know what he - or she - does not know. In time, you will learn."

"I see," Katara muses. "Tell me, how many will be ready to travel by the turn of the month?"

A sigh of relief passes around the table. "It is hard to say," Ulva answers, running a hand along the little braids woven through her hair. "Those in the harbour city hospitals are unlikely to recover in such a short time. But we have a few dozen scattered among our infirmary ships and the neighbouring islands who should take a turn for the better soon."

"Good," Katara nods, even as her heart plummets further in the recesses of her churning stomach. "Get me a list. I want exact numbers for the journey home. Then we'll need to see how many ships we need, take stock of our inventories, and figure out a plan forward for the people we have to leave behind."

"Leave behind?" Atanek echoes incredulously. "With everything going on, Chief, is that a good idea?"

"What's the alternative?" Katara presses. "It'll be a death sentence if we move our critically injured too early. This is the only way."

"And…" Atka chances, the only one brave enough to voice her thoughts out loud. "That means some of us will have to stay behind to tend to them. Won't they?"

Katara closes her eyes, rubbing at her temples. "Yes," she mutters irritably. "I suppose it does. But I won't force anyone to stay behind against their wishes. I'll stay behind myself to tend to them if I have to -"

"With all due respect," Atka speaks quickly with a small frown. "How can you stay behind? I think many of our own would willingly volunteer instead if it meant you could lead the restoration of the Southern Tribe."

"That makes it a good strategy then," Pakku interjects witheringly. "Katara cannot ask her people to do something she herself isn't willing to do. This way, we'll have no shortage of volunteers to stay behind to help heal their countrymen, reluctant as they will be to do so."

"Right." Katara's frown deepens. "It won't be easy. There's a lot of work waiting for us in the South. And let's not forget how badly the North was affected by the siege as well. How in the spirits' name are we going to rebuild both at the same time?"

Sokka pats her shoulder consolingly. "We'll figure it out. And if we don't, it'll only be a matter of time before Hahn or someone tries to fight you for your seat again."

A charged silence greets his words.

"Over my dead body," Suluk growls, his fingers grazing the club tucked into his belt.

"Water does not flow uphill," Atanek agrees, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"But it does take its time," Katara warns, rising to her feet. She surveys the pair of chiefs imperiously, smoothing her fur cloak over her shoulders. "You two were the first to support me as Chief. I hope this means I won't regret putting my trust in you now." She sighs. "I can't be in two places at once. And the South needs my attention more than the North at the moment."

She watches them the way she had studied Zuko's enemies back in Lord Ikeda's tea gardens earlier that day. But if either of the chieftains harboured any sort of resistance against her, they mask it well.

"We are honoured to serve the Chief of the Water Tribes," Atanek answers for both of them. His fist presses against his heart as he inclines his head. "We will do our duty, whatever we are called to do, for the best of the Tribes."

"And I'll remember that," Katara acknowledges, sensing the world already starting to sway beneath her feet with the speed of its transformation over the past few days. "Alright. As my representatives in the Northern tribe, here's what I'll need you to take care of while I'm away in the South…"

"You caught my dad doing what?"

Zuko closes his eyes, the sound of Mai's voice drumming a headache into the hollows of his skull. "You heard what I said."

"That idiot!" Mai hisses, her fingers running along one of the countless blades hidden along her sleeve. "He was a coward all this time, only to choose now to take a stand?"

Zuko pauses as Mai rages on in an uncharacteristic display of fury. He exchanges a confused glance with his uncle, seated behind the long table with the remaining members of the transitional council in their hastily-erected hall atop the foothills of the volcano.

"Lady Mai," Uncle Iroh attempts at length. "Once again, we are very sorry to have mixed you and the rest of your family up in this. Your father's assets were forfeited to the council this morning as a result of his actions. But should you require anything at all -"

Mai cuts him off with a scoff, twirling a shuriken in a whir of silver between her fingers. "Don't bother. My dad should have done what he kept urging my mom and me to do our whole lives. Stay out of it and not get involved." Her lips curve into a humourless smile. "I think the least he deserves is to spend the rest of his life cooped up in some tiny house, far away from all his friends, with only my mom and Tom-Tom to keep him company."

Zuko covers his mouth with a fist, fighting to disguise his surprised snort as a coughing fit. Behind the long table, Uncle Iroh's eyebrows rise to the level of his hairline. "And what of yourself, Lady Mai?"

She shrugs. "I'll figure something out."

"Are you sure?" Uncle Iroh's eyes bore into hers pleadingly. "Your bravery and support for my nephew were invaluable resources in turning the tide of the war. I remain indebted to you for your courage -"

"Spare me." Mai yawns, already turning away. "If I learned anything this year, it's that I've had enough politics and court drama to last me a lifetime. All I want now is a quiet place where I can throw shiny things at people in peace."

"I think that can be arranged," Uncle Iroh remarks, leaning back in his seat with a sigh. A slightly mournful expression crossed his lined, weary face. "A dear friend of mine from Ba Sing Se gave her life in my service. She left her shirshu behind and I understand that Nyla is a prickly creature."

Mai perks up, interest crossing her features despite herself. "A shirshu?" she asks carefully. The blade stills in her hand. "What, was she some kind of bounty hunter or something?"

"I suppose you could say that."

"Hm." Mai taps at her chin thoughtfully. "I'll have to mull it over."

"Well, that was remarkably easy," Lady Mao remarks once Mai takes her leave. She stretches in her seat next to Uncle Iroh behind the long table. "I would never have thought to placate a gormless governor's daughter with something as practical as a shirshu."

"That's Mai," Zuko grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She's cut from a different cloth as her parents."

"As are many of us in this room," Lady Mao remarks, surveying him with a shrewd gaze. "It was your escapades as the Blue Spirit that finally freed my daughter from your father's clutches, wasn't it?"

"It wasn't just me," Zuko mumbles, looking away. "I had help from Kuba and his associates among the civilian rebels."

"Prince Zuko is as humble as he is resourceful," Kuba declares from his place behind the long table. "My associates and I would never have made a single difference in our resistance if the Blue Spirit hadn't lent his efforts to our cause."

"Indeed." Zuko feels Lady Mao's searching eyes linger upon him like a spotlight, illuminating him from head to toe. "Who would have ever expected such a thing from Ozai's firstborn?"

"I chose my heir well," Uncle Iroh says simply, and Zuko is floored by the warmth radiating from the lined smile spreading across his face. "All in all, we set far too much importance upon bloodlines, I think."

"Careful, Lord Iroh." Lady Mao offers him a sardonic smile. "Some may consider that overly sentimental…even coming from you."

"All the same." Uncle Iroh shrugs. "Thanks to my nephew and his esteemed friends, we seem to have nipped our first rebellion in the bud, and acquired significant resources in the process. A measure of ruthlessness that I had not expected, and yet…"

Zuko holds out his hands wearily. "That was Azula's idea," he explains, squirming under the combined scrutiny of the three leaders behind the table. "Well…she wanted to kill them all, or take hostages from their families to ensure their good behaviour. But without resorting to any of that…taking away their means and cutting everyone off from one another seemed sufficient for our purposes."

"How long do you think that'll last?" Kuba asks dryly. "Those old men are just going to be holed up in their little corner of the country, fixated upon getting revenge and all their wealth back."

"I know," Zuko groans. "We'll just have to keep a close eye on them. With luck, it'll be at least a few more seasons before they find a way to cause trouble again."

"They will find it much more difficult to organise without their overflowing coffers," Lady Mao says crisply. "And they did not get what they expected today. Instead of Iroh's fabled forgiveness, they were met by a response crafted from their own playbook." Her eyes glitter with amusement. "I do believe Zhao and his ilk will think twice before risking anything else. Especially if Princess Azula and Kei Ling have thrown their support behind you."

"I wouldn't say that, exactly," Zuko retorts. "I just…she offered her suggestions and some of them were useful."

Lady Mao shrugs. "There is wisdom in all places. Even insanity, if you look hard enough."

The council adjourns some time later, when both Lady Mao and Kuba decide to retire for the night. Zuko lingers on the threshold awkwardly, waiting for his uncle to finish organising his countless sheafs of paper in towering stacks.

A knock at the door confuses the pair of them. "Did you have any other audiences scheduled?" Zuko asks, frowning.

"Not at this late hour," his uncle answers, adjusting the piles of papers into some semblance of order. "Oh well, let them in…"

Zuko's fingers graze the doorknob before the doors bounce open, to reveal Katara's brother marching inside without a by-your-leave. And then, Katara herself, trailing behind with a sheepish expression on her painted face.

Uncle Iroh springs to his feet, his face spreading with delight. "Chief Katara! How good to see you."

"I'm sorry to barge in on you like this," Katara says quickly, bobbing her head in a show of contrition. "I know it's late."

"Not at all. You are always welcome here." Iroh gestures at the straight-backed chairs where the day's petitioners usually seated themselves. "Please. Make yourselves comfortable. I cannot thank you enough for your help this morning…"

Zuko watches in growing amazement as Katara and her brother settle in, Katara exchanging pleasantries with his uncle while Sokka remains tight-lipped and brooding with big brotherly disapproval.

It hadn't been so very long ago when the thought of Katara and Uncle Iroh reaching any kind of peace had seemed downright impossible. Katara had been so furious, so determined to tar his uncle with the same brush as his late father. It had been a festering, self-destructive fury that had nearly consumed her whole.

To see her taking her place before Uncle Iroh now as the Chief of her people and his honoured guest fills him with a swell of pride. How far she had come from the lost, desperate girl she'd been in the North. How far they had both come in their regard and respect for each other.

It fills him with joy, even as the lingering apprehension rears at the sight of her.

"...and meanwhile Bumi tells me the earthbenders have broken ground on the new foundations," his uncle rattles off the day's developments, positively beaming in his excitement. "Hopefully it will be only a few more weeks before the new islands will be hospitable, and we can move our sights to relieving pressure on the lower city -"

"You mean you're putting the aristocratic quarter there?" Katara asks.

"No." Iroh shakes his head, grinning. "I intend to build districts for the common people. For those whose homes were destroyed by the domestic upheaval caused by my brother, long before the comet arrived."

"Oh." Katara blinks, nonplussed. "That's…that's…"

"Bumi says the new islands will yield excellent soil," Iroh continues. "And so I thought, once construction is complete, we could parcel it out and distribute it, perhaps to the common folk with experience in farming - or an interest at least - I am sure for many returning from such a long journey away, they might appreciate good Fire Nation soil to work. And how wonderful to develop an agricultural hub so close to the Capital -"

"That sounds like a great idea," Katara answers, her shoulders stiffening visibly as her fingers fiddle with the folds of her heavy purple cloak. "I hope it all works out and that it'll be worth it in the end." She clears her throat pointedly, "but we all have a long winter ahead of us."

Iroh nods absently, rubbing at his jaw. "Indeed. Hopefully by then, we can turn our attentions to reconstructing the upper city once the new islands are inhabited -"

"That's all well and good," Katara interrupts as diplomatically as possible, "but the Fire Nation capital isn't the only place that needs rebuilding." She steeples her fingers in her lap, squaring her shoulders resolutely, forcing out the words that she had been reluctant to utter before. "I…I'll be leaving behind a token force of healers and a diplomatic mission, mainly to attend to our wounded who will not be ready to travel by the turn of the month -"

"The turn of the month?" Iroh echoes, his eyes widening in a sudden realisation. "But - but that is barely two weeks away!"

Katara shrugs helplessly, the same dread that has been haunting Zuko all day now painting itself into the furrows of her lips pursed tightly together. "That should be enough time for us to prepare for the journey home."

"Already?" Iroh struggles. "But - but it's so soon."

"I know," she answers stiffly. "But my people grow impatient with every passing day. I can't put it off any later than that." She lets out a sigh, her gaze intent on her restless fingers and carefully avoiding both Iroh's and Zuko's now trained upon her. "We have our own homes to look after. And…and I shouldn't have to remind you that many of us - Sokka and I included - haven't seen the South Pole in years."

As though in response, Sokka crosses his arms and leans back in his seat.

"Of - of course," Uncle Iroh falters, his expression softening. "And…and when they go, will you be leaving with them, Chief Katara?"

Zuko turns away, pinching the bridge of his nose, knowing what her answer would be even before she finally says it out loud. "I have to," she replies faintly, before clearing her throat and finding the strength to press on. "It isn't just the South that needs rebuilding. The North was in pretty bad shape after the siege, and Aujuittuq had completely thawed, and -"

"She's needed there," Zuko says, feeling his uncle's disbelieving eyes settle upon him in an unspoken, rather impertinent question. "After everything they've been through, the people of the Water Tribes need their Chief." He offers her a wistful smile. "The rest of us will just have to adapt."

Everyone stares at him in a gobsmacked silence, but Katara nods at him gratefully. Her eyes begin to mist with relief and only then does he belatedly understand her strange reluctance up until now - she didn't want to leave so soon, she was dreading this just as much as I was…

"Thank you for understanding," she whispers hoarsely. Her fingers wrap around the carved crescent ornament hanging at her breast, tugging at it absently. "And…I'm sorry for springing this on you so suddenly." And now her gaze is fixed upon his pleadingly, as though she speaks to him and only him now. "I thought…I thought we'd have more time."

He chokes, trying to maintain his composure under his uncle's keen eye and the dark, slightly scandalised glower that Sokka tosses in his sister's direction. "We all did," he answers very softly. "But there's a lot that's changed."

She swallows nervously. "Not everything, I hope?"

He can't help the faint upward quirk of his mouth at the rest of the question that she doesn't dare voice in front of her cantankerous brother. "Of course not." He finds his way to his uncle's side, rests a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry about us. We can figure it out. Just, uh…" Sokka raises an eyebrow at him and Zuko tries not to flounder under his suspicious stare, "just don't forget about us either."

But Katara smiles at him with shining eyes, and to Zuko it is like watching the moon rise in a sky full of stars. "I won't," she declares, clutching at the crescent-tassel over her heart with shaking fingers. "This isn't the end. I promise."

"Of course it's not," Sokka interjects sardonically, lumbering to his feet. He smirks at Zuko knowingly. "How else is she going to chase you down for the reparations you owe us?"

Katara punches his shoulder hard and Sokka yelps. And when she finally drags him out by the ear, heedless of his indignant spluttering, Zuko can't help the snort of amusement that escapes him.

"Well," his uncle sighs, also rising to his feet with a groan, "that was unexpected."

Zuko shrugs, accepting the arm that Uncle Iroh offers him. "Not really," he counters, unsure why his steps suddenly feel feather light. "She's their Chief. She was always going to have to return home one day."

"You seem to be taking this rather well," his uncle observes. "Given how close you two are."

"Maybe," Zuko answers, kicking aimlessly at the ground. "More like…I've been dreading this moment for so long, Uncle. And now that it's finally here, I'm just…relieved." He shakes his head vehemently. "Does that even make any sense?"

In the corner of his eye, Uncle Iroh's face creases with sympathy. "Of course, my nephew. I know I will miss her presence immensely. I cannot imagine how you will feel without her here by your side."

"I'm happy for her," Zuko mumbles, his ears burning. "She needs to go home. She's wanted nothing more for so many years. Besides, I made it this far on my own, didn't I?"

"Indeed," his uncle agrees, still studying him with that infuriating piercing gaze. "You will be busy here, if nothing else. And we will have to somehow put some meat back on your bones." He pinches despairingly at the excess fabric of Zuko's robes hanging loosely off his skeletal frame. "Look at you, nephew, you're wasting away before my very eyes…"

Zuko shakes his head with a wry smile as his uncle's laments wash over him. A strange feeling settles over him, the relief of finality replacing the heavy burden of dread that had haunted him all the while.

She's leaving. She's going back home. Every step brings it closer to reality. And yet…

This isn't the end. She said so herself. She promised.

Zuko knows better than to doubt the weight of her word. Not when a world on fire hadn't been enough to keep them apart.

So what was a little distance compared to everything they had overcome so far? What was the challenge of new responsibilities, new beginnings, new journeys that lay in wait for them to traverse?

It's not going to be easy.

Nothing worth having ever is.

Chapter 69: crossroads

Chapter Text

author's notes. surprise double update! this is the second-last chapter of the story, before we get into the epilogue.

i give you…

southern lights.

chapter lxix. crossroads

your world was not mine
your eyes told me so

"the old ways" / loreena mckennitt

The turn of the month arrives in what feels like no time at all.

Katara hardly feels the days passing by, her every waking moment consumed by preparations for the journey home. Her attention split between the wounded and the able-bodied, the Northerners and the Southerners, the few volunteers who had graciously decided to remain behind in the Fire Nation to work in the infirmaries…

"I plan for them to stay until year's end," she explains to General Iroh and the rest of the transitional council. "But we'll have to see how the wounded recover."

Lady Mao rests her chin against her palm with an amused smile. "We'll have to test them during Day of the Dragons," she remarks. "If they can keep up for a round of the dragon's waltz, they'll be in good enough shape to return home."

Strangely enough, the almost manic productivity consuming the small island of the capital seems to pull everyone into its orbit. So much so that Katara isn't the only one whose days become filled with planning and logistical meetings. Apart from that first day of reprieve on Ember Island, she barely gets to see her friends at all.

Zuko spends his hours at his uncle's side, navigating the fledgling peace that uneasily replaces his father's tyrannical rule. Aang passes his time with the rest of his brethren, planning their imminent journey back to the flattened Southern Air Temple. Toph joins King Bumi and the rest of his earthbenders in the construction of the brand-new island…

And after a full week spent loading stockpiles of supplies onto the moored Water Tribe skiffs bobbing in the piers of the Budo Bay, the day of departure finally dawns upon the freshly-restored harbour plaza to the surprise of all.

Katara wipes her brow, watching as a pair of Southern fighters lug a crate of possum-chicken jerky onto the nearest boat. "That should be the last of it," she remarks with a sigh.

"About time, too," Sokka declares, his boomerang twirling impatiently in his fingers. "We can't get going quick enough."

She glances at him reproachfully out of the corner of her eye, before shaking her head and turning back to survey the rebuilt plaza. Where crowds of mismatched people gather and talk excitedly: Water Tribe fighters chatting with Air Nomads harnessing their bison, earthbenders and Fire Nation civilians wiping sweat off dirt-stained foreheads as they meander into the stone square, eager to bid their farewells.

Bumi and the other earthbenders had clearly taken their time restoring the harbour square, Katara notices with a small smile. The polished white stone glows in the morning sun, the glittering ground inlaid with coloured volcanic glass cut into fine, intricate patterns. She thinks she recognises some of the repeating floral motifs decorating the periphery of the grand plaza. Tiles bearing what might have been a snapdragon here, a chrysanthemum there, what could be a knotgrass or a wheel or an orchid, even.

But there is no mistaking the proud lotus inscribed upon the platform at its head, where Iroh waits alongside a hunk of rock covered in cloth. Just beneath where the fortress walls tower over them all, framed by the slope of the volcano rising out of the ground behind them.

"I wonder what he's got up his sleeve over there," she remarks, tapping her chin in thought.

Zuko glances over his shoulder at his uncle. "Looks like a speech to me."

"About time!" Aang exclaims, tightening the straps of Appa's saddle. "We couldn't leave without another one of your uncle's motivational speeches!"

Toph rolls her eyes affectionately, leaning against one of Appa's front paws. "Frankly, I'm surprised it took him this long to come up with one."

"Well," Aang points out, not unreasonably, "it's been hard to get everyone in one spot since the end of the invasion. We've all been so busy."

"I know," Katara agrees mournfully, rubbing at her temples. "And it's only going to get worse from here, once everyone goes their separate ways."

Toph kicks at the ground, scuffing the gleaming white stone. "I still can't believe that you guys are leaving," she says glumly, her sightless eyes resting upon Katara and Aang respectively. "It feels like we just got the team back together again."

"It's crazy!" Aang shakes his head. "After all the crazy things we've been through together, and now Team Avatar's splitting up."

"I wouldn't call it splitting up, exactly," Zuko corrects. "More like an extended hiatus, if you ask me."

"I doubt it'll even be that extended," Katara tries to assure them. "I'm sure something will come up that'll require a Team Avatar reunion sooner rather than later."

"You think so?" Toph asks doubtfully.

"Positive. People get restless in peacetime. You'll see." Katara gives her a knowing smile. "I give it six months tops before someone tries something stupid."

Toph barks out a dry laugh. "I don't know if I want you to be right or wrong on that one, Sweetness."

