The Banquet, The Princess, and the Fire

Zuko lifted a hand to the dumplings. "Psst!"

He glanced beyond his parents: Peti leaned over to side-eye him—shaking his head. Flushing, the eleven-year-old tucked his mitt back into his lap and flashed a tight smile at the confused Princess, seated right beside him.

Chief Arnook rose and the banquet hall fell silent. Great velvet waterfalls flowed in the distance.

"May the ocean and moon spirits bless this auspicious evening!" called the Chief. "Tonight, a young tribesman has shown his quality!"

His voice rang in the too silent hall. The Chief hardened. "So we wish him well." Immediately the crowd applauded, stirring and sharing glances. "Hmm," the Chief huffed, and drank.

"Yes, well done," Master Pakku bit out in irritation, sitting only a few guests down. He waved a hand over his food to cool it. "Aren't we all just so proud?"

Zuko shrank a little at the master's vitriol, lower belly coiling. He thought he had done well: he got through the lines, he wore the Chief's highest mark on his forehead.

He leaned over his food and searched for Peti's eyes and reassurance. The teenager simply rolled his eyes and talked his hand like a puppet. Zuko giggled—and someone giggled behind him. He whipped to the Princess. She stiffened in alarm and returned to her food.

Zuko knit his brow. She likes jokes, too?

His mother, sitting on his other side, gave his head a kiss. He cringed and groaned. "Mommmmm."

"I'm proud of you," she murmured, grey eyes sparkling.

"We both are," his father seconded warmly.

A thin, quiet voice added, "You did very well," and Zuko turned and blushed at the Princess.

"Um, thanks!" he gave, and rubbed the back of his neck. "You also doing well!" He winced. "I mean—you too well. Very good at...the walking. On the ice?"

Her white brows lifted.

"I-fell-on-the-stairs-yesterday!" Zuko blurted. "So—uh. It's a skill! You have, there..." He could hear Peti laughing.

"...Thank you?" the Princess returned warily, and Zuko turned away to smack his forehead.

"Zuko, not at the table!" his mother scolded, pulling his hand from his face. Zuko sulked—then realised the palm of his glove was splattered blue. The Chief's mark! He panicked and patted his brow, crossing his eyes in a desperate attempt to see his own forehead.

The Princess giggled—a noise light as a silver stream—and he grimaced, finally rubbing off the mark completely with his sleeve. Oh spirits: now the sleeve was blue. Well, it was already blue, but it wasn't supposed to be that blue. When his mother glanced at him, he hid it behind his back, grinning widely. She narrowed her eyes, but went back to her food and conversation.

Zuko sighed. The Princess quietly knifed her supper. He thought of saying something else to her, but when she looked at him again, his mind went blank, and he stuffed all his dumplings into his mouth instead. Vague horror wrinkled her face as he tried to swallow, coughing.

"Zuko! One bite at a time," his mother chastised, thumping his back till the dumplings went down the right way.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, then despaired at his empty bowl. He stood up to get seconds—

—but a heavy hand shoved him down by the shoulder, and Master Pakku sat beside him. "Here," he grinned, sliding in his plate. "Have mine."

Zuko's mother immediately grabbed Pakku's wrist, grey eyes flashing. "I warned you, Pakku—"

"Relax," Pakku snapped, yanking his wrist free. "Your son is safe. Until our next duel, at least."

Next duel? A dull ache throbbed in Zuko's ribs—he barely survived their first.

Pakku grinned sharply at the boy, white hair waving in the waterfall breeze. "...I suppose you think everything's solved, now, do you?" he needled. "That saying a few simple words could reassure the Tribe of your...belonging."

Zuko trembled—the air felt frigid inside his lungs. Pakku smiled again, as if this conversation was another duel he'd already won. Zuko hated him. He hated how small Pakku could make him feel.

But then a sweet voice rose behind him. "Thank you, Master Pakku, but I believe there are assigned seats." Zuko spun around, gaping in shock. Princess Yue just smiled, polite as ever.

Pakku rolled his fist, but to Zuko's sheer astonishment, stood. "Yes, Princess."

