Chapter Text
When Sokka was a child, peace had been something of a fantasy story.
Peace was imagined about home fire; it was drawn from the words of elders and painted to vivid life through their memories. It was an ungraspable thing, this peace - an infallible vision that belonged to the haze of flame. It was also something worth leaving for, when his father laced up his boots and didn't look back.
So, as a young warrior, if peace took his father's hugs away, and made his sister cry, he reasoned it must be quite the tremendous trade; perhaps endless warm cocoa, for the both of them? But shifting forward, Sokka became older still, and his father wasn't coming back anytime soon, and peace had never taken shape at their shores. And instead, this dreamed peace became shapeless, fragile and threatened; the elders passed away, taking their history with them, and it fell to Sokka to protect the peace of those who remained. And because he was older, but not quite old enough, he secretly hoped peace might also bring his mother back; that it might reach all the way back through time and undo what had been taken. But peace wouldn’t reach that far.
All in all, peace was a vision of the past and a dream for the future, that soon became blurred in his warrior makeup when the Fire Nation ships arrived again at their shores.
Atop a flying mountain of fur, the world enormous in every direction, peace changed shape again. He had traded the peace of keeping their home fire burning for the smaller, sturdier peace of keeping his sister breathing.
Peace came transiently; when siblings reluctantly agreed to drop an argument; it came the moment his boomerang found its mark.. Peace came in shared whispers and shared dreams; in hopes and future desires.
Always, peace was something to grasp, to lose, and to chase again. He was a glutton for it.
They had won the war five years ago, and peace was finally becoming a more constant warmth for the world. It was no longer something to strive for and lose; it was something to build, fight for, and keep.
Sokka was still working out what to do with that. For the first time, he was saturated with it, but it didn't look like he had envisioned as a child. Peace had become a massive, fragile glass structure, and Sokka spent every waking hour making sure nobody threw a stone at the cracks he was hiding.
This new world peace looked like high courtrooms, impressive stacks of paper, and the constant reshuffling of documents that had already been shuffled; it looked like hidden glances and clandestine embraces, and trading safety for secrecy.
The council chamber of the Southern Water Tribe was smaller than the rooms he had sat in on behalf of his people, but it was no less heavy for its size. The walls were carved bone and dark stone, imported from the Northern territory, and hung with the ceremonial wolf armour of the chiefs who had sat here before.
His father's seat was at the head of the long table, and it was empty: Hakoda had been out at the Moon Lake for several days, making preparations for tomorrow.
Tomorrow. Sokka's cheeks darkened slightly at the thought of what was happening tomorrow. Visions flooded his otherwise idle thoughts; of pupils blown wide to become gold eclipses, heavy-lidded above fields of snow; he recalled a calloused thumb tracing the line of his jaw, of soft skin and softer laughter; of a whisper, I want to do this, Sokka, and his reply of yes, yes, yes. With a start, Sokka was reminded of his place; he was running a council session in place of his father, and this was not the place to be thinking of that.
"We will review your suggestions, Elder Talom, and make them a priority at the next meeting." Sokka said and frowned at his own voice. Spirits, he cringed internally, did I just say that? I'm turning into a walking scroll.
"If I may be so bold," Elder Talom said, and paused for, presumably, dramatic effect. "Your father would have resolved this by the second. When will he return?"
Talom had come south after the war, one of a small wave of Northern elders who had stayed, and somewhere along the way appointed himself custodian of every tradition the occupation had tried to erase. Sokka could respect the impulse, even when the man made him want to put his head through a wall.
"My father is due to return tonight," Sokka said, keeping his tone flat. "He'll be at the table for the next session, at the next half-moon."
"Great," Talom said, a sly smile spreading across his face. "I'll delay my case until he's at the table. Perhaps then we'll have someone who understands the weight of our traditions."
Sokka swallowed the retort that was itching at his tongue, and only nodded, keeping his face a neutral mask of professional indifference.
"Moving on," Sokka said, his quill tapping a sharp rhythm against the high piled documents. "Notices." Ugh. Great. "Firstly, the Southern Water Tribe is expecting the Fire Lord to arrive tonight, but he has made it clear ahead of time that he is not here for political reasons."
"Then why is he here?" That was the Earth Kingdom representative, Hinu.
Sokka worked hard not to frown. "His reasons are personal."