"Well, if Hahn tries to mount a full-scale rebellion against me up North, you're welcome to stop by and knock his head back on his shoulders for me," Katara suggests with only a trace of irony.

Toph brightens. "Only if I can hide out in one of your villages when my dad inevitably sends another bounty hunter after me."

"You don't even have to hide," Katara promises with a mischievous smirk. "I'd love to see him try to do anything to you on my home turf."

Then the booming sound of a gong reverberates across the crowded square, silencing all the conversations and farewells exchanged among the different groups of people gathered there. Amid the slight buzz of confusion, General Iroh motions for silence from his vantage point atop the platform at the head of the great plaza.

"See? I told you," Zuko mutters in her ear. "Speech time."

Katara presses a fist to her mouth to hide a small chuckle.

"My friends!" Iroh calls, his voice resounding over the sudden silence washing across the square. "My brave countrymen, people of all four nations." His amber gaze sweeps across the throngs of people gathered in the plaza: the departing Water Tribes and Air Nomads, and the earthbenders and Fire Nation citizens who had come to see them off. "Look at all the incredible things we have accomplished together."

A smattering of applause follows his words; someone in the distance lets out a cheer. Iroh raises his hands, a beaming grin spreading across his broad, lined face. "Time stops for none of us here, and everyone is eager to return to their homes. I understand this. But I could not let you go without at least offering my humblest gratitude. Or acknowledging the debt that my nation owes you all for the heroic, brave sacrifices you made here."

He swallows, an uncharacteristically solemn expression flitting across his face. "And before you all leave, I thought…I thought to commemorate what we have done with a small token in your honour."

Katara frowns in confusion. "Token?"

"I have no idea," Zuko confesses, his breath tickling the shell of her ear.

Iroh waves a hand, and a pair of firebenders march up to the shrouded chunk of rock waiting behind him. They pull at the ties, tug off the nondescript white fabric to reveal, amid a chorus of gasps, a monument unlike anything Katara has even seen. Pairs of magnificently sculpted creatures entwined around a budding lotus: shaggy sky bison, powerful badgermoles, sinuous koi fish, and glittering dragons with their bejewelled scales and lifelike eyes…

Her fingers cover her parted mouth, and around her, the others more or less do the same. The creatures looming over them all seem to breathe, as though whoever had carved it had found a way to turn stone into flesh.

"Our victory is not of one day's making," Iroh intones amid the awed hush of admiration consuming his audience. "It is a reminder of everything we are capable of when we live in balance. How, when hope seemed at its most fragile and our defeat all but guaranteed, we came together to save this city and the world beyond from the madness of tyranny. That Sozin's comet did not spell the end for us, but rather a brave new beginning."

Iroh smiles, and his eyes scan the crowded plaza like an amber searchlight. "And to think, all of this may yet have remained out of reach, if not for the unbreakable spirits of four exceptional youths." Blood gushes hotly to Katara's face as the heads start to turn curiously in their direction. "Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation. Aang of the Southern Air Temple. Toph Beifong of Gaoling. And Chief Katara of the Southern Water Tribe."

Toph's hand closes uncertainly around hers. Katara squeezes it reassuringly, baulking under the renewed attention directed toward them. Aang clears his throat awkwardly, as Appa lowers his head onto the ground with a soft thump.

"Truth be told, when I first dreamed of the Avatar project, I did not imagine anything useful to come of it," Iroh confesses with a wry smile. "Like so many of my ideas, it seemed fanciful at best. Where would it even be possible to find four different benders willing to put aside their differences? And to what end? Even I did not dare hope for anything to come of it all."

"Imagine if he'd told us that at the outset," Zuko grumbles under his breath. Katara smiles wanly at the thought.

"But the four reluctant youths who would challenge everything I thought I knew about this world," Iroh continues, smiling to himself as though relishing a private joke, "though they could not be more different from each other…the four of them together accomplished what the Avatar himself could not."

"Hold up," Toph mutters under her breath. "We did what now?"

"Together, they stopped the volcano from completely destroying this island," Iroh declares, gesturing vaguely at the air above him, where the slopes of the slumbering mountain overlook the entire harbour. "They shattered the threads of illusion separating not just the four nations, but the four elements as well! And above all else, they have proven that through hard work and trust, anything is possible." His eyes grow misty even as his voice rings out, gaining strength. "That although building bridges between our peoples is the harder course, it will always be far more powerful than sowing division. There is no power on this earth greater than love, justice, and the need for all living things to be free."

A resounding cheer rises up to greet his proclamation, but Iroh raises a hand for yet more silence. "We stand at a crossroads now," he announces, his face darkening for a moment. "One path is clear to us. It will take us back to the world we have always known - full of fear and hatred and discord."

He clears his throat, and his hopeful smile is lit by the dazzling rays of the rising midday sun. "But I ask you all to join me instead upon the path we have never taken. Take this leap with me, and let us find a world we have never known before. A world full of possibilities, where peace and respect and balance between our peoples remain a constant within our grasp." He holds his hands out entreatingly. "Will you join me?"

A deafening roar greets his words, as everyone crammed in that rebuilt harbour plaza cheers as one.

Everything goes blurry as tears well in Katara's eyes. She wipes at them absently with the back of her hand, unable to follow the choked up reply that Iroh gives to the exuberant crowd.

"Wait," Aang complains, frowning as Iroh takes his leave and dismounts from the high platform with the lifelike statue, "did Iroh just pull the plug on the Avatar project?"

"You know, it was kind of unclear," Sokka quips airily with a shrug. "Maybe the real Avatar was just the friends we made along the way."

And then, in what feels like no time at all, the jostling crowd of people clusters against the edge of the harbour piers. Katara finds herself squished amid the long queues of waterbenders, waiting to board their assigned boats that would ferry them back to their respective homes. And the multiplying representatives from the various other nations vying for their attention, for one last chance to say goodbye.

"Safe travels, Chief," Atanek bids her solemnly, clasping at her forearm with a firm grip.

"And to you," Katara returns, covering his hand with both of hers. "Keep us up-to-date on the journey north."

"You'll come visit us again, won't you?" Jukka asks rather impertinently, his dimples flashing at her in a mischievous grin.

"Of course," Katara retorts, straight-faced. "Someone has to make sure you're not goofing off all winter when your Chief isn't around."

"We'll wait for you to join us soon," Tartok tells her, his milky-white face colouring furiously as the other Northern warriors leap onto their ships. "Hopefully the rest of the healers will come back home with you."

"Don't worry!" his brother Imnek advises, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure you won't be parted from Shila for too long now."

Katara shakes her head with a smile, but says nothing more. Tartok, now blushing furiously, follows his older brother onto the final ship making the voyage north.

She turns her attention to the much smaller group of boats bound for the opposite direction. Watching Atka bark out orders, snapping at the few Southern benders dawdling upon the pier to hurry up, they didn't have all day…

"This better not be the last we see of you!" Ty Lee gushes, hugging Katara so fiercely she nearly sends them both tumbling into the water. "Or I'll personally chase you and your sad blue aura to your little corner at the end of the world!"

"It won't even be that hard," Suki reassures her with a knowing tilt of her chin. "Kyoshi Island isn't that far from the South Pole, all things considered."

"It'll be weird not seeing you around!" Chan offers sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Isn't that right, Dad?"

He casts an amused sidelong glance at his father, who only pinches the bridge of his nose in a show of perpetual frustration. But then even he speaks, to Katara's mounting surprise. "Safe travels, Chief Katara," he admits grudgingly. "And - and I suppose I owe you my thanks. I do not think I would otherwise have lived to return home and be reunited with my son, if I had not surrendered the North to you."

"May the spirits protect you on the way back home!" Shila says brightly, resplendent in her airy grey healer's robe. "Hopefully by the end of the year, I can send some more of us your way once we fix them up!"

"I'm counting on it," Katara tells her with a grin. "I think Tartok is too."

The newly-appointed lead healer giggles and flushes a deep crimson. The wind rifles through her thick hair as she steps back in line with the other healers who had elected to stay behind.

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to fly back to the South Pole?" Master Sutra asks, waving at her sky bison saddled up and ready to take flight. "I must confess, no one outside our temples has ever been quite so aerodynamic as you, Painted Lady."

"Trust me," Katara retorts with a grimace, "if I never had to free-fly again in my life, that would be way too soon for my liking."

And then in a flurry of anxious waving and flat tails whipping against the shallows of the concrete beach, the Air Nomads take flight in a chorus of loud braying bison.

"Don't be a stranger!" Katara calls to Aang as he leaps up onto Appa's head.

"Of course not," Aang retorts, his fingers curling into the reins. "You'd better invite us over to your home once you get it all nice and rebuilt."

"The same goes for you," Toph argues, wearing a small smirk nonetheless. "Although once I'm done here, I suppose I could swing by the Southern Air Temple to help speed things along there."

Aang brightens. "Something to look forward to!" he chirps, sitting up straighter. "Just let me know well in advance, so I can make sure to clean my room!"

Zuko lays a hand on Appa's billowing fur. "If you need anything for the rebuild…just let me know."

"Got it." Aang's smile turns watery, as he tilts his head at the three of them. "I really am going to miss you guys."

But then amid a whooshing overhead and distant yells - Aang what are you doing hurry up - his grip on the reins only tightens. "Sheesh," he complains, rolling his eyes. "Can't a guy get a moment? C'mon Appa, yip yip."

And with a half-hearted tug and an almost-disapproving groan from the sky bison, the pair of them take off to join the rest of the herd. Katara watches them recede into the sky, shrinking until they are as small as the screeching seabirds wheeling through the air. Cutting westward and then swinging south, to hug the elusive line of the horizon. Somewhere beyond that line, following the blazing golden trail of sunlight sparkling against the restless waves, lay a home that she hadn't seen in years.

She dashes at her eyes again, a quivering lump forming fresh in the back of her throat.

"This sucks," Toph huffs, crossing her arms stubbornly. "Are you sure you and Snoozles have to leave?"

"We have to, Toph," Katara answers faintly, unable to take her eyes off the circling birds in the sky, their small grey silhouettes pointing the way home. As though a part of her had already taken flight with the rest of the Air Nomads, longing to reunite with the shores of the Southern Water Tribe, while the rest of her fights to remain rooted in the same spot where she stands. With Toph kicking obstinately at the polished white stone next to her, and Zuko's hand closing around her own in a silent gesture.

Warmth cascades down her spine at his touch, and she turns to glance at him sharply. But his gaze is also fixed on the distant southern sky, where Aang and the rest of the Air Nomads had already disappeared from sight. Where she and the rest of her people would follow soon enough.

"Sifu Katara!"

She stirs at the sound of Iroh's voice calling her name, and growing closer. She turns away from the water. her mouth parting in surprise, and then splitting into a smile, at the sight of the old man cutting a path down the emptying plaza to where she waits with her brother and what remains of her friends.

Sokka's groan reaches her ears. "Make it quick," he tells her curtly. "I think everyone's just about ready to go."

She glares at him. "Can't I have a minute without you breathing down my neck?" she snaps, jamming her hands on her hips.

He raises his hands defensively, but thankfully backs away without another word of protest. She catches his observant gaze lingering upon Iroh, and then Zuko waiting quietly at her side. For an instant, he pauses, his blue eyes narrowing.

She swallows hard, squaring her shoulders. Raises her chin, meeting her brother's accusing gaze with a defiant stare of her own.

To her relief, he only nods reluctantly. The corners of his mouth tug downward as he turns away, finally marching along the skinny pier and jumping on board the nearest skiff, its sails already unfurled and flapping with the beat of the wind.

"What's his problem?" Toph drawls, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Katara smiles sheepishly at Zuko. "I don't think he approves, exactly."

"Excellent." Toph rubs her hands together gleefully. "I'll have plenty to bug him about when I visit you guys next."

"Doesn't it bother you?" Zuko asks quietly. "After everything you did to find your brother…his opinion must mean a lot to you."

"Eh." Katara shrugs noncommittally. "He'll come around."

"Are you sure?" Zuko rubs the back of his neck in growing doubt. "He seems almost as stubborn as you are."

"Almost," Katara emphasises with a smirk. "Anyway, I don't need Sokka's approval any more than you need Azula's."

He coughs uncomfortably at that, a dusting of pink appearing suddenly on his cheeks. "Good point," he concedes. "Speaking of, I think I see her behind Uncle and Mother there."

"Huh?" Katara frowns, studying the impromptu procession of red-clad people trailing Iroh's purposeful steps. But true to Zuko's word, she manages to spot the queen and Azula, barely visible behind his uncle's crimson bulk. "What are they doing here?"

"Doubtless, she's come to humiliate me one last time," Zuko mutters darkly under his breath.

Katara rests a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

All too soon, Uncle Iroh and the rest of Zuko's remaining family have made their way to the water's edge. By now, the plaza appears far more empty, with the Water Tribe people aboard their readying ships and the departure of scores of sky bison. Only the handful of earthbenders and people from the Fire Nation remain to see the tribal fleet set sail.

"Sifu Katara," Iroh greets, once he catches his breath. "I could not let you go without saying one last farewell."

"I'm honoured," Katara tells him kindly, as she hears Zuko groan again under his breath. "I'd say I'll miss getting my butt kicked at pai sho by you…but that would be a lie."

He laughs heartily at that. "It will be very strange to go about my day without your formidable presence guiding my steps."

"Haunting them, more like," Katara corrects, her smirk widening. "Don't worry, General Iroh. This isn't going to be the last you see of me."

"I will hold you to that," he assures her, his face turning abruptly solemn. "I really cannot thank you enough, for everything you have done for me and my family."

Now it's Katara's turn to choke uncomfortably. "I…I didn't really -"

"You saved my children." To her surprise, Queen Ursa steps forward, her hands still fiddling with the belt of her brown herbalist's apron. "First Zuko, and then Azula, after the day of Sozin's Comet."

"Mom," the princess complains snidely. "This isn't an Ember Island play, there's no need for all these theatrics."

"Is that any way to speak to the Water Tribe Chief who saved your life, Azula?" Ursa scolds gently.

Katara fights to keep her face straight as Azula stomps her foot petulantly, reminding her so much of Zuko that she finds herself momentarily unnerved. "I would do the same for anyone who was injured as she was," she answers as diplomatically as possible.

"There," Azula sniffs. "See? Besides, Zuzu would never have taken her back if she'd just let me die in his arms -"

"Azula!" Zuko hisses, his face darkening furiously. He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling puffs of trickling smoke.

His sister falls silent, but her eyes glimmer with amusement.

"You'll have to forgive my daughter," Ursa says wearily. "She learned her manners at her father's knee."

Katara raises an eyebrow. "And gossip at her uncle's, it would seem."

Azula splutters indignantly, even as she flushes the deep crimson of her overcoat.

Uncle Iroh lets out another booming belly laugh, wiping tears of mirth from the corner of his eye. "Come, my niece," he chides, steering Azula by the elbow. "I think you have far more to learn from me besides how to gossip like an old woman."

"Uncle -" Azula protests, even as she allows herself to be dragged away. "I'm not a child!"

"Then you should know how rude it is to impose where you are no longer needed," Uncle Iroh reprimands, even as he flashes a wink over his shoulder at his aghast nephew. "Your brother needs space to say goodbye properly. Isn't that right, Zuko?"

Zuko lets out another aggravated growl. "Please take me with you," he pleads to Katara under his breath, as the rest of his meddling family retreat just out of earshot.

"I'm tempted to," she sighs, her voice shaking with something halfway between a laugh and a sigh. "If only to see the look on Sokka's face the whole trip back."

He rubs at his temples in resignation. "Somehow, I think you'd get a bigger kick out of that than I would."

"Probably," Katara confesses, biting her lip.

But then his eyes flick up to meet hers, peering through the curtain of his hair tumbling over his brow. The flirtatious breeze ruffles the silken black strands every which way, and she longs to thread her fingers through them, to feel its softness against her fingertips just one more time.

Instead, she raises a hand to shield her face from the midday sun climbing high into the apex of the sky. Golden light shimmers through the air, nearly blinding her with its flashing reflections leaping off the silver waters. Drumming its anticipation against the curving boat hulls, illuminating the way back home.

"You must be so excited." Zuko's murmur reaches her from half a world away. "To finally go back."

Her smile turns wistful. "I am," she tells him, even as her throat constricts and her voice wobbles dangerously. "And at the same time…now that I'm here and it's time for me to go home…"

She trails off, her arms hugging across her own chest in spite of the growing heat of the day. As though it would be enough to hold her physically together, when she had never before wanted so badly to split apart in two, to be in two different places at once.

Perhaps it had already started. Perhaps the strange feeling ripping through her sternum was just her traitorous heart, pulling her in one way and then another. Never satisfied to settle in one place but doomed to wander like water. Tearing itself apart, destroying everything around her…and then carving out new spaces where she could belong.

That wouldn't be so bad, she thinks to herself, even as she reaches out to cup his face. Her fingertips skim the trembling tapestry of his features, a reminder if nothing more of how his skin felt under her touch.

Maybe one day I'll find it. I'll find a place where we can both belong. And all this heartache, all this pain and indecision, of feeling torn in half…we could put all of it behind us.

Her eyes meet his, and she sees thoughts of a similar nature swirling through their stormy depths. His lips press together tightly, the swell of his throat bobs as he swallows hard.

After all, it's a big world out there. She blinks and a hot tear trickles lazily down her cheek. There's got to be some place out there with enough room for the two of us.

His thumb rises to wipe at her cheek in a swift, gentle motion. "This is a good thing," he tells her solemnly. "After everything you've been through…you deserve this."

Something claws at the inside of her throat. Blindly, she all but leaps into him, nearly knocking him over with the force of her embrace.

He makes a small surprised sound, staggering backward. But then his chin rests against the top of her head and his arms entwine around her waist, holding her tight like he never wanted to let go.

"I don't want to leave you," she whispers into the crook of his neck, already growing damp under her cheek. "It's not fair."

"I know," he murmurs, his lips moving against her hair. "But this isn't the end. Remember? You said so yourself."

She nods, so overcome for a moment that she's unable to speak.

"But your people need their Chief," Zuko continues softly, firmly. "They look to you for leadership and hope. You inspire them." He swallows again, and she feels it under her cheek. "The way you inspire me."

She shuts her eyes, fists at the collar of his tunic. "Speak for yourself," she chokes out hoarsely. "Your people are so lucky to have you fighting for them."

"I guess that's another thing we have in common then." He lets out a small laugh, and she smiles weakly in response. Pulling back to look at his face, now so close that she can feel the warmth of his breath misting against her skin.

"Katara!" Sokka's voice grates as it shrieks through the air, arcing from the nearest moored boat. "Katara, what are you doing, everyone's ready to go -"

She hisses an exasperated sigh through her teeth. "I guess that's my cue."

"I know." But Zuko's grip doesn't falter. Instead he continues to peer down at her, his piercing gaze seeming to see right through her. "Keep in touch, won't you?"

She stares at his lips, moving with every word and so very close to her own that she can practically feel them. "Of course," she replies, suddenly flushed and dizzy. Every part of her longs to surge forward and capture his lips in hers, to cling to the overwhelming solid warmth of his body. Right there in the crowded harbour plaza, in broad daylight and full in sight of everyone.

But then Sokka's screaming for her again, and she curses under her breath instead. "I really do have to go," she says mournfully. Her fingers twist tighter into his tunic all the same.

A sharp intake of breath, before his lips press against her hairline. "Thank you, Katara," he whispers, so softly that the wind nearly steals it from her ears. "For…for everything."

She shakes her head, before drawing back to give him a very watery smile. "I think I'm the one who should be thanking you," she croaks. "I don't know how I could have made it here without you."

"Don't sell yourself short," he tells her, his hands moving to settle on her shoulders. A warm reassuring weight. "I love you."

"I love you too," she breathes without hesitating. "And…I wish I hadn't taken so long to say it. I wish I could have said it more when I had the chance."

"Well." Zuko's mouth curves into a small, hopeful smile. "You'll just have to come up with more chances, won't you?"

Katara lets out a huff of laughter, stepping back to cover his hands with hers. "You know I will."

"Are you going to make us wait here all day?" Sokka bellows from the prow, cupping his hands around his mouth to achieve an impressive, eardrum-shattering frequency. "We can leave without you if that's what you want!"

"Spirits above, I'm coming!" Katara yells over her shoulder furiously. "Can't a girl get five minutes…"

Zuko diplomatically takes a step back. His expression shifts - amused and stricken at the same time. "Give him hell," he offers wryly.