Her white brow lifted. "My style is Your Royal Highness."

He grit his teeth, but growled a begrudging, "Your Royal Highness." He bowed deeply, then strode to his end of the table.

Zuko marvelled at Princess Yue. "That was amazing," he said wondrously, and her entire face went red.

"Well. Years of practice." She smiled shyly at her lap, hiding her chin deeper in her hood's fur. A thought seemed to cross her mind. "Are you really a firebender?"

Zuko stiffened, but nodded. Her kind smile immediately put him at ease. "I can't bend at all," she explained, tucking her hands deeper into her sleeves. "It must be quite an experience."

"I...guess it is." He had never truly thought about it that way—his terror had always burned out any other feeling.

...They considered each other. Her lips parted—

"I've-never-been-to-the-palace!" Zuko spewed out. He cringed as Princess Yue giggled, hiding her mouth. "Before. So, uh. I don't know...what it's like? I mean, royalty. What do you do?"

"What do I do?"

He couldn't think of anything else to say, so he nodded.

"Well..." Her face scrunched up in thought. "There's lessons with the governess. And strolls in the courtyard. Sometimes I like to take a gondola around the city. The light looks so beautiful on the walls at sunrise."

He nodded eagerly. "I know what you mean! From the roof of my house—right above my balcony—I have to climb, but I'm a good climber—but you can see the whole harbour."

"Sounds lovely," she beamed.

"Do you know how to play ice ball?!" Zuko piped before he could stop himself. She looked genuinely confused. "Or turtle seals and wolf bears? It's this game where you chase each other around until one of you dives into an ice hole and swims to freedom."

"Swims?"

"Well, not really, it's all just pretend."

"Oh," she said thoughtfully. Then grinned. "Sounds fun!"

His heart made a little da-dum against his ribs, knocking the tender place—but he didn't mind. He tapped his knuckles together. "...Do you wanna play?"

Her entire face lit up—but then it tempered, like someone had extinguished a spark. Her eyes swept the banquet hall. "Maybe after dinner," she murmured, posture caving like even thinking of leaving early was naughty.

Zuko glanced at his empty bowl. "Well...I'm done if you are?"

Her eyes sparkled. She checked her father—distracted—and inhaled deeply. "...Okay."

He spun to his mother. "Mom, can me and the Princess go play?!"

His mother choked on her noodles. "What?" his father scowled, then glanced at the two smiling children. He shared a look with his mother as she dabbed her lips—both stirring in unease. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, Zuko."

"We won't go far!" he promised.

"And I'll have my guards with me—nothing will happen to him," Yue assured. Irritation flashed in Zuko at the idea of her mean-looking guards lording over them, but then he realised: it's not like he'd never snuck off before. His crooked grin widened.

His mother twisted her face. "I don't know..." she wavered. "Maybe Peti should go with you."

"I'm good," Peti piped.

"Please mom and dad!" Zuko implored, squirming on coals. "Please?"

His mother measured him thoughtfully, then sighed. "...Alright—"

"Yes!"

"Just-not-too-far-or-too-long—!" But Zuko had grabbed Yue's hand and charged off before they could finish, cackling like otter penguins.

He could hear her guards recover their shock. "Hey! Wait! Slow down!" He glanced over his shoulder. The other nobles looked horrified; Peti humoured; his parents worried.

Pakku's eyes glinted like icicles.

Zuko hauled Yue from the banquet hall, breathless and laughing. Pillars of ice rose around them. The statues. Warrior guardians watched over them in faint amusement. Footsteps thundered on the icy floors behind them. "PRINCESS!"

"Zuko, slow down!" she laughed. He searched the coast, then veered sideways, using the slippery ice to skid. He pressed them behind a column as they giggled. The shadows of her guards ran across the opposite wall. "What are we—"

"Shh!" he hissed. She covered her mouth to hold in laughter. The guards stopped, searched, then split up. The children turned to each other and snickered in conspiracy.

"I've never met a girl who was fun before," Zuko panted. "Let alone a princess!"

She slanted a white brow. "How many girls have you actually met?"

His mind went white. "Uh..."