"You mean to say you do not know? Is there something personal between the Fire Nation and the Southern Water Tribe, that we are kept in the dark on?"
There was the usual round of paper shuffles. Sokka’s heart lurched; he breathed in deeply; in, and hold, and release. Hinu likes the gossip, Hakoda had warned him. Don’t let him smell blood. "No. The Southern Water Tribe respects the privacy of its guests. And the Fire Lord is arriving as a guest. As a friend of the Avatar, and as a friend of my family's."
Although this was a script oft rehearsed, referring to he and Zuko as friends always felt like an affront to his spirit; it was a cold, heavy ice shelf lodged in his chest.
Sokka was a strategist. He understood the calculus. If keeping Zuko safe meant keeping their love locked in the shadows a while longer, then Sokka would gladly play the part of the detached diplomat. They were both fighting to change it. Sokka spent his nights reading the frantic, ink-smudged letters Zuko sent from Caldera, detailing the agonizingly slow bureaucratic war to repeal his great-grandfather's tyrannical edicts. A century of deep-seated prejudice couldn't be undone in a stroke; with Ozai loyalists still whispering mutiny in the shadows, Zuko's crown sat precariously, and forcing the issue risked tipping it entirely.
Sokka sat down after giving the Southern Water Tribe's own notices, and as the other representatives ran their course, he tuned them out, the bickering fading into the background. He checked the sun's position through the high ice window; only a few hours to go.
Regrettably, but predictably, the council adjourned later than expected, a little after midday. By then, there had been a flurry of pointed and impatient coughs, the aggressive reshuffling of already-shuffled papers, and the most dramatic progression was an inkpot casualty; that had been the end of it, then. Sokka made light appeasements to the other council members, a lot of "Very good point, councilman, I'll let my father know," and a frustrating number of "No, councilman, I will not pass that on, as I said the Fire Lord is off-duty for his visit."
Sokka excused himself and ran down the ice-carved steps, breathing in the familiar chill. His feet found the path home automatically. Even if the village itself looked different now, the old rhythms still hummed: the scraping of a wolf jawbone over a hide; a new generation of warriors training far out on the ice shelf; the sun, greeting Tui on the horizon.
He rounded the corner towards home. The childhood igloo was gone, replaced by sculpted ice and imported wooden beams, reparation gifts from the Fire Nation.
Sokka pushed past the tigerseal skin, and the biting polar wind was replaced by humid warmth.
"What time do you call this!?," Katara deadpanned without looking up. She was standing over a massive, bubbling iron pot in the central hearth, an oversized wooden ladle in her hand. She gave the stew an aggressive stir and turned to him with that familiar, knowing tilt of her chin. "The council worked you to the bone again, didn't they?"
Sokka groaned. He shed his heavy outer parka, tossing it toward the peg by the door. "They ground them up to use as chalk for the trade ledgers!"
Sokka moved to the food prep table, and after washing his hands he slid into the space beside Katara, picked up a bone knife and began slicing the ice-yams. "Talom thought it'd be a great idea to waste our time debating the meaning of handmade versus bendermade goods. For an hour. Again!"
Katara scoffed, nudging his shoulder to reclaim her territory at the cutting board. "You always did have a low tolerance for Talom. Dad says he just likes to feel like he's guarding the old ways."
"The only thing Talom is guarding is his own right to be a public nuisance," Sokka muttered.
"And? How did the notices go?"
"Fine. But I think we're going to need better excuses, soon. Hinu's been asking pointed questions. Apparently an ambassador and the Fire Lord being too close is cause for concern." Sokka placed the knife down flat. "What's the point of any of this, if a Chief and the Fire Lord himself can't even be-" he caught himself, jaw tight.
From the shadows near the back of the hut, Gran Gran had emerged from her room, apparently having heard every word.
Sokka sent a silent prayer to the spirits that she hadn’t been listening to his and Katara’s conversation; he knew he’d get a lecture, otherwise!
“Stop thinking too loud, Sokka, you’ll hurt yourself,” Gran Gran said. Never mind, she has ears like a hare bat!
Gran Gran perched on a low stool and began stripping dried kelp into thin, uniform ribbons. "I am an old woman. I have seen the tides turn a thousand times, and I know when a storm is brewing in my grandson's chest."
"The Earth Kingdom and Northern Tribe delegates are just breathing down my neck," Sokka sighed. "Hinu was asking all these pointed questions about Zuko's last visit. I stood there calling him a friend, and-- and it felt like swallowing a stone."