"That's the plan," she snarls, turning on her heel and marching straight for her ship bobbing patiently in the shallows, cursing a vicious tirade under her breath all the while.

"Well, look who finally decided to join us," Sokka's snarky voice greets her as she vaults on board. "We weren't interrupting anything important, were we?"

"Sokka," she fumes, storming across the small deck to grab him bodily by the collar of his shirt, "so help me. One more word and you can swim the rest of the way home."

He lets out a nervous laugh, gulping visibly. "Yes, Chief," he squeaks, sliding away as her grip loosens. Running his hands to smooth the front of his crumpled shirt, he turns to face the prow. "You heard her, folks! We're going home!"

A resounding cheer rises up from everyone gathered aboard their ship, and all the others moored around them. In spite of her momentary indignation, Katara can't help but feel her spirits lift at that swelling shoal of sound.

The rigging snaps, the wind fills the sails. The blue fabric swells and stretches, expanding to its full volume like a big lung taking its first deep breath. The first of many that would propel them across the seas, back into the south from where they all came.

But Katara hangs back, leaning over the rear deck railing. Watching as the white stone plaza grows smaller with every wave carrying her further from the shore. Where Zuko waits at the water's edge, statue-still, his gaze fixed out to the sea.

But he doesn't look away. Not even as the ships pick up speed, leaving him little more than a little red smudge against the stark white stone.

The wind whips through her hair, already wiping the tears from her cheeks with invisible fingers.

He doesn't turn away, and so neither would she, Katara decides.

She would just have to trust that the same tides pushing her further into the open sea would inevitably lead her back into his arms. As a master waterbender, she would make sure of it.

But in the meantime, an ocean of possibilities opens up around them. And somewhere beyond its glittering shores, it waits for her, calling.

Home.

Chapter 70: endings

Chapter Text

disclaimer. 2023 and friday the 13th still can't make it mine.

author's notes. it feels surreal to be posting this. there's still an epilogue coming to tie things off properly, but this concludes the main events. and i am so damn emotional about it

i give you...

southern lights.

chapter lxx. endings

i'm so afraid i'll lose your love as time goes by
but courage is a fire and a beacon so bright
sunset built a memory, our love sign
and all at sea we come alive

"home" / above & beyond

The sun breaks the line of the horizon, the last dawn of the spring.

It climbs into a rose-coloured sky, its burgeoning glow glinting off the shining slopes of the thawing spirit wilds. Its golden rays grow in intensity, but still pale in comparison to the blinding column of pure white light pulsing at the heart of the South Pole.

Bato stares at it from his perch at the frontier of the innermost settlement. A small handful of igloos and teepees constructed from driftwood and whatever they could repurpose from the piles of rusting machinery the Fire Empire had left scattered all across the antarctic tundra.

Where it had come from, nobody could say. The long months of polar night had passed in unbroken darkness, with neither sun nor moon to add their numbers to the lonely company inhabiting the South.

Only the celestial lights had illuminated the night sky. Only the long-lost shadows of forgotten spirits reached out to them, waiting at the ends of a world that had long left them behind.

How many seasons had passed, Bato wonders, since the pale woman on her blind beast had stumbled across their shores? Two, now almost three. But she had left as suddenly as she had arrived, and with her hope had also departed their lands. He and the few others had waited with cautious optimism, for more news, more strangers, a glimpse of blue sails across the distant horizon…

But staring into that endless expanse of empty sea felt lonelier than waiting at the edge of the stark vastness of the spirit wilds. And amid the longest polar night, abandoned even by the shifting constance of the moon's watchful eye, Bato had willingly taken up guard outside the paltry remnants of Sivusiktok.

If Kanna had been alive, he reflects ruefully, perhaps she would have been able to explain the strange phenomenon. Why the blinding pillar of light had suddenly appeared at the heart of the spirit wilds one late winter's night, spilling from the crown of the starry heavens all the way down to the depths of the desolate snow-covered plains. Why it didn't wax and wane like the moon, which had somehow returned to the sky with the advent of its appearance, but instead continued to crackle and hum with a transcendent, unearthly power.

But Kanna and the other tribal matriarchs were no more, and the old wisdom had been lost with them.

Leaving only Bato and a handful of young warriors to assess the strange beam of ancient light bridging the distance from sky to earth. Their new, constant companion in the shifting seasons as the winds turned mild and daylight finally returned with the vernal equinox. Crowned in fire by the comet bleeding through the sky.

But the moon had waxed to its zenith and then gone dark again, a full cycle since that day. And yet, nothing had come to interrupt the eerie stillness inhabiting the South. Only the protracted daylight that accompanied the advance of spring and the long months of midnight sun that would follow.

There had been no black snows fluttering down upon their land in a warning. No Fire Empire warships piercing the line of the horizon. No firebenders storming their shores and raining destruction down upon them.

I suppose we should be grateful for that much at least.

But then the distant wail of a horn shatters the silence, followed by the muted crescendo of sealskin boots slapping against hard-packed, melting snow.

"Bato!" A young man's voice rings through the morning air in a panicked yell. "Bato! There's been a sighting!"

The old man stiffens, before leaping to his feet in a single smooth motion that belies his years. "What do they see?"

"Ships!" the young man cries. "Ships heading straight for our shores!"

And it begins, Bato thinks grimly, his grip tightening upon his spearhaft. Perhaps we celebrated too soon. He lowers his woolly face covering, staring at the messenger - barely more than a boy. "How many?"

"Too many to count!" The young man shakes his head in rising disbelief, in wonder. "Akiuk says that blue sails all but cover the horizon."

Bato frowns. "Blue sails?" he echoes, jamming the butt of his spear against the ground. "But…but that would mean…"

Somewhere in the spirit wilds far behind him, the bright column of light trembles with restless power, thrashing against an invisible barrier. It vibrates and hums with the cracking sound of ice splitting far below the surface. The sun climbs higher into the sky still, bathing the empty antarctic plains in golden light.

"Water Tribe ships," the young man tells a dumbfounded Bato, grinning through the layers of wool covering his face. "They're Water Tribe ships, Bato!" He grabs at the older man by the shoulders, spinning him around in a frenzy of budding excitement. "And that means -"

"They're coming back," Bato breathes, stumbling over his own feet. Pushing himself up hastily to all fours, he stares wildly at the younger boy, the impossible realisation dawning its wild hope upon him. "Who leads them? Did Akiuk see?"

The young boy shakes his head, holding out a hand to help the old man to his feet. "He couldn't recognise them. But he says there were two of them - a man and a woman, scarcely his own age. A warrior and a waterbender."

"Just as the pale woman said," Bato croaks, everything suddenly going very quiet except for the blood loud in his ears. He grips at the young boy's proffered forearm so tightly that he yelps. "It must be them!"

He hoists himself upright with a grunt. Fire races through his veins, the unbridled intoxication of joy. "They're coming," he repeats, dashing at the corners of his eyes where the tears already begin to fall.

"Hakoda's children," he chokes, staggering forward into the light of the rising sun, "Sokka, Katara, the rest of the Tribe…they're coming back. They're all coming home."

Music rises with the sliver of crescent moon, filling the cool winter air above the bowl of the caldera.

Zuko rubs at his aching temples, glaring with mounting irritation at the curtains drawn tight against the windows. Yet somehow the infernal sounds still filter through into the royal apartments.

If Toph was around, he would have loudly blamed the earthbenders' shoddy workmanship. He would have reproached the speed at which they had raised the new palace complex from the obsidian flats that had buried the old upper city. Perhaps he would have complained about irregularities in the foundations or improper seals in the windowpanes crafted by the lower-city glassblowers. And she would have hurled a rock at his head, and then they would have erupted into a vicious bickering brawl that would inevitably burn itself out. A brief yet welcome reprieve from the restlessness constantly gnawing away at his nerves.

But Toph had left earlier that day, bound for the Southern Air Temple. "I helped you rebuild your home," she pointed out with a shrug when he had asked her to stay longer. "Now Twinkletoes needs a hand getting his back in order. Anyway, Bumi and a bunch of the others are staying behind for the winter. I don't see what the problem is."

He glowers at them, peering through the gaps in the drapes at the circular stone courtyard below. Where the decorations from the morning's coronation ceremony still remain, along with the bonfires roaring high into the darkening sky and the circles of dancers wheeling about its shining red heart. A sea of crimson silks, punctuated by the odd flash of blue or green. Accompanied by the rousing cheer of laughter, the intermittent crack of clay smashing against the ground, and the veterans of Uncle's music nights still playing their instruments dutifully under the altar where the Fire Sages had crowned the new Fire Lord earlier that day.

Zuko's stiff ceremonial garb chafes and itches against his skin, begging to be torn off and replaced with the comfortable festival attire. But he crosses his arms and stares blankly out the window, watching as the dancers fumble through the movements with varying degrees of clumsiness. In the whiffs of evening air that leak indoors, Zuko can smell the bonfire smoke, and the faintest traces of cinnamon and dragonsbreath.

Another clay cup smashes into the ground. The music tapers off to a lull and a loud cheer swells in its place. From his vantage point isolated from it all, the dancers are like small moths hovering around the bonfire, flitting around its leaping flames. He watches as the dancers in red pair off, finding their place in the brand new courtyard. A number of them crowd around the few holdouts dressed in green or blue, perhaps coaxing them to dance.

His eyes linger upon the handful who fold and join in - Bumi himself, instantly recognisable even from a distance by his distinctive loping gait - and then a handful of the remaining Water Tribe healers clad in gauzy blues and violets.

The memories descend upon him then. How, one year ago to the day, that had been him leading another Water Tribe healer through the steps of the dragon's waltz. He closes his eyes, turning away, leaning back against the window as he's transported back into the warmth of last year's fires.

One year. One year since he and Katara had spent the Day of the Dragons together. One year since Jun had barged upon their tryst by the riverside and warned them of an impending Dai Li massacre. One year since his grandfather had passed away and sparked an unfolding of events so dramatic that even the most dedicated historians would struggle to chronicle its nuances…

To Zuko, it beggars belief. How could a single year of his life feel like both an eternity and a blink of an eye all at the same time?

And yet, for all the momentous changes that the past journey around the sun had wrought in his life, he still finds himself standing in the same spot as the year before. Alone, sequestered broodingly in his room, reluctant to join the dances. Feeling like he alone had no reason to celebrate the coming year while others indulged themselves without him.

But at least last year, his friends had been there. And though an entire season had passed since Katara and Aang had departed for their homes, and only a span of hours since Toph had left as well, their absence has never felt as acute as it does in that moment.

Another crack of smashing clay and a babble of laughter as the music picks up its paces, the melody and drums pounding faster to a delirious rhythm. He imagines the crowd of dancers stumbling over their own feet trying to keep up with its maddening pace. He remembers how Katara had matched him step for step. She had always been graceful, and the dragon's waltz had been no exception. They had burned bright together that night, and it had been a terrifying start to something that now feels woefully cut short before its time…

He pulls away from the window, pacing restlessly through the royal apartment. His feet traverse the cold tiled floors of the small sitting room, the larger parlour with its tatami mats and low bamboo tables, the bare study with its empty shelves still waiting to be populated with whatever the sages could recover from the ruined catacombs…

He pushes into the door of his new bedroom, still mostly bare and a stark contrast to the opulence of the old palace. Instead of the canopied four-post bed, he sleeps in a bedroll tucked into a corner of the room under the window. His broadswords, his theatre masks, all of the trinkets reminding him of his childhood and his father's long shadow…all of it buried in the layers of glassy black stone that blanket the surface of the caldera.

The only ornamentation is a single pillar nestled by the fireplace. An elaborate sculpture of white marble and gold inlay forms its cylindrical base, glittering with precious stones plucked from the deepest mines surrounding Ma'inka island. And crowned by a relatively simple bowl of some soft grey volcanic stone, a pedestal to cradle the huge golden egg gleaming in the firelight.

He touches its surface for what feels like the hundredth time that day. Marvels at the immense heat that emanates beneath the fragile golden shell to curl against his fingers, one inner flame rising to meet another. Something pulses softly within its depths.

Lady Mao had presented it to him at the coronation. A token of my gratitude, she had announced in front of everyone gathered to witness the sacred ceremony. For freeing my daughter from captivity, for ensuring her safe return to Ma'inka Island. Let this be a living symbol of the debt our clan owes to the Fire Lord's family. Let nobody forget that our houses are bonded if not by marriage, then by the living incarnation of the Eternal Flame itself…

"I thought I'd find you here. How utterly predictable."

Azula sniffs haughtily from where she lingers in the doorway. It seems to reach Zuko's ears from a thousand leagues away. "Huh?"

But his sister shakes her head, a wry smirk curving across her painted mouth. "Only you would be the first noble outside of Ma'inka Island in fifteen generations to be presented with an actual dragon egg, and still find a way to mope about it."

"I'm not moping," Zuko grumbles, but turns to face her nonetheless. His palm still rests gingerly on the egg's surface.

"What else do you call being a complete shut-in on the day of your favourite uncle's coronation?" Azula retorts, crossing her arms as she picks her way into his room. She purses her lips as she takes in her surroundings with a subtle flick of her eyes. "Agni, Zuzu, you still haven't found time to redecorate a little?"

"I've been busy."

"Yes. Feeling sorry for yourself is truly an all-encompassing and time-consuming task." She rolls her eyes, pausing to survey the egg resting on its pedestal in the warmth of the fire. "How long until it hatches?"

Zuko shrugs.

"I still can't believe Lady Mao would trust you to take care of a dragon," Azula rattles on, tilting her head to observe the pulsing egg more closely. "You know babies are a lot of work, right?"

"More work than you?" Zuko retorts, even as his cheeks heat up nonetheless.

"Hm. Fair point." Azula lapses into an expectant silence, perhaps waiting for him to say something next. If so, she's going to be disappointed.

For even though their father was gone and the war had ended, the damage inflicted upon their relationship would not heal so easily. It would take a lot of time to mend it. Time and effort.

But for all his silent suspicions, he couldn't begrudge the strange one-sided conversations his sister kept spontaneously springing upon him. Even if they frequently wore away at what little patience remained to him. At least she wasn't actively plotting to have him killed or worse. He supposes that was, if nothing else, a small improvement to how things between them had been before.

Small.

"I thought you'd be the last person to leave Uncle's side tonight," Azula tries again, harder. Perhaps to goad him out of his reticent silence. "It's his special day after all."

"Mm."

"It must be some kind of record. Uncle must be the only man in Fire Nation history to be crowned twice in less than a year."

He shrugs again, trying to think of the morning's ceremony. But his memory is stuck in the dances from last year's Day of the Dragons and how empty this night was shaping up to be. How despite being at home with his family, forging his place in a radically restructured Fire Nation court, everything he thought he had always wanted -

"First as co-emperor, and now as the first Fire Lord in a century." Azula blows a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Now there's a title I never thought would be resurrected after Sozin's conquest. I suppose I really was the only one keeping the Empire from its utter ruin. Who knew?"

But it had been nearly a season since he had seen Katara or even heard from her. If it hadn't been for the missives exchanged between the remaining Water Tribe healers, he would never even have known whether they had reached the South Pole at all. And amid the flurry of excitement among the few healers who had stayed behind, and the occasional report from their diplomats, Zuko could glean that rebuilding the South was a tricky, exhaustive venture. One that was probably consuming every last moment of their young Chief's attention.

Still, a peculiar feeling niggles away at him with every passing day that drags out her silence. A growing acceptance that both of them were once again where they belonged, where they had always longed to be. And now that the imbalance in the world had been righted, the strange circumstances that had led to their paths crossing had vanished seemingly overnight. With the Avatar project effectively completed and the team disbanded, he may as well have never met her.

"Do you think it's going to work?"

Azula's sudden question catches him off guard, snatching him from the throes of his restless silent panic. "What?"

She sighs, before waving aimlessly in the direction of the window, where a sliver of the ongoing dragon dances remains visible. "This whole new setup you all came up with. I can't see it lasting any longer than a juggling chimpmonkey on a tightrope."

"If you say so."

"It's just the sort of wishy-washy, noncommittal nonsense you'd expect from Uncle," she continues, completely oblivious to the wall of his silence or his increasingly curt answers. "Restructure the entire court to have the governing power vested completely into the hands of elected commoners? Take the teeth away entirely from the aristocrats and relegate the Fire Lord to the role of a mere ceremonial figurehead?"

He shrugs again. "It wasn't like Uncle had to force the issue. The civilians and the old clans of Ma'inka island both threw their support readily for the new arrangement."

"Zhao and the other nobles loathe it though." Azula snorts derisively. "I'll wager we have until spring before we have riots on our hands again."

He raises an eyebrow at his sister, looking at her properly for the first time since she had darkened his doorway that evening. "Why are you complaining? You supported this transition as much as everyone else did."

Now it's his sister's turn to shrug nonchalantly. "I don't know. I suppose I enjoy watching Father's old stooges suffer."

Zuko stares at her blankly. "You really are a glutton for punishment. Uncle picked you to be the voice of those nobles. Why would you make life harder for yourself by advocating for the complete opposite of what they want?"

Azula taps her chin with a sharpened fingernail. "What are those doddering old cowards going to do? They're all terrified of me. It's not like they can put a hit out on me or something."

"Good point," Zuko mutters, shaking his head. "I imagine having Kei Ling in your pocket keeps you pretty safe these days."

"Given that every assassin and crime lord in the capital somehow still answers to her…" Azula trails off thoughtfully. "Hopefully Uncle gets over his squeamishness, now that she's the head of the elected court. The only sensible decision that came of all this."

"Well, it's not like the previous setup was a resounding success," Zuko mutters darkly. "Maybe it's time we learned from a different set of mistakes."

"Ugh." Azula groans, rubbing at her temples. "You're as soft and disgustingly naive as Uncle, you know that?"

"Well, maybe you could learn from him," Zuko retorts, rolling his eyes. "Father's hardline approach didn't earn him the grandiose victory he expected. Besides, isn't it time to try something new?"

He turns back to the pulsating dragon egg, basking in the warmth of the leaping golden flames, and considers the bright new life growing in its fragile depths. "What makes our family so special, anyway? Why do we have to be bound by so much just because we were born royal? Why can't we be free to live our lives the way we want, to just…do what we want and say what we want, and -"

"Agni, Zuzu," Azula complains, her face twisting with distaste. "You really are planning to sulk for the entire night and put a damper on absolutely everything, aren't you?"

Before he has a chance to answer, she reaches into her sleeve and flings something straight at him.

It whizzes through the air, hurtling toward his face.

Zuko plucks it out of mid-air with a scowl. "What was that for?" he snaps, before registering the texture of silky parchment against his fingertips. He glances down in mounting shock, to find himself holding a thick scroll sealed in blue wax stamped with the wavy emblem of the Water Tribes.

"It ended up in my pile for some strange reason," Azula explains blithely, in response to the strange choking sound that escapes from him. "I figured the idiot managing the postal relays got our letters mixed up -"

"You had this the whole time?" Zuko thunders, whirling on his sister in growing indignation.

"For a few weeks now, I think." Azula scratches at the back of her neck. "I can't quite remember anymore…"

"And you were just hanging on to my mail because…?"

His sister lets out a low chuckle. "Oh, Zuzu. I was waiting for you to ask me."

His brow crumples in confusion. "Why would I have asked you," he bites out with as much patience as he can muster, "when I never knew you had it in the first place?"

"Perhaps I thought - or I'd hoped, rather - that you'd mention it somehow," his sister replies in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone of voice, as though everything she was saying was somehow sensible instead of completely unhinged - "I thought maybe you'd confide in me. Tell me that after getting everything you worked so hard for, the only thing that would finally bring a smile to your stupid sullen face was to hear just once from your dumb Water Tribe Chief girlfriend."

Zuko isn't aware of his mouth parting slowly in disbelief as Azula continues on in a slightly mocking yet somehow completely earnest voice, "and then I thought that would be the perfect moment to swoop in to the rescue! I'd say well I found this letter, and then you'd say Agni that's the one, thank you Azula, you're the best sister ever…"

She trails off with a nervous giggle that slowly dies at the blank stare that Zuko levels upon her. "Well," she admits with a theatrical sigh, "now I've said it all out loud like that, I realise it made a lot more sense in my head."

"The inside of your head is a truly frightening and demented place, do you know that?" Zuko asks bluntly.

