Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

i. 

Belief in the Fire Nation

Zuko knows he should be happy. It’s his twentieth birthday, after all. His friends arrived yesterday and in a few hours, they’ll probably be milling about the palace, annoying the staff, and waiting for him to make an appearance at breakfast. Uncle’s been planning the party tonight for months now. He got in from Ba Sing Se a few days earlier. Half the city is lit up with paper lanterns and—even though it’s supposed to be a surprise—he knows that there’s a firework show planned for late in the night. 

His mother is even her. It’s the first time he’s spent a birthday with her since he turned eleven. Back then, he didn’t appreciate the simple joy of having her by his side. He won’t let the moment pass him by. Not this time. 

But he can’t drop the deep pit of weight that sits in his gut. It started to grow a few weeks ago and, in the last few days, really settled in. He hasn’t slept well. His heart starts to quicken when he thinks about it and it’s getting increasingly hard to put out of his mind. And it’s even more difficult still to slap on a smile. 

Zuko is twenty. 

He’s older now than Lu Ten ever was. 

Part of him doesn’t understand how this can be true. Lu Ten was always so much older, so impossibly confident and smooth and charming. He always seemed like he had everything figured out. In comparison, Zuko feels so unsure. Every time he makes a decision, he’s not sure if it’s the right one. Words still catch in his throat at times. And he’s less sure of the world around him than ever—every time he thinks he has things figured out, the world shifts again and he realizes how little he knows. 

He admitted as much to Aang, once. 

“That’s not a bad thing, Zuko,” Aang said. “No one knows everything. Not even me. Each day we just have to keep our minds open to the possibilities and do the best we can with what we know. And if we learn something new tomorrow, we can change course.”

Aang screwed up his face and wrinkled his nose. “ Life is a ship. We cannot control the wind; we can only change our sails, ” he said in his best impression of Uncle’s voice. 

Zuko chuckled. “That’s not bad. But we do have steamships now, you know.”

Still, Aang was right. 

Zuko turns the advice over in his head. Growing up, he always believed what he was told without question. He knew the Fire Nation was the greatest Nation. He knew they had to show the world how great their ways were. He knew that is was an honour above all else to serve the Fire Nation. He was prepared to die for his Nation. 

And he’d been so wrong. Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose and sinks on the floor cushions in his bedroom. It still hurts to think of how horribly misguided he’d been. Those beliefs ruined the world. They caused so much pain. And he played his role in it. No matter how much he worked to undo the destruction his father and grandfathers and brought, the cloud of shame would always hang over him. Maybe it was a good thing. This way, he’d never forget. 

But as much as it hurts to think back on how wrong he’d been, at least Zuko had the chance to learn and grow. 

Lu Ten had never had that chance. 

Like any other boy his age, Lu Ten had always been fiercely devoted to his Nation. He knew that he’d be the leader one day. He believed, wholeheartedly, that the Fire Nation was right. That they were the best. He believed in the cause so fervently that he’d joined up with basic the basic military training before his eighteenth birthday. He’d gone to the war front, to join his father’s siege. 

And he never came back. 

Zuko scrunches his eyes shut and presses the heels of his palms over his eyes. The sun is only barely starting to rise, but he’s exhausted and can’t sleep all at the same time. And the day ahead of him is only going to wear him down more—he’ll be expected to smile and wave and dance and eat like nothing is wrong. 

So Zuko stands up. He’s got to clear his head. Sitting and ruminating in his chambers aren’t going to do the trick. 

He slips into a simple dark outfit and angles down a jingasa to conceal the left side of his face. Zuko climbs up the side of his balcony, onto the roof, and shimmies into a gap in between two flat sections of tiling that lead into a nook beside the garden. He makes his way along the far edge of the garden the East palace wall, where an old, bricked-over gate has been hollowed out enough for one person to sneak through.

 This route, the one he always takes when he wants to slip away, is technically a security risk. He should probably say something to the head of the guards. But as far as he’s aware, no one else knows about this path. More than that, in the hundred years since Sozin built the palace, no one has found the small gaps or declared them an issue in any way. Sometimes Zuko wonders if any of his family did know about the secret way in and out. Maybe they wanted privacy too. 

Zuko hikes the path to the top of the caldera. He’s glad he left when he did—by the time he’s close to the top, the sun is warming the city and his dark clothes cling to his body with sweat. Still, it’s early enough that the birds are still out, calling for each other and swooping through the air and crossing the sky in lines before diving down towards the ocean in the distance. In time, they’ll go back to their trees. His birthday is late in the summer, nearly in autumn, but the heat of the day will still be impressive enough to drive everything—both animals and people—inside until the sun sinks again. 