"Let them concern themselves," Katara said from the cutting board. "If Hinu snoops around the village, he'll get an earful from Dad and a face full of snow from the kids. Nobody is talking."
"I know," Sokka said, rubbing his face. "I know, but it’s…it’s not here that’s the problem.”
"The world outside our waters is full of silly laws written by old, frightened men who want to box the wind," Gran Gran interrupted softly, not looking up from her kelp. "But you are a warrior of the South; you have faced winters before, and never alone. So stop giving those yams a death glare, ya dog-dingbat! Let us carry the watch for a while."
Right. There was that same lesson that had to rear its head time and time again; not alone. He was always grateful for the reminder. Sokka stepped away from the table and knelt to wrap his arms around his grandmother. She held him with a strength before her years, with a warmth that could melt the ice shelf lodged in his chest.
"I know," Sokka muttered into her shoulder. "Thank you, Gran Gran."
There was a sudden gust of polar wind, and the heavy scent of brine and old leather followed Hakoda inside. He looked tired in the way only a Chief trying to drag the future out of the ice could look, but his eyes were as bright as ever.
"Hi, kiddos," Hakoda laughed, as solid and sure as the house's foundations. He unbuckled his heavy outer parka and stepped into the humid warmth, immediately pulling Sokka and Katara into a messy, multi-layered embrace.
'Dad!" the siblings said in unison.
When Hakoda pulled, he kept a heavy, calloused hand onto his son's shoulder.
"The grounds at Moon Lake are ready," Hakoda said. "We got delayed by an ice-storm. Sorry I left you to the sharks, son; how'd it go? Any news for me?"
Sokka set about catching his Dad up on all of the reports, notices, and updates for the South and beyond.
"Good. The future of the tribe is in good hands." Hakoda grinned, and stepped outside to haul a sledge part way through the entrance. "Speaking of, give your old man a hand, hm? We caught you a spirit binding gift. Well, actually, Bato did most of the work, but don't tell him I said that!"
On the sledge was a ceremonial-sized Boarsalmon. It was adorned in glittering purple scales, and still had both of its curled tusks in tact - a great catch, and not an easy one by any stretch. Sokka took the reins of the sledge and helped to haul it inside. It took an hour to prepare together, requiring both physical and spiritual preparations; after he scraped the last of the fish-hide clean, they staked it and angled it over the central hearth.
Afterwards, Katara threw and wash cloth and bucket at him. Yeah. He took one sniff of himself and wasn't going to argue with that. Sokka stalked to his room, and after sponging himself down, got dressed into his favourite, most comfortable home clothes: a loose fitting, well worn tunic of soft grey-blue wool and a pair of caribou skin trousers. He quickly retied his high ponytail, leaving a few loose strands framing his face, and stepped back out into the main room.
But the moment he sat by the hearth, Katara marched over holding a carved stone bowl filled with a thick, iridescent silver paste. She wore a look of fierce determination. Oh no.
"Absolutely not," Sokka said, immediately leaning back. "Katara, put the sludge away."
"It's glacier-lily tallow." Katara huffed, dipping two fingers into the cold grease. "It's ceremonial for a groom the night before his spirit binding. Dad did it, Bato did it-"
"Zuko is arriving tonight, Katara. I am not greeting my future husband looking like a greased up seal!" Sokka protested, batting her hand away.
"I spent three days rendering this down for you!" Katara shouted, pursuing him around the hearth. Ah spirits, that did make Sokka pause for a moment. "Hold still!"
Sokka gasped and ducked under her arm. He grabbed a heavy fur blanket and hoisted it up between them. Protect me, fur shield! "Ah, is this really necessary - Dad, Gran Gran, help me out!"
Of course, Hakoda and Kanna were continuing their conversation as normal, totally unfussed by the sibling chaos unfolding around them.
Katara's hands whipped through the air and the paste rose from the bowl in an angry wave.
"Ah, sludge bending!? Not fair!" Sokka yelped, and hid under the blanket for cover as the tallow hovered above his head.
"Drop the blanket!"
And of course, that was the exact moment Zuko chose to make his entrance.
He froze in the doorway. His eyes flitted from the blanket monster that was Sokka, to Katara, and then up at the sludge.
"Uh?" Zuko offered.