But she only smiles back at him slyly. "You're welcome, dumdum," she tells him breezily. "Try to look happy for one dance afterward, will you? I think Mother would appreciate it."

And before Zuko can muster another word, Azula wanders away. Ostensibly to rejoin the new year's celebrations unfolding in the courtyard with the family she had once despised so heartily.

He watches her retreating back before the darkness swallows her up, wondering at her motives. Were her overtures part of some new conniving plot he had yet to understand? Or was she in fact being sincere in her own bizarre, convoluted way?

Zuko shakes his head with a sigh. His sister was a mystery, one that only time could help him unravel.

But the blue wax seal glitters at him eagerly, firelight gleaming off its smooth shiny surface. The scroll's heft in his hand somehow feeling more precious than the living beating gold of the dragon egg's shell. He thinks he can feel it watching him somehow, a strange yet comforting presence. Watching him without judgement as he opens the letter, trying not to rip it in his haste.

The sight of Katara's careful script lining the unfurled scroll in neat little rows brings the first real smile to his lips since her departure early in the autumn.

He sits back onto his bedroll, basking in the warmth of the fire. With only the silent presence of the dragon's egg as a companion, he leans back and begins to read.

It feels so strange to be talking like this. I'm not much of a scribe and Ruska tells me my calligraphy needs work. Bear with me.

So.

Dear Zuko,

I'm sorry it's taken so long to write. Although I notice you aren't exactly chatty either.

Things have been really busy here. I don't even know where to begin. There's so much work, both here and in the North. I feel so overwhelmed, I don't know how we'll ever get it all done.

But there were incredible things waiting here, and I can't wait for you to see them. You won't believe your eyes.

It took the better part of a fortnight to sail from your capital to the Southern Water Tribe. We might have gotten there sooner, but we were all so tired. And yet, when the shores finally came into sight and we saw our home for the first time in so many years…

Zuko, I can't even describe the feeling if I tried. You had to be there.

"There it is." Sokka's hand is warm and heavy as it rests on her shoulder. "You can see it just on the horizon, right over there -"

"I see it." Katara's voice hitches in her throat. Her fingers wind tightly into the ropes at the bow. "Sokka, I can see it!"

The wind picks up speed as the sun floats higher into the sky, its soft orange glow turning to golden flame. Beneath an endless expanse of pink clouds swirling in a lavender sky, a thin band of pure white stretches across the horizon, beckoning to them.

Overhead, the birds still circle and break, screeching their song loudly into the air. Home, they sing, with every flex and beat of their powerful wings propelling them closer to the distant shore.

Somehow, everyone surrounding her also takes up the call. A low blow of a horn, the steady rhythmic pounding of mallets against animal-hide drums. It clashes with the rising frenzy of her pulse, frothing like the cresting waves bearing them ever closer to home.

And at the end of that great distance, she swears she can almost hear it answering back. Was it an echo of the drumbeat marking every stroke and lunge of the waterbenders propelling them forward in a sudden burst of renewed energy?

The wind gusts harder. A guttural cry splits the air, followed by the raucous crescendo of a tribe full of voices, rising as one in song.

Katara clutches at one of the carved tassels with a mittened hand, its warmth heavy against her chest. Every wave pushes them closer to the rolling white shores. Where small pockets of people already gather in wait. Longing to join them, to welcome them back to the barren lands of their home.

"It must be the first day of midnight sun," Sokka breathes, studying the angle of the rising sun with an outstretched hand. Amazement paints its lines onto his face. "It's the last dark we'll see until autumn!"

"That's just as well," she answers, gazing up at the light of the sky. "We've had enough darkness for now."

The water bears them ever closer to that same spot where it had all started, and where it would finally end. To the place where the ice met the water; where the scattered pieces of the tribe could once more become whole.

Chapter 71: beginnings (epilogue i)

Chapter Text

disclaimer. there's a universe out there where this is canon, but sadly this isn't it.

author's notes. the only problem with the "idiots to lovers" tag is the implication that they stop being idiots after falling in love.

(warning for a bit of adult content in this one. proceed with caution or enthusiasm as you see fit.)

i give you…

southern lights.

epilogue i. beginnings

and from the dark into the light
i saw a star burst into life
and in the corner of your eye
i saw a dream that never died

"soft universe" / aurora

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Toph jams her hands on her hips with a massive scowl. Next to her, Katara massages her forehead. "That's the last of them," she wheedles. "I promise."

Toph blows her bangs out of her eyes. "That's what you said last time."

"I'm sorry!" she exclaims, her face flaring hot in spite of the autumn breeze nipping at her cheeks. "The Fire Empire was really busy the whole time they were down here."

"Apparently." Toph tosses her head unceremoniously. "Well, they're gonna get a hell of a bill from me after I'm through with all this."

"Better you than me," Katara mutters darkly, crossing her arms. "Seeing how things went over the last time we asked them to clean up after themselves."

"Yeah." Toph grimaces. "What an embarrassment for Grandpa."

"Don't even get me started." Katara's gloved fingers drum repetitively against the fur-trim of her epaulettes. "You know, this whole peace-building thing is going to be short-lived if I'm the only waterbender they'll take seriously."

"It'll happen." To her surprise, Toph pats her arm reassuringly. "You're still finding your groove, and so is everyone else. Things didn't stop getting messy just because the war ended."

Katara blinks at the blind earthbender, nonplussed. "You've been spending way too much time with Aang, haven't you?"

"Probably," Toph admits, before recoiling with a shudder. "Do not tell him I said that."

Katara smiles weakly. "I won't. Chief's honour."

"Good." Toph rotates her shoulders, the joints popping loudly with the circular motions. Her fingers flex in empty air, knuckles cracking where she presses her fists together. "Listen to me, creaking like an old lady! You owe me big time, Sweetness."

"Thanks, Toph," Katara retorts sourly. "I appreciate you too." She taps a foot on the cracked ice, the vast white emptiness stretching around them for miles. The walls of the nearest settlement are tiny against the horizon, framed by trickles of smoke curling into the midday sky. "Now…can you get rid of that eyesore polluting my tundra already?"

She points at the great fissure splitting the antarctic plain before them, and the ugly, rusting machine embedded in its depths. A relic of old Fire Empire technology, its bulky body streaked with brown and still emblazoned on one side with a peeling black flame insignia. It had once rolled across the uninhabited tundra on its rubberized conveyor-track wheels, but now it lies broken and useless, trapped in the deep hole it had tried to dig.

From her vantage point, it resembles a sad metal bird caught in a snare, twisted and hunched over in pain. A beaklike apparatus dangles from its head, stuck where it had drilled to plumb the hidden depths beneath the surface of the ice.

It might have been a proud, ingenious invention at some point in its life, but it had clearly proven no match for the South Pole's brutal climate. Now it huddles, a few rusted joints the only things holding the machine's head in line with its dented body, creaking loudly and threatening to fall apart with the next gust of wind.

"I'm working on it," Toph complains, cracking her knuckles loudly. "These things are bigger than they look."

But with a push and a flex and a yank of her straining arms, the strange contraption bursts apart. A deafening blast rings out as pieces of shorn metal fly through the air. Quickly followed by the scattered plops of the shards hitting the snow in a sprawl of debris.

Toph grunts as one by one, the scraps of rusty metal stack into a pile collecting at the edge of the fissure. "This had better be the last of it," she declares vehemently. "And just so you know, I charge extra for transportation."

"That sounds very much like the Fire Nation's problem," Katara answers, crossing her arms. "Seeing as it's their junk they abandoned here."

"I still don't know what the rush was," Toph remarks, wiping at her sweaty hair plastered against her forehead. "Your tribe's still just a measly handful of tiny villages. Why do you need all this empty space anyway?"

Katara shrugs, a strange feeling settling through her at the pile of shorn metal teetering before her. The faded peeling flame insignia still watches her, its scrutiny inescapable.

She shakes her head violently, suddenly shivering in the mildness of early autumn. "I wanted it gone," she answers hoarsely, wrapping her cloak around herself as if to ward off the cold. "We're…we're only a few small settlements now. But our architects have expansion plans in mind, and we couldn't zone these lands with all these stupid machines clogging up the place."

"Well, now you've got a bunch of rusty piles of junk clogging up the place instead," Toph returns. "Zone away, Sugar Queen."

A hollow laugh escapes her. "I'll be sure to let the planners know."

Toph sits back onto the snow with a groan of relief, stretching her arms above her head. "That took way more out of me than I thought it would. I've gone soft."

"I know," Katara agrees wistfully. "I look back at everything we did during the war and I just…I feel exhausted thinking about it."

"I know. Two years ago, we were still guerilla-fighting in Nutjuitok with nothing more than our bare hands. Now look at us," Toph laments. "What do you think? Time to get the team and the old routine back?" A sly grin crosses her face. "I'm sure daily cross-bending practice and meditation boot camp would whip us all right back into shape."

Katara smirks. "I never thought I'd see the day you'd miss meditation boot camp. I'll have to tell Iroh whenever I see him next."

"You wouldn't dare," Toph admonishes, her face clouding warningly. "Besides, there's a whole lot more you'll need to bug Grandpa about. For starters, why his pea-brained officials won't answer your messages and leave me to do their dirty work for them."

Katara kicks at the snow with the heel of her boot. "It's taken every ounce of my strength not to," she admits quietly. "Every time my diplomats struggle to make headway with the Fire Nation through official channels…it would be so easy for me to just write to Iroh, or Zuko, and make them fix it."

"Then why don't you?" Toph tilts her head curiously. "What's the point of going through everything you did with them if you aren't even going to use it to make things easier for you?"

Katara blows a wayward braid out of her face. "Because I'm trying to build something here," she tries to explain exasperatedly. She gestures at the wide swathes of empty tundra and the distant mounds of white ice gleaming beneath the strange beam of light marking the heart of the spirit wilds. "It won't last if it all rests on me. My people - and the Fire Nation's - they've got to learn how to build those bridges themselves if it has a chance of working this time. It has to be able to stand without us, Toph. Otherwise it'll all fall apart again."

"Still," Toph interjects gently, "a gentle nudge in the right direction never hurt anyone."

Katara offers her a smile that the blind girl can't see. "Why do you think I asked you for help?"

Toph's eyebrows lift in surprise before she throws her head back with a laugh. "Getting me involved isn't a gentle nudge, Sweetness. This is more like a shove over the edge of a cliff."

"I know," Katara replies primly. "But if the Fire Nation's diplomats won't listen to Zuko when he's their ambassador-at-large, then they can learn the hard way what happens when they choose to be stubborn."

Understanding alights in Toph's clouded eyes with a wicked glimmer. "Are you saying I get to extort Sparky and Grandpa for services rendered?"

Katara shrugs. "I was thinking you could just, I don't know, bill them a sum they can't ignore?"

Toph rubs her hands together gleefully. "I'll get Kwei to put his stamp on it too. That'll really make those old geezers sweat -"

"Considering those old geezers basically told us that they only care about building productive trade relations with the Earth Kingdom instead of nations that haven't started industrialising," Katara bites out with only a trace of bitterness. "They should have just taken care of all this junk themselves when my diplomats asked the first time. Instead they jerked us around because they think we're poor with nothing to offer in return. But they clearly forgot that we in the Water Tribes can count still on the other nations to back us up."

Toph whistles appreciatively. "Now instead of enjoying the sweet sweet trade privileges they were hoping to get out of the ongoing negotiations with the Earth Kingdom, they'll be in major hot water defending why I had to come out here to do their job for them." She presses a hand to her chest dramatically. "I'll be sure to tell King Kwei just how difficult the work here was for one poor blind metalbender. How much easier it would have been if the Fire Nation mechanics who built this crap were here to help me out. Just how insulted I was that they left me chewing snow by myself out here."

"I'm sure that'll go over really well," Katara says, trying to stifle a chuckle. "Zuko said that he's been trying to convince the governing court to replace a bunch of his diplomats since they're clearly inept. But no luck so far."

Toph smirks. "Well, Chief. After I send my report to Kwei, he's gonna have no choice but to order his negotiators to take the Fire Nation to the fucking cleaners in the new agreement. If that won't send a message that they need to stomp out this residual Fire Empire bullshit and put it under a volcano where it belongs, I'm not sure what will."

Katara rests a grateful hand on her shoulder. "I'm really lucky to have you in my corner," she says softly. "Thank you for coming out here. I mean it."

Toph lowers her head, her bangs shielding her eyes from view but not quite hiding the flush of her pale cheeks. "Damn straight, you're lucky to have me here," she quips. But the smile that crosses her face this time is genuine. "Now help a blind girl up, won't you?"

Katara accepts her proffered arm, tugging her to her feet.

Toph straightens out her parka, frowning at the deep hole yawning out before them. "I just wonder what they were after," she muses, shaking her head. "Why go through the trouble of drilling a bunch of empty holes in a frozen wasteland?" She raises her hands apologetically. "No offence."

"None taken," Katara agrees with a grimace. "It's not like we have any mineral or metal ore deposits like you do in the Earth Kingdom. Still, though…" She stares at the darkened mouth of the drilled hole, the usual curiosity taking hold as she steps carefully to its edge to peer into the empty black depths. "They were definitely looking for something. Something important."

A crunch of the snow as Toph sidles up beside her. Her face scrunches with concentration.

"Are you sure there's nothing down there?" Katara can't help but ask again.

"Um." The furrows on Toph's forehead deepen as she leans forward, swaying precariously on the edge of the artificial abyss. "I wouldn't say there's nothing." Her hands raise experimentally, grasping at empty air. "But I can't really sense it properly. It's not any obvious earth stuff - there's no metal, or coal, or minerals, or anything valuable like that. It kind of feels like a weird underground lake…?"

"A lake?" Katara repeats quizzically, as Toph's head tilts in growing confusion. "That doesn't even make any sense. If there's water down there, how come you can feel it and I can't?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Toph exclaims. Before Katara can say another word, the blind earthbender grabs her hand firmly. "Can't you feel that?"

The refusal springs halfway to her lips when confusion strikes. "Hang on," she mutters, accidentally squeezing Toph's hand so hard that a sudden "ow!" rings out next to her.

She breathes in the fresh antarctic air, focusing on the snowflakes falling from the sky. On the layers of ice covering the entire tundra in a solid sheet, lining the walls of the pit that stretches down into the bowels of the earth…

On and on it goes, her awareness drilling into the emptiness until the ice finally yields to the impregnable rock shelf below.

But somehow, her senses don't end there. Because buried beneath all that, even deeper still, something else pulls at her.

Something fluid, and stagnant… and absolutely not water at all.

Her eyes snap open. "Toph," she says urgently, the realisation hitting her in a flash. "You said there was a lake of that stuff?"

"Oh yeah," Toph replies casually. "Lakes, actually. They're all over this patch of tundra here, way down underground…" She pauses, her eyes widening as she belatedly catches on. "Holy fuck."

Katara stares mutely into the black pit, unable to contemplate the excesses hidden far below their feet. The ground sways unsteadily around her.

"Okay, Sweetness. I think you need to sit down." Toph grabs at her sleeve, tugging her back from the precipice and plopping down to sprawl upon the snow. "There, is that better?"

Far overhead, even the sky seems to spin out of control. "Not really," Katara gasps. "Toph…I - I don't know what to do…"

"Well," Toph remarks, "you did want to shove Sparky's dunderhead ambassadors off the edge of a cliff, right? Looks like you just found one."

"That was a proverbial cliff!" Katara protests. The world reels violently before her eyes. "Not…not - spirits, this changes everything! How am I supposed to handle all this?"

"There, there." Toph pats her hair sympathetically. "One thing at a time, yeah? Although…on second thought, maybe hold off on bugging those Fire Nation jerks to come pick up their trash? I think you've got bigger fish to fry here, and I…" She lets out a mournful sigh, "I've got a lot more holes to dig."

"The list of delegates, as you requested, Your Highness."

"The menu for the welcome feast, as promised."

"You asked to see the seating charts again, Your Highness?"

Zuko rubs at his temples, already pounding from the building frenzy of the day and with no end in sight. "I'll take those," he grunts, unceremoniously plucking the various proffered scrolls. "What about the accommodations?"

"All have been prepared, Prince Zuko." An aide bows curtly. "We have the Air Nation party set up in the upper wing, the Earth Kingdom's installed in the villa overlooking the gardens -"

"And the Water Tribe diplomats?"

"Yes, we have them stationed in our most well-appointed suites above the stables -"

Zuko stops in his tracks, tearing his gaze away from the unfurled scrolls to stare at the oblivious aide. "Above the stables?" he repeats incredulously, while everyone wilts around him. "Is this some kind of joke?"

A puff of heat against his neck, as the little dragon wrapped around his shoulder yawns widely. Its double-lidded eyes flicker open, before it buries its head into the folds of Zuko's heavy cloak.

Everyone lets out an unbidden sigh of relief as the tiny creature's breathing continues to rumble, its slumber mercifully unbroken.

"Those suites were recently refurbished and have a lovely view of the ocean, Your Highness," the aide explains, his face rapidly gaining colour at the sudden movement of the dragon sleeping contentedly on Zuko's shoulder. "Is…is that not acceptable to you?"

"For the love of -" Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting to keep his voice calm. "Switch it."

"I…I beg your pardon, Your Highness?"

"I said, switch it." Zuko plies the unfortunate aide with the full force of his scarred glare. "If those suites have such a lovely view, then let the Fire Lord and his ministers stay there for the summit instead."

The aide gulps nervously. "But - but Your Highness! We can't put the Fire Lord above a stable!"

"Then you won't put visiting diplomats from an allied nation there either," Zuko replies heatedly. "I will not have a repeat of last year's debacle under my watch. Have I made myself clear?"

"Y…Yes, Your Highness," the aide stutters, "but - but what would you have us do? The summit starts shortly, there's no time -"

"Then I suggest you come up with something quickly." Zuko narrows his eyes, his voice growing alarmingly quiet. "But if you insult my guests with your incompetence once more, I will do absolutely everything in my power to ensure that your career in diplomacy remains as short-lived as possible."

The aide scuttles off without another word. Only the little dragon's quiet snores interrupt the silence.

Zuko lowers his eyes to the scrolls vibrating in his shaking hands. Blinks to focus upon the blurring words, ignoring the dragon clambering about the collar of his ceremonial garb in search of a more comfortable position to sleep.

The rest of his staff wait in a row behind him, quaking with fear.

He passes the scrolls back to them over his shoulder, one by one. "The menu lists the wrong Air Nation dishes again. The seating chart still has Toph Beifong at the same table as her parents. The Water Tribe delegation has all their titles transcribed incorrectly. Fix it."

"Yes, Your Highness." A resigned chorus of voices greets his ears as his aides scurry away, keen to avoid the sting of his displeasure.

Zuko massages his temples slowly. "How is it that Druk is the only one behaving today?" he mutters under his breath.

His dragon touches its forehead against the underside of his jaw. Unconsciously, Zuko strokes its smooth, silky hide and feels another puff of hot air against his throat.

"What do you think, Druk?" he asks, as though the dragon could understand. "Are you up for a promotion? I think you'd make a pretty convincing diplomat."

Druk makes a soft snuffly sound before stretching across the front of Zuko's enamelled chestplate, and laying his little reptilian head onto the opposite shoulder.

"Yeah, you're still a little young for that." Zuko pats the dragon's uncoiled neck absently. "Oh well. Maybe when you're older, then."

Druk yawns widely before beginning to snore again.

The preparations for the Fire Nation's second annual All-Nations Summit continue to unfold in a state of near panic. Fuelled in no small part by Zuko's omnipresent surveillance, overseeing the setup with an almost manic intensity.

It isn't until the low wail of a tsungi horn echoes across the scrubbed and decorated grounds that he finally tears himself from his work. Amid the glare of the afternoon sun hanging low in the sky, he gapes at the small dark figures flitting like birds amid the pearlescent clouds.

"Already?" he asks, aghast. "They weren't supposed to arrive for another hour -" He whirls on his heel, grabbing another aide by the shoulders. "What are you doing?"

"Your Highness?" the unfortunate young man croaks, the collar of his tunic digging perilously into his windpipe. "I - I was going to feed the panda koi -"

"The panda koi can wait. Find Ito and the rest of the welcoming band, and get them out here." Zuko's grip on the young man's shoulders loosens. "And make sure they have the correct copy of the guest list."

"Y-Yes, Your Highness." The aide bobs into a low bow. "W-Whatever you command -"

"Go!"