Zuko sits on a rocky outcrop and pulls his knees into his chest. No one is up here, now. Not many people ever do venture up this way, save teens looking for a romantic place or adventurous kids. But either way, no one is coming up here in the heat. 

Zuko looks over the city. On the other side, he can see down the pitch of the volcano to the docks and the sea. There are a few more ships in the harbour than usual. Probably merchants here to make some money off the celebrations. Maybe a few travellers. 

In time, Zuko will have to come down and meet them. Probably sooner than he’d like, considering that his assistant will want to make sure his hair is perfectly pinned up and his robes fall without so much as a single crease or wrinkle. 

In fact, they’ve probably noticed he’s not up yet. He usually rises and the crack of dawn to meditate and train. But, the way Zuko sees it, he’s gotta have a few extra hours of freedom today. The staff will probably think he’s just sleeping in, just taking a day off training. At least, he hopes that’s how it goes down. The last thing he needs is anyone raising an alarm. 

Zuko takes off his hat and combs his fingers through his hair. A light breeze blows a few strands against his cheek. He’s not used to that. His hair has never been this long before—it’s starting to fall well below his shoulders. 

He needs to get moving. He doesn’t have forever. And there’s another stop he needs to make. 

Zuko’s been by this house before. Many times. It’s along the edge of Caldera city, in a row of shops and apartments and a little schoolhouse at the end of the street. 

He’s never had the courage to knock on the door. 

But if doesn’t do it today, he’s starting to wonder if he ever will. 

So he does. He gives the wooden door a sharp wrap and stands there, awkwardly, with his hands in a bundle behind his back. He resists the urge to rock back and forward on the balls of his feet. That behaviour isn’t fitting for a Fire Lord. At least that’s what his advisors tell him. 

It takes a minute for anyone to answer. Just when Zuko starts to wonder if he should knock again, the door flies open and reveals a woman, many ten years or so older than himself, with her hair pulled into a haphazard knot and a sharp expression on her face. 

“What,” she spits out, “is so important that it couldn’t wait until a reasonable hour?” 

Zuko’s words turn to mush. He’d prepared a speech. But he hadn’t expected to be called out like this. It is early. She was right about that. 

But, Zuko realizes, it seems the woman is at a similar loss for words. Her expression melted into shock. “Fire Lord Zuko,” she mumbles and swoops into a bow. “To what do we owe the honour?”

She doesn’t rise from the bow. Zuko clears his throat. “It’s, um, it’s nothing really.”

She’s still in a bow. “Please rise,” he says and brushes his neck. “I just wanted to talk to Hisashi.”

 The woman nods, her knot of hair bounces against her neck. “Yes, of course, Your Majesty. Of course,” she repeats, almost to herself.

  Probably wondering what I could want with her husband, Zuko thinks. He hopes she knows it’s nothing bad. 

“Hisashi? Dear?” she calls up the little staircase at the back of the house. “You have an important guest.”  She shoots Zuko a thin smile, even though she clearly looks ready to jump out of her skin. 

A moment later, Hisashi comes lumbering down the stairs. 

Zuko hasn’t seen him clearly in years. Only from a distance. He’s still on the shorter side, but his broad shoulders make him seem larger than he is. He’s got a beard now—he keeps it cropped close to his face. Zuko’s never seen it longer than the short bristles he wears now. He moves slow. Zuko's noticed that before, too. He never puts too much weight on his right leg. An old injury, if Zuko had to guess. Probably one from the war. 

What Zuko’s never seen before is the bundle in his arms. A baby. His baby snoozes away under a swath of white blankets. The kid couldn’t be more than six months old. Not that Zuko knew much about babies—but, well, this one is so soft still. So vulnerable. 

“Fire Lord Zuko,” Hisashi says. He bows too, but not as low as his wife. He was used to being around royalty, Zuko remembers. Titles clearly never scared him off. 

“Hisashi,” Zuko says with a nod. 

“To what do we owe the honour?” 

His wife had said the same thing. Zuko supposes there are only so many ways one can politely say ‘what the fuck are you doing here’. 

“I wanted to talk to you,” Zuko says. “Perhaps in private?”

Hisashi nods, and his wife scoops the baby from his eyes. “I can make you tea,” she offers. “Or bring out juice. Or anything you’d like, Your Majesty.”