"Zuko!" The blanket and Katara shouted. Sokka lifted the blanket above his head and flashed Zuko an easy, face fititng grin.
Their eyes met, and the heavy weight of the crown seemed to slide off Zuko's shoulders at once; his golden eyes softened, into aching relief that made Sokka's lungs feel tight.
Then, a frantic scuffling from the snowdrifts outside shattered their glimpse of peace.
"My Lord!"
The instant the guard's shout cut through the frost, Sokka watched those soft, familiar eyes vanish. Zuko's posture went rigid, that imperial, unyielding Fire Lord spine snapping into place.
Instinct - sharp and practiced over months of stolen glances - took over Sokka's body; he had just enough time to smooth his face into a more neutral mask when a Fire Nation guard came hurtling into the hut.
The guard instantly had his broadsword drawn. He stopped short, looking between Sokka and Katara, and then up at the sludge still hovering above Sokka.
Zuko kept his chin high, his voice dripping with authority. "At ease, Zensa. Please. These are my friends."
The guard blinked. "Are you certain, my Lord?" Oh, Sokka did not like him! "That one is bending, uh, dirty sludge…and that one has a…” the guard scrunched up his nose, looking to Sokka “I’m not sure what that thing is. My Lord, there might be much more suitable lodgings for your stature-"
Indignation flashed in Sokka's gut, hot and prickly. Putting on his most ambassadorial tone, he said, "This is a traditional buffalo yak hide caught by my great grandfathers. That sludge is ceremonial glacier-"
But Katara kicked his ankle and looked at him fiercely. Don't, her eyes said.
Ah, spirits. Sokka huffed and held his tongue. This guard was young, and perhaps new; he hadn't seen him before. Zuko had done his best to educate the members of his palace, but some took more work than others. Some took much more work than others, actually.
Zuko turned back to the guard. "Please go and collect my belongings from the ship. You may leave my luggage just outside."
"Ah. Yes, my Lord. Are you certain about remaining here, My Lord?"
Zuko's eyes narrowed. The fire in the hearth flickered a little too fiercely. "Yes, Zensa. That has always been the plan. You are dismissed. I will see you when I return to Caldera."
"But, My Lord -"
"You are dismissed." Zuko seethed.
Zensa appeared briefly shocked, offered a weak bow, and left with a pout. Some stupid and reckless part of Sokka's brain told him to go after the young guard and and dismiss him from ever serving under his firelord again. But that was a dumb fantasy. And besides, the moment the tigerseal skin fell shut, the Fire Lord visibly deflated, transitioning from supreme ruler back to an awkward and slightly weary Zuko.
Zuko turned to the others. His eyes were wide. "He's, uh. He's new."
"Zuko," Sokka said. It was all he would ever need to say, really.
Blanket dropped and forgotten, he collided into Zuko, pulling him into crushing embrace. Zuko buried his face into the crook of Sokka's neck and fiercely wrapped his arms around his waist.
"It's good to see you, Zukes," Sokka muffled into his shoulder, letting himself finally relax against the solid, radiating warmth of his firebender.
When he pulled back, Katara was already there pulling Zuko into a warm hug of her own.
Across the room, Hakoda stood up from the hearth. He walked over, and he and Zuko shared a well-practiced Water Tribe greeting. Afterwards, Zuko bowed low to his father-in-law; and then turned to Gran Gran, and bowed just as deeply.
"Welcome back to the South, son," Hakoda said softly. "The guards are taken care of?"
Zuko glanced outside the entrance. "Yes, they shouldn't bother us. They'll stay watch outside, though, at least until the Kyoshi Warriors arrive to take over."
"Good," Hakoda nodded, gesturing toward the hearth. "Then the Fire Lord is officially outside."
Safe within the sculpted ice walls, the terrifying reality of the world outside faded. Out there, in the Fire Nation noble courts, their relationship was a crime; a direct violation of Sozin's old laws. But here, by the home fire, the secret just felt like home.
Sokka helped Zuko from his parka with reverence. "And? How is it?"
It's brilliant, Sokka's brain supplied. Dyed the deep, rich crimson of the Fire Nation, the parka had made Zuko look like a bright ember against the endless white of the South Pole. Sokka had personally overseen every detail; the heavy fabric was hand-stitched with golden thread in an intricate pattern of swirling flames; weeks of hunting lionseals and tracking premium harefox fur, all under the ironclad guise of ‘Southern Hospitality’.