"Your Royal Highness!" called a faraway guard, and Zuko startled. She grabbed his hand and pulled.

"This way!" she insisted. "I know the perfect place to hide!" He just stumbled after her, useless, cheeks much, much too warm.

They slid into a side hall and ran—breathless and hard—until they found a spiralling staircase. Mushrooms glowed on its icy walls. "Nobody ever goes there!" she promised, her hand tightening around his as they climbed. "Except me!"

The city looked so small through the thin, barred windows, falling away as they flew into the night sky. The stairwell circled in an endless loop until it yawned into a long, dark corridor, lit in ghostly squares of moonlight.

Yue tugged him. "Come!" They raced to the end. Yue looked around before heaving aside an ancient, frosty door. "Inside!" she whispered, and they stole into the room.

Zuko helped press it shut and she laughed, sliding onto her royal rear. He did the same. "We sure showed them!" he chuckled.

"I don't think I've ever run that fast before!" she marvelled, staring at her legs like she was seeing them for the first time.

Zuko stood and surveyed the room. It was richly furnished, draped with deep fur skins and ceremonial artefacts. In the middle was a soft, smooth bed with an indigo canopy, and in the corner stood a mirror, long and pure as starlight. "What is this place?"

"My mother's bedroom," she explained as she stood, dusting herself off.

Zuko raised a confused brow. "Your mother had a whole room to herself?" Yue nodded. "Why?" he blurted. It never occured to him that some parents slept apart; his own were always inseparable.

Yue flushed. "Well, I... After they had me... My mother—she—she couldn't have—"

Zuko blushed and looked away. Oh. Suddenly interested in the floor—the walls. He whistled.

An exquisite white anorak mantled the vanity chair, embroidered with silver thread and trimmed in polar hide. Someone would have spent weeks making it. He brushed a hand over its deep, inviting softness, but then Yue suddenly appeared at his side and snatched the cloak away. He scowled before he understood.

...Oh.

She shifted, a little embarrassed. "Sorry."

"That's okay."

"This was just the first place that came to mind," she hurried, turning away and threading the fabric between her fingers. "I often come here just to think. To get away..." Zuko thought of the roof over his balcony and knew exactly what she meant.

Yue smelled the fur, then laid it tenderly on the chair. She looked at him, hands clasped. Her tresses gleamed brightly in the moonlight. "I don't have many memories of my mother."

"I always heard the Chief's wife was..." He searched for something to say. "...Really nice."

Yue beamed. "She was." Her brow then knit. "You're shivering," she noticed. "Are you cold?"

Always. "No, I'm fine."

"We could light a fire," she said, searching for supplies like a good host. But Zuko's insides fluttered with something light—then twisted with something ugly. I shouldn't say this.

I really should say this.

"I..." he croaked. Yue glanced back. "I could...make us...one?"

Her eyes widened. He immediately blanched in horror. "No, I mean—I didn't—it's not like that! I won't hurt you, I would never hurt you!"

"I know," she said.

Zuko stared at her. The curtains floated in veils of moonlight.

"...Can you show me?" she asked. "How you do it?"

Zuko hesitated. They'll take you away, and it'll destroy me. But her eyes were so kind, and she had asked so gently.

Maybe he wasn't so wrong.

He took off his gloves and cupped his palms, willing a little flame to life. Yue gave a tiny gasp, but gentled her expression when she saw his fearful grimace. "...It's beautiful."

His flame brightened. Tangerine light spilled across the room—a sudden heat charged the air. Yue approached, mesmerised by the fire. "I never dreamed it would look...alive," she murmured.

The firelight cast her features in soft shadows. He held out his hands until the little flame hovered between them, throbbing like a tender heartbeat...

CRASH! The door smashed aside and her guards charged in. Zuko jolted, his fire flaring.

"He's firebending!" her lead guard pointed, drawing a whip of water. "HE WAS ATTACKING THE PRINCESS!"

Zuko let his hands fall and the flame evaporated. "No wait!"

