In the Fire Nation, every future is decided long before it is spoken aloud.
[Y/n] grew up inside that certainty, trained not as a warrior or a ruler, but as a strategist shaped to stand beside the next Fire Lord and quietly help guide the course of an empire. However, after his uncle's execution for opposing Fire Lord Ozai, his family is forced into exile, and the boy who once studied Pai Sho across from Crown Prince Zuko vanishes from court life entirely.
Zuko, once a frustrated boy who hated losing at games he didn't yet understand, grows into a scarred banished prince searching for his place in a world that rejected him before finally returning to his destined role as Fire Lord.
The memory of those childhood matches, of a calm boy who always seemed to see too many moves ahead, fades into something almost unreal. Almost.
Almost a decade later, everything changes when their paths collide again.
Because some games never truly end.
They only wait for the players to return.
Prologue: Tiles on the Board
Chapter 1: Pieces Left Waiting
Chapter 2: Tactical Fallacy
Chapter 3: A Long-Awaited Rematch
Chapter 4: Pawn Promotion
Chapter 5: A Hanged Man's Gambit
Chapter 6: Sacrificial Play
Chapter 7: Jasmine Scented Warmth
Chapter 8: Gazing Upon Fools
Chapter 9: Machinations of Machiavellians
Chapter 10: Oneiric Haze
was looking though your old asks while rereading the fic while i wait for the next chapter and saw the ask where you said mc was mainly based on robin fire emblem awakening and was like "OMG MC AND ZUKO ARE LIKE CHROM AND ROBIN" and then immediately was like "oh no mc and zuko are gone be like chrom and robin..." so anyway hahahaha pls dont hurt them
Taiji Hitorie.
Text from top to bottom: Taiji Hitorie
During an Agni Kai Taiji couldn't redirect the lightning. His ear got obliterated (misspelled on the drawing lol)
(all the way on the left) He's ~70% black!
Looks older than he is.
Kanji for intelligence (or 'wisdom' and 'reason') (That's the family's 'crest')
Lightning proficiency.
@banco000 :D This is my OC for the story! I genuinely head canon that at some point in his childhood he was forced into an Agni Kai and almost lost, and in the process got injured. Therefore he's also hard of hearing on one side.
I followed the inspiration you posted and the in-story description, but simplified it a bit because it's not a full body shot.
I have selective writing block.
Which means some stories are unable to be written without sounding like nails on a chalkboard.
And then there are stories I am somehow able to write like Shakespeare.
THANK YOU! there are not enough male xreaders in my humble opinion. I just found your Zuko one I can't wait to get into it ♥️♥️
Thank you! Glad you're enjoying it and happy to provide my simple service to all the M presenters who wanna both lovingly hold and fuck the Fire Lord (and trust they WILL do both multiple times in the future lmao)
Hope you enjoy it when you start properly reading through it! I have multiple of the next chapters already fully prepared and the updates come every 2-4 days depending on length - most chapters are 6000-10000 words and I have a few that are 12000-16000 - but thankfully my crippling insomnia is helping me get ahead lmao
Anyway, hope you enjoy what you read and you stick around for all of the fluffy sexy and horrifically angst ridden things I have planned for them haha
Masterlist - AO3 - Wattpad
Previous Chapter > Chapter 10 > Next Chapter
A/n: I'm gonna be honest, I think this is one of the weaker chapters, but all the following ones I've already written make up for it, I promise lol
[Y/n] froze. Neither of them moved. Neither spoke.
For several long seconds, the room stayed completely still until finally Zuko's grip tightened ever so slightly. Not enough to trap him. Just enough to stop him from disappearing again. Then, so quietly that [Y/n] almost didn't hear it, Zuko spoke.
"Please stop." He breathed out. "Drop the act." [Y/n] froze harder because when Zuko spoke again, his voice sounded wrong. Smaller. Quieter. Scared.
"I remember when you used to do this..." He admitted, and [Y/n] immediately felt his stomach drop. "You used to do it after your uncle got upset with you... You'd stop reacting. Stop looking at people. You'd use that exact same voice because you were terrified of saying the wrong thing or reacting the wrong way." Zuko swallowed once. Hard.
And, in an instant, the memory forced its way to the forefront of his mind.
"You think tears will make you sharper?" His uncle asked, voice low and disgustingly calm as [Y/n] struggled to wipe at his face. The game board between them was still scattered from where [Y/n] had made the wrong move, one careless mistake unravelling everything in only a few turns and leaving his 'soldiers' to be wiped out. "A strategist who cries over failure is already useless before the battle even begins." His uncle crouched beside him, not comforting, only forcing [Y/n] to look at the ruined board. "You lost because you hesitated. Because you let emotion cloud your thinking. And now you sit here crying as if that somehow earns sympathy." His expression remained horrifingly unreadable. "No. It makes you worse. Every second you spend feeling sorry for yourself is another second your opponent spends terrorising our Nation because you failed."
The memory loosened its grip slowly, like fingers uncurling from around his throat. [Y/n] blinked hard, the ruined game board and his uncle's cold voice fading back into the present, but the echo of it still sat heavy in his chest. His hands had started trembling without him noticing, but Zuko's hand around his wrist felt them immediately. Even now, years later, the thought of that voice could make him feel ten years old again; cornered, ashamed, and far too small.
Then, somewhere beside him, Zuko finally spoke again, the sound cutting gently through the silence before [Y/n] could sink any deeper into the memory.
"I know why you're doing it." He forced out, thinking back to how the events of the meeting played out, each making the situation look drastically worse without context. His voice caught slightly before he looked down. "... But I don't ever want you using that voice with me." Absolute silence swallowed the room whole. Because suddenly [Y/n] realised Zuko remembered. He remembered that. And somehow that hurt even more.
"So... please..." Zuko pleaded. "...just listen to me for a minute." His grip loosened slightly. "Not as Chief Strategist and Fire Lord..." He breathed shakily as he forced the words past his lips, clinging to [Y/n]'s wrist like a lifeline. "Just us... Please let me explain."