By the time the small group of shaggy sky bison and their riders finally land, the musicians have only started to tune their instruments. Zuko rubs his forehead as his aides dash around the building, alarmed and unable to locate the announcer or the finalised guest list.

He steps forward to greet the Air Nomads personally. "Please accept my sincerest apologies for the lack of ceremony," he says to Gyatso, who heads the small group of richly-dressed monks. "We - we weren't expecting you to arrive quite so quickly -"

But Gyatso raises a hand with a small laugh. "No need to fret, Your Highness! It's not your fault we caught a favourable wind."

"R-right." Zuko glares over his shoulder, where the stablehands belatedly rush to form a line behind him. Some still fix their dishevelled uniforms. "Well, at least you can make yourselves comfortable for now. My staff will make sure your sky bison are well cared for."

The stablehands awkwardly bow in greeting to the Air Nation delegation. Then, like clockwork, they lead the sky bison away.

Master Iio raises an eyebrow. "You certainly run a tight ship around here, Prince Zuko."

Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose. "I try."

"Well, as long as nobody gets rushed to the infirmary before the opening speech, it will already be an improvement from last year!" Gyatso remarks airily.

Zuko winces but maintains his composure. "As you can see, the Fire Nation was…inspired to turn the entire diplomatic branch over to new management after the previous summit turned out to be so, uh, colourful."

"And from what I can see, you're taking your job far more seriously than the last ambassador-at-large! Though that's not saying much!" Gyatso remarks, his eyes twinkling merrily. "I'm sure your uncle was very pleased when the court took up his suggestion!"

Zuko coughs uncomfortably. "The Fire Lord had nothing to do with it. His role is ceremonial. It's the governing court that decides these appointments now."

"Ah, yes." Gyatso tucks his hands into his trailing sleeves. "And they will be attending too, I take it?"

"Just the important ones," Zuko answers. "I couldn't drag you all out here without making it worth your while."

Gyatso shrugs modestly. "There is no need for that. I am sure anyone in the world would accept your invitation, even if it was just for tea and pai sho."

Zuko smiles. "I think we can do a little better than that."

A short while later, Gyatso ambles off, shielding a wide yawn with his wizened fingers. In his wake, Master Iio converses earnestly with Sutra of the Eastern Temple. Trailing somewhat further behind, Vayu of the Northern Temple leans on the younger members of the Air Nation's diplomatic party, his low voice prattling on rapidly.

"...and remember Brother Kelsang, how important it is to be strategic," Zuko hears the old master urge as he hobbles past. "When it comes to the dessert buffet, go straight for the ube rolls. They're absolutely excellent here in the Fire Nation and they're always the first to go…"

Zuko's eyebrow raises fractionally but he says nothing.

"Master Vayu has a legendary sweet tooth," says a familiar voice right into his ear. Zuko stumbles backward at the unexpected sound.

"Aang?" he stutters, rubbing his eyes. "Is that - mmf!"

He gets pulled in for a bone-crushing hug before he can finish.

"It's so good to see you, Zuko!" Aang's voice chirps from somewhere above Zuko's head, squished as it is into the intricate folds of his brocade shawl. "How long has it been? Not since last year's summit, I hope!"

"It might have been in the spring," Zuko supplies, struggling to extricate himself. "During hanami at King Kwei's new palace, I think?"

Aang's face creases in surprise. "No way! That long ago?"

"It must be," Zuko answers, surveying the young Air Nomad in a state of utter disbelief. "When did all this happen, by the way? You're about a head taller than I remember."

Aang rubs the back of his head bashfully, his arm inexplicably the breadth of a tree trunk. "I have no idea! Gyatso says I must be a late bloomer." He grins, his teeth seeming even whiter in contrast to the shock of dark stubble that evenly covers his face. "Not that I'm complaining or anything!"

"You've got a beard." Zuko points at it stupidly. "Not some sad chin-strap thing either - a proper manly beard!"

"Well, you've got a dragon," Aang replies, his eyes resting on the sleeping red lizard coiled like a skinny scarf around Zuko's neck. But Druk doesn't stir, serenely oblivious to the attention levied upon him. "I think you still win."

"I don't know," Zuko grumbles, rubbing at a stubbornly hairless cheek. "I think a beard would be far easier to manage."

"Aw, don't say that!" Aang chides, bending over to inspect Druk more closely. "Look at him, sleeping like a little angel on Daddy's shoulder!"

"For now," Zuko warns darkly. "You might change your mind once he's awake."

"Is that why he's glued to your shoulder instead of sleeping in a pen like a regular animal?" Aang asks, lowering his face to level with Druk's blunt nose.

"He's got terrible separation anxiety," Zuko explains. "If he isn't literally attached to me, he turns into a shrieking possessed demon thing…" He gestures helplessly at the sleeping dragon, now nearly the length of a grown man's arm and still stubbornly wound about his shoulders. A sight that his family and staff had long grown accustomed to by now, but probably completely foreign to Aang and the others. "Yeah."

Aang's eyes widen. "Wow! Is he, uh…supposed to do that?"

"That's what Lady Mao said," Zuko heaves out, wincing as Druk's sharp claws dig into his neck as he turns about yet again in search of a more comfortable position to sleep. "Apparently, it's completely normal and developmentally appropriate."

Aang reaches out with a tentative hand. "I'm sure he'll grow out of it soon enough -"

"Slowly," Zuko cautions, cupping the dragon's bulbous little body with both hands. "He isn't great with strangers, and he's scared of women, and he doesn't really like when people sneak up on him -"

"Don't worry," Aang reassures him, his finger tracing the slope of Druk's snout. "I'm a natural with animals, don't you know -"

"Druk, no!"

In a trice, Druk lashes out with a piercing shriek. Puffs of black smoke erupt from his throat in a small cloud. His tiny jaws snap furiously, rows of scythelike teeth chomping the empty air where Aang's hand would have been, if not for the speed with which Zuko reacts.

He recoils, stumbling on the hem of his cloak. Druk yowls again as Zuko's grip tightens, all but squishing him against his chest.

"Bad Druk!" he scolds, scooping the dragon's head into his palm and raising it to level with his own. "No attacking Aang! We don't attack friends!"

The ridge of Druk's forehead lowers stubbornly into an unmistakable glower. His double-lidded eyes blink slowly under Zuko's stern glare, before he settles once again, draping himself along the back of Zuko's neck with a grumble.

Zuko exhales with relief as Druk's little snores resume. Then he turns back to Aang, whose face has drained entirely of colour. "Are - are you okay?"

Aang lets out a nervous laugh. "Thanks to you and your lightning-fast reflexes! He's a quick one, isn't he?"

"I'm so sorry." Zuko's hands rake through his hair in frustration. "Like I said…he can be a lot."

"It'll all be worth it one day," Aang consoles him. "I'm sure of it!"

"One day," Zuko echoes despairingly, before his attention shifts to the heavy iron medallion hanging against Aang's chest. "But enough about me and Druk. Look at you! Congratulations, by the way."

Aang blushes, now fidgeting with the thin gold belt holding his elaborate getup in place. "Thanks! It's still sinking in for me, honestly."

"I don't blame you." Zuko rests a hand on Aang's forearm. "Imagine being named one of the Air Nomad Elders when you're still a teenager. You Air Nomads sure have a strange sense of humour."

Aang's face falls. "When Tenring passed and Gyatso floated my name as a candidate to replace him, I thought it was another one of his bad jokes. But then everyone went along with it!" He meets Zuko's eyes gravely. "It was a unanimous vote across the elders from all four temples. Do you have any idea how often that happens?"

"Probably not very often?"

"Never!" Aang blurts out. "It's never happened before!" He makes a face. "I'm not even old, and now people my age or older address me as Elder Aang."

Zuko chokes on a laugh. "Well, you'd better rest up before the others get here, Elder Aang. And I…I should go make sure everything's in place -"

"Oh, lighten up!" Aang thumps him on the back with enough force to make him stagger. "You're not going to start an international incident because someone didn't announce everyone's name when they arrived, or something silly like that!"

"You don't know that." Zuko's fingers twist at Druk's flexible tail. "What if someone takes offence because one nation was treated with more importance than the others? I was put in charge of hosting this summit. I won't tolerate a repeat of what happened last year."

"That's a shame," Aang remarks with a wry grin. "I mean, it'll be better for building alliances and all that stuff…but I'll miss the entertainment."

"The entire economic session had to be cancelled thanks to that fight between our commerce minister and the Earth Kingdom's development advisor," Zuko reminds him through clenched teeth. "The whole room came to blows over it! And you found that entertaining?"

Aang shrugs delicately. "Politics are boring. As a certain ex-girlfriend of yours used to say pretty often."

Zuko groans again but takes the bait. "How is Mai doing these days, by the way?"

They fall into conversation after that, seizing the few precious moments where everything could feel normal for once. Where they might have been anywhere else, doing anything else…

Chatting after a gruelling cross-bending session in the clearing behind the encampment, or grumbling about being dragged to another one of Uncle's music nights. Or even waiting in the infirmary, grim and tight-lipped while one of their number inevitably tried to recover from yet another injury.

"Sorry, Zuko. But I think you definitely hold the record there," Aang ribs him with a mischievous grin. "I count once for me, twice for you -"

"Three, actually," Zuko grunts. "After the comet, after Lu Ten's wedding, when Jet attacked me in my bedroom -"

"How could I have forgotten about Jet?" Aang cries, smacking himself on the forehead. "Okay, then you definitely win." He scratches the back of his shaved head, frowning in thought. "So, one for me, three for you, one for Katara, and…and zero for Toph? That can't be right!"

"How about that time she collapsed during the Sun Warriors battle -"

"That doesn't count!" Aang scoffs. "I'm talking proper, major bodily damage here! Like, unconscious dragged out on a stretcher or nothing! Seriously though, nothing for Toph?"

Zuko shakes his head wordlessly.

"I guess she won the unofficial Team Avatar walking wounded competition then," Aang muses.

"I'll be sure to present her with the trophy when she gets here, then."

For a moment, they aren't an Air Nomad Elder and a Fire Nation statesman with the weight of their countries on their shoulders. They are simply two old friends, catching up on their lives and content to let the rest of the world pass them by.

And it feels nice.

But then another blast of the tsungi horn cuts through the late afternoon air. Zuko startles, amazed that he had somehow managed to forget about the entire summit for a brief, wonderful respite.

Yet the filigreed iron gates swing open slowly on well-oiled hinges, to display the manicured walking path winding up the rolling hill, and the jewel-bright waves of the ocean pounding at its base.

The tsungi horn wails again, louder. The musicians strike up a jaunty melody, their instruments perfectly in tune this time.

"That's my cue," Zuko mutters. "Wait for me, okay?"

"Of course." Aang smiles at him innocently. "Go be a good host, Sifu Hotman."

Zuko glares at him warningly. Then he hurries to his place at the head of the welcoming delegation, arrayed at the entrance of the grand convention hall where the summit would take place.

He surveys the grounds one last time with a critical eye. The high walls are bedecked with banners from all four nations, the gardens flaunting blooms and sculptures from every corner of the world. The announcer stands at his podium, clutching at a lengthy scroll that had been painstakingly inscribed with every attendee's name in Zuko's own hand.

"The delegation from the Fire Nation." The cry rings out, echoing against the gleaming flagstones.

Not that anyone needed the announcement, for the long procession of dignified people marching past the gates all sport the crimson regalia of the host nation. Some bear standards emblazoned with the red-and-black flame insignia, fluttering proudly from gem-studded poles.

At the head of the column, four men bear a palanquin on their shoulders. A simpler structure than the ones Zuko had grown up with, constructed not from polished gold and imported silk, but from local ebony and the sheerest red lawn.

"All hail His Majesty," the announcer calls out as the music rouses to a triumphant swell and the palanquin pauses at the threshold, "Fire Lord Iroh!"

Zuko barely notices as the procession sweeps past, led to their villa behind the convention hall. By now, his aides and stewards have finally found their stride, operating as smoothly as a well-oiled machine.

Only the last Fire Nation delegate breaks from the column to approach him directly. The chief minister herself: the leader of the Fire Nation's governing court, the most powerful woman in the nation.

"Your Highness," Kei Ling greets him, sweeping out of her formal bow. "Thank you for receiving us with such - ceremony."

Zuko bobs his head in acknowledgement. "Chief Minister Kei Ling," he returns tonelessly. "You honour us with your presence this year."

"Well I couldn't very well trust my deputies to handle things in my absence again," Kei Ling remarks, straightening one of the heavy golden headpieces pinned into her frizzy greying hair. "Although you certainly seem to be putting your best effort forward, Prince Zuko"

"Is there any other kind?"

But she only smiles at him cryptically, saying nothing more as she takes her leave. Zuko watches her voluminous robed form, gliding across the courtyard to rejoin the procession of red now retreating within the slanting walls of the distant guest villa.

"That seemed tense," Aang observes, stepping next to him.

Zuko shakes his head. "No, that was pretty normal."

"She doesn't like you?"

"I'm the face of Fire Nation diplomacy. Of course she doesn't like me," Zuko answers witheringly. "In case you forgot, her first pick embarrassed us on the world stage last year."

"Which made her own people hand you control of the ambassadorship!" Aang realises with a snort of laughter. "After she tried so hard to keep her government and the royal family as separate as possible."

"She wasn't thrilled," Zuko admits. "She wanted to keep the Blue Spirit in charge of domestic affairs - for the symbolism, you know - while Azula handled diplomacy. Instead, her own councillors decided to have it the other way around."

"Do you think she's setting you up to fail?" Aang asks, rather bluntly.

"Maybe." Zuko shrugs. "Personally, I think she'd lose a lot more than she'd gain if she tried that with me. The Blue Spirit was really popular with the common folk. Besides, I have a vested interest in making sure we have good relations with the other nations. I figure I might as well keep this post as long as everyone wants me in it."

"And after that?" Aang asks, his eyes going very round.

Zuko shrugs again, even as his mind goes very still at the thought. "We'll see."

Another blast of the tsungi horn rings out. The music transitions to a pounding, brass-heavy tune, marking the first of the green-clad procession now starting to crest the lip of the hill.

"We welcome the delegation from the Earth Kingdom," the announcer booms out in his resonant voice, and it seems to Zuko that everyone gathered in the courtyard stands just a little straighter. "We are honoured to receive His Earthliness, King Kwei, and his trusted ministers…"

Unlike the delegation from the Fire Nation, the Earth Kingdom's column seems to stretch on without end, as though they had sprung from the mouth of the sea itself.

Zuko steps forward to greet the former ambassador who had been crowned sovereign of the young kingdom amid a harrowing and protracted contest. The toll of the contentious leadership is written in the many lines in King Kwei's greying face, and the vast number of courtiers accompanying him from what must have been every minor noble family of any importance in his expansive territory. And the Kyoshi warriors trailing his steps in a close guard, their painted faces vigilant and fans brandished at the ready.

With a jolt in his stomach, Zuko recognises the small group from Gaoling following a small distance behind. Even from a distance, Toph's parents are immediately distinguishable, their green-and-gold ceremonial robes so dazzling they threaten to upstage the Earth King himself. Zuko fights to keep the scowl from twisting across his face at Lao Beifong's haughty, unimpressed expression.

But Aang, constricted by no such formalities, wears his distaste openly. "I hope she got enough of a heads-up," he mutters, glaring at Toph's parents as they stalk past.

"She knows," Zuko sighs, as Druk stirs restlessly in his sleep, cracking an eye open to survey the receding Beifongs with mounting suspicion. "She said she had it under control."

Aang scoffs. "Do you think they'll try to set another bounty hunter to kidnap her in the middle of a security meeting this year?"

"They'd better not," Zuko snarls, and Druk's body vibrates along his chest as he lets out an almost inaudible growl. "They're lucky they got invited back at all." He tilts his head in confusion as the last of the Earth Kingdom delegates finally pass him by. "Wait, where is Toph? I thought she'd be with the Earth King's group."

Aang shakes his head. "No, she's been down south with Katara and the others since the spring festival. Last she wrote, she said she'd hitch a ride with the Water Tribe delegation, since they were all headed the same way."

Zuko frowns. "Wait, Toph can write now? Since when?"

"She can't. But since she was in the south, Katara just did it for her." Aang's face brightens. "Speaking of, is Katara coming? We missed her last year!"

Zuko shifts uncomfortably. "She said she'd try."

The tsungi horn wails again, heralding the first glimpse of fluttering blue breaking over the crest of the hill. Amid the sudden hubbub of chatter that rises among the different groups waiting in the courtyard, the musicians change their tune yet again - slower, lilting, solemn.

The column of Water Tribe diplomats appear no less grave, the black-and-white paint of their faces stark in the late afternoon sun. They march in unison, draped in lightweight furs that sway with every step they take, and heavy ornaments painstakingly carved from the purest whalebone ivory.

Sweat slicks the back of his neck as he surveys the small group, trying to distinguish individual features from the sea of identically painted faces. But it's the posture and attire that give away their identities one by one, long before the announcer thinks to consult his list.

He recognises the Northern delegates immediately: chieftain Suluk and his son looming head and shoulders above everyone else in their company. Wiry Atanek, wizened Onartok limping slowly with a driftwood cane in one hand and his grandson's supporting shoulder under the other. Sour-faced chieftain Mallik with his scowling daughter in tow, followed by Keelut and his younger son, Tartok.

"Are you kidding me?" Aang complains under his breath as Hahn and his father round out the guests from the Northern tribe. "Who invited him?"

"I did," Zuko answers shortly, fighting to keep his face as expressionless as possible while the former Chief parades past with a haughty toss of his head. "Katara made me."

Aang raises his eyebrows but says nothing more as the Southern delegates bring up the rear, notably far fewer in number than their Northern counterparts, but no less dignified.

"And finally, we are honoured to receive Arrluk, Ambassador of the Water Tribes -" The announcer's voice takes up reciting from his list of names, but it quickly turns to gibberish, incomprehensible to Zuko's ears.

For the Water Tribe ambassador trails near the end of his procession, but not by himself. He's accompanied by Toph, who sticks out like a sore thumb in her formal green velvets. A pair of formidable Water Tribe warriors bring up the rear, far more regal in stature than any who had preceded them.

Zuko raises a hand to summon an aide. One appears at his side, as though conjured out of thin air. "Yes, Your Highness?"

"Tell Ito he's forgotten the two most important names," he commands in a hoarse whisper. "Hurry."

The aide bolts. The smacks of silken slippers pelting against stone punctuate the awkward pause that lingers meaningfully before the announcer clears his throat again. "We are most pleased to receive Chief Katara of the Water Tribes, and Sokka, her most trusted advisor."

Zuko swallows hard, fighting to keep his thoughts from his face. But it had been so many moons since he had seen her last, and she had somehow become even more lovely in their time apart and -

From somewhere around his navel, Druk lets out a piercing wail. Zuko reflexively covers the dragon's mouth.

He ignores Druk's reproachful grumble, instead painfully aware of his palms suddenly growing clammy with sweat. Whatever else demanded his attention in that moment, it could all wait.

Because though he hadn't dared to hope, she was here. Despite the mounting responsibilities weighing heavy as the purple cloak draped over her shoulders. He had asked her to come, and now she was here.

He absorbs the subtle changes in the six months since he had seen her last. The pressures of chiefship continued to hasten the advance of frost into her dark hair. New lines had appeared around her eyes. Long days spent travelling and governing instead of hard training had left her figure more rounded and lush than he remembers. The sharp angles of her face had softened, her garments clinging more snugly where she had put on weight.

But her eyes had never looked so bright as they do when they finally land upon him. Seeing him properly for the first time.

It brings him hurtling back. Far away from the summit on the young island, and back to a hot summer afternoon some three-odd years past.

A blink and he's back in that encampment in the middle of nowhere. Leaping off the crumbling pillars lining the practice arena to catch his first glimpse of a proud waterbender who refused to cow under the hostility of his fellow countrymen.

Now she arrives as the Chief of her own nation, and he welcomes her as the face of his own. But her mouth still parts at the sight of him, shock chips away at her steely chief's facade. And just like that, the same girl who had changed the course of his entire life peers right back at him.

"C-Chief Katara," he manages to say as she and the rest of her little retinue halt before him. "I'm so sorry. We didn't know if you were coming or not -"

"That's okay," she answers, her eyes still pinned to his with that same magnetic intensity. "I couldn't decide until the very last minute. But…but in light of, uh, recent events…" She trails off uncomfortably. "Plus," she recovers brightly, "I heard what happened last year and figured nobody wanted a repeat."