A bright pain exploded in his chest. He vaulted back. The world flew—OOFT! Impact burst through his spine. His head cracked back. He tried to breathe—couldn't. His inhale made a croak like an owl. Hoo. He blinked. Tears. He was on his back. Nothing but ceiling. He was looking up. Someone was crying. He couldn't breathe. Hoo. He was on his back. What happened? He couldn't breathe. Spirits, he couldn't breathe—he was on his back and he couldn't breathe—icy panic flooded his veins—

Then the world was water.

He washed against a wall. The water sharpened into ice—he couldn't breathe—Yue—he couldn't breathe—no please—and a flame flashed in his mind's eye.

NO!

Heat bloomed—the ice sheared apart as he punched through in a burst of fire. An orange light blinded him, and for a moment, there was only white.

The light doused aside in a sweep of water. The lead guard. "Get the princess out of here!"

"NO, DON'T HURT HIM!" Yue cried, struggling to get through. Zuko fell forward. Ice shackled his hands and knees to the floor, trapping him. He struggled. He couldn't breathe. Hoo. The lead guard loomed with a snarl and the coldest eyes.

No.

The ice hissed apart in heat and Zuko slipped—free. Water whooshed over his head. His eyes widened and he launched himself up, spreading his hands to stop the water. Flames fanned and broke against it.

The lead guard wound for another attack—but a tentacle of water suddenly seized his hand, encasing his lower arm and yanking him back. Peti! The young waterbender whipped him off his feet and sliced through the guard's answer. The lead guard roared and broke the hold. "He was attacking—"

"He was defending himself!"

Zuko clutched his chest. This felt worse: this felt deep, like something had been crushed. What hit me? He didn't know. Water swung back his way and he flinched—sending an arc of fire from his fingertips.

"There! See, Chief Arnook?! He was firebending!"

The Chief! Zuko scrambled back to the wall. Chief Arnook stood in the door with his parents, recoiled in horror. The room was bright and hot—too bright. Zuko looked around. The bed was on fire. Oh no—her mother's coat! Flames ate into its soft beauty, melting away into black holes. Peti saw and immediately doused it, but it was too late. Damage done.

"Chief Arnook, please!" his father pleaded. "You saw it! Zuko was defending himself!"

"I don't know what I saw."

Peti skidded to his knees by the wheezing Zuko, the boy already in tears. "P—Pet—"

"Where does it hurt?" Peti demanded, and Zuko clutched the fabric over his sternum. Peti drew a band of water from the floor and enveloped his hands, hovering them over Zuko's chest till they glowed blue and soaked his parka. But the pain—it didn't go away. Zuko waited. It didn't go away. "Spirits." Peti's eyes widened and met Zuko's—afraid.

"Enough!" a voice growled. Someone shoved Peti aside, killing the glow. Master Pakku! "How dare you shame me!"

"He needs a healer!" Peti protested.

"He needs to leave," the master growled in pure disdain. "I'm ending this farce."

His mother sped to Zuko's side. "I'm sorry," he pleaded hoarsely. "I'm sorry!" She shushed him, tears streaming. His father grabbed beneath his knees and shoulders and hoisted him up. A guard held back Yue—her eyes flooded and frightened. Monster.

"Go," Chief Arnook said simply. And they did.

Zuko blinked. Beneath him was air. Above him, statues. The tribal warriors watched sadly. How did they get here? He couldn't remember. He was too tired. "Dad...?"

"He's losing time."

"I can get us to the gondolas, down the secret passage!" he heard Peti say, followed by an icy crack and dark, hollow wind. "Quickly!" His father made a step down. A chamber of ice slid across Zuko's view, wiping away the statues.

Painful heaviness sat deep in the chest of him, heart beating on like little desperate flashes in the dark. Something's wrong. Something's very, very wrong.

His father cradled him close, jostling him with every footstep. His mother's hand took his. "Don't fall asleep, sweetheart. We'll get help." I can't breathe. Sharp pain stabbed him deep beneath the ribs, radiating in his chest.

"Can we risk the healing rooms? Who can we trust?" His father sounded hoarse.

"Let's get him home—I can go for help!" Peti urged. "Hurry."

