Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“So, what do you think?”

You complete your slow turn, lips still parted in awe at the vast chamber that Zuko's ancestors had constructed so long ago. The chandelier made from dozens of blazing firebenders is mesmerizing, but you cannot get over the sheer size of it all. The palace seems even more immense from the inside, and you feel small in the grandeur. It’s so far removed from your last few years, where your days are spent tilling fields and constructing simple homes, that it’s almost dizzying.

You blink away your awe and turn back to Zuko, standing beside you with his hands tucked in his robes. Those, too, are much grander than you're used to seeing, and his hair is done up in a style you've only seen in paintings of his ancestors. You’re in awe of him too, if you’re honest with yourself.

“It’s, uh... really big.” 

You wince as you hear your own words, and quickly try to remedy the bland answer. After all, this is a wonder of the world you’re looking at, and one you’d never thought you’d get the chance to see. The least you could do is sound enthusiastic.

Your hands clap together, and you bounce on the balls of your feet, your usual vigor returning.

"I mean, it's incredible! I love the columns. And the… the floor. The floor is lovely," you add, a little breathless as you gesture vaguely at the stone beneath your feet. You try to think of something more intelligent to say. "And the ceiling is… very high."

Zuko snorts a laugh, his lips twitching as he fights off a smile. It’s a relief to see it, even if it’s at your expense. He's been remarkably stiff since you arrived a few hours ago, ushered into the throne room where he’d been holding court, looking so serious and regal that you hardly recognized him. You’d kept to the side, intimidated into silence by the formality of it all, until he’d beckoned you over with a nod. You'd followed him meekly out of the throne room after, and he'd introduced you to the palace with all the enthusiasm of an overworked docent.

You’re not sure if it’s the effect of the crown on his head, or the fact that he is the Fire Lord, but the Zuko you once knew seems to have been replaced by some stiff, formal stranger. You're itching to peel back the layers and find your friend again. It's why you accepted his invitation to stay at the palace for a few days, after all, when he'd found out you were in the Fire Nation.

Your relationship with Zuko has been complicated from the beginning. When he first joined the group, you had a healthy fear of him, and his distrust of the rest of you hadn't made it easy. But as the weeks turned into months, and you grew closer, that fear had turned to friendship. It was easy, when he had finally opened up, to see the kind, lonely boy beneath the angry exterior. You'd grown to care for him, and after the war, you'd eagerly kept up a correspondence as he settled into his new role. But you hadn't actually seen him in nearly a year, and you were determined to break through the formal veneer and get to the man you know underneath.

You can see a bit of it now as he finally leans against one of the grand marble pillars, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. His scowl softens into something more familiar, more teasing.

“You don’t have to spare my feelings,” he says wryly. “It’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

You shrug, feeling your cheeks heat. You can admit that the palace is a bit... gaudy. Certainly, it's not to your tastes, but you've seen far worse in your travels. You've seen communities utterly devastated by the war, stripped of all beauty and warmth. At least this place has an abundance of that, even if it's covered in enough gold to make your teeth ache.

"I think it's lovely," you say honestly. "And you're doing a great job with the reforms. It's not as..." You trail off, searching for a delicate word, but he just rolls his eyes.

"Garish? Pretentious? A ridiculous, tasteless display of wealth and power?" 

He says each word with a wave of his hand, and you can't help the giggle that escapes you at his theatricality. There's the Zuko you know. You bite your lip to keep from grinning as he sighs and shakes his head. 

"It's a work in progress," he admits. "I've been trying to make it more welcoming, but it's a slow process. Most of the council is still made up of my father's cronies, and they don't like change."

You hum in understanding, leaning against the column beside him. He’s hinted at his struggles in his letters, and you can imagine how frustrating it must be, trying to undo so many years of damage and tradition. Especially with so many people fighting him at every turn, and every nation watching his every move. You're impressed by how much he's managed to accomplish, even if it's clearly taking a toll on him. He seems older, more tired, than he should. 

You frown as you study his face, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the tightness around his mouth. He's been working himself to the bone, that much is obvious. You'll have to make sure he gets some rest while you're here.

Zuko raises an eyebrow at your scrutiny, and you quickly look away. You clear your throat and walk to the wall, where a grand battle scene is carved into black obsidian. You can see the Fire Nation's army, led by a man who looks remarkably like Ozai, marching across the carved landscape.

It's beautifully done, you have to admit, but you can't help but wonder at the subject matter. It seems a bit grim for a place meant to welcome people across the world. Then again, this is the Fire Nation. Aggression is in their blood.

You trace the lines of the carving with a finger, frowning. "This is a lot of death," you say slowly, and you hear Zuko sigh behind you.

"Yeah. It's not exactly the most uplifting decor, is it?" 

He joins you at the wall, studying the carving with a critical eye. You watch as he runs a hand through his loose hair, messing up the perfect, regal style he had earlier.

"I've been meaning to replace them, but it's a big undertaking. And, well..." He hesitates, and you turn to look at him. His gaze is fixed on the opposite wall, where another battle scene is depicted. "Some of the council thinks it's a sign of weakness to remove them. They say it's erasing our history, and I don’t have the energy to fight them on it right now."

You hum in understanding, turning back to the carving. You can see his point. The Fire Nation has a complicated history, and it's not something that can be easily swept away. But you also understand his desire to create a new image for his nation, one of peace and prosperity rather than conquest and domination.

There's so much more that could be done with these walls, so much beauty that could be created instead of celebrating violence and conquest. You wonder if he'd let you have a crack at it. You've always had a bit of an artistic streak, and you've been known to dabble in sculpture. Or you could just… accidentally crack some of them, if he’d let you.

You bite back a smile at the thought, and Zuko shoots you a curious look. You quickly school your features into a neutral mask, but you can tell he's not fooled. He narrows his eyes, his lips twitching in a barely-suppressed grin.

"What are you planning?" he asks, and you feign innocence.

"Me? Nothing. Just admiring the craftsmanship," you say airily, and he snorts. You can't help but grin at the sound, and you turn back to the carving. "It is impressive, I'll give you that. But maybe something a little less... morbid would be nice. Something that celebrates life, instead of death."

He hums thoughtfully. "Well, maybe you can help me come up with some ideas. I could use a fresh perspective."