[Y/n] just stood there, struggling to stay calm, because immediately every part of him wanted to say no. Wanted to pull away. Wanted to keep walking. Wanted to hide behind titles and work and professionalism because that was easier. Safer. Cleaner.
But another part of him, the stupid part, probably, was already tired. Too tired.
Slowly, he closed his eyes. Long. Deep. Defeated. Then, finally:
"...Fine."
The moment [Y/n] said it, Zuko visibly relaxed. Not completely. Just enough that some of the panic left his shoulders. He let out a slow breath he seemed to have been holding for several minutes and lowered his head slightly. Relief flashed in his eyes for a moment, actual relief, but even then, he still didn't let go of [Y/n]'s wrist. Not tightly. Not like he thought [Y/n] would run. Just enough to keep that small point of contact there. Enough to reassure himself that [Y/n] was still standing there listening. Zuko looked down briefly before finally speaking.
"I do trust you." He declared, forcing every ounce of hesitation to leave him before he said it. "As a strategist... And as a friend."
[Y/n] stayed quiet. Zuko swallowed once.
"That's part of the problem." [Y/n]'s eyes shifted slightly. Zuko looked away again, clearly trying to sort through thoughts he wasn't used to saying out loud. "You being my strategist makes this simple; you need information, you need to know things..." He trailed off, biting his lip.
"But you being..." He hesitated briefly. "...you..." He paused, letting the weight of that one single word hang over them. "...makes it harder." He sighed. "Because I know I should tell you everything. I know that. But part of me still wants to protect you the same way I'd protect Suki. Or Aang. Or anyone else I care about." He rambled, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
Across from him, [Y/n] said nothing, but something twisted uncomfortably inside him again. Conflicted. Deeply conflicted. Because part of him wanted to stay angry. Another part suddenly didn't know what to do anymore.
Zuko stayed quiet for a moment after that, his hand still loosely around [Y/n]'s wrist. He looked down briefly, like he was trying to sort through thoughts he'd never really figured out how to explain to anyone. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. More uncertain.
"My feelings about Azula are..." He frowned slightly. "...complicated." Agni above, that didn't even begin to cover it... "I know what she's done. I know she hurt people. I know she did awful things." His expression tightened slightly, but his eyes softened. "...But she's still my sister." His eyes lowered toward the floor, his voice more desperate than he'd hoped. "And deep down... part of me still hopes she can get better."
[Y/n] stayed quiet because, immediately, his mind betrayed him, flooding his thoughts with memories once more before he could stop them. Not with Azula now.
Azula then.
A little girl smirking while cheating at games. Sharp words and sharper smiles. Azula teasing Zuko until he turned red and yelled back. The three of them racing through palace halls with Mai and Ty Lee in tow, waving between columns and gardens while servants panicked in the background.
Then other memories followed right behind them. Crueler ones. Harsher ones. Azula's voice cutting deeper as they got older. The way Zuko would go quiet after arguments. The way he used to stare at the floor and pretend things hadn't bothered him.
Then, the memories that weren't his. The reports, the gossip, the stories whispered from soldier to noble to merchant. The shattered princess. The last Agni Kai. The destined madness that overtook her desired perfection.
Good memories and bad memories twisted together, moving like waves in fragile water until the surface breaks. And that was when [Y/n] finally understood. Even after everything... after war and betrayal and pain... Zuko was still remembering all of it. Not just the worst parts. Slowly, [Y/n] let out a long breath and closed his eyes briefly. Then sighed. Deep, heavy and real.
"...I understand." He breathed out, looking down as he let Zuko's words and his own memories wash together. Across from him, Zuko visibly froze when he heard him. Just slightly. But enough. Surprise flashed across his face first, followed immediately by something quieter: relief, small and fragile.
"I really was going to tell you." Zuko rubbed a hand slowly across his face before letting it fall back to his side, looking more frustrated with himself than anyone else. "I thought about it a lot." His eyes lowered toward the floor. "But every time I actually tried..." He frowned slightly, struggling to explain it. "...some part of me kept thinking that if I said it out loud, if I made Azula your problem too, then I was putting you in danger." He sighed again, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
"Not because I thought you couldn't handle it. Not because I didn't think you were capable. I just..." He looked away briefly. "...kept thinking that if I left you out of it a little longer, then maybe..." His expression tightened. "...maybe I could keep one more bad thing from reaching you." Then quietly, almost to himself: "...Even if that wasn't my decision to make."
[Y/n] went quiet after that. He just stood there for several seconds, turning Zuko's words over in his head, and Agni help him, part of him understood immediately. Understood it too well. Because after everything tonight, after the prison, after The Burning Eye, after the realisation that someone had tried to remove him because they saw him as a threat, he could understand wanting to desperately keep one more person safe. Wanting to hold onto someone and shield them from one more terrible thing. Slowly, he let out a long breath and rubbed at his forehead again, eyes lowering toward the floor.
"...I get it... I really do." Then he lifted his head again, expression softening slightly but staying firm. "But I still need to know." Silence settled between them. "About all of it. About things like this; threats, enemies, people like Azula..." He looked directly at Zuko. "Because if I don't know... then I can't protect anyone." He hated how small the thought alone made him feel. "Not you. Not the soldiers. Not the palace. Not the nation." His shoulders lowered slightly. "You don't have to carry everything by yourself anymore." He forced out, slowly looking directly into Zuko's eyes. "...Especially not when I'm here to help you."
[Y/n] was quiet again for a few seconds after that. Then slowly he exhaled and looked back toward Zuko properly. Really looked at him. Not the Fire Lord. Not the ruler of a nation. Just Zuko.
"I meant what I said in front of Iroh." He started, watching the recollection flash in Zuko's eyes.[Y/n]'s expression softened slightly. "I came back because of responsibility. But I'm staying because I believe in you. And because I believe in whatever future you're trying to build here." He almost let a laugh escape him. Not mocking. Not teasing. Not amused at Zuko. Amused at how simple it really was.