"I would never let that happen!" Zuko says vehemently. He swallows hard again, trying not to squirm under the unsubtle flick of her eyes, studying him from head to toe. "So…on behalf of the Fire Nation, we welcome you and your people to our summit," he continues somewhat lamely. "A-And if you find anything not to your satisfaction, you let me know."

Her lips curve into a knowing smile, and it sends boiling water cascading down the length of his spine. "I'll be sure to do that," she assures him, her gaze growing heavy-lidded as it rakes him over again. Perhaps noticing all the ways he had changed too… "Hopefully, this time my diplomats will be able to sample some of that legendary Fire Nation generosity I keep telling them about."

"Hospitality," Sokka interjects, crossing his arms grumpily across his chest. "I think you meant Fire Nation hospitality."

Katara spares him a single unimpressed glance. "Thanks, Sokka," she grates. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around."

Zuko clears his throat awkwardly. "Well…my aides have set up lodgings for you in one of the villas out back," he tries in a placatory voice, somehow remaining remarkably composed despite the tension simmering between the two siblings. "I made sure you would find it comfortable."

"Well, that's awfully considerate of you," Sokka retorts breezily before his sister can get a word in. "I'd hate to have to sleep above a stable or something."

Katara elbows him none too gently in the ribs and he yelps. "Forgive my brother's rudeness, Prince Zuko. He's a full-time idiot."

"I'm sure he has his uses. I mean - " Zuko fights to maintain composure as Sokka glares daggers at him, "we're really - truly honoured to host you all here. And uh…" he takes a deep breath, the unfamiliar word tangling around his tongue despite the number of times he had practised it, "Tunngasugitti."

He ignores Sokka's snort of derision or the wry smiles the rest of the Water Tribe delegates sport over his fumbling attempt at their language. Because Katara's eyes widen, appearing dangerously close to tears. "Nakurmiik," she answers very softly, reaching out to cover his hands with her own. "Thank you."

The space between them throbs with hidden electricity. His voice drops to a murmur, for her ears alone now. "It's…it's really good to see you again, Katara."

She touches her neck. He stares at the intricate patterns inked in concentric bands around her knuckles and the sliver of wrist peeking out from under her thick purple cloak. "Thanks Zuko," she says too quickly, "I see you look really good too - I mean -!" Splotches of red appear on her cheeks, clearly visible despite the layers of war paint and fine lines of black ink, "it's…it's really good to see you too - "

"Okay, Chief," Sokka declares, hooking an arm around her shoulders, "how about maybe we all go get settled then, yeah?" And with his characteristic lack of subtlety, he all but drags her off despite her spluttering protests to the contrary.

Zuko inhales deeply. Stiffly conscious of her gaze as it still lingers upon him, scorching its trails under his skin. Heat blooms tight and low in his belly…

"Well," Aang remarks as the grounds finally begin to clear, "that went pretty smoothly, all things considered! Don't you think?"

"I guess," Zuko replies, unable to think of much except how in the name of Agni he was supposed to concentrate on anything else when Katara kept looking at him like that… "Looks like a step up from last year, at least…"

They gather for the opening banquet later that evening.

Zuko rises from his place at the square head table, ignoring Druk's claws digging into his neck and the side of his face, and his tail wrapping around his throat. He takes a moment to study the reception hall one last time.

The banners had been moved inside, swaying in the breeze let in by the towering windows. Weak sunlight streams through the polished glass, illuminating all the low tables set with their porcelain plates and the refreshed guests kneeling around them. The air is thick with the rich aromas wafting from the kitchen hidden in the back.

His stomach rumbles in answer, but Zuko pays it little heed. He stumbles through the opening remarks before quickly ceding the spotlight to his uncle, who gratefully accepts.

The hall muffles into an uneasy silence as the Fire Lord slowly rises to his feet. "Honoured guests," Uncle Iroh intones, holding out his hands earnestly. "It is my honour - and my nation's, no less - to host your esteemed selves for the second annual All-Nations summit here on Harmony Island!"

A smattering of polite applause follows his proclamation. "It has been two years since our combined efforts ended my late brother's war. Two years since the arrival of Sozin's Comet, since the formation of the very island upon which we now all stand! Or sit, rather…I suppose I am the only one standing right now…"

The applause grows louder. An isolated cheer or two echoes around the hall. "Two years to the day since we saved the world together and committed to a peaceful, prosperous future." He rubs at his beard and a wry smile crosses his face. "The path there has not always been straightforward, I admit. War is easy…but peace is something else altogether."

A chill runs down Zuko's spine at the familiar words. The last time he had heard them, it had been in his uncle's pavilion, while agonising over an unlikely letter from his mother. Mere weeks before Emperor Azulon's death had plunged everything into chaos.

"A hundred years ago, we understood this. And two years ago, we remembered why." Iroh sighs heavily, his face darkening. "We made a promise that day on our harbour. We promised to strive for balance, to show the world another way. That perhaps it is not our lot to squabble and fight among ourselves until the bitter end after all."

He tucks his hands into his trailing, heavily-embroidered sleeves, bowing his head. "And it is in this spirit that my nation will continue to host this summit, every year on Liberation Day, to commemorate that promise. To do our part to provide an open forum where we may strengthen the ties between us, hold plain and open discussions, do what we can to bridge our differences and nurture this fledgling peace - as complicated, messy, and slow as it can be." Iroh sighs heavily, his voice lowering to a whisper. "We must believe that it will all be worth it in the end."

A hush settles across the spellbound hall, and Zuko finds himself mildly impressed. Perhaps a testament to the sincerity of his uncle's delivery, but not one guest in attendance - not even the thorniest and most uncooperative among them - dares to voice a single breath in opposition. No jeers of scorn or disbelief, nothing.

But then a conspiratorial grin splits across his uncle's face. The golden light of the setting sun winks off the five-pronged flame of his crown, pinned to his thick grey topknot. "But enough of an old man's rambling. Let the feast begin!"

And with that, the doors spring open, admitting dozens of attendants bearing platters of food. Zuko closes his eyes, allowing himself one small sigh of relief as his uncle takes his seat next to him at the head table.

Druk raises his head, chittering excitedly at the sight of Uncle Iroh. Zuko runs a warning finger along the back of his neck. "That's enough, Druk. Settle."

"Don't be so hard on him," his uncle chides, reaching out to stroke Druk's scaly face with a gentle finger. "He's only a baby."

"He won't be one for long," Zuko retorts while Druk purrs contentedly. "You'll regret spoiling him rotten like that when he's fully grown."

"Well, I think he's adorable!" Aang declares, drumming his fingers against the tabletop. "And I know we got off to a rocky start, but he will like me by the time this summit's over!"

"That shouldn't be too hard, Aang," Gyatso remarks from next to him. "You have a way with animals, after all."

"That's what I said!"

"Quit sulking, Twinkletoes," Toph reaches across the table to flick his sleeve. "I don't think that little dragon will find it any more endearing than the rest of us do." She pauses, her eyes widening slowly. "Wait. Hold up. Is that your arm? Or did you stick a tree-trunk under your sleeve for some reason?"

"Well, you and your dragon are always welcome at my palace, Prince Zuko!" King Kwei offers, peering at Druk over the rim of his spectacles. "I have an interest in exotic animals, and I'm sure he'd feel right at home in my menagerie."

"Maybe if you want an empty menagerie," Zuko answers sceptically.

On his side of the table, Aang laughs bashfully as Toph leans over to prod at his arm more inquisitively. Her jaw drops in utter shock. "No way! Holy badgermoles, when did that happen?"

"I can't believe it," Sokka complains loudly into Katara's ear. "I mean, I do a few pull-ups on a tree branch every now and then too, and nobody says anything. But Aang gets a little buff and suddenly everyone's fawning over him?"

"Well, Toph did just say that nobody likes a sulky guy," Katara retorts, rolling her eyes. "Maybe you could try some pull-ups for that winning personality of yours."

Zuko lets out a small huff of laughter before he can stop himself. From her seat directly opposite his, Katara positively beams, and the smile on his face widens. Druk extricates himself from Uncle Iroh's fingers to contribute a shrill cackle of his own.

But Sokka scowls forbiddingly. "So, Prince Zuko…you found that funny, huh?"

"Uh," Zuko backpedals, even as Druk cackles again, more loudly this time. "I mean…your sister…has a great sense of humour…"

"See, Sokka!" Katara whirls on her brother. "I can be funny sometimes!"

Sokka splutters back indignantly. The pair of them erupt into more bickering.

It's fine. Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly as the attendants swarm their table. The plates clink softly, plum wine glugs heartily into each glass. And if it isn't, at least there's wine.

"Our cooks have been hard at work tonight," one of the attendants announces in a slightly strained voice. "We have a very worldly assortment of dishes prepared for your enjoyment." He mops at the sweat beading on his forehead, before consulting the menu card tucked into his sash. "You will find curried vegetables and crispy noodles traditional to the Air Nation, steamed bao and soup dumplings from the northern Earth Kingdom. If you're feeling brave, you can try the komodo chicken and peanut-fried rice, both popular dishes from the Fire Nation's countryside. And last but certainly not least, we have some delicious chilled seaweed noodles and stewed ocean kumquats from the rustic cuisine found in both Water Tribes -"

"Ocean kumquats?" Zuko interrupts, his eyes snapping open in a panic. "What? It's supposed to be sea prunes -"

"Ah." The attendant clears his throat nervously; more sweat drips down his neck. "A…a thousand apologies, Your Highness. T-the cooks said they tried their best to source authentic sea prunes, but with supply routes being what they are…they - they couldn't get here in time -"

Zuko tries his best not to breathe fire at the unfortunate messenger. "Why am I only hearing about this now?" he hisses, taking great pain to keep his voice as low and controlled as possible.

Druk, on the other hand, finds himself encumbered by no such propriety. He perches on top of Zuko's head and bares his fangs at the attendant. His little wings beat in mounting protest.

"Okay, Druk. That's enough…" Zuko removes the dragon from his head and cradles him rather firmly with both arms. He turns back to the attendant, who has surreptitiously backed away from the table. "Please remind the cooks that they're to notify me the next time they make such a change."

"U-understood, Your Highness. It will not happen again." The attendant drops into a grateful bow, before slinking away as fast as his intricately pleated uniform could let him.

Zuko sighs before turning back to the table. To his surprise, everyone else stares at him unabashedly. "What?"

"You'll have to excuse my nephew," Uncle Iroh says into the stunned silence. "Hosting a summit of this scale has been very stressful. But he is doing an admirable job, and takes great pride in his work, as you can no doubt see."

"Clearly," Toph quips, her smirk audible in her voice. "I knew you could be high-strung, Sparky, but that was a prima donna fit worthy of a Gaoling debutante ball."

"Now, Toph. This is no joking matter." Sokka wags his finger at her, appearing uncharacteristically stern. "How is anyone supposed to take the Fire Nation seriously when it looks like they can't tell the difference between a sea prune and a kumquat?"

"Sokka!" Katara snaps. "Leave him alone!" She offers Zuko an apologetic smile, and it lifts his spirits. "It's really not that big of a deal, Zuko. Don't worry about it."

"Personally," Toph offers glibly, "I'm way more curious about that rustic cuisine comment. What the heck was that supposed to mean, anyway?"

But miraculously, dinner passes by without incident. The low buzz of chatter fills the airy hall, the constant hum a backdrop to the musicians plying away diligently at their instruments.

Relieved, Zuko plucks another cube of charred meat from the small side-plate at his elbow, and transfers it delicately into Druk's eager jaws.

King Kwei's eyes follow Druk's dinner with almost the same amount of interest. "What kind of diet do you have him on, Prince Zuko?"

Zuko shrugs. "The overcooked plain meat diet? Dragons don't really care for their vegetables."

"Fascinating," the Earth King mutters, pushing his spectacles further up his nose. "And is it customary for them to feed in this fashion?"

"Uh…" Zuko glances entreatingly at his uncle but finds him too preoccupied with the soup dumplings to be of any help. "Dragons are usually pretty clingy at this age. Until they start flying and breathing fire properly." He runs a hand along one of Druk's wings, little more than a thin web of translucent membrane. "It's because he's imprinting. Whoever cares for him now, he'll be loyal to them for life."

"That sounds kind of like a sky bison!" Aang exclaims, before King Kwei manages to get another question in. "Once you win them over, you'll be friends forever!" He smiles dreamily. "At least, that's how it was for Appa and I."

"Although, after witnessing the Fire Prince's patience with his little companion, I will have to remind our acolytes how easy they have it with their calves," Gyatso remarks, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I never knew that dragons could be so demanding."

Katara giggles, and the sound sends blood rushing to his face. "Well, I think he's absolutely precious."

"Who?" Sokka asks, elbowing her snidely. "The dragon, or the prince?"

"Yup."

Sokka raises an eyebrow expectantly. Katara ignores him, offering no further explanation.

Instead, she takes a very long, slow drag of wine. Her eyes lock onto Zuko's over the rim of her cup, and for a moment, they smoulder.

Zuko accidentally chokes on a mouthful of empty air and doubles over coughing. Druk screeches plaintively in his ear, nearly deafening him.

"Wow, you two," Toph snarks as everyone else looks on, bewildered. "Get a room already."

Katara glares at her before setting her cup down. "So, Fire Lord Iroh," she says sweetly, turning to address his uncle, "what do you think about starting up some Team Avatar cross-training again? Toph can't stop talking about how much she misses your meditation boot camps -"

"Hey!"

Shockingly, it isn't until the dinner plates have been cleared and the tables put away that the first squabble of the summit erupts next to the dessert bar.

"Well, at least they waited until dessert this time," Uncle Iroh points out kindly as the guards haul both belligerents outside.

"I don't understand it," Zuko complains, massaging his aching temples. "I specifically seated our delegates with those from the Air Nation, just to avoid another clash of temperaments!"

"That was shrewd of you, Prince Zuko," Gyatso agrees sagely. "But even you couldn't have accounted for Brother Kelsang's fondness for ube rolls."

Aang shrugs sheepishly. "Or that he would have knocked a Fire Nation diplomat over like that just to get the last one."

"I am almost confident that was accidental," Master Iio adds. "But still. Inadvertently causing the first scuffle of an international summit over a pastry?" She shakes her head in disappointment.

It just goes to show, Zuko reflects later in the evening, hawkishly monitoring the proceedings for even the smallest stirrings of conflict. With enough food and wine, even a pacifist monk can devolve into an animal.

Druk only continues to snore quietly into his sleeve.

A flute of sparkling plum wine rests in Zuko's fingers, barely touched. His eyes narrow, flitting from the ice-bar glittering in the corner, to the guests in their lavish attire milling about the hall, illuminated by lit torches and globes of bright glowflies.

The musicians strike up a livelier melody, and Fire Lord Iroh himself is the first to open the dance floor, Chief Minister Kei Ling sportingly obliging his invitation.

"P-Prince Zuko," a voice stammers into his ear. "May I offer my compliments on a fine evening?"

Zuko groans through his teeth, but remains courteously impassive as the Fire Nation's current cultural minister fidgets before him. "That is very kind of you to say, Minister Ikem."

"I had some very exciting discussions with the Air Nation elders, about some bilateral enrichment programs," Ikem prattles on breathlessly, his pale face flushing a strange shade of pink. "I'd spoken to your lady mother about it earlier -"

"Mm."

"Well, it was actually her idea," the man continues without pausing to draw breath, leaving Zuko to wonder how he hasn't yet keeled over, "she took the time to educate me on the similarities between the Air Nomads' use of stage makeup and Fire Nation theatre masks -"

"She always did love the theatre," Zuko sighs.

"Y-Yes," Ikem stutters, his eyes darting about the reception hall in yet another vain sweep. He finally takes a deep breath, his voice rising to little more than a squeak. "I was hoping to run some things by her, actually…in case she was also in attendance for the summit…?"

Zuko fights the urge to clap a hand to his forehead. "My mother is very busy with the herbalists' academy," he answers as politely as he can. "Sadly, she was unable to join us this year."

"Oh." Ikem visibly deflates before him. "Y-yes, of course. The expansion, how could I have forgotten -"

Just then, Druk lets out a snore so loud it inadvertently wakes him up.

Zuko clears his throat as Druk, distressed at being so unceremoniously torn from what must have been an excellent dream, starts to wail very loudly. "If you'll excuse me," he says with no small amount of relief, "I need to attend to my dragon -"

"Of course, Your Highness!" Ikem cries, leaping out of his way. "A-and…send my regards to Lady Ursa, should it please you." His ears redden furiously.

Zuko nods curtly, trusting himself to say no more as he hurries away. Meanwhile, Druk cries so hard, his entire body erupts into a violent hiccuping fit.

"Shh," he tries to soothe, stroking his bumpy spine with gentle fingers, "relax Druk, it's okay. You're safe, now just go back to sleep and - Druk, no!"

A small puff of bright golden flame emerges from the dragon's hiccuping jaws. It propels toward the nearest guest, setting their sleeve alight.

Zuko extinguishes it with a flick of his wrist. "Bad Druk!" he snaps, as the dragon slowly blinks at him with pathetic, watery eyes. "We don't set other people on fire! Bad Druk!"

He whirls on the guest who had gotten caught in the crossfire. "Please accept my deepest apologies -"

Hahn sniffs haughtily, staring down his nose at the little dragon now morosely burying its head into the folds of Zuko's cloak. "And they said it would be an improvement from last year now that they put him in charge," he complains, dabbing at his scorched and blackened sleeve. He turns to Jukka and Tartok, standing patiently next to him. "What kind of madman brings a baby dragon to a diplomatic conference anyway?"

"The same kind of madman who would invite you to one?" Jukka retorts without missing a beat. "Don't let the Chief hear you badmouthing our host now." His mouth curves into a wry smirk, one that Tartok quickly shares. "Otherwise she might just - what did you tell her you'd do, again? Tie you up to an iceberg and cut you loose. Wouldn't that be poetic?"

Hahn rolls his eyes. "As if that big bleeding heart of hers would let her," he scoffs. "But, who am I to speak against her?"

"Our old disgraced and demoted chief?" Jukka offers helpfully.

"Exactly." Hahn puffs up imperiously. "And instead of according me the same respect as my former father-in-law, she treats me with such disdain! Why would she oppress me so much if she wasn't secretly threatened by my presence?"

"Right," Jukka retorts dryly. "She's so threatened by you, she not only let you keep your seat in the band of chiefs, but she also made sure you got to speak at a super important summit so that all the world leaders can hear you." He stretches out a mocking hand. "But please…do go on about how you're so oppressed, Hahn."

"Shut up, Bastard."

"Skate up a hill, Hahn."

A bewildered Zuko tries to back away as unobtrusively as possible. Until Druk hiccups again, accidentally belching out yet more fire.

Zuko lifts a finger, his reflexes well honed by now. The flame extinguishes before it fully exits the dragon's mouth. Smoke trickles upward, clouding the air in front of him.

Hahn chokes in rising indignation. "Seriously? He tried to set me on fire again?"

Zuko draws himself up to his fullest height. "Gentlemen. It appears we are all learning tonight," he states, the cryptic loft in his voice reminding him horribly of his uncle.

He excuses himself hastily, fighting a shudder.

Druk crawls back onto Zuko's neck, resting his head apologetically at the crest of his collar. A mournful whimper greets his ears.

"It's okay, Druk," Zuko grumbles under his breath. "If it was socially acceptable, I'd have set him on fire too."

With a sigh of relief, Zuko finally slumps against the ice-bar counter later that night.

The barkeeper takes one look at him before plucking the untouched wineglass from his fingers with a tut and a shake of his head. Only to replace it wordlessly with a large tumbler of steaming dragonbreath instead.

"That bad, huh?" Aang remarks into his ear.

Zuko downs the fiery liquid in a single gulp, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. "In the past hour, I stopped that blockhead Shuren from challenging Kelsang to an Agni Kai in the courtyard -"

"To be fair, Kelsang did start that fight."

" - had to remind Ambassador Arrluk that the opening reception, or any point of the summit really, was not the time to air his suspicions about the Earth King's family ties to the former Dai Li regime-"

"To be fair, he's only saying what everyone's thinking," Aang points out mildly. "But still…not a tactful move exactly. Sokka's going to have a fit when he hears -"

" - handled sightings of three separate bounty hunters trying to scale the walls -"

"Monkeyfeathers, Toph's parents are still at it?" Aang curses with a vehemence rather unbecoming for an Air Nation Elder. "When will they ever learn?"