You light up at the suggestion, and you turn to face him fully, a smile on your face. "I'd love to." 

Zuko returns your smile with a small, shy one of his own, and your grin widens. Smiling suits him much more than scowling does. He looks younger, less burdened, and you feel a sudden, overwhelming urge to hug him. You resist, knowing that he's not a particularly touchy-feely person, but it's a near thing. You settle for bumping your shoulder against his as you step away from the wall.

"So," you say brightly, "what else is there to see? I'm sure there's more to this place than just fancy columns and morbid carvings."

"Oh, there's plenty more," he says with a huff of laughter, gesturing for you to follow him. "But I think I've tortured you with enough culture for one day. We should let you get settled in before dinner."

You nod in agreement, and fall into step beside him as he leads you down a long, winding hallway. The walls here are lined with tapestries, each one depicting a different scene from Fire Nation history. They're not as morbid as the carvings, but they're still a bit… much. You find your gaze drifting to the floor instead, where an intricate pattern of red and gold tiles stretches out before you. The sheer amount of marble in this palace is staggering. You could probably build an entire village with what's in this hallway alone.

"You're quiet," Zuko comments, and you look up to find him watching you.

"Just trying to take it all in," you say with a shrug. "It's a lot to process."

He nods, but he doesn't look convinced. "You know, you don't have to be so formal with me. You can tell me if you hate it."

"I don't hate it," you insist. "It's just… a lot."

"A lot of what?"

"A lot of everything," you say, waving a hand at the hallway. "It's just so grand. And so… red."

Zuko chuckles, and the tension in your shoulders eases slightly. You're glad he finds you amusing, at least. You were worried you might be offending him with your lack of sophistication, but he seems to be taking it in stride. He always has been more patient with you than anyone else.

"Well, the red is kind of our thing," he says dryly. "But I get it. It can be a bit overwhelming. Especially for someone who's used to, you know, dirt."

You bristle at the teasing, and you're about to defend your love of dirt when you see the glint in his eye. He's just trying to get a rise out of you, the same way he always has. You roll your eyes and shove him lightly, and he stumbles a step before catching himself.

"Hey," he says, but he's smiling. "I'm the Fire Lord. You can't just shove me."

"Oh, I'm sorry," you say, not sounding sorry at all. "Would you prefer I bow instead? Your Highness?"

His smile widens, and he shakes his head. "No, that's even worse. Please don't bow."

"Good, because I wasn't going to," you say primly, and he snorts.

You walk in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, Zuko’s sharp footsteps and your softer ones echoing on the polished floors. You're starting to get used to the grandeur, but you're still a little on edge. It's hard to relax in a place like this, where everything is so perfect and pristine. You feel like you're going to break something just by looking at it.

The stares that follow you as you go aren’t helping matters, either. It seems every servant and guard you pass is unable to tear their gaze away from your simple, worn tunic and trousers in the colors of the Earth Kingdom. It's a far cry from the silks and brocades that everyone else is wearing, and you can't help but feel a little out of place. 

You're used to being stared at, you're a novelty in many places, but this is different. This is... judgmental. And they’re clearly whispering about you, behind their hands and behind the doors as they scurry away. You're starting to regret your decision to wear your travel clothes, but it's not like you brought anything fancier with you. You'd packed for a working trip, not a royal audience.

Not that you'd expected a royal audience, either. Zuko had just asked you to visit, and you'd assumed it would be a casual affair. You hadn't realized you'd be paraded through the palace like a prized pig at a fair. If you had, you might have… well, you still would have come. But you would have at least tried to find a shirt without holes in it.

Zuko slows his steps and shifts closer to you, his elbow bumping yours. "Ignore them," he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear him. "They're just not used to having… normal people in the palace."

"Normal?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "You saying I'm normal?"

"I'm saying you're not a sycophantic noble with a stick up their ass," he says flatly. "It's a compliment."

"Well, thank you, I think," you laugh. You're glad he noticed your discomfort, even if he's not great at comforting people. It's the thought that counts, right? And the thought is that he cares enough to try. "But you know, you could have warned me that I'd be under a magnifying glass. I would have dressed up. Or at least tried to wash the dirt out from under my fingernails."

You hold up your hands for inspection, and he just shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. I wouldn't want you any other way."

The sincerity in his voice takes you by surprise, and you feel a flush creep up your neck. You look away, focusing on the tapestry in front of you. It's a depiction of a great naval battle, with the Fire Nation's ships emerging victorious from a sea of flames. You don't have to look at him to know that he's watching you. You can feel the weight of his gaze on the side of your face, and it's both comforting and unnerving at the same time.

You've never been able to figure out the dynamic between the two of you. You're friends, yes, but sometimes it feels like there's something more there. A deeper connection that you can't quite put your finger on. You've dismissed it as your imagination more times than you can count, but moments like this make you wonder. He’s just so… intense. So Zuko. You haven't figured out how to navigate that intensity, so you mostly just ignore it and hope it goes away. It doesn't, but a girl can dream.

Zuko finally turns away, clearing his throat. "Anyway, here we are."

You look up to find that you've stopped in front of a set of ornate, round double doors, flanked by two stoic guards. They're carved from a dark, gleaming wood, with two ruby-eyed dragons circling a flaming sun in the center. They're impressive, but also a little much. Like everything else in this palace.

“Here we are, where?” you ask, and he gestures to the doors.

“These are your rooms.”

You stare at the doors, then at him, your mouth falling open. “My rooms? Plural? As in more than one?”

“Of course,” he says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You’re not staying in a closet. You’re my guest.”

Before you can protest, both of the guards step forward and take a burnished gold handle in hand. They open the doors in perfect unison, revealing a suite that is larger than your family's entire home. Your jaw drops as you take in the sheer scale of it. There's a sitting area with a settee and two armchairs, a massive four-poster bed, and a balcony overlooking the caldera. But the signature red and gold covering the rest of the palace is notably absent. Here the walls are a deep blue-green, like the sea after a storm, and the furniture is made of a dark, polished wood.

The most stunning feature, however, is the fresco of water lilies and lotus flowers on the ceiling, painted in shades of white, pink, and green. A soft, natural light filters in from the balcony, illuminating the delicate brushstrokes. You walk inside in a daze, your fingers trailing over the back of a brocade armchair, your head craned back to take in the ceiling. You’ve never seen anything so beautiful in your entire life.