For a second, Zuko just stared at [Y/n], eyes widening slightly before something in his expression softened all at once. Surprise came first. Then disbelief. Then something warmer and quieter settled underneath it all. Because even after everything, after eight years apart, after awkward reunions and arguments and misunderstandings, hearing [Y/n] say it so plainly still felt unreal somehow. Like some small part of him had spent the last month hoping that was true while being too afraid to actually believe it. And spirits help him, hearing it out loud made his chest hurt in a way he wasn't prepared for.
Then, he watched as [Y/n]'s expression steadied again. Not colder. Just certain.
"But you need to let me help you." He declared, watching Zuko stiffen slightly. "You said it yourself, you told me I was the best option for this job, and you trusted me enough to bring me back here." He sucked in a breath, trying to keep his voice steady. "So trust me enough to actually do it." [Y/n] looked directly at him, while his mind rapidly cycled through faces he forced himself to memorise, lest he let his heart stone. "Because this isn't just us anymore... I have soldiers listening to me now, people taking my orders, people trusting me to make the right calls." Silence settled heavier now as the words sank in with Zuko, the heavy realisation that protecting [Y/n] had an effect on a lot more people than just him. "If I don't have all the information... then I might make the wrong decision... and mistakes like that ruin lives." He felt his chest tighten at the mere thought. His uncle would be disappointed in him for that. And he couldn't be prouder of himself for it. "I can't let that happen."
Zuko didn't answer. Not immediately. Because honestly? He wasn't sure he knew how to.
The room went quiet again, but different this time. Softer. He looked down somewhere between them, his hand still loosely around [Y/n]'s wrist, though he seemed to have forgotten he was holding on at all. Silence stretched for several long seconds.
One.
Two.
Ten.
Twenty.
Long enough that [Y/n] could practically see the thoughts moving behind his eyes. Memories. Regret. Guilt. Zuko had spent years carrying responsibility that never should have belonged to him.
Fire Lord. Rebuilding a nation. Fixing Ozai's damage. Protecting everyone. Protecting everything.
And somewhere in all of that, [Y/n] suddenly understood something awful. Maybe Zuko wasn't just trying to protect him. Maybe some part of him had been desperately holding onto the one thing that reminded him of a time before all of this. Before exile. Before scars. Before crowns. Before war. Across from him, [Y/n] felt something in his chest loosen and hurt at the same time.
Zuko's silence stretched further, until he couldn't hold it anymore, breaking it with a single tired sigh. His eyes dropped somewhere toward the floor, and his shoulders lowered slightly, all the tension and panic from earlier finally settling into something quieter. Something sadder. Eventually, he rubbed at the back of his neck again before giving a small, tired smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I'm sorry." The words hung heavy between them; short, simple but undeniably sincere. But, beneath that sincerity, [Y/n] could distinctly hear something else: heartache. "I think..." He hesitated slightly. "...Deep down... I just wanted things to go back to how they were before." His eyes lowered further. "Back when things were simpler... Back before all of this." His voice grew quieter with every word, like finally admitting them out loud was making them a reality.
"Because when you're around... sometimes I forget." He laughed quietly, but it sounded more tired than amused. "I forget I'm the Fire Lord." He looked up again, expression softer now. More honest. "You don't treat me like a title. Or some important person everyone has to be careful around." He couldn't help but shake his head at the mere thought. "The ministers bow. The council watches every word they say. People measure every conversation with me like they're afraid of saying the wrong thing. But with you..." He smiled faintly, a flicker of warmth flashing in his eyes. "...I just get to be Zuko." He looked away with another small laugh. "...And Angi... I think I missed that more than I realised."
[Y/n] just stared at him for a moment, completely lost for words. And then, Zuko laughed again. Small. Quiet. Wrong. Not happy. Not amused. Just bitter. The kind of laugh that escaped when someone heard their own thoughts out loud and immediately hated them. He rubbed a hand down his face and looked away, shoulders tensing again almost immediately.
"Agni, help me..." Another quiet, humourless laugh escaped him before he shook his head. "I sound pathetic." The sheer bitterness in his words was enough to make [Y/n] wince, not because Zuko directed them at him, but because he directed them at himself. "A grown man..." He looked toward the floor. "...latching onto childhood playdates to make himself feel better."
His expression tightened immediately after saying it, frustration flashing across his face almost as fast as the words left his mouth.
"And now hearing it out loud just sounds worse... It sounds like..." He frowned deeply, looking genuinely upset with himself now. "...like I'm using you." He sneered, narrowing his eyes at the thought. "...Like I'm just dragging you back here because being around you makes me feel better." His jaw tightened slightly. "Angi..." Another bitter breath of laughter. "...Now I sound selfish too." And somehow that realisation seemed to frustrate him more than anything else had all night.
[Y/n] didn't answer right away. He just looked at him. Really looked at him.
And suddenly, all the irritation and frustration from earlier felt very far away. Because standing in front of him wasn't the Fire Lord of the most powerful nation in the world. It wasn't the ruler carrying an entire country's expectations on his shoulders. It was just Zuko. Tired Zuko. Stressed Zuko. The same boy who had spent years being told he wasn't enough and somehow still dragged himself forward anyway. The same boy carrying responsibilities that would've crushed most people.
Looking at him now, [Y/n] suddenly saw all of it at once; the exhaustion beneath his eyes, the pressure, the expectations, the impossible balancing act of trying to be Fire Lord while somehow still remembering how to be himself, too. And suddenly, Zuko just looked tired. So very tired.
Slowly, Zuko's fingers loosened. Then loosened more. Until finally his hand slipped away from [Y/n]'s wrist entirely.
Not because he wanted to. Because somewhere along the way, guilt had convinced him he probably should.
Then immediately, [Y/n] grabbed his wrist back.
Zuko froze. Completely. Blinking once. Twice. Confusion overriding his desperation for the briefest moment as he registered what [Y/n] had done.