The underground black deepened until Zuko couldn't see, teeth chattering in the frigid air. Then a blue glow bloomed. "Peti?" his mother whispered. His cousin led them through the dark. In his hands, he held healing magic, lighting the way.

His light suddenly dimmed, followed by the sound of warping water. Ice creaked, then shattered. A distant roar—the underground river. Nearly free.

Someone gasped. "The gondolas! Where are they?"

"We don't need them," Peti declared, and hissed out a breath of ice. He swept his hands and split an ice canoe from the waters—jagged and cut like a gemstone. "Get in!"

His parents gently carried him. Zuko whimpered when they set him down—his chest. It burned. His mother pressed an ear to his heart as Peti swooped his arms, bending against the current. Their makeshift boat surged over the waves.

"He's still not breathing right," his mother worried. Her dark hair frayed in the wind. "Zuko?"

His father held his head up. "Talk to us, son!" he begged.

Zuko didn't understand—when Pakku hit him in the arena, it hurt, but it wasn't this. It wasn't this. Was Pakku weaker than he thought? No. He was the grand master, the most powerful waterbender in the Northern Water Tribe. If he wanted to do this, he could've.

...So why didn't he?

The tunnel vanished into the night sky, spread in a veil of deepest blue. The soft roar of Peti's bending quieted as their canoe joined canal water. "Mom..." Zuko croaked.

"We'll be home soon, sweetheart. I promise."

Their canoe suddenly stopped. "...No," breathed Peti. His parents traced his gaze to the horizon.

Red heat glowed low in the sky—crawling over the arched roofs of distant houses like a sunrise. But Zuko could smell it. Smoke. "A fire," his father gasped. "The servants!"

But his mother grabbed him. "No, Kanook, wait!"

A faint howling filled the night. It echoed off the ice cliffs in an unnatural way, muddied and distorted until it gathered strength. Not just one voice but many—as if the gates to the Spirit World had been summoned.

"No," his father breathed. "No!"

"We can't stay here!"

"The ships! Our home! Palena, they'll burn it all—our lives!"

"We have our lives!"

"I'll distract them—hold them off while you run! Take Zuko! Find help!"

"I'll go with you!" Peti declared, but his father shot him the fiercest glare.

"No, Peti!" he commanded. "You stay with them! You stay close, and you protect them." He cupped his mother's glistening cheek. "I'll be alright, Palena."

"Dad..." Zuko pleaded. They'll take you away, and it'll destroy me. The boat suddenly rocked as his father leaped ashore. "Dad!" He grabbed for his fleeing father, but pain seized his chest and he collapsed. His mother circled an arm under him.

"Stick with me," she whispered.

"Oh no," Peti gasped. Shadows of men with torches charged around the far canal corner. Peti swirled his arms and spun the canoe, sinking into a crouch then lifting them onto the crest of a roaring wave that sped them down the canal. At his back, the full moon shone its full glory.

Peti swept his hands and banked them ashore. "I can—" Zuko hitched. "I can—" Walk. Stand. Anything. He grabbed the icy shore, so tired and leaden—

—but his mother grabbed Zuko and heaved him into her arms with strength he didn't know she had. Her bony shoulder dug into his chest as she grunted, hoisted him up, and carried him ashore.

Peti shattered the canoe into a thousand shards. "My parents don't live far," he stated. Without looking, he knocked a rioter off the opposite bank—their torchlight extinguished with a cry and a splash. "We could hide there."

"Will they even let us in?!" his mother questioned, clutching Zuko tighter. The boy held onto her and looked back at Peti wearily, struggling to breathe.

Angry shouts and light blazed across the houses, so Peti walloped canal waters over the side and raised them in a high wall of ice—blocking the street. He spun, dark with a fearsome snarl. "They'll have to!" Together, they ran. Zuko stared at the ice wall behind them, praying it was enough.

Until it melted.

"Mom!" he gasped out raggedly. He shoved out of her arms and punched. A fireball burned like a comet, then erupted in steam against a gout of water.

"ZUKO!" his mother cried.