“It’s… it’s not red,” you manage to say, your voice barely a whisper. You turn to look at Zuko, who’s standing in the doorway with his hands in his sleeves. He has a nervous energy about him, shifting from foot to foot like he’s expecting a fight.

“No. I had it changed,” he says, avoiding your gaze. “I remembered you said you liked the color of the sea at Kyoshi Island.”

You stare at him, your mind racing. You did say that, but it was years ago. A casual comment made over a shared meal, long forgotten. You can’t believe he remembered. You can’t believe he had an entire suite redecorated for you. The amount of thought and effort that must have taken, especially with everything else he has on his plate… it's staggering. You don't know what to say.

You’re so touched by the gesture that you have to fight back the sudden prickling behind your eyes. You blink rapidly, focusing on a loose thread on the cushion of the armchair. You will not cry. You will not make this awkward. You take a deep, steadying breath, and when you look back at him, you’ve pasted a bright, breezy smile on your face.

"Well, it's perfect," you say, your voice a little too high. "I love it. I never knew you had such good taste."

"I had some help," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "Mai, mostly. She's got a better eye for this sort of thing."

The name hits you like a splash of cold water, and the warm, fuzzy feeling you’ve been nursing vanishes. Of course. Mai. You should have known. You feel a surge of disappointment that is so sharp and so sudden that it takes you by surprise. You push it down, ignoring the way your stomach twists. You force your smile to stay in place, even as it feels like it's cracking around the edges.

"Well, she did an amazing job," you say sincerely. "You should have her do the rest of the palace. She could really tone down the blood and fire theme."

You turn away and walk towards the balcony, needing some air. The view is breathtaking, the caldera spread out below you like a painting, but you can't appreciate it. All you can think about is Zuko and Mai, discussing paint colors and furniture, a perfect, royal couple, a world away from you.

"I'll tell her you said so," Zuko says, and he sounds… odd. You can't quite place the emotion in his voice, but it's enough to make you turn back to him. He's still standing in the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back, a stiffness in his posture that wasn't there a moment ago. “I’ll let you settle in. Dinner is at sunset. I'll, uh, I'll send someone to guide you there."

You nod, not sure what to make of his sudden awkwardness. "Okay," you say, and he gives you a tight smile before turning and leaving the room. You watch him go, frowning as the doors close behind him. What was that about?

You decide to worry about it later. You have a few hours before dinner, and you want to make the most of them. You explore the rest of the suite, opening doors and peeking into closets and cupboards. You find a bathroom with a tub large enough to swim in, a dressing room full of clothes that are clearly not yours, and a small study with a desk and a bookshelf. There’s even a small bonsai tree on the desk pruned in the shape of a turtle duck.

It's all so overwhelming, and so thoughtful, and it makes your chest ache with a feeling you're not ready to name. You've been living out of a backpack for years, and this kind of luxury is a world away from your own. It's a world away from Zuko's, too, you think. He may be the Fire Lord, but he's never been one for indulgence. If anything, he's even more frugal and practical than you are. So why did he do this? What was he trying to prove?

You shake your head and focus on unpacking your things. Your clothes and shoes look pitifully shabby next to the finery that's already in the closet, but you hang them up anyway. Your collection of souvenirs from your travels — a stone carving of a koi, a shell from the beach at Ember Island, a pressed flower from the Southern Air Temple — looks equally pathetic on the bookshelf, but you leave them there. You refuse to let his over-the-top gesture get to you. This is your room, and you'll do what you want. 

You sit on the edge of the bed and stare out the window, taking a deep breath. This is all a bit much, but you can deal with it. You can deal with him. You can get through the next few days, and then you can go back to your simple, uncomplicated life.

You just wish you could figure out why your heart hurts so much.

The sun is setting over the caldera when your guide arrives, and you try your best not to let the glances she sneaks your way as you follow her bother you. You’re used to being an oddity, and the Fire Nation has always been a bit stuffy. You're not sure you'll ever get used to the way they look at you, like you're a fascinating but slightly disgusting bug they've found under a rock, but you're determined not to let it ruin your evening. You're here to see Zuko, and you're not going to let a few judgmental glares get in the way of that.

You follow your guide through the grand dining hall, and your jaw drops at the sight before you. The room is even bigger than the throne room, with a long, polished table that could seat a hundred people. But the only person at the table is Zuko, looking regal and handsome in a simple black robe, a few loose strands of hair falling into his eyes. He's bent over a scroll, his brow furrowed in concentration, and you have the strange urge to go over there and smooth the lines from his forehead.

He looks up as you enter, and a smile lights up his face. He’s on his feet and rounding the long table to the place setting at the opposite end before you even get close. He stops and pulls out your chair before you can even think to sit, and you give him a questioning look.

“I’m not an invalid,” you say, a teasing note in your voice.

“I know,” he says, but he doesn’t move until you sit. “Just trying to be a good host.”

You hum in response, watching as he walks the distance back to his seat. The table is absurdly long, and you have to lean to the side to see him around the large centerpiece of hibiscus flowers. He’s far enough away that you’ll have to raise your voice to be heard, which is ridiculous. This isn’t a dinner, it's a state function. 

You have a sudden, vivid memory of a shared meal in a cramped Earth Kingdom tavern, the table sticky with spilled beer, the air thick with smoke and laughter. You and Zuko had sat shoulder to shoulder, and you’d stolen food off his plate when he wasn’t looking. He’d grumbled and complained, but he’d still let you have the last piece of roasted duck. That felt more real than this. This feels like a performance.

"So," you say, your voice a little too loud in the cavernous room. "This is cozy. Very… intimate.”

He snorts. "Yeah, well, I thought you'd prefer it this way. I didn't want to subject you to a formal dinner with the council. They can be a bit much."

"You mean you didn't want to subject them to me,” you counter with a raised brow. “I get it. I'm a bad influence."

"No,” he says, and the sudden force of the denial surprises you. "That's not what I meant at all. I just… I wanted it to be just us."