[Y/n] lowered his eyes to Zuko's rust before slowly raising them to finally meet his eyes. And, when he did, he held his gaze and stared at him for a second before speaking quietly.
"Do you remember what Kenta said?" He asked, watching the question immediately confuse the Fire lord before him, who clearly hadn't expected that of all things to leave his mouth.
"What?" Zuko frowned slightly.
"The prison."
"...About your reaction?" Zuko asked, trying to remember what the soldier had said during the meeting. "The lightning thing?"
[Y/n] slowly nodded, then looked directly at him.
"I wasn't disgusted because they were trying to kidnap the Fire Lord." Zuko froze. [Y/n]'s expression softened slightly. "I wasn't standing there imagining some political disaster. Or thinking about the nation. Or succession." He rambled, feeling the hand locked around Zuko's wrist tremble slightly as the thoughts surged through his head. "I was angry because they were trying to take..." He stopped briefly. Swallowed once. Then looked back up. "...the same idiot who used to help me smile when being a kid was miserable." Zuko's eyes went wide. "...The same prince who used his status to convince my uncle to let me stay over because he knew I hated being alone with him when I failed. The same idiot who kept dragging me into sleepovers and Pai Sho games so I could avoid my uncle's demented version of strategy training for a night. The same innocent kid I sat with and comforted after his father berated him and told him he wasn't enough because I knew he more than was."
He was rambling before he even realised, the words flowing from him without a second thought. Because he didn't need to think about them, not really. All he thought about in that moment was Zuko.
The words had come out easier than he expected, but now that they were out there, now that he couldn't hide behind strategy or sarcasm or irritation anymore, suddenly it felt a lot harder to breathe. Slowly, he swallowed around the lump forming in his throat and looked away.
"I know it doesn't make sense." Weight settled softly between them. "Expecting you to trust me again after only a month." He barked out a quiet laugh. "Agni, when I actually say it out loud, it sounds ridiculous." He let out a quiet breath through his nose. "Eight years passed... People change... Lives change." His voice trembled slightly. "Deep down, I know expecting things to just..." He struggled for a moment. "...fall back into place makes no sense."
His grip tightened slightly around Zuko's wrist before loosening again almost immediately.
"But when you told me about Azula... the thought still terrified me. Because I was doing the exact same thing you were." [Y/n] looked downward slightly. "I was latching onto those same memories, too. To Pai Sho. To ball games. To stupid arguments we'd get into just because we could..." He trailed off, letting out a shaky breath. "...To being kids."
The words landed heavily between them, because they both knew exactly how much they relied on each other as kids, even if they didn't realise until it was gone.
"So when I thought..." He stopped briefly. Swallowed once. "...when I thought maybe you didn't trust me... that's why I reacted the way I did... Even if I should've handled it better." He let a single, shaky breath pass his lips before he finally looked back up. "And now I get it.... I get why you did it... You wanted to protect me... Which is exactly why I understand where you were coming from. Because I wanted to protect you, too."
Silence followed immediately after the words left [Y/n]'s mouth. Complete silence. Neither of them moved. Neither spoke. Zuko just stared at him, eyes widened slightly, like hearing someone say out loud the thing he'd been trying not to acknowledge had physically knocked the thoughts out of his head. Across from him, [Y/n] felt his own chest tighten too, because saying it somehow made it real in a way that thinking it never had. No strategy. No excuses. No titles. Just the ugly, terrifying truth that after eight years apart, both of them had somehow reached for each other without even realising they were doing it. And Agni help them both, neither one pulled away.
Neither of them said anything for a while after that. The silence stretched, soft and strange and full of too many things neither of them quite knew how to put into words. Then, eventually, Zuko laughed. Quietly. Softly. Not bitter this time. Just tired and helpless all at once. He dragged a hand back through his hair and shook his head slowly while [Y/n] looked at him in complete confusion.
"What?" He asked softly, watching as Zuko looked toward him, something warm and exasperated settling into his expression all at once before another quiet laugh escaped him.
"...We really are both disasters." He admitted, earning nothing but a confused blink from [Y/n] in return. He shook his head again. "Both of us wanting to trust each other completely again after eight years... like absolutely nothing happened." Then he snorted quietly under his breath. "...That's insane." And somehow neither of them argued it. Mostly because both of them knew he was absolutely right.
Zuko stood there quietly for a moment after that, the last of his laughter fading into something softer. Then, eventually, he let out a long breath and slowly nodded. Small. Certain.
"Okay. Tomorrow I'll give you everything." He declared. "Every report on Azula. Everyone she's associated with. Everything Ty Lee gathered." His expression softened slightly. "And for what it's worth..." He trailed off, a soft smile crossing his lips. "...she really was the only thing I kept from you. I swear." His words hung in the air for a moment, honest and soft, before [Y/n] slowly nodded back, the smile on his face matching Zuko's in turn.
"...Thank you."
"Still, promise me you'll be careful." Zuko looked at him for another few seconds after that before his expression shifted slightly. More serious. More worried. [Y/n] blinked once. Then immediately snorted.
"Zuko, your chaperone rule is still in effect." He reminded, gesturing toward the door with a nod. "I can't walk down a hallway without Kenta, Hori or whatever poor Kyoshi Warrior you called on lurking somewhere nearby. I couldn't be reckless even if I wanted to." Zuko stared for a second. Then another. Then a laugh escaped him. Actual laughter. Small and helpless and genuine.
When it finally settled, Zuko shook his head and looked toward him with a tiny smile still lingering there.
"I'll tell you everything from now on. I mean it. No more hiding things." He promised. "...But I'm saying this now." His expression softened slightly. "You're my strategist... but you're still my friend. So I'm not going to stop worrying." The certainty of his words was enough to make [Y/n] smile, small and tired and familiar, before he shrugged lightly.
"Good. Because the same applies to me for you." And somehow, after everything tonight, that felt like enough.