"- and if all that wasn't enough, Druk almost set Hahn on fire! Twice."

"Did he?" Aang brightens, reaching out hesitantly to stroke the sleeping dragon's head. "Good Druk! I'm so proud of you, little guy."

This time, Druk only growls softly in his sleep, recoiling from Aang's touch before finally reluctantly tolerating it. A delighted grin spreads across Aang's face. "Look, Zuko! Progress!"

"Good Druk," Zuko echoes wearily.

"What did Druk do this time?" Toph inquires, sidling up to the bar to join them.

"He nearly set Hahn on fire!" Aang replies, sounding far too pleased for Zuko's taste. "Twice!"

"Good Druk!" Toph crows, thumping Zuko on the back hard enough to get a wince out of him. "At least someone's enjoying himself tonight."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Zuko asks stiffly.

Toph shrugs as the bartender wordlessly tops up her glass. "It means you're stressing so hard, I think your pulse is gonna start an earthquake or something." She claps a hand onto the counter. "Chill out, grab a drink. Or five."

He narrows his eyes at her. "I'm working, Toph."

"You are?" A sly smirk flits across Toph's mouth, before she takes a deep swig of her wine. "Well, I think someone forgot to send Sugar Queen the memo." She nods at the opposite corner of the reception hall. Amid the pairs of dancers milling about, Katara is engrossed in what looks to be a rather frustrating conversation with the Fire Nation's trade minister. "She was staring you down all night, like she wants to take a nice big bite out of you -"

"Toph!" Zuko hisses, nearly choking on his drink. "Stop embarrassing us! She's working too -"

"So?" Toph snorts. "She's the chief, Sparky. It's not like she turned into a rock or something -"

"Wait," Aang interrupts, slowly setting his cup down. "Is this all because Zuko hasn't found an excuse to sneak off with his girlfriend yet?" Zuko is horrified to see Aang smirk at him knowingly. "Come on, Zuko, I thought you were supposed to be the brave one!"

"This isn't the place or time!" Zuko splutters, as Druk's wings flail about chaotically. "Katara's got a lot on her plate. I don't want to be the reason nobody takes her seriously as Chief -"

"Seems to me like she's doing pretty well on her own," Toph remarks, arching an eyebrow. "But if I was a betting woman, I'd guess the reason she's riveted to that spot isn't just because she's enjoying taking the dressing out of your minister there."

"Oh?"

Toph points at the wall behind Katara, where the floor-to-ceiling windows allow moonlight to stream in from the gardens. It spills across the floor, touching all the dancing guests with a faint silver glow.

But Katara stands silhouetted right against it so that the moonlight bathes her skin in an otherworldly veil.

His breath hitches in his throat, watching it play off the planes of her skin visible under the drape of her white furs. Gleaming against the fine black lines inked across the strong contours of her face, encircling her knuckles, wrists, and crooks of her elbow in intricate patterns. Illuminating her hands as they move emphatically, punctuating whatever she was saying to the dimwit minister unfortunate enough to cross her…

He swallows hard, his heart suddenly racing uncomfortably. "Is it because of the light?"

Toph's face scrunches in confusion. "Light, what light? I'm blind, you thirsting idiot."

"Shut up. I knew that!"

She snickers in reply. "Well, then you'd also know that spot is right next to a certain door that leads rather discreetly into that garden with the huge hedge maze in it -"

Zuko gapes at her, aghast. "How can you say that? Katara would never behave with such impropriety -"

As though she could hear him from the other side of the room, the corner of Katara's mouth quirks inexplicably upward.

The words promptly die in his throat as he intercepts the secretive glance she sends him out from under heavy-lidded eyes. It lingers upon him for a knowing moment, just long enough for him to read the challenge simmering in its simmering depths.

Heat cascades along every last inch of his skin. He swallows very carefully, trying not to choke. Druk croons plaintively in his ear.

"Right," Toph comments dryly, as the disinterested trade minister ambles away in search of more plum wine, and the gauzy curtains seem to swallow the young Water Tribe Chief with a billowing swell of the evening breeze. "Blowing off a room full of stuffy old geezers who don't take her seriously, just to do what she wants anyway. Nope. Totally doesn't sound like Sweetness at all."

"What are you talking about? That's exactly what Katara would do -"

"I know, Twinkletoes. But unlike you, Sparky can actually speak sarcasm every now and then -"

"Excuse me." The words jumble in his mouth as, with a swish of her airy white furs, Katara slips out of the room. Heedless of his eyes fixed upon her - or perhaps revelling in his attention, instead.

He is deaf to Toph's protest as he shoves his glass into her hand, oblivious to the other guests who try to flag him down as he crosses the room. The utter exhaustion of the day, and all the days leading up to here heavy on his shoulders, like the weight of the little dragon nodding off against the hollow of his throat…

Impatience itches at him, suffusing its restlessness into every fibre of his being. Even the dewy chill of the briny evening air does little to calm him.

He barges down the path leading from the terrace into the darkened shadows of the gardens, and the maze of towering hedges at its heart.

Perhaps he had let it all get to his head. Perhaps, with the dragonbreath and every hint that his friends had nonchalantly dropped, he had hoped, even believed. Perhaps he had allowed himself to expect to find her waiting for him down here, safe from the prying eyes and wagging tongues of all the guests they had left behind upstairs.

But instead, he finds himself perched alone at the heart of the hedge-maze, with only his sleeping dragon for company. Druk's little snores compete with the hum of the evening breeze and the constant splash of fountain-water spilling forth in silver trails.

His eyes, slowly acclimating to the darkness, take in the elaborate statues towering before him. A monument to Harmony Island, carved by the finest Fire Nation artisans from alabaster so pure that it seems to glow with a light of its own.

He studies his likeness sculpted from the stone - one of four entwined on a round pedestal that seems to float in the middle of the fountain basin. A strange feeling thrums through him at the sight of it. He had tried to keep himself at arms' length all through its commissioning and unveiling, always finding some excuse to stay away.

After all, what was the point? How could he bring himself to sit before yet another tribute to Team Avatar's accomplishments without the rest of them? Who else would understand the odd emptiness that had rooted itself into every day that had since the war's end?

"Is that really what they think we look like?"

A faint smile works its way onto his face as he finally picks out the outline of her silhouette, casually leaning against one of the topiaries. "Were you waiting there the whole time?"

"Pretty much." The pad of soft grass crushing underneath her feet, the whisper of her furs rippling with every step closer.

"And you just let me sit here all by myself without saying anything?"

"I thought you knew I was here."

"How was I supposed to see you in the dark?"

"Why were you blundering around down here without a light? I thought you were supposed to be a firebender."

And then, the heat of her body, emanating in waves as she settles in next to him. The moment he had been waiting for, even since she had surprised him with her presence earlier that afternoon. "Not according to that sculptor, apparently."

She tilts her head to study the strange statue, before leaning against his shoulder. "Hmm. You know, with that stance and the placement of the fountain jets, it does kind of make it look like you're waterbending."

"It does, doesn't it?"

"And Aang's form is all wrong, airbenders are way lighter on their feet -"

"That's what I said too," Zuko replies patiently. "But the sculptor insisted he couldn't guarantee the structural integrity of the stone if he didn't put Aang's weight all in his feet -"

"What a hack. Has he never heard of an air scooter?"

"No, he's from the Fire Nation countryside. He's never seen an Air Nomad before, let alone an air scooter -"

"Then was he really the best person to go with?" She leans forward, and even in the darkness he can see her frown. "And why did they put water-jets so close to my eyes, but nobody else's?"

"They thought it would draw attention to your very distinctive hair loopies."

"Well, they're stupid. It makes me look like I'm tearbending! I hate it."

Zuko smirks at her seething indignation before wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "Me too," he confesses. "I hate everything about it."

Katara shakes her head, snuggling in closer. His nostrils fill with the familiar tug of her scent. "I'm so sorry you had to endure the sight of it all alone," she laments, her fingers interlacing with his. "Did…did you have to put on a dignified princely show and pretend that you liked it, too?"

"In front of an entire audience," Zuko affirms solemnly. He covers her hand with his own before bringing it to his lips. Her eyes, glossy and luminous in the dark, are all he can see. "They unveiled that monstrosity in front of me with the entire cabinet present."

A shiver goes through her as his lips languidly press against one tattooed finger, and then another, and another. Her voice, when she finally finds it, sounds weak to his ears. "How…how did you react?"

He smirks, before turning her hand over. "I had to be polite. I'm the face of Fire Nation diplomacy, remember?"

Without waiting for her to answer, he plants an open-mouthed kiss against her palm, against the inside of her wrist.

He feels her swallow unevenly, savours it almost as much as the taste of her skin quivering under his tongue. "Well…" she breathes shakily, "I'm not sure how diplomatic you're being right now - ah!" A hiss escapes her as his teeth scrape teasingly against the pulse now throbbing under her skin.

His smirk widens as he pulls back and hears her exhale loudly in frustration. "You were saying?"

Without warning, her hands fist into his collar. "Don't be a jerk," Katara warns. "Nobody likes that."

Before he can cough up another word in response, she kisses him so forcefully he nearly topples off the bench.

For a moment, he lets himself fall into it. The softness of her lips moulding to his own, the way her fingers dig into his skin with fervent, almost painful, longing. Her weight shifting to cover him, her hair falling like a canopy to blot out the rest of the world and its darkness, until all he can see is her, all that exists is her.

What was gravity compared to the pull of her body and his?

The answer comes to him promptly as Katara loses her balance with a yelp. The world stutters in a brief free-fall, the hard stone of the bench crushing into his back with their combined weight.

"Oof."

He blinks stars out of his eyes. His fingers flex experimentally where they had clutched to the edge of the seat in a white-knuckled panic. "Ow."

She glances up at him from where her face had crumpled into his chest. "Are you okay?"

"Am I okay?" He grumbles while the sting works its way up his forearm. "I think I wrenched my wrist, actually."

She winces. "That sounds painful."

"Does it?" He can't help the snort that escapes him at that. "I used to be a lone vigilante dismantling my father's rule with nothing more than a mask and a pair of broadswords. How did I just get vanquished by a bench?"

"Toph thinks we've all gone soft," Katara agrees, clambering up onto her haunches. She reaches for his hand, a small stream of water already arcing from the fountain to encircle her fingers in a shining glove. "Here, let me take a look -"

Without warning, he grabs at her wrists, yanks them insistently to his chest. He registers the hammering of her heart where it presses up against his, the widening of her eyes, the shocked part of her lips

Then he cups her jaw, his mouth closing on hers none too gently. And then everything else fades amid the soaring rush of adrenaline that grips him in a frenzy that mounts with every rake of his teeth against her lips, her skin along his tongue. Every needy little whimper that builds in her throat as she fights to meet him halfway, clutching at him with a blind desperation ruing every last inch that separates them.

He can't help the faint chuckle that escapes him as her hands fumble clumsily with the buckles of his mantle and chestplate. "Here? Really?"

"Did you have anywhere better in mind?" she whispers, the words hot and harsh against his earlobe.

A shiver goes through him, even as his hands close over hers, guiding them along the complicated fastenings of his ceremonial armour. "Let me think. What could possibly be better than a cold damp bench in front of a gaudy fountain in the middle of a hedge maze, outside in the dark -"

She pauses, the glint in her eyes now having nothing to do with the moonlight. "I'm listening."

He tries his best to ignore the smaller claws that abruptly dig into the flesh of his upper arm as Druk finally stirs from an impressively deep slumber. "The guest villa is just up the path there. My suite might be a bit more comfortable…considering it's got four walls and a ceiling."

Katara blinks, temporarily nonplussed. "Oh right. You have those in the Fire Nation too."

He raises an eyebrow and her answering smirk fills his vision - mischievous and inviting in the dappled silver light. A stifled groan rumbles somewhere in the depths of his chest - a primal, guttural sound he barely manages to control.

Then, Druk lets out a shrill cry right into his ear, and Zuko recoils before letting out a sigh. "Come on," he grunts, shoving off the bench to stagger onto wobbly legs scarcely able to bear his weight. "Before this idiot dragon blows our cover."

She accepts his proffered hand, getting to her feet rather gracelessly. "Won't we be seen? That path takes us back past the reception."

He shrugs nonchalantly, unsure of when blazing fire had replaced the blood in his veins and filled him with drunken, reckless exuberance. "Sounds like a breeze for the Blue Spirit and the Painted Lady." His grip on her hands tightens still; under his fingers he can feel her pulse racing just as dizzyingly fast as his own. "What do you think?"

Her eyes slide over him appraisingly. He wonders how he doesn't combust under their heat.

"Reminds me of old times," she remarks at last, the levity of her words betraying the edge that enters her voice and sends a shiver down his spine. "I'm right behind you."

Katara doesn't remember the last time she had felt quite so exhilarated.

Being Chief of the Water Tribes was scarce in its idle moments, and it left little room for much else. Once, she had spent her days waging impossible battles with her friends at her side. Now, her victories had gradually become those of ink and paper.

Expanding inventory lists. Treaties and trade agreements. Signed decrees that gave life to her laws…

It isn't until she finds herself trailing Zuko's silent footfalls through the shadows of the hedges, within plain sight of the packed convention hall, that it strikes her just how much she misses the perils of her old life.

The veil of night and the comfort of its obscuring folds. The dampness of the brick wall against her fingertips. The heat curling off Zuko's very solid body, coiled with vigilant tension next to her…

She touches a hand to her chest, feeling the drum of her heart. Zuko peeks out of the shadows, into the light pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows. "Looks like Fukio and Huang Shi are making a beeline for the custard buns," he murmurs. "Everyone else is distracted."

Katara nods absently, finding it difficult to concentrate with him so close to her in that small, darkened corner. Strands of his hair graze her cheek, the smoky star-spice smell of his soap wafts off his skin in heady waves. The contours of his body where it presses against hers, so broad and firm even under the stiff brocade of his ceremonial garb…

His mouth grazes her ear. "Go."

They dash past the windows, twin shadows flitting from crevice to cranny. Katara savours the old, familiar sensation, even as her breath grows laboured in complaint. With the wind rifling through her hair and the dewy grass cold beneath her light feet, everything becomes simple again.

She doesn't notice Zuko's back stiffening to a halt in front of her and promptly crashes into him.

Strong arms catch her as she staggers backward, blinking stars out of her eyes. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just -"

"Shh!" A finger presses against her lips. In the corner of her eye, Zuko's profile appears strained. "Almost there. Come on."

He guides them under the shelter of the long, low hedge spanning the breadth of the courtyard. Laden with all its sculptures and the few guests who mill around them in search of fresh air and silence.

The villa set aside for the Fire Nation guests looms into view. Adrenaline races through her veins: the reckless thrill of sneaking around in secret, the danger of getting caught and whatever stupid political fallout might follow thereafter…

But then Zuko's grip on her arm tightens, and she feels it curling straight through her body. Next to that, she is surprised by how little she cares about anything else.

They have burrowed into the bushes lining the outer walls, nearly out of earshot of the people in the courtyard. Zuko fumbles with the lock on the gates, his fingers shaking so hard with anticipation that they grow rather clumsy.

He curses as the lock crashes to the ground with a dull clang. As though in answer, Druk lets out an impatient screech that pierces audibly into the night air.

Zuko quickly clamps a hand around his jaws. Then, he unceremoniously stuffs the baby dragon into his pocket, swearing hotly all the while under his breath.

Katara presses a fist against her mouth, stifling a giggle.

They wait no longer to court discovery, slipping through the gates and toward freedom in nimble, leaping strides. Soon enough, the walls of the humble villa loom around them, welcoming them into the privacy of its warm enclosure.

Zuko remains tight-lipped, even as he pushes through a door, a corridor winding through a darkened, deserted apartment, and then yet another door - locked, this time.

Katara trips on the hem of her dress in her haste to enter. The world lurches madly as she scrambles to find her balance.

She scarcely manages to take in her surroundings, the polished redwood gleaming in the light that suddenly bursts forth from the torches awakening in their wall brackets. A slam of the door swinging shut, the click of the lock sliding home. And then the cold hard stone of the wall, colliding against her back with the weight of Zuko's body all but engulfing hers.

He hisses what might have been steam into the slight part of her mouth, already yielding so desperately under his. A sigh of utter relief escapes her, even as she grabs at his shoulders, trying to pull him even closer. His entire body crushes into hers and still not enough, she thinks deliriously, fists crumpling into stiff fabric.

His hands cups her face, thumbs grazing along her jaw. Hers bury into his hair, upsetting the careful topknot as her nails scrape along his scalp.

She bites down on his bottom lip and a groan rattles through him. Swallowing hard, she fights one of her own, because the sound seems to penetrate right through her entire body. Emptying it of everything else except the sheer craving that now longs to burst free.

But in spite of the way his body rocks eagerly against hers in answer, the first thing that swells to meet the skin bursting free of her lopsided furs is Zuko's pocket.

They both freeze, staring in confusion as Druk wiggles out of his confines, clambering up Zuko's arm to stick his face right where their lips had clung and suddenly sprung apart.

"Hey!" Zuko swats the dragon's head away from his mouth, where he had started sniffing curiously. "Boundaries, Druk! Do you mind?"

"I don't think he understands what those are yet," Katara tells him solemnly, trying her hardest not to burst out laughing at the whole thing.

"I just -!" Zuko takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, fighting to calm himself. "I just wanted a moment," he snarls quietly, glaring at the dragon prancing happily on his shoulder. "One moment, Druk! Can't you do this for me?"

But Druk only quails under Zuko's ire, and lowers his head in an unmistakable mope.

Zuko buries his face into Katara's hair as he slumps in defeat. "I don't know what to do. If he starts crying again, he might accidentally set the whole place on fire."

Katara, thoroughly pinned between the wall and Zuko's dejected weight, only manages a helpless smile at the dragon that now pokes his snout into her face with another curious sniff. "Oh Druk," she reproaches, reaching up to stroke his soft red scales, "what are we going to do with you -"

"Careful!" Zuko hisses, clamping a hand around her wrist. "You'll set him off."

She lets out an indignant huff, ignoring the indignity of her current immobilised state. "I'll set him off?"

"Well, not you specifically. He just, uh…he doesn't like women," Zuko explains hastily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Or…he's afraid of them, rather. I think Azula accidentally traumatised him when he was a hatchling."

"Oh." Katara contemplates this while Druk warbles again plaintively. "Well. I can't say I blame him. The first time I met your sister, she kind of traumatised me too."

Hot air puffs against her hair as Zuko lets out a small chuckle. "Yeah…she has that effect on people. Although, she's gotten a bit better after her stint at that weird sanatorium."

"It can't be that weird if it helped." She laughs weakly as the dragon's face bumps against her cheek, his nostrils fluttering with every determined sniff. "Well! You're a persistent little guy, aren't you?"

Zuko groans. "That's putting it delicately."

"Clearly, he takes after his father." Katara smirks against Zuko's throat, just as something hot and moist slides against the corner of her mouth. She yelps, only to find Druk licking at her face with a miniature forked tongue, and the sound turns into a squeal of delight. "Aww! Thanks for the kisses, Druk!"

"He's - he what -?"

But Katara extends her hand in an encouraging invitation. To Zuko's apoplectic shock, Druk crawls right into her arms and curls up against the soft fur lining her chest.

"He's so cute!" she exclaims, as Druk lays his head against the crook of her neck and his little body vibrates contentedly against her heart. "I don't know, Zuko, I think he likes me."

Zuko kneads his forehead as Druk rubs his face against the underside of Katara's jaw in an unmistakably affectionate gesture. "I don't understand," he mutters quietly to himself. "I'm not going to complain. But I don't understand."

"Looks like your dragon is an excellent judge of character," Katara remarks, beaming at the dragon who gazes back at her with softening eyes. "What do you think, Druk? Is your dad safe around me?"

The dragon blinks slowly in assent.

"Good boy." Katara nods approvingly, while Zuko stares in slack-jawed disbelief. "Now, can we come to a little understanding here? You're being so good -"

Druk preens himself, making a pleased little sound.

" -and the thing is, so is your dad." She winks at Zuko, enjoying how he sputters and turns bright red in response. "So, can you do us a favour, Druk?"

Her hand finds the doorknob digging into her hip, undoes the lock in a single swift motion.