"Oh." You blink at him, a little taken aback by the earnestness in his voice. "Well, I appreciate it. Though, I’d prefer it if you sat next to me. I feel like I’m yelling at you from here.”

Zuko’s brows raise, and he looks at the empty space between you as if seeing it for the first time. He looks back at you, a flush creeping up his neck. He seems to come to a sudden decision, standing up so abruptly that his chair scrapes against the floor.

“You’re right,” he says. “This is stupid.”

You watch, amused, as he gathers up his plate, his cup, and his utensils and marches down the length of the table. He deposits them with a clatter at the place setting right next to yours, and the cup wobbles precariously before he steadies it with a finger. He collapses into the chair, raking a hand through his hair.

“Better?” he asks, a little breathless, and you grin.

“Much,” you reply. “Now I can steal your food.”

“You could try." He lifts his chin. “But I’ve gotten faster.”

“We’ll see about that.”

The two of you look up as a servant with brown hair slides the door open and steps inside, holding a decanter of wine like an offering. Her steps falter when she sees the Fire Lord's place has been abandoned. She looks from the empty seat at the head of the table to the two of you, sitting together like conspirators at the far end. 

Zuko doesn't even give her a chance to ask. "Just... just set it down, please. We can get it ourselves."

“I… of course, my lord,” she says, her eyes darting between the two of you.

She sets the decanter down with a trembling hand, her movements jerky. You feel a pang of sympathy for her. She's clearly been drilled in the proper way to serve the Fire Lord, and Zuko has just thrown a wrench in her carefully choreographed routine. You give her a reassuring smile, but she doesn't see it. She’s already backing out of the room, her eyes fixed on the floor. 

As soon as the door slides shut, Zuko sighs and slouches in his chair. "Sorry about that. They're not used to improvisation."

"It's fine," you say, watching as he stands to pour the wine. "They're just doing their jobs."

"Still," he mutters, handing you a glass. The deep red liquid swirls in the crystal, catching the light from the candles. "I wish they'd relax."

You take a sip of the wine, a sweet, fruity vintage that’s surprisingly good. You’re more of a beer girl yourself, but you can appreciate this. It’s smooth and rich, and it goes down easily. Maybe too easily. You take another sip, bigger this time.

"So," you say, setting your glass down. "What have you been up to? Besides redecorating and terrifying the staff."

He grimaces. "Mostly council meetings. And trade agreements. And trying to convince the old guard that reforming the education system is not a sign of weakness."

"Sounds riveting," you say, and he snorts. "No, seriously, that's good work. Important."

"It is," he agrees, "but it's also boring as hell. I'd rather be fighting a platypus-bear."

You laugh, and the sound echoes in the large room. "I'm sure we could arrange that. I saw some on the way in. Big ones, too."

"Don't tempt me," he says, a longing look on his face. "I'd take a good mauling over another budget meeting any day."

You shake your head, a smile playing on your lips. You forget sometimes how much he's changed. The boy you met was so desperate for honor and respect, so focused on his destiny, that he couldn't see anything else. The man sitting across from you now is still driven, still determined, but he's also... tired. He’s weary of the politics and the posturing, and you can see it in the lines around his eyes and the slump of his shoulders.

“Is it really that bad?” you ask softly.

“Sometimes,” he admits, his thumb tracing the rim of his glass. “They mean well, most of them. But they’re stuck in their ways. They don’t see the world the way I do.”

“Because you’ve seen it,” you say, and he nods.

You understand, more than anyone. You've walked through rice paddies in the Earth Kingdom that glowed green under the full moon, and you've tasted fruit in the Air Temples so sweet it made your teeth ache. You've slept under unfamiliar stars in so many different lands that you sometimes forget which hemisphere you're in. Seeing the world changes you. It sands down your rough edges, and it opens your eyes to the way other people live.

He's seen more than most, and he's learned from it. It's in the way he carries himself, the way he speaks about different nations with a respect that was nowhere to be found when you first met him. It makes him a better leader, a better person.

But it also makes him a target. For political machinations, or worse, you’re sure. He’s surrounded by vipers, and you know it. You've been around enough politicians to recognize them. And while Zuko is a formidable bender and a cunning strategist, he’s also still so earnest. He wants to believe the best in people, even when they’ve given him no reason to.

He’s also an idiot. A brave, noble, kind-hearted idiot. But an idiot nonetheless. You know him.

“You need to get away more.” You lean forward and propping your chin on your hand. “You’re getting pale.”

“I’m not pale,” he scoffs. “I’m a Fire Nation native. This is my natural skin tone.”

“Sure it is,” you say, a teasing note in your voice. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. But you’re still too pale. You need some sun.”

“There’s sun here,” he argues, gesturing to the window, but you just shake your head.

“Not the same,” you say. “You need real sun. The kind you get from working in a field all day. Or, you know, sitting on a beach and drinking cheap wine.”

“That sounds…” he trails off, a wistful look on his face. “That sounds really nice.”

You’re struck by the sudden urge to offer him a way out. You could leave together tomorrow, you and him, just like old times. You could travel the world, and he could remember what it’s like to be free. He could leave all this behind, and you could…

You could what? Be a burden? A distraction? He has a country to run. You can’t just ask him to abandon it because you’re feeling nostalgic for the good old days. That’s not how the world works.

You push the thought away as the door slides open again, and a parade of servants stream through the doors in single file. They move with a practiced efficiency, placing dish after dish on the long table between you. Roasted duck-turkey, glazed with a sweet and spicy sauce. Sea-prunes simmered in a savory broth. Flaky pastries filled with spiced vegetables. The servants are gone as quickly as they came, leaving the two of you in a stunned silence.

You stare at the spread, your mind boggling at the sheer excess of it all. This isn’t a dinner, it’s a feast. And it's all for you. You feel a knot of guilt tighten in your stomach. You know how much food costs, how much effort it takes to produce it. This is a waste, a gross indulgence, and you hate it.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you say, your voice low. “Zuko, this is… this is too much.”

He looks from your face to the food and back again, a confused frown on his face. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?”

“I like it fine,” you say, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice. “But there’s enough here to feed an army. We can’t possibly eat all of this.”

“I know,” he says. “But I wanted you to have a choice. I didn’t know what you’d be in the mood for.”