Peti swept in around Zuko, catching another watery volley before sending it back with a mighty THWAP. Zuko staggered unsteadily on his legs—he tried to summon more fire, but heat fizzled and popped around his hands. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't stoke it.

Peti slapped water across his hands to drench them. "You idiot! Stop doing that!" he roared, then reeled to answer another attack. "Run! Auntie! RUN!"

Black dots swam in Zuko's vision and the world spun—his head light. Run. The light of the moon wheeled like a silver band—

Palena caught her son and dragged him into the safety of the shadows. The boy flopped so helplessly, his little breaths so ragged, his colour so grey. "Zuko?!" Somewhere in the city, the bells began to toll.

Her nephew unleashed a serpent of water on the rioters—but it wasn't enough. He's stuck until we run. She sobbed, but hauled her son into her arms, fighting his limbs and the unwieldy loll of his head. She held his head to her shoulder and pushed to her feet, tearing into a breathless sprint. Already her pace felt much too slow. They'll catch us. Her pace was too slow. I'll kill for him. Her arms screamed from the effort. He was so heavy. He was everything. She ran harder.

Spirits, please, I beg you.

A band of water thrashed the air beside her—but it collapsed, life lost. Someone shouted behind her, then came the sound of impact. The hiss of ice. A breathless Peti soon caught up. "Keep going!"

She dug in her heels.

Her brother-in-law's house soon loomed. She stumbled to a halt—nearly dropping her son—but managed to hold him with one arm and bang on the iron gates with the other, encrusted with frost.

"Noktul!" she cried. "Asiaka! Please!"

Peti slid to a stop behind them, drawing up eight-limbs of water. The tendrils waved threateningly at the oncoming torches, catching any assaults as they came. But he wouldn't last long. "PLEASE!" she wailed.

Peti threw a desperate glance at the house. "FATHER?!"

Light suddenly poured from the door, and two black silhouettes stepped out. Her grin burst. They were saved!

...But the silhouettes did nothing. They just stood there. One shadow took a step forward—but the other anchored it. No.

"Father, please!" Peti shouted, barely defending a watery strike. "MOTHER!"

...The silhouettes just watched, little more than shadows in a golden bar of light. Palena shook her head, panic rising—until she looked at her son. His lips were blue.

He wasn't breathing.

She fell to her knees. She listened to his chest. She gave him the breath of life then desperately pumped as if he'd drowned. No. No. No. Something crunched beneath her palms. She pressed on.

She didn't know how the woman had done it. How she'd left him. She never understood. Palena read her letter and cradled her baby and gave him the dragon pendant. She knew what it meant. She loved him all the same. But she never understood. No mother would abandon her child.

Peti grabbed her hands. "Stop!" She couldn't. He elbowed her aside and peeled a tongue of water from the ground. He grabbed her baby's jaw and—concentrating so hard—guided the water down Zuko's throat.

She gasped. Blue light brightened in Zuko's milky skin. Her nephew let his hand flow like water, guiding it into her baby's chest till it found a home and bloomed. Palena watched in shock, tears rolling.

Her nephew poured everything he had into holding the glow. Hands suspended, clawed. Trembling. The glow intensified till it seemed to burn Zuko from the inside out—

—then it darkened and Peti exhaled, drawing his hand back. The water left Zuko's lips and her child sputtered and heaved. She sobbed. Framed his little face with her shaking hands. His golden eyes blinked and found hers. He was alive! "Zuko?!"

He croaked. It sounded like, "Mom."

She cried with joy. Peti heaved with relief, beyond exhausted. "Thank you!" Palena pleaded, and kissed Peti's cheeks. "Thank you!" She grinned at him through watering eyes, how she adored him, the brave, brave soul. But then she jolted. Wait, if he—she whipped to the street.

Master Pakku stood in whorls of snowy fog, surrounded by great swoops of ice. Trapped in their frozen sway were a dozen struggling rioters. The old man studied her son, cold and calculating.

...Her breath swirled in clouds.

He turned. "This way," he rumbled, and strode off down the street. Peti and she hurriedly dug their hands beneath Zuko and heaved, carrying him off together. She looked through the iron gates one last time.

The silhouettes stood in the snow.