But to her pleasant surprise, Druk only continues to watch her as she pushes the door open and lowers him to the layers of weathered dragonhides piled in the corner. "See, your dad and I really need a moment, and as much as we both love you…it gets a little crowded with the three of us." She smiles at the baby dragon, who continues to stare up at her in wonder. "So, how about it then? Want to show your daddy just how good a boy you are?"

Behind her, Zuko presses his face into his palm. "It's not going to work -"

Druk obediently hops off her arm, and into his little nest. He crawls around the crumpled surface in little circles, before finally curling up into a ball.

"There we go!" Katara caresses the ridges atop his soft, warm head. "Good Druk!"

The little dragon blinks at her slowly again before lowering his head with a small harrumph. Then his eyes drift shut and his little snores fill the stunned silence of the darkened room.

Katara doesn't bother hiding her triumphant grin as she gently pushes the door shut and locks it once again.

"How in Agni's name did you do that?" Zuko demands incredulously.

She presses a hand to her chin and flutters her eyelashes. "Oh, you know. A girl's got her ways."

He sighs again. "As long as he's quiet." His eyes find hers, gleaming amid the black tousle of his bangs.

Next thing she knows, he has her pinned back against the door. Fire stirs under every inch of her skin exposed to his wandering touch. His mouth is heavy and wet where it presses against the line of her jaw, the dip of her throat. "But I think I'll need longer than just a moment," he hisses, his teeth nibbling teasingly at her earlobe.

Katara can't help the lazy smile that curves along her lips as she cups his face in her hands, hovering it just above her own. "Well," she chastises in a low, throaty voice she barely recognises. "Aren't you greedy?"

He chuckles softly before she kisses him back, throwing all caution and abandon to the winds. His lips are soft and insistent against her own - melting where she pushes to claim his, surging back to capture hers with possessive ferocity.

Faint whines rise in the back of her mouth, embarrassingly loud. She doesn't notice them over the clicking of buckles unfastening, of furs and brocade slithering to the floor to expose overheated skin. The soft groans sticking in Zuko's throat as his fingers trace her old scars, enthusiastically explore the new curves of her softening body…

He curses under his breath with a reverence that sends blood racing to her cheeks. Before she can manage to say anything else, his touch grows eager, impatient. Shoving remaining scraps of clothing aside to palm the spots that make her knees go weak and the back of her head collide against the locked door.

Empty pleas tumble out of her mouth. A hand scrabbles aimlessly at the knob, the other fists into his hair in an unspoken demand. A hiss whistles through his teeth in response, before he laps more greedily at the swell of her skin.

She trembles from the immense heat that radiates from his body, so hard and unyielding where it presses desperately into her own.

"P-please," she manages to choke out as his fingers grow still and his darkened eyes flick up to meet hers with a knowing glint. His breath is nearly as ragged as hers, curls of steam pooling hot moisture into every dip and hollow, expanding and contracting with the urgency of her incoherent words - "I - now - Zuko -"

But then another sound greets her ears. A high-pitched whimper, followed by a croon and a yelp that most decidedly was not coming from her.

She pulls back, momentarily confused. "Is that Druk?"

Zuko lets out a frustrated growl into her hair. "He's testing me," he mutters furiously, as Druk's agitated cries on the other side of the door grow louder. "He's testing my ability not to kill him -"

An abrupt rattle silences him instantly. The thud of the outer door opening and then slamming shut, footsteps clomping through the dark, empty apartment. Katara's heart races frenetically, as they grow louder, drawing inevitably closer to the locked door against which both of them remain entangled, and now petrified.

But then Druk chirps again, softer, and the footsteps stop in their tracks.

Katara swallows nervously, her eyes meeting Zuko's panicked ones in an unspoken question. But the answer rings out almost immediately afterward, as a quiet voice breaks the tense silence engulfing the darkened apartment.

"Oh, here you are, Druk!" Uncle Iroh remarks, his voice sounding far too close for either of their comfort. A small groan, the swish of shifting velvet. "What are you doing here, alone in the dark?"

Druk chitters again, sounding happier. Almost immediately, Zuko's hand covers Katara's mouth.

"Hm," Uncle Iroh's voice continues, musing out loud. "Well, this is unexpected, isn't it? I had thought to find my nephew here…"

Another grunt and a delighted screech from Druk, presumably perking up once he found himself in his doting great-uncle's arms instead of his lonely nest. "However, this is a strange mystery, Druk," Uncle Iroh's voice continues solemnly. "You see, your father is mysteriously missing -" Iroh's voice suddenly grows abnormally, deafeningly loud in emphasis, "-and nobody seems to know where he is. But…at least I can say with certainty that my nephew is not here."

Zuko's hand clamps tighter against her mouth. She fights to breathe, his palm almost achingly hot against her skin.

"And even if he was here, I am certain I would find him all alone," Uncle Iroh continues in his strange, overly-loud voice. "In which case, I would tell him that Chieftain Hahn is quite upset with him and while I have managed to smooth things over with the Northern delegation for now, he will need to personally apologise by the end of the night -"

A very deep, slow exhale forced through clenched teeth hisses against Katara's scalp.

" - but since he is not here, Druk, I can tell him none of that," his uncle's voice continues, more mild but still uncomfortably loud. "So. Let us turn our attention to far more pleasant things. Like moon peach tarts. I thought I saw some left over in the kitchens, and I know they are your favourite. Let's go sneak some, what do you say?" The sound of receding footsteps as Uncle Iroh's voice finally grows softer and more distant. "Yes, your daddy doesn't let you eat moon-peach tarts, but he will never find out! Because, as we have established, he is not here -"

A deep belly laugh, accompanied by Druk's excited screeches. And then the slam of the outer door, followed by complete silence.

Zuko's hand falls away from her mouth slowly. "I…am never going to be able to look that man in the eye again."

A helpless giggle escapes her at the ashen look that spreads over Zuko's aghast face. "It would have been way more awkward if Druk hadn't distracted him," she reminds him.

"It would, wouldn't it?" Zuko nods gruffly. "Good Druk."

"Good Druk," Katara agrees, before clutching at his shoulders and pulling him flush against her once more. "Anyway. Where were we?"

It takes an embarrassingly short while before they both collapse against the door again, this time gasping and spent. Katara blinks stars out of her eyes, the ground rattling and swaying dangerously under wobbly legs. Zuko's breath is harsh and ragged against the crook of her neck, where he had buried his face in the throes of everything. There's fire under her skin, currents of electricity still coursing along every nerve ending, every convulsing muscle…

"Well," she forces out, every breath an effort squeezed out of uncooperative lungs, "if you're trying to convince me to come to these summits more often, I think you're making a very compelling case."

He lets out a weak laugh. "Glad I could do something right tonight," he grunts, before reluctantly pulling away on legs at least as unsteady as her own. "Considering how everything else has been nothing short of an abject disaster."

"Really?" Katara wipes at her dampened skin with the back of her hand. "But I thought dinner was great. Those stewed prunes were something else!"

"What?" Zuko pauses midway through lacing up his undertunic to stare at her quizzically. "But we did it all wrong! They weren't even sea prunes -"

Katara shrugs. "Then explain why I caught Sokka secretly licking his bowl clean when he thought no one was looking."

Zuko lets out a huff of relief, which dissolves into a helpless laugh. "I'll…I'll be sure to pass his compliments over to the cook, then."

A warm glow fills her at the sight, softer than the fine white furs that she plucks off the floor.

She steals a glance at Zuko as he clips another buckle in place. Studies the lingering flush still visible against the pallor of his skin, the way his fingers still tremble clumsily in the aftermath. The furrows that crease his brow as he frowns at the complicated fastenings of his regalia, the dissatisfied press of his lips into a grim line...

It isn't until he tilts his head curiously at her that she realises that she had been staring. "What?" he asks. "Do I have something stuck to my face?"

She averts her gaze, blushing furiously. "No! No…nothing like that."

"Then?"

Her fingers twist at themselves, at the fold of a white fur pleat. "Nothing! Just…thank you."

"Uh…." His frown deepens. "For what?"

She shakes her head quickly, unsure of why her heart suddenly begins to race again. "All this…" Her hand moves in a vague gesture, and it does little to alleviate the weight of Zuko's scrutiny now fixed upon her and spirits - "I'm just a little overwhelmed, that's all."

"Overwhelmed?" Zuko asks, instantly alarmed. "Was it too much for you? I knew we shouldn't have done it like this -"

"Not that!" she corrects with a small snort. "No, I meant today. This whole summit, Zuko, I…" Her voice falters at the way Zuko recoils, completely taken aback. "I know you put a lot of thought and effort into it, and I see it, and I just -"

He blinks at her, his mouth suddenly agape. "You really think so?"

"How couldn't I?" She stumbles toward him, reaches out to clasp his hands in hers. "You've been working so hard just to make sure everything goes perfectly, and…and we see it." She smiles wryly. "I know the others have a funny way of showing it, but we couldn't feel more welcome here, and I know that's all because of you. So…thank you."

His answering smile does little to calm her fluttering heart. "Even with our trade minister making backhanded comments at you all evening?"

She raises her eyebrows. "So you noticed?"

"Everyone noticed. Fukio isn't a subtle man."

"Still though. You'd think he would have bothered to get one of his peons to go over the agreement first."

Zuko growls under his breath, his fingers knotting the ties of his heavy overtunic. " I warned him. What kind of fool signs a trade agreement without even reading it?"

"Obviously he thinks we've got nothing of value to make a trade relationship worth the Fire Nation's while." She can't help the wicked grin that splits across her face at the thought. "I wonder how long it'll take him to realise how badly he messed up."

Zuko makes a face as he slides his mantle over his shoulders. "Well. Kei Ling and the aristocratic faction insisted on giving the trade ministry an independent role in crafting our relations with other nations. So Fukio can independently explain to them why he signed a very one-sided trade agreement in which the Water Tribes got their autonomy and complete sovereignty over all natural resources, and the Fire Nation agreed to get essentially nothing in return."

Katara doesn't bother masking her triumph. "Sokka played him like a fiddle. It was his idea that we agree to drop all our demands for reparations from the negotiations. He said it would make the Fire Nation think we looked extra weak, and that they had the upper hand." She shakes her head in reluctant admiration. "I thought they'd see right through it. But he's my strategy guy for a reason."

"Still." Weariness enters Zuko's voice as he rakes his fingers through his hair, trying to comb it back in place. "Once the news gets out, Fukio will be the first to cry foul."

"Let him." Katara raises her chin defiantly. "I have plenty of experience managing big crybaby sore losers, thanks to Hahn."

Zuko brightens at the mention of her predecessor's name. "Speaking of Hahn. Druk nearly set him on fire. Twice."

"Yes, I thought I heard him whining about it." Katara rolls her eyes. "Good Druk. Any chance he'll succeed on the third try?"

"Not unless you want to accidentally trigger another all-out war between our nations," Zuko answers solemnly, tying his hair back into its topknot.

"I know," Katara acknowledges glumly, watching as Zuko pins his flame crown back into place. "It might be inevitable. Once the other nations get wind of our little discovery, it'll only be a matter of time before they all show up on our doorstep trying to take it for themselves."

"It won't come to that," Zuko swears, with a vehemence that sets her hair on end. "Uncle won't let it happen. Neither will I."

Katara eyes him shrewdly. "Wouldn't that just make life even more difficult for you?"

He shrugs dismissively. "In case you haven't noticed, my life has always been difficult. If things suddenly became easy, I'm not sure what I'd even do."

She laughs, shaking her head. "Me neither," she confesses.

The flicker of firelight glints off the polished flame crown perched neatly in his topknot. It warms the gold of his eyes, softening in the corners as they drink her in. As though they could never get tired of looking at her, as though determined to commit every last detail to memory.

"I take it you spoke with your uncle about it then?" she ventures, when the silence drags on long enough to make her fidget in place again.

"I did," Zuko answers, relief spreading across his face. "He was really supportive of the idea. He thought it would be a great opportunity."

"Really?" Katara's grin widens so much it almost makes her cheeks ache. "That's incredible! So…you really think it'll happen this time?"

"Obviously, discretion is my biggest priority here," Zuko continues, but his excitement grows with every word. "I'm not giving any indication of what might be down there. No reason to think that this is anything other than routine. As far as everyone else in the Fire Nation knows, we're only doing this because we got hammered in our negotiations with the Earth Kingdom after they had to clean up our mess in the South Pole."

Katara brightens. "So that worked? I'll have to thank Toph again."

"Me too. Because it gives us the perfect excuse to send a small team down there."

"And you?" Katara asks hopefully. "You'll come too, right?"

"Our first official trip to the Southern Water Tribe?" Zuko deadpans, even as his eyes glimmer with amusement. "I'm the ambassador-at-large, Katara. Of course I'm coming. That's literally my job."

She grabs at his hands again, suddenly feeling like her skin isn't enough to contain the thrill swelling inside her. "When do you think it'll happen?"

"Realistically? By the time we get Kei Ling and the others to approve, and then get everything organised and ready to go…" Zuko chews at his lip, running through the calculations carefully. "I'd guess the end of the year, around Day of the Dragons? I can't see it happening any sooner than that."

"That's not so bad," Katara allows, feeling giddier with every passing moment. "And if you plan it around that time, that means it would be the summer solstice for us! I can't think of a better time for you to visit!"

"I hope you're right," Zuko tells her dryly. "Because I have to be honest. Polar night in the Northern Water Tribe was rough. I'm not rushing to relive that experience again."

"I imagine not. But I get the feeling you're going to love the midnight sun…"

Chapter 72: foundations (epilogue ii)

Chapter Text

disclaimer. non.

author's notes. did i anticipate having to write and rewrite this chapter about eight times before finally being okay with it? no. did i imagine this whole process needing almost half a year to complete? also no.

my apologies, folks. epilogues are way harder to keep focused than i'd ever expected. i can only pray that the next, final part(s?) won't take nearly as long to come together. but it is coming. i am not worthy of your patience.

i give you…

southern lights.

epilogue ii. foundations

it hurts to part
when something precious is near

"(how it's going to) end" / marble sounds

The waves crash into the rugged shoreline stretching endlessly along the sun-drenched horizon.

Zuko's fingers tighten reflexively upon the handrail. He rubs his good ear against the shoulder of his cloak, by now convinced that the constant noisy whir of the sputtering engines have rendered him partially deaf.

But for all the hiccups and discomforts of the newly-commissioned royal airship's maiden voyage, every complaint vanishes from Zuko's mind when the wild, vast territory of the Southern Water Tribe finally appears. A grey shadow in the distance at first, growing steadily and impressively larger with every effortless league they cut across the sky.

A strange vibration rattles beneath the soles of his feet. Zuko startles, wondering for a moment if the ship's bolts have already started to come undone, contrary to the mechanist's loudest and proudest assertions.

But his worries dissipate just as quickly, with a hot slurp to his cheek and puffs of hot air heaved directly into his ear. "Easy, Druk," Zuko mutters, settling the palm of his hand against the dragon's ridged forehead, atop the pair of soft nubs from which his horns had yet to properly erupt. "I know, I can't wait to see her again too."

Druk chitters excitedly. His tail slaps against the ground in a hectic rhythm, matching the pace of Zuko's drumming pulse. And in stark contrast to the airship's slow, controlled descent out of the sky.

As the rocky shores draw closer, Zuko cannot help but think of the first time he had seen the Northern Water Tribe, nearly three years earlier. It had been a long, miserable journey on Appa's back, the sky perpetually dark and foreboding. The Northerners' welcome had been as glacial as their land, stifled by the heavy snows of polar winter.

But here on the other side of the world, he cannot imagine a more different sight.

The Southern Water Tribe glows, resplendent under a sun beaming bright in a cloudless sky. The austere, fortress walls of the North are nowhere to be found. Instead, towering cliffs plunge into the sea, and at their base a narrow coastline had been pounded into stony beaches. Mosses and scraggly plants hardy enough to endure the harsh climate cling stubbornly to the rocks.

And waiting just inland, a procession of tiny human shapes dressed in airy blue linens.

He squints at the assembly of nondescript Southerners, already trying to pick her out from the rest of them. Sweat slicks his skin, dampening the regalia under his heavy velvet cloak.

He isn't quite sure if it's due to the surprising mildness of the air, warming up the closer they get to land. Or the heat of Druk's breath steaming the back of his neck and curling the few hairs that escape his topknot.

Or the anticipation winding tight throughout his entire body, settling deep into his bones and stealing the breath from his lungs. At the thought of Katara, somewhere down there, waiting for him…

The gangplank clangs as it hits the beach. Pinpricks of fine salty mist dust at Zuko's face, the waves kicking up plumes of spray where they batter the weathered shore.

The wind snatches at the drapes of Zuko's heavy brocade layers, pushing insistently against the small of his back as he clambers down the narrow plank with as much grace as he can manage. Which, between the wind and the waves and Druk bodily launching himself into the backs of Zuko's knees in his inability to contain his immense, juvenile enthusiasm, proves to be no small feat at all.

Miraculously, he manages to disembark without tumbling unceremoniously into the shallows. Water pools into his sturdy boots, drenching him to the knee with its cold, briny bite. He tries not to gasp, feeling the weight of every painted face scrutinising his every move.

As if in answer, the water parts before him. It bares a strip of bare wet gravel, leading out of the sea and onto the narrow rocky shelf where Katara and the others wait patiently.

He follows it gratefully, his every step onto Southern Tribe land punctuated by the squelch of his waterlogged robes. The air is warmer than he had ever anticipated, the heat of the midday sun surprisingly powerful. Already he sweats profusely under his heavy layers.

He glances ahead, taking in the wavy emblem of the Water Tribes emblazoned upon a large standard. It flutters in the wind, hoisted far overhead, crowning the delegation of Southerners assembled before him.

The sight of Katara in all her chiefly adornment only manages to steal his breath again, and does absolutely nothing for the heat building beneath his brocade finery. Her eyes glint as they rake over him.

He swallows nervously, and the corners of her mouth twitch.

"Prince Zuko." Her voice is soft and yet it cuts through the din of the waves and the wind. "Since the last time Imperial Navy ships touched our shores…many of us never dreamed that one day, we could willingly welcome a Fire Nation Ambassador here…as our honoured guest."

Murmurs break out behind her, growing louder where her voice remains quietly controlled. Zuko forces himself to remain perfectly still.

"And yet, our strength, our capacity to build bridges…they defy everything we once took for a given in this world." Then she smiles at him and relief cascades all over him at the sight of her tattooed hands spreading open to greet him. "Tunngasugit."

"Q…Qujannamiik," he replies, the word sitting foreign and clumsy on his tongue.

The affronted whispers vanish. An uncertain silence lingers in its stead.

It is broken almost instantly by a succession of loud splashes, followed by an animal screech and a heavy crash. Several gasps split the air, followed by a collective scramble backward.

Zuko barely has time to react to the whir of red in the corner of his eye. "Druk!" he shouts, starting after him. "Druk, get back here!"

But the dragon bounds eagerly toward the young Water Tribe chief, heedless of the crowd shrinking away in terror.

Katara's face brightens in delight. "Moon and ocean spirits!" she croons, bending over to greet the lanky adolescent dragon bearing down upon her with poorly contained excitement. "Is that you, Druk? You've gotten so big!"

Zuko tries not to trip over the last of the lichen-covered rocks as he finally catches up with the dragon. He grabs him by the crook, where his neck meets his bulging, muscular chest. "Bad Druk!" he snaps. "I didn't train you to greet people this way. Now do it properly!"

A plaintive whine greets his ears. Druk peers back at him, cowed and tucking his head under a ribbed, membranous wing. A pair of giant golden eyes blink morosely up at him.

"It's okay!" he hears Katara call out. "It's just Druk, the prince's dragon! He's young, he's harmless, there's no reason to be afraid…"

"Could have fooled me," Sokka gripes, retaking his spot at his sister's side. "Shouldn't that thing be on a leash or something? It's not like he's getting smaller."

Zuko sighs as Sokka's glare lands upon him accusingly. "That's a great idea. Druk loves leashes," he explains patiently. "He finds them very tasty."

Katara muffles a snort of laughter into her fist.

"Oh," Sokka says, his gaze shifting to survey the young dragon quivering obediently in place under Zuko's firm hand. "Well…as long as you can keep him under control."

"I'll do my best," Zuko answers as calmly as he can. "It's not like I can carry him around on my shoulders anymore."

He glances back at his dragon, crouched into a ball before him and still skimming his waist in height. At almost two years of age, Druk had now grown roughly as long as an adult