You stare at him, dumbfounded. He’s so sincere, so genuinely baffled by your reaction, that you can’t even be mad. You just… you don’t understand him. You thought he’d grown up on the road with you, that he’d learned to appreciate the simple things. But it seems like the palace has erased all of that, replacing it with this… this opulence. This wastefulness.

“Zuko,” you say, your patient, teacher-voice coming out despite yourself. “I’ve been living on rice and beans for the last six months. I would have been happy with a bowl of soup. This is… this is a lot.”

You try to be gentle, but you can see the flash of hurt in his eyes before he masks it with a blank expression. He straightens up, his shoulders stiffening, and you know you’ve said the wrong thing. You’ve insulted him, and you didn’t mean to. You were just trying to make him see reason.

“I’m sorry,” you start, but he holds up a hand.

“No, you’re right,” he says, his voice flat. “It’s too much. I’ll have them take some of it away.”

He stands up and walks to the door, and you watch him go, your heart sinking. You’ve ruined it. You’ve ruined the nice evening he was trying to give you, and you feel like a complete and utter jerk. You didn’t mean to hurt him, you were just… you were just being you. And you’re starting to realize that your version of ‘you’ doesn’t really fit in here.

He’s gone for a few minutes, and you use the time to pile a little bit of everything onto your plate. You’re starving, and you’re not going to let his pride get in the way of a good meal. When he comes back, the tension between you is thick enough to cut with a knife.

“They’re taking the rest to the kitchens,” he says, sitting down. “The staff can have it.”

“Good,” you reply quietly. At least it won’t go to waste.

You eat in silence for a while, the only sounds the clinking of silverware against porcelain. The food is delicious, some of the best you’ve ever had, but you can’t enjoy it. All you can think about is the wounded look on Zuko’s face, and the way he’s pointedly not looking at you. You’ve never been good at this kind of thing, at navigating the minefield of other people’s feelings. You’re a doer, not a talker, and you’re at a loss as to how to fix this.

You take a deep breath and decide to just rip the bandage off.

“I’m sorry,” you say, setting your fork down. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

He finally looks at you, a weariness in his eyes. “You weren’t rude,” he says. “You were just being honest. I’m the one who’s out of touch.”

“You’re not out of touch,” you argue. “You’re just… used to a different way of life. It’s fine.”

“Is it?” he asks quietly. “Because it doesn’t feel fine. It feels like I’m failing at… at everything.”

“You’re not failing,” you say, your voice firm. “You’re doing great. You’re a good Fire Lord, Zuko. A great one.”

“You don’t know that,” he scoffs. “You haven’t been here.”

“Your letters told me enough,” you counter. “And I see it in your eyes. You’re trying. You’re really trying, and that’s more than most people can say.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. He’s so hard on himself, always has been. He expects perfection, and when he doesn’t get it, he beats himself up. It’s one of the things you love about him, and one of the things that drives you crazy. He’s his own worst critic, and it’s a battle he can never win.

“What about you?” he asks, finally. “What have you been up to?”

The question catches you off guard, and you blink at him. He looks so earnest, so eager for a change of subject, that you decide to let him have it. You pick up your fork again and poke at a piece of duck-turkey, contemplating your answer. What have you been up to, these last few months? Traveling, mostly, with the occasional stint as a farmhand. Nothing particularly exciting or notable. You haven’t done anything nearly as important as him. But you know he won’t let you get away with that answer, so you try to find something more interesting to say.

"Oh, you know, the usual. Traveling, farming, getting chased out of villages by angry mobs." You shrug. "Same old, same old."

Zuko snorts, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile. "You got chased out of a village again?"

"Hey, in my defense, it wasn't my fault this time," you say, pointing your fork at him. "I was just trying to help. They had a serious blight problem, and I told them how to fix it, but they didn't want to listen. Some people are just stubborn."

"Some people are," he agrees, a knowing look on his face. "So you fixed it anyway, didn't you?"

"Of course I did," you say, indignant. "I wasn't going to let their crops die just because they were too proud to take advice from a stranger. So I waited until they were all asleep, and I… helped."

"Define 'helped.'"

"I may have… encouraged the earth to be a little more… receptive to the seeds," you say, evasively. "And maybe I smoothed out a few of the hills so they'd get more sun. And I might have redirected a small stream to water the fields. But that's it."

"That's it?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"That's it," you confirm, nodding for emphasis. You put a hand to your heart, trying to mask the twitch of your lips. "I swear."

He's silent for a moment, and you can see him trying to hold back a laugh. He's not doing a very good job. A snort escapes him, and then another, until he's full-on laughing. It's a deep, genuine laugh that rumbles in his chest and makes your own lips curve into a smile. You've missed this. You've missed him. You've missed the easy banter and the comfortable silence, the way he looks at you like you're the only person in the room.

You've missed the way he looks at you, period. Even when he was angry and frustrating, there was something in his eyes that made you feel… seen. He saw the real you, the person you hid from everyone else, and he didn't run away. He stayed. He challenged you, and he pushed you, and he made you a better person. And you’ve been trying to do the same for him, though you’re not sure you can take the credit. He’s grown into someone truly remarkable, and you can’t help but feel proud of him.

"What?" you ask, feigning innocence. "It's not funny. I almost got arrested."

"I'm sorry," he says, but he's still laughing. "I'm trying to picture it. You, sneaking around in the middle of the night, rearranging the landscape."

"Well, it's either that or let them starve," you say, taking a sip of your wine. "So, yes, I would do it again. And I did, in the next village over. They were much more appreciative."

"I bet," he says, finally getting himself under control. He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, his face flushed with amusement. “So, is that what you do now? Travel the countryside and secretly earthbend for people who don't appreciate it?"

"Pretty much," you say with a shrug. "Someone has to. The war left a lot of scars, and not all of them are on people. The land needs healing, too."

You look away, focusing on the candle flame flickering on the table between you. You don't like to talk about your work, not really. It’s too personal, too close to the bone. You pour your heart and soul into the land, into the seeds you plant and the trees you nurture. You pour your own grief and rage into the soil, and you watch as it transforms into something beautiful, something alive. It’s a kind of magic, a kind of alchemy, and it’s the only thing that keeps you going some days. You've seen too much death, too much destruction, and you need to create something, anything, to balance it out.