Looking at it now, Sokka felt a flicker of dread. Spirits, did I make the flames look too much like hearts?
"Sokka, it's perfect," Zuko said, his cheeks flushing pink. Sokka leaned in to kiss Zuko, and for a brief moment the firebender tensed, before he hummed and kissed his tribesman back softly. It was often like this, and Sokka understood; even here, in the safety of the South, Zuko would take a while to warm into their own routine without the fear of being caught.
"Ew, cooties!" Katara complained.
Sokka broke the kiss with a soft chuckle. "Don't listen to her," Sokka murmured, his thumb brushing against Zuko's cheekbone. "She's just jealous because her boyfriend isn't here yet, and she has to watch us be incredibly handsome and in looooove."
"I am not jealous!" Katara threw her hands up, though a small smile betrayed her.
Zuko let out a breath that was half laugh, half sigh, and he allowed Sokka to guide him to the hearth, sinking onto the thick fur rugs with a grateful groan. The heat from the iron pot radiated over them, and Hakoda passed Zuko a wooden bowl filled with steaming stew. "Eat up, son."
Zuko gave it a whiff and raised a brow in question. "What is it?"
"Boarsalmon stew. Ceremonial," Sokka replied.
Zuko blew on a spoonful of the broth, and took a tentative sip. He shivered as its warmth soothed him from the inside. "It's delicious. Thank you."
"Boarsalmon is for determination," Kanna explained. "It's good for the grooms, and their family. We'll dry you some into jerky, to take back to your uncle."
"Oh!" Zuko nodded, eyes wide in wonder. "And what are the butter and herbs used for?"
"...to hide the Boarsalmon taste."
After Zuko had politely finished his bowl, he said, "Um, I know the risks you're taking by hosting this. If Fire Nation loyalists found out-"
"They won't," Gran Gran left no room for argument. "And even if they do, let them try to cross a Southern storm." She winked, and leant across to pinch the right side of Zuko's face. She had come to have such a soft spot for him. "Eat your dinner, you need to put some meat on those bones before the spirit binding."
Zuko blinked, a faint blush creeping up his neck, and nodded obediently.
They fell into familiar rhythms and patterns of conversation. Hakoda was recounting the hunt for the Boarsalmon with Sokka in vivid theatrics, whilst Kanna was catching Zuko up on the latest village gossip, and he was listening intently - though he'd never admit to it. Then Zuko and Katara got into an all-too-enthusiastic chatter about a new colony of swanrobins Zuko had spotted on his way in.
"There were so many, Katara," Zuko said with awe. "They were getting ready to nest, I think."
Sokka often complained that their birdwatching was more akin to boredwatching, but he could never deny the spark in his firebender's eyes when he shared his passions.
"Oh! I'll have to go and see! And there's been goosegulls spotted by the docks, too. It's a sign of spring!"
"Really!" Zuko gaped Agh, spirits damn it. He was too cute.
"We should go and see them before we leave," Sokka mumbled idly, flicking some charcoal back into the flame. He looked up and was met with two pairs of pleading eyes. Oh no. "…if we have time!"
An hour later, the hearth fire had burned down to a deep, pulsing crimson ember. The heavy iron pot had been cleared away, and the comfortable, sluggish weight of a full meal had settled over the hut. Hakoda and Gran Gran had already retired to their quarters, and Katara was aggressively yawning as she banked the ashes for the night.
"Hey, no sneaking off at midnight this time," Katara warned, pointing a finger at them as she backed toward her room. Sokka had hoped she'd forgotten about their latest trip to see the Southern spirit lights; a beautiful sight in their own right, but even moreso when they reflected on the skin of your boyfriends. But they had both stayed out too late, too long, and got stuck with a cold for a week. Worth it. "I'm looking at you, Zuko. No midnight birdwatching again. Or - okay, only if you take me with you!"
Spirits save him!
"Nope, none of that!" Sokka said before Zuko could reply and bend Sokka to his deadly, adorable will.
Katara just scoffed before slipping behind her sealskin curtain. The main room fell into hush, save for the low, rhythmic hum of the polar wind outside.
Sokka turned to Zuko, who was staring intently into the dying embers, his fingers idly tracing the carved bone accents of the hearth. The exhaustion was catching up to him; his eyelids were heavy, and the firebender's natural body heat was radiating in lazy, pulsing waves.