“I’m fine. Really. I won’t be staying long.”

She nods and heads toward the stairs, but not before making a brief eye-contact with her husband. 

Hisashi moves a child’s toy off the setee and gestures for Zuko. “Please, have a seat. If I knew you were coming, I would’ve cleaned up.” 

“I didn’t mean to impose.” 

“And yet you’re here.” Hisashi’s face is a mask. His dark eyes give nothing away. 

Zuko wonders if he’s thinking about the first time they met. They weren’t even properly introduced. Zuko, young and oblivious, had burst into a private moment between him and Lu Ten, completely unaware of what was happening. 

But Zuko also knows that Hisashi knows Ozai. And what he did after Lu Ten’s death. And impressions aren’t always so easily changed—there are still rumours that drift through town that claim Zuko tricked Aang into taking down Ozai because he was power-hungry. Zuko pretends he doesn’t hear these stories. And, one day, they might go away. 

“I’ve meant to come here for a while,” Zuko admits. He swallows, even though his throat is dry. “I never could really find the courage. 

“But I know you meant a lot to Lu Ten. And I’m sure he meant a lot to you too. And what happened—it’s not fair. It never should have happened.” 

Hisashi doesn’t meet Zuko’s gaze. He turns his head slightly and, from where Zuko’s sitting, his eyes seem glassy. A little damp. 

“I’m changing the law,” Zuko says quietly. “It never should have been made in the first place. And it’s time we, as a nation, start moving out of our dark past.

“So I’m changing things. I wanted to, right from the start, but change is a slow game. It’s finally going through, though. I’ll be announcing it in the next few days.” Zuko bundles his hands in his lap, his heart pounding away. He’d practiced those words so many times. But somehow they still didn’t sound quite right. “I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Thank you,” Hisashi says quietly. He shakes his head. “But this doesn’t change anything. I’m married to Midori. I love her.”

“I know you do,” Zuko says. And he really does. He’s seen them walking through the city before. Laughing together. Sipping tea on the patio of a restaurant. “Everyone deserves love like that.” Lu Ten deserved love like that. He deserved to walk hand in hand with someone he loved. He deserved strolls in the park and lunch in restaurants and dances at banquets. 

Hisashi sighs. “I agree. Of course, I agree. But change doesn’t work like that. You can change the laws all you want, but the attitudes of the folks around here aren’t going to change.”

“I would’ve said the same thing, once. But look how much has changed since the war. It’s not going to be easy. I won’t pretend it will be. But it is possible. And that’s all we need.”

Hisashi closes his eyes. “I wish you luck, Fire Lord.”

Zuko stands and nods. He can understand a dismissal. It’s clear that Hisashi doesn’t want to be having this conversation and Zuko’s not about to push it. 

“You made him happy,” Zuko says. “And I want to thank you for that. I hope you can say the same.” He turns to leave. 

Behind him, Hisashi says, no louder than a whisper: “he did.”

When Zuko reaches the palace, he’s worn and exhausted, but he feels lighter too. He sneaks in the same way he left. 

For a moment, he debates slipping into bed and trying to catch an hour of sleep. But it’s late morning already. 

And, sure enough, a knock sounds at his door before he can even rest his head for a minute. 

“Fire Lord Zuko!” says Tengo, his assistant. In his arms is a tray filled with a breakfast Zuko’’s never been happier to see. “We were wondering if you were awake. You’re not usually one to sleep in.”

Zuko chuckles. “I guess I’m not.”  

Zuko moves over to the table and sits in front of where Tengo sets the tray. He pops a grape in his mouth. “Hey, Tengo?”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“How long do I have before I need to be anywhere?”

Tengo frowns. “A few hours, Your Majesty, but that doesn’t account for the time it’ll take to get you, uh, ready for tonight.”

Zuko nods and breaks off a small piece of his bread. “Enough time for Uncle to come for tea?”

Tengo’s terse expression softens. “I’m sure we can make it work.”

Good. Zuko sighs and leans back in his chair. It’s been too long since he’s had time with Uncle, just the two of them. 

Things are changing in the nation. Zuko can feel it. And, with the changes, Zuko can’t help thinking of another piece of advice Aang had given him once: the greatest illusion of this world is the illusion of separation.

Lu Ten might be gone. But his memory will live on. And the ones we love, Zuko thinks, never really leave. 

Because, when the law changes, Zuko will be thinking of Lu Ten. And he’ll be alive, in some way, in this better and brighter future.