Zuko is quiet, and you can feel his gaze on you. It's heavy and intense, and it makes you want to squirm in your seat. You're not used to being looked at like this, with so much… something. You don't know what it is, but it's a lot, and you don't know what to do with it.

"You do good work," he says, and the sincerity in his voice makes your throat tight. "The world is a better place because you're in it."

You stare at him, your mind racing. You're not used to compliments, especially not from him. He's not one for flowery words or empty platitudes. When he says something, he means it. And he means this. He really, truly believes it, and you don't know how to respond.

"It's nothing," you say, waving a dismissive hand. "Anyone could do it."

“They could, but they won’t,” he counters, his gaze unwavering. “That’s the difference.”

You’re saved from having to answer by the return of the servants, who clear away the dinner plates and replace them with, blessedly, a single plate of dessert for each of you. It’s a simple dish of mango shaved ice, drizzled with a sweet, creamy sauce and sprinkled with toasted coconut flakes, and you can’t help but smile. It’s a relief after the excess of the main course, and you can tell from the look on Zuko’s face that he knows it.

“You still like mango, right?” he asks, and you nod.

“I do,” you say, taking a bite. The cool, sweet ice melts on your tongue, and you close your eyes in bliss. “Oh, wow. This is amazing.”

“Good,” he says, a pleased look on his face. “I remembered you said it was your favorite.”

You open your eyes and stare at him, your spoon halfway to your mouth. He’s already digging into his own bowl, so you have a moment to process this. He remembered your favorite dessert. He remembered the color you liked. He remembered a casual comment you made years ago. He remembers all of it, and you don’t know what to do with that information.

You’re so used to being the one who remembers, the one who pays attention to the little details. You’re the one who remembers that Sokka is allergic to strawberries, and that Katara prefers her tea with two sugars, and that Toph hates the feel of velvet. You’re the one who remembers the little things, because that’s how you show people you care. To be on the receiving end of that kind of attention, from him of all people, is… disconcerting.

It’s also a little bit wonderful.

“It’s still my favorite,” you say, and you give him a smile. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t say anything, just nods and keeps eating, but you can see the faint blush on the back of his neck. He’s not good at receiving compliments, either, and you find that you kind of like that you can make him flustered. It’s a nice change from the stoic, formal Fire Lord he’s been playing at since you arrived. 

You finish your dessert in a comfortable silence, your spoons scraping against the glass bowls. When you’re done, you set your spoon down and lean back in your chair, a contented sigh escaping you. You’re full, and warm, and more relaxed than you’ve been in months. You could get used to this, which is a terrifying thought. You’re not supposed to get used to things. You’re supposed to keep moving.

“Okay,” you say, breaking the silence. “This was much better than the state dinner I was expecting. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, a genuine smile on his face. “I told you I wanted it to be just us.”

“Yeah, you did,” you agree, and you let yourself really look at him. He looks different in the soft candlelight, the sharp angles of his face softened by the warm glow. He looks… happy. And you realize, with a jolt, that you’ve missed him more than you thought. You’ve missed the easy companionship, the shared laughter, the simple act of being in the same room with him.

You stand up, and Zuko follows suit, a questioning look on his face. “It’s getting late. I should probably, you know, turn in.”

“Right,” he sighs. “Of course. I’ll walk you back to your rooms.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you protest, but he’s already shaking his head.

“I want to,” he says, and the force of the conviction in his voice surprises you. “It’s a big palace. You could get lost.”

“I’m an earthbender,” you say, a teasing note in your voice. “I can always follow the walls.”

“Humor me,” he says, a wry smile playing on his lips. He holds out his arm. “Indulge the Fire Lord in his desire to be a proper host.”

You stare at his offered arm, then at his face. He’s joking, you think, but there’s something in his eyes, a seriousness that makes you pause. He’s asking for something, and you’re not sure what it is, but you know that you want to give it to him. So you take a deep breath and loop your arm through his.

His sleeve is cool silk against your skin, and you can feel the solid muscle of his bicep beneath it. You’re acutely aware of the warmth of his body, the scent of smoke and spice that clings to him, and you have to fight the urge to lean in closer. Has he always smelled like this? You don't think so, but maybe you've never been close enough to notice.

“Okay, fine,” you say, your voice a little breathless. “Walk me to my door, Your Excellency. But only because you asked so nicely.”

He doesn't say anything, just leads you out of the dining hall and into the quiet, candle-lit corridors. The servants are gone, and the sound of your footsteps and the wind whistling through the eaves fill the silence between you. It's peaceful, in a way. The palace is different at night, less imposing, more… intimate. The shadows hide the garish excess, and the candlelight softens the hard edges of the stone.

You walk for a while, content to just be in his company. You’re not sure what to say, and you’re afraid that if you open your mouth, you’ll say something stupid. So you just walk, your arm tucked in his, and you try to ignore the way your heart is beating a little too fast in your chest.

“You know,” he says, breaking the silence. “You never told me what you were doing in the Fire Nation. Your letter was… vague.”

You wince. You’d done that on purpose. The truth is, you were in trouble. You’d gotten mixed up in some local politics, and you’d had to make a quick exit. You’d planned on lying low for a few weeks, using the cover of Caldera City’s bustling crowds to disappear for a while. You never expected him to find you, let alone invite you to the palace.

“Oh, you know,” you say, trying to sound casual. “Just seeing the sights. Taking in the local culture.”

Zuko stops walking, and you stumble, pulled up short by his sudden stillness. He turns to face you, and you can see the concern etched on his face in the flickering torchlight. He’s not buying it. Of course, he’s not buying it. He knows you too well.

“What’s really going on?” he asks, his voice low and serious. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

You open your mouth to deny it, to brush off his concern with a lighthearted joke, but the words won't come. You look into his eyes, and you see the genuine worry there, the fierce protectiveness that has always been a part of him, a part of him that he usually keeps hidden beneath layers of anger and insecurity. You can’t lie to him. Not when he's looking at you like that.

You take a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "It's nothing, really. Just a misunderstanding. I may have… insulted a local governor."

"You insulted a governor?" he repeats, incredulous. "How did you manage to do that?"

"It's a long story," you say, waving a dismissive hand. "He was being a jerk, and I may have suggested that he was a corrupt, incompetent, pig-headed tyrant who was more interested in lining his own pockets than in helping his people."

You say it all in one breath, and you brace yourself for the lecture you know is coming. You’ve heard it before, from him and from Sokka and from just about everyone else who cares about you. You’re too reckless, too impulsive, too quick to speak your mind. You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days, and they won’t be able to save you. You’ve heard it all, and you’re tired of it.

But Zuko doesn't lecture you. He doesn't even look angry. He just looks… tired. Resigned. Like he’s been expecting this. And that’s somehow worse than the lecture.

"What did he do?" he asks lowly.

"He was withholding food rations from a village that had been hit by a landslide," you say, your voice barely a whisper. "He was selling them on the black market instead. I… I may have redirected the food shipments. And I may have… caused a small earthquake that knocked over his statue."

He closes his eyes for a moment, and you can see the muscle twitching in his jaw. He's trying to keep his temper, you can tell, and you're grateful for the effort. You don't want to fight with him, not now, not here. You just want to enjoy the few days you have together before you have to leave again. Before you have to go back to your life of running and hiding and trying to fix the world, one small act of rebellion at a time.

"So he put a bounty on your head," he says. It’s not a question. You wince.

"He did," you confirm, nodding. "Which is why I'm here. It's a good place to disappear for a while."

"And you were just going to… what? Hole up in some cheap boarding house and hope for the best?" he asks, and the anger is finally there, simmering just beneath the surface. "You know, for someone who's so smart, you can be really stupid sometimes."

"Hey," you protest, but he holds up a hand.

"No, don't 'hey' me," he says, his voice rising. "This is serious. These aren't some backwoods thugs we're talking about. This is a Fire Nation governor. He has resources. He could find you."

You flinch at the harshness of his tone, and he must see it, because he takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair. The anger in his eyes fades, replaced by a familiar, weary resignation.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice softer now. "I didn't mean to snap. I'm just… worried. That's a lot."

"I know," you say, and you do. You know he worries, and you appreciate it, even if it sometimes feels like he's trying to wrap you in cotton wool. "But I can take care of myself."

"I know you can," he says. "But you shouldn't have to. Not all the time."

You don't know what to say to that, so you just stand there in the flickering torchlight, your arm still tucked in his, and you wish, not for the first or the last time, that things were different. That the world was a kinder place, or at least a fairer one. That you could just be two people, walking down a hallway, without the weight of the world on your shoulders.

"Why didn't you come to me?" he asks quietly, his brow furrowed. "Why didn't you just tell me you were in trouble?"

“You have enough to deal with without me adding to it,” you murmur, pulling your arm away to wrap it around your own middle. “I didn’t want to be another problem on your list.”

Zuko takes a step forward, closing the distance you just created. The sudden warmth of him in the cool stone corridor makes you look up. His eyes are boring into yours, and the intensity there steals the breath from your lungs.

“You are not a problem,” he says, his voice low and rough. “You are my friend. More than my friend. You're… you. And if you're in trouble, I want to know. I want to help."

Your heart does a strange, stuttering thing in your chest, like a trapped bird beating against your ribs. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but the words are gone. All you can do is stare at him, at the sincerity in his face, at the fire in his eyes, and you feel a sudden, overwhelming urge to just… give in. To let him take care of you, just for a little while. To let him be the strong one.

But that’s not who you are. And that’s not who he needs you to be.

So you take a deep breath and you take a step back, putting some distance between you. "I'm fine," you say, and your voice is stronger now, more like your own. "I'm always fine. And even if I wasn't, I can handle it. I've been handling it for a long time."

He doesn't say anything, just watches you with those unreadable eyes, and you can see the frustration in the tense set of his shoulders. He wants to argue, you can tell, but he's holding back. He's respecting your boundaries, even if it kills him, and you're grateful for it. You're also a little bit disappointed, which is a stupid, selfish thought, and you push it away. You have enough stupid, selfish thoughts to last a lifetime. You don't need to add to the collection.

"You're impossible," he breathes out, and the words are so quiet you almost miss them.

"You're one to talk," you retort, a ghost of a smile on your lips. "We're a matched set, you and me. A couple of impossible idiots."

He shakes his head. "Yeah, I guess we are."

You turn and start walking again, and after a moment, he follows. You don't take his arm this time, but he walks close enough that your shoulders brush with every other step. It’s a small point of contact, but it’s enough. It’s more than enough.

“So, about this governor,” he starts, and you fight the urge to sigh. You knew he wasn’t going to let it go.

“He’s not a problem,” you say, keeping your eyes on the corridor ahead. “I can handle him.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he says smoothly. “But you won’t have to. I’ll have a dispatch sent to the local magistrate. The charges will be dropped by morning.”

You stop walking and turn to face him, your hands on your hips. “You can’t do that. That’s an abuse of power.”

“It’s a perfectly legal use of power,” he counters, a stubborn set to his jaw. “The governor is embezzling state funds and withholding aid. That’s a crime. I’m just… expediting the justice process.”

Despite yourself, a slow smile spreads across your face. He’s so noble. So ridiculously, frustratingly noble. He’s always been like this, even when he was trying to capture Aang. He has this rigid, unshakeable moral compass, and he refuses to compromise it, even when it would be easier to just… look the other way. It’s one of the things you admire most about him, and one of the things that drives you the craziest. You just wish he would bend the rules for himself, just once, instead of for everyone else.

“Fine,” you say, holding up your hands in surrender. “Do whatever you want. You’re the Fire Lord.”

“I am,” he smirks. “And don’t you forget it.”

You roll your eyes and start walking again, and you can feel the smugness radiating off him in waves. He’s so pleased with himself, and you can’t help but find it endearing. He’s not smug in a cruel way, or a condescending one. He’s just… happy. He’s happy that he can help you, that he can take this burden off your shoulders. He’s happy that he can be your hero, even if you don't need one. And you’re a little bit happy, too, even if you won’t admit it. It’s nice to have someone in your corner, someone who has your back, no matter what.

The walk to your rooms is short, and before you know it, you’re standing in front of the round, dragon-carved doors again. He stops, and you stop with him, and you’re both just standing there, the silence stretching between you. 

“So,” you say, your voice a little too loud in the quiet hallway. “This is me.”

“This is you,” he agrees. His gaze drifts from your face to the door, then back again. He rocks back on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back, and glances at the guards doing a convincing impression of statues. “I, uh, I hope you’re comfortable here.”

“I am,” you say, and you mean it. The room is still a bit much, but the thought behind it… that you understand. “It’s really beautiful.”

He relaxes, a small, genuine smile touching his lips. “Good. I’m glad.”

He doesn't move, and you don't either. You know you should say goodnight, open the door, and disappear into your lavish, temporary prison. But your feet feel rooted to the polished floor. You're not ready for the night to end. You're not ready to be alone with your thoughts, with the confusing, unwelcome feelings that he's stirred up in you. You'd rather stand here in this awkward, charged silence than face them.

“Do you… have any plans for your stay?” he asks, breaking the silence. “I mean, besides hiding from a corrupt governor.”

“Not really,” you admit with a shrug. “I was just planning on laying low for a while. See the sights, eat too much food, let you spoil me rotten.”

You say the last part with a wink, trying to keep the tone light, but he doesn't react.

“I can arrange that,” he says, and he sounds so serious that you have to bite back a laugh. He takes your bait, even when you're not fishing. “But I was hoping… I mean, I have some things I need to do tomorrow. And I was wondering if you’d want to come with me. To the royal gardens. And then… well, there’s something I want to show you.”

“The royal gardens, huh?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “What, are you going to show me your prize-winning komodo chickens?”

“They’re peacocks,” he says, a faint smile on his lips. “And no. It’s not that. It’s… something else.”

You study his face, trying to figure out what he’s not saying. He’s nervous, you can see it in the way he won’t quite meet your eyes, in the way he’s twisting his hands together behind his back. He’s hiding something, and you have a feeling it has nothing to do with prize-winning poultry.

“Is it a secret?” you press, a teasing note in your voice.

“Sort of,” he admits. “But it’s a good secret. I think.”

You’re intrigued, you have to admit. You’ve known Zuko for a long time, and you’ve seen him at his best and at his worst. You’ve seen him angry and frustrated, vulnerable and afraid. You’ve seen him laugh and cry and rage. But you’ve never seen him like this. He’s nervous, and hopeful, and a little bit terrified, and you have no idea why. But you want to find out.

“Okay,” you say, and you try to keep the eagerness out of your voice. “I’ll go. But if it’s a surprise party, I’m leaving.”

“It’s not a surprise party,” he says, a laugh escaping him. “I promise. No party. Just… us.”

“Just us,” you repeat. You're not sure what he means by that, or if he even knows what he means by that, but it makes your stomach do a funny, flippy thing that you’re going to ignore. You’re going to ignore it so hard.

You stand there, lost in thought, until he clears his throat. The sound is loud in the quiet hallway, and it makes you jump.

“I should let you get to bed,” he says, and he sounds as reluctant as you feel. “Big day tomorrow. Komodo peacocks don’t just show themselves off, you know.”

“I’ll be sure to wear my finest,” you grin. “Goodnight, Zuko. And… thank you. For everything.”

“Goodnight."

He hesitates for a moment, like he wants to say something else, but then he just turns and walks away, leaving you alone in the flickering torchlight.

You watch him go, his back straight and his shoulders squared, until he disappears around the corner. You stand there for a long moment, just staring at the empty hallway, before you finally turn and push open the heavy door to your rooms. The cool, night air rushes in to meet you, and you step inside, closing the door behind you.

You stand in the middle of the room, your bare feet sinking into the plush, patterned rug. The moon is high in the sky, its silver light streaming through the open balcony doors and painting the room in shades of gray and blue. The fresco on the ceiling is even more beautiful in the moonlight, the water lilies and lotus flowers seeming to glow with an otherworldly light. It’s a breathtaking sight, and for a moment, you just stand there, mesmerized by the sheer, unexpected beauty of it all.

You can’t believe he did this for you. You can’t believe he remembered.

You walk to the balcony, your bare feet silent on the cool stone. The night air is warm and fragrant, filled with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and the distant, salty smell of the sea. You lean on the railing, looking out at the sleeping city below. The caldera is a bowl of darkness, dotted with the warm lights of homes and businesses. From here, it looks peaceful. Serene. You can almost forget the blood that was spilled here, the lives that were lost in the name of a twisted ideology.

But you can’t forget. You won’t. You’ve seen too much, lost too much, to ever forget. And you know Zuko hasn’t forgotten either. He’s carrying the weight of his father’s legacy on his shoulders, and he’s trying to build something new from the ashes. It’s a burden that would crush a lesser man. But he’s not a lesser man. He’s stronger than anyone you’ve ever met, and he’s doing it.

And he’s doing it alone.

A pang of guilt shoots through you, sharp and sudden. You left him. You and the others, you all went back to your lives, back to your own problems, and you left him here to clean up the mess. You visit, when you can, you send letters, but it’s not enough. It’s not the same. He’s alone in this, and you had no idea how alone he was until now.

You thought he had Mai. You thought he had someone to talk to, someone to share the burden with. But something in your conversation tonight makes you question that. You can’t put your finger on it, but there was a… a hollowness to him. A loneliness that he tries to hide with a stern face and a sharp tongue, but that you can see in his eyes.

You shake your head, trying to clear it. You’re being ridiculous. You’re projecting your own loneliness onto him. He’s the Fire Lord. He’s surrounded by people, by advisors and servants and courtiers. He’s not alone. He can’t be. You’re just feeling sorry for yourself because your life is a mess, and you’re looking for a distraction.

You turn away from the railing and walk back into the room, your arms wrapped around your middle. You need to get a grip. You’re here for a few days, a week at most. You’re going to lay low, let Zuko handle your governor problem, and then you’re going to leave. You’re going to go back to your life, to your work, and you’re not going to get sucked into this… this whatever this is.

You change into a simple cotton nightdress, one of the few things you own that doesn’t have a hole in it, and crawl into the big, soft bed. The mattress is plush, the sheets are cool and smooth, and the down-filled pillow is like resting your head on a cloud. It’s the most comfortable bed you’ve ever slept in, and you know, with a certainty that settles like a stone in your stomach, that you’re not going to sleep a wink.