For several seconds, neither of them moved until [Y/n]'s eyes slowly drifted downward and immediately widened slightly. His hand. Still around Zuko's wrist. Still there. A sudden flush crossed his face as he felt his ears warm in realisation. For a second, he just stared at it before immediately pulling back like he'd touched a hot coal.
"Right." He coughed into his hand. "...Sorry." He looked away briefly and rubbed at the back of his neck.
Zuko tilted his head to the side, clearly confused by the sudden demeanour shift, before looking down at where [Y/n]'s hand had been and immediately looking back up.
"It's fine." He assured softly as he paused for a beat, slowly raising his hand to rub his wrist where [Y/n] had just held moments ago. "...Really."
Silence settled again, far more awkward than earlier. Because now both of them had suddenly become very interested in literally anything except eye contact. Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.
Then Zuko suddenly cleared his throat. Once. Then again. Awkwardly. Very awkwardly.
[Y/n] looked back up, clearly interested in whatever Zuko was stalling trying to say. Zuko looked toward the wall. Then toward the floor. Then toward literally anywhere else.
"...There is... still one thing... I need to explain..." Zuko started, nerves clearly creeping into his tone. Suspicion instantly crossed [Y/n]'s face. Slowly, Zuko looked back toward him. Hesitated. Then visibly regretted existing. "...Kiyi." One word and the room fell dead silent again. And immediately [Y/n] felt the beginnings of dread crawl back into his soul.
The moment Zuko said her name, something inside [Y/n] instantly tightened again. Small at first. Then sharper. Absolute dread. Because suddenly his mind betrayed him all over again. Right. Kiyi. His little sister. His mother. The things Zuko hadn't told him.
The awful feeling from earlier started creeping back before he could stop it, ugly and familiar and twisting somewhere in his chest. Spirits. He'd just gotten himself under control. His thoughts immediately started racing again despite himself. What else? What didn't he know? How long had he known? Why did Zuko suddenly look nervous again?
Silence stretched. One second. Two. Three. [Y/n] looked toward him slowly, clearly waiting for more.
Meanwhile, Zuko looked like he wanted to physically leave his own body. His face conveyed an emotion that [Y/n] could only reasonably describe as complete and utter misery. His eyes darted away immediately, then toward the floor, then toward the wall. He rubbed the back of his neck once. Then again. Cleared his throat. Then did it again. The most obvious warning signs the strategist had ever seen.
Then finally... Very quietly:
"...It was supposed to be a surprise." Zuko looked away immediately after saying it, like maybe, if he avoided eye contact hard enough, he could survive what came next.
[Y/n] had expected a lot of answers. That was not one of them.
"...What?" [Y/n] asked flatly.
Zuko immediately looked like he regretted opening his mouth. Panic crossed his face as soon as [Y/n] asked what? because suddenly, he had reached the point where there was no escaping anymore. His eyes immediately dropped toward the floor.
"...The thing..." He forced out, struggling to put his thoughts together. "...Suki and I were keeping from you..." [Y/n]'s mind immediately flashed back to that. "...wasn't political... Or dangerous... Or strategy related." Zuko visibly winced. Then very quietly: "...My mother was coming to visit the palace."
Zuko continued before [Y/n] could react, like if he stopped talking, he might die.
"Her and..." He paused for a second. "...my stepfather." Another. "...and Kiyi." He looked like every word was hurting him as it passed his lips. "I told Mom you came back... That I found you... That you were okay." His expression softened despite his embarrassment. "And she..." Zuko looked away again. "...she was really happy." He smiled. "She kept asking questions." Another pause. "How you were doing. What you were like now. Then she started talking about when we were kids."
A tiny smile pulled at his mouth despite himself. Embarrassingly soft.
"About all the stupid things we used to do." A soft laugh escaped him as the memories flashed in his mind. "About Pai Sho. About all the fights... About how happy we used to be." [Y/n] could see the brief moment of relief wash over him as he spoke, as if getting to say it somehow lifted his spirits. At least a little. Then, immediately, Zuko looked deeply, deeply uncomfortable because he knew exactly what was coming next.
"...And... Mom may have... kept talking about... how cute we were as kids." Somewhere deep inside, [Y/n]'s soul quietly left his body. Zuko, unfortunately, kept talking. Because apparently his suffering meant nothing anymore.
"Mom showed Kiyi the letters, too." Zuko immediately looked away. "Then she started telling Kiyi stories herself.... A lot of stories..." He trailed off at the end, rubbing the back of his head in exasperation as he grimaced. "Way too many stories." Foreboding settled in [Y/n]'s chest before actual dread followed directly after. Because Zuko suddenly looked far too uncomfortable.
Then Zuko made eye contact for exactly half a second before looking away again.
"...She told her the boot story."
[Y/n] stopped breathing. Completely.
"No..." Zuko visibly winced. "Zuko." No response. "Zuko, no."
Clear regret crossed Zuko's face, but it was already too late.
"She told Kiyi about the time we got into a fight during training." [Y/n] could feel himself crumbling with each word Zuko spoke. "...And I pushed you over so I looked better during drills... And then you took my boot..." Zuko looked away. "...And started hitting me with it... While I tried ripping the hair out of your head... And the instructor tried to pull us apart..."
[Y/n] physically covered his face. Actual suffering. Because instantly, the memory came back in perfect detail. Tiny Zuko yelling. Tiny [Y/n] seeing red. Tiny [Y/n] wielding a shoe like a weapon blessed directly by Agni himself, while Zuko tried to rip chunks out of his hair, all while some poor instructor, who absolutely didn't get paid enough, had to deal with them both. Mortifying. Absolutely mortifying.
Zuko made the mistake of glancing toward him. Then immediately looked away again because [Y/n] looked seconds away from physically evaporating.
"...Anyway." It was the most obvious topic shift in history, but [Y/n] was too busy suffering to call him out on it. "After hearing all of... that... Kiyi basically demanded to meet you." He explained, running a hand through his hair. "Apparently, she decided she needed to see if I actually had a friend growing up or if Mom made it all up." He almost laughed at the thought, but stopped himself with the knowledge that his sister really thought he must have been that uncool growing up. "...And then she made me promise not to tell you because she wanted it to be a surprise."
Somewhere behind his hands, [Y/n] made a noise of pure suffering. Not a word. Not a sentence. Just a sound of complete and utter suffering before both hands immediately slammed back over his face.
"Spirits-!" His voice came out muffled somewhere behind his hands as he bent forward slightly, face burning so badly he was pretty sure he could feel the heat radiating off of it. Actual fire-red embarrassment. "I'm sorry! Agni, help me, I'm so sorry!" Another muffled noise of pure misery escaped him as every horrible thought from earlier replayed in his head all over again. Every accusation. Every assumption. Every dramatic internal crisis. He wanted the floorboards to split open and claim him immediately.
Across from him, Zuko lasted all of three seconds before he finally laughed. Quietly at first. Then a little more. Not mocking. Not mean. Just warm. Completely helpless.
"It's fine." Another laugh escaped him as he shook his head. "I get it." He assured, taking a step forward. "Honestly?"He mused, tilting his head in thought. "...If our positions were reversed..." He looked away briefly. "...I probably would've reacted the same way." He admitted before thinking for a moment. "...Actually." Tiny grin. "No, I definitely would've reacted worse."
[Y/n] groaned louder from behind his hands. And somehow that only made Zuko smile more. Slowly, carefully, he reached forward and gently started prying [Y/n]'s hands away from his face despite the immediate resistance, tiny and useless as it was.
"No." Another quiet laugh. "Absolutely not." Another. "Look at me." [Y/n] immediately refused. Wrong decision. Worst decision possible. Because now Zuko was smiling. Actual smiling. Finally, he managed to pull [Y/n]'s hands away enough to see his face and immediately blinked. Once. Twice. Then looked deeply amused. "...For someone who can't firebend..." Tiny grin. "...your face is really warm."
[Y/n] immediately grunted in protest and turned his head away again, looking deeply offended by his own existence. Then, without warning, a tiny spark of blue lightning snapped from the tip of his finger with a sharp crack. Not enough to hurt anyone. Barely enough to count as an attack. More an act of pure spiritual annoyance than anything else. But it was enough. Zuko immediately jerked backwards with a startled noise before staring at him in disbelief. Then, immediately laughed.
"I'm going to go let The Burning Eye kill me now." [Y/n] folded his arms and looked away. "...This has become unbearable."
"No, you aren't." Zuko rolled his eyes, but the smile never left. "And for what it's worth..." His expression softened slightly. "...Kiyi's definitely going to like you." [Y/n] blinked and slowly looked back toward him. Zuko shrugged lightly. "You're the one who stopped her big brother from getting tied up and shipped away in a box, sent off to Agni knows where." Zuko's expression softened further. Not joking now. Not teasing. Just honest.
"I never noticed those two old men." He reminded, making [Y/n]'s mind flick back to their talk in the training yard. "Maybe I was tired. Maybe I was overwhelmed. Maybe I just missed it. But you didn't." He declared, slowly placing his hand on [Y/n]'s shoulder. "You figured something was wrong, and that's what prompted the traitors to reveal themselves. And you apprehended them in the process." Zuko looked toward him quietly. "And... if you hadn't... I don't know if I'd be standing here right now." He admitted softly, looking right into [Y/n]'s eyes. "So... I'm really glad you came back." As soon as he finished talking, the room fell quiet again, because suddenly, neither of them wanted to joke anymore.
[Y/n] went silent. He didn't joke. Didn't roll his eyes. Didn't immediately throw some sarcastic comment back at Zuko to hide from the moment. Instead, he just stood there staring at him while the words settled somewhere deep inside his chest. I'm really glad you came back. Simple words. Honest words. And somehow they felt heavier than they should have. Slowly, his eyes drifted downward, and his thoughts wandered back without meaning to. Tea. Warm sunlight. Iroh smiling over the rim of his cup. Fire and lightning complement each other. They protect each other's weaknesses. And build on each other's strengths. Then, after a few more seconds, [Y/n] quietly spoke.
"...Your uncle was right."
Zuko's expression softened almost immediately. Not confused. Not questioning. Because somehow he knew exactly what [Y/n] meant. Slowly, he nodded once. Small. Quiet. Understanding. [Y/n] stared at him for several long seconds after that before suddenly snorting quietly under his breath. Then another laugh escaped him. Small at first. Then slightly louder. He dragged a hand down his face and shook his head slowly.
"You know..." Another breath of laughter. "After everything..." He trailed off. "My uncle's strategy training. Being hunted by Ozai's guards. Eight years of running... Everything else..." Then he looked directly at Zuko with complete seriousness. "...The last month has somehow still been the most stressful period of my entire life."
The instant the teasing settled between them, Zuko immediately looked offended. He physically straightened as he put his hands on his hips.
"What? Excuse you?" Actual betrayal crossed his face. [Y/n] immediately rolled his eyes.
"Oh, please." He smirked. "You hid escaped psychotic sisters from me, dragged me into conspiracies, have me investigating people trying to kidnap you and kill me, and, apparently, your family tells embarrassing stories about me now." Zuko immediately pointed accusingly, his usual grumpy expression returning tenfold.
"You threatened ministers with lightning!"
"You forgot your sister was missing!"
"I did not-"
"You absolutely did!"
"I was busy!"
"You were distracted!"
"You're impossible!"
"You're dramatic!"
Complete and utter irritation took over Zuko's expression. He physically straightened, like he had just been challenged on a deeply personal level, and [Y/n] already knew exactly what was coming. Some argument about how being hunted by the Fire Nation and surviving for years on the run was obviously more stressful. Something loud. Something dramatic. Something very Zuko. But before a single word could leave his mouth, [Y/n] just rolled his eyes and looked up at him. Smiling. Small. Tired. Familiar. And instantly, instantly, Zuko stopped. Completely. Whatever argument had been preparing for battle inside his head died immediately. Because suddenly, he was just staring at him instead.
Before he could force the words to come together in his head, [Y/n] cut him off.
"Relax." He shook his head and looked toward Zuko, his smile softening. "If I had to make the choice again... I'd still come back... Every time."
The frustration vanished from Zuko's face, like it had never existed at all. Zuko just stared at him. Because Agni, what exactly was he supposed to say to that? I'd still come back. The words settled somewhere deep in his chest and just... stayed there.
For several seconds, he simply looked at [Y/n], eyes slightly widened, expression softer than before, like his brain had stopped working somewhere halfway through processing what he'd just heard. Because part of him wanted to say something. Something important. Something meaningful. Something that didn't sound stupid. But before he could figure out what that was-
[Y/n]'s face dropped. Immediately. Complete and utter horror overriding his expression. Zuko physically sweatdropped. Because the emotional moment disappeared so fast that it practically snapped its own neck. One second, [Y/n] looked warm and relaxed and smiling. The next, he looked like he'd just remembered he left a child on a burning airship somewhere. There was genuine misery in that expression.
[Y/n]'s mind had betrayed him. The desk. The reports. The maps. The strategy requests. The council summaries. The pile. The mountain. Spirits. The mountain of paperwork. The mountain of paperwork he'd abandoned before going to Capital City Prison. The mountain of paperwork still sitting on his desk. Waiting. Watching. Judging.
"...What's wrong?" Zuko asked, finally breaking the silence as he watched [Y/n] silently fall apart in real time. [Y/n] stared straight ahead, completely blank-faced. Then very slowly, very, very slowly, turned toward him. His eyes looked empty.
"...I still have work to do." [Y/n] forced out as he stood there, staring into the distance with the same expression of a man whose spirit had physically left his body. "...Do you think The Burning Eye is accepting applications?" Zuko blinked once. [Y/n] kept staring. "If I kidnapped you and handed you over... do you think they'd let me join and escape my paperwork?"
For several long seconds, [Y/n] and Zuko just stared at each other, completely motionless. [Y/n]'s eyes were hollow with the kind of exhaustion that went beyond being tired and entered the territory of spiritual collapse. Not to mention the fact that his voice came out completely devoid of hope.
Zuko just stared. Because for a second, for one horrifying second, he genuinely couldn't tell whether [Y/n] was joking. The dead-eyed stare. The empty voice. The complete absence of emotion. Actual concern flashed across his face before horror slowly gave way to realisation.
And then he laughed.
He physically turned away for a second, one hand over his mouth as he tried, and completely failed to stop himself.
"You cannot be serious." Another laugh escaped him. "That is easily the worst plan you've suggested all month." Another pause. "...And you've suggested a l-."
He was still grinning when suddenly, suddenly, the laughter just... died. Completely. His expression froze. Because his own mind had betrayed him. The reports. The endless meetings. Trade discussions. Council sessions. The mountain of paperwork waiting on his desk. And looming over all of it like some ancient spirit of suffering itself, The Grand Chamberlain. Watching. Waiting. Ready to materialise beside him the second he stepped outside and remind him of seventeen forgotten duties and twenty-three disasters waiting for his signature. Silence. Absolute silence. Slowly, Zuko looked back toward [Y/n]. Dead-eyed. Completely hollow.
"...Grab the rope." Zuko slowly folded his arms and stared off into the middle distance with the same hollow expression of a man who had just watched his future flash before his eyes and hated every second of it. "...Meet me in the shipment yard. Throw me in a crate." Utter exhaustion settled over his face as he finally looked back toward [Y/n]. "...If we're escaping, we're doing it properly. We're both getting out of here."
And, against all logic, he sounded completely serious.
⤷ you cross paths with the fire lord one night unexpectedly. its a pond and this quick exchange of words turns intohours of conversation.
Chapter Two
⤷ after the events of the night you are brought before in a meeting to deside your fate, banish or not?
Chapter Three
⤷ lots of things are flying all over the palace. first there's a banquet for the fire lord w=that he doesn't even want but he decide to host anyway along with him being roped into another adventure with the avatar.
Chapter Four
⤷ the gaang uncover who zuko has been contacting him and demand to meet said person.
By the time [Y/n] and Kenta reached the palace, the sun had already begun sinking lower across the horizon, washing the halls and courtyards in deep orange light. Normally, the sight would've been calming. Peaceful even. Today, [Y/n] barely noticed it. Because every thought in his head still felt tangled together into one enormous disaster waiting to happen. The Burning Eye. The spies. Zuko. The journal. The drug. It all kept circling over and over until eventually they rounded a corner and immediately found Ty Lee waiting for them.
She looked worried. Very worried. Because the moment she spotted them, she pushed herself away from the wall she'd been leaning against and hurried over immediately.
"Okay..." She started, trailing off at the end as she looked between both of them. [Y/n] could immediately see the strain in her smile. "...What's going on? Hori looked like someone told him the world was ending." [Y/n] stared at her for a moment. Then sighed. Long. Tired.
"...I'll explain when we're alone with everyone." Ty Lee blinked once. Then twice. Because immediately she realised this wasn't normal. Not even slightly. The smile faded from her face almost instantly, and without another word, she simply nodded and turned.
"...Come on."
The walk through the palace passed quickly. Ty Lee led them through familiar halls while Kenta followed silently behind, and somehow the deeper they moved into the palace, the heavier the feeling in [Y/n]'s chest became. Because now reality had finally caught up. Now he had to say it out loud. Say all of it out loud.
Eventually, they reached Zuko's study and immediately [Y/n] noticed the additional guards stationed outside. Kyoshi Warriors. More than usual. Suki had moved quickly. Good. The warriors straightened immediately as they approached and, after exchanging brief nods with Ty Lee, stepped aside and opened the doors without question.
Then quietly, the doors shut firmly behind them.
Immediately:
"[Y/n]?"
Zuko was already standing.
Beside him, Suki looked equally tense while maps and papers remained spread across the study table between them. Both had clearly been waiting. Worry sat openly across their expressions while the atmosphere inside the room felt tight enough to snap.
Beside him, Kenta immediately bowed. "Fire Lord Zuko."
[Y/n] didn't sit. Didn't speak immediately. Instead, he stepped forward, reached beneath his arm, and silently placed the transfer authorisation onto the table between them. Zuko frowned immediately. Suki looked between the paper and [Y/n].
"You went to see them." Not a question. Immediate realization. [Y/n] nodded once.
"I wanted one last chance to make them talk before they got transferred." The room went quiet for a moment before Suki looked up slowly.
"I'm guessing you got something."
[Y/n] nodded once. Just once. Ty Lee stopped fidgeting. Suki's expression sharpened instantly. Even Kenta straightened slightly near the door. Across the room, Zuko didn't speak. Didn't move. He just stared at [Y/n] for several long seconds, something unreadable flashing quietly across his face as he looked at him. Relief maybe. Concern. Dread. [Y/n] couldn't tell. Couldn't read it before it vanished again beneath Fire Lord's composure.
Then, slowly, Zuko nodded once, folded his arms, and looked him directly in the eye.
"Go on."
Zuko's voice came quiet. Flat. Not impatient. Worried. [Y/n] took a slow breath before finally speaking.
"I got them to talk." Zuko stared for a moment from across the room before his eyes narrowed slightly.
"...Did you torture them?" Flat. Dry. Entirely too casual. [Y/n] immediately looked offended.
"Obviously not."
"...I thought he was going to." Kenta's voice came out much quieter than intended, if he even intended to say it at all. Everyone slowly turned toward him, causing the poor man to freeze instantly. Completely. [Y/n] turned his head very slowly and, with the blankest tone imaginable:
"Kenta. Stop helping." A silent nod was the only response. [Y/n] sighed and rubbed at his forehead before continuing. "Anyway. The three really were idiots." Ty Lee blinked. Suki looked deeply unsurprised. Zuko just sighed like part of him had already expected that answer. [Y/n] leaned one hand against the table. "They knew almost nothing. The two old men approached them on behalf of someone else."
"Who?"
"Someone calling themselves The Burning Eye." He replied, throwing up air quotes as he mentioned the ridiculous name, followed by every expression in the room shifting. Zuko frowned. Suki's arms folded. Ty Lee looked uncomfortable.
"Who are they?" Zuko asked immediately. [Y/n] shook his head with a sigh.
"They don't know. Apparently, all communication went through the old men." An irritated groan ripped through the room while [Y/n] continued. "Also, they supposedly never mentioned the New Ozai Society or the Safe Nation Society, so while we can't rule either of them out, it looks like we're dealing with someone entirely new." He added, watching as the others mulled over his words, irritation getting worse with every passing second. "This Burning Eye person seemingly handled almost everything and told them next to nothing. Getting the old men advisor robes, getting them into the palace, passing letters back and forth through the old men."
"Letters?" Suki immediately cut in, suddenly hopeful they might have a lead. "Where are they?" [Y/n] just sighed before answering flatly.
"Burned." Immediate suffering crossed Suki's face, not that a part of her hadn't instantly suspected that. Ty Lee physically slumped.
"Of course they burned them..." She muttered quietly. [Y/n] nodded once.
"Rule was they had to destroy every message after reading it. No names. No locations. Nothing useful." Silence settled briefly before [Y/n]'s expression shifted slightly. "They also said The Burning Eye had scouts. One of them spotted me getting off the airship. Recognised me as my uncle's nephew." He added, causing Zuko and Suki to think back to what they'd heard from the reports during the shed incident. "At first, seems like they legitimately wanted to recruit me." Zuko's eyes narrowed immediately. Ty Lee looked horrified.
"Recruit you?" Suki frowned, and [Y/n] nodded slowly.
"They assumed, or, I guess, hoped, I'd hate Zuko because of what happened to my uncle." He explained before turning to face Zuko directly. "But once the old men realised I was loyal to you..." He trailed off, scratching the back of his head like the mere thought was irritating. "The Burning Eye decided I needed to be removed because I might interfere."
Zuko went still. Not dramatically. Not visibly.
Just enough that [Y/n] noticed because he'd known him for years. His arms slowly folded tighter across his chest, and something hardened in his expression almost immediately. Not anger exactly. Something colder. Because suddenly this wasn't about nameless conspirators or old men or hidden scouts anymore. No. Now it had become very simple. Someone had looked at [Y/n], decided he was a problem, and calmly concluded that the solution was removing him entirely. Silence settled over the room while Zuko stared at the table for several seconds before his eyes slowly lifted again. Very flatly:
"...I don't like that."
Suki put a hand on her chin in thought and frowned toward [Y/n].
"Why you specifically?" Because that was the part that still felt strange. [Y/n] wasn't a general. Wasn't some legendary warrior. Wasn't the Fire Lord. Just a strategist who's only been back in the palace for barely a month. [Y/n] looked downward for a moment before slowly exhaling.
"I think they're using my uncle's strategies for something... Or at least basing things around them. It lines up with us finding them in the shed." He explained, crossing his hands over his chest. "And if that's true... then I'm probably the worst person they could've found standing beside Zuko." [Y/n] rubbed at the back of his neck before continuing. "I doubt they think I'm some huge threat... Not personally, anyway... But if they're relying on plans made by my uncle, then I'm the one person they know for a fact can become a problem." He explained, thinking back to how they'd asked him to correct the mistakes in his uncle's drafts. "I know how he thought. How he planned. Where he'd cut corners." Across the room, Zuko slowly nodded.
"That confirms what we thought after the shed. We already suspected whoever was behind this was using your uncle's work. Looks like we were right." And somehow that realisation made the room feel heavier all over again.
Silence lingered for a few