"Come on," Sokka said softly, standing up and offering a hand. "Let's get to bed before you face plant into the ashes."
Zuko took his hand, letting Sokka pull him up. "I don't… I wouldn't face plant…" Zuko pouted. Sokka's heart fluttered. He felt so blessed to see the oh-mighty-Fire-Lord like this; tired and pouty and so unbearably endearing. Together, they slipped into Sokka's small room. There was a low, sturdy platform bed piled high with thick pelts and woven blankets.
"Oh, I almost forgot," Zuko yawned, and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small black velvet pouch and went to hand it to Sokka, before quickly pulling it back hesitantly. "Actually, close your eyes."
"Okay," Sokka sighed, and settled back against the furs with his eyes shut.
There was a small ruffling sound, and the unmistakable crack of a flame or a spark, and Sokka's heart fluttered gleefully; in any other situation that sound would have made Sokka tense, but together they had worked to make Zuko's flame a safe haven that only warmed Sokka's spirit.
A moment later, a familiar scent of incense bloomed around them; fresh cinnamon mixed with woody cedarpine. Sokka inhaled it deeply and felt the relaxation spreading throughout every part of his body. Dragon Incense! Sokka was immediately reminded of Zuko's palace; of delicate silk and striking sunlight, of molten eyes and stolen whispers.
"How did you get it? I thought they stopped making those." Sokka murmered sleepily.
"Do you still like it? It was - I had it custom made. There are enough sticks in there, um, one for every day of our vacation. It's a traditional Fire Nation gift for newlyweds, for the bride - well, it's supposed to stimulate fertility, but… ah, well…" Zuko grumbled. Such an awkward turtle duck!
"Zuko, my love, come here," Sokka yawned and made ridiculous grabby motions with outstretched hands. "Thank you. I love it. I love you. It's just that it-" another yawn. "Makes me so-" and another. "Sleepy."
"I know," Zuko said knowingly, and shed the rest of his tunics until he was just in his undershirt and trousers. He slid beneath the heavy furs and immediately curled around Sokka, burying his face into his chest.
"Mmm, my own personal furnace," Sokka whispered happily, wrapping his own arms around Zuko and tangling their legs together.
Zuko let out a long, content sigh. "Tomorrow."
“Tomorrow,” Sokka agreed.
"Are you nervous?" Zuko asked.
Sokka rubbed small circles into Zuko's back and considered the question. "Yes, but… I'm also excited. Who wouldn't be nervous before their spirit binding? Aren't you?"
"Hm. Yes. But it's good. Uncle says I'm nervous because I care."
"I'd hope so," Sokka grinned.
"Are you all packed for the maplemoon?"
“Of course I'm not. I'll finish packing tomorrow!"
Zuko let out a soft huff of amusement and Sokka could feel him roll his eyes. "You cannot make us late to our own ceremony."
"No, I wouldn't dream of it. Me, keeping you all tucked away here for myself…" Sokka grinned and leant down to pepper Zuko's head and cheeks with kisses. Zuko laughed. It was the brightest sound in all the world.
"S-Sokka, we're going to get a good rest. We'll have plenty of time for us during the maplemoon." He yawned heavily.
"Oh, you mean our completely official diplomatic signatory mission to Ba Sing Se?" Sokka grinned. “Pft, yeah, I asked Suki to fake a security emergency if the ambassador-- whats his name?”
“Miho”
“If Miho drags us away for another eight hour tour of the palace grounds…”
"You corrupted my bodyguard," Zuko murmured.
"Yeah, yeah," Sokka replied. "Then, ah, who knows...maybe we'll get lost for a little longer…"
"Sounds like a dream," Zuko whispered, his voice growing heavier, his eyes fluttering shut.
Sokka kissed the top of Zuko's head, whose breathing was already smoothing out into the deep, rhythmic pattern of sleep.
Sokka blew out the small whale oil lamp. The room fell into the deep, particular darkness of the South; the silver glow of moonlight breathing through the ice wall, as though Tui herself were keeping watch. Perhaps Yue was sending her blessings. Sokka inhaled deeply, and allowed the Dragon Incense to pull him backwards into memories that belonged to a sunnier land. He closed his eyes and tucked his chin against the crown of Zuko's head. The Southern wind danced across the snow drifts outside; it was a low and ancient howl, carrying dreams to and from far beyond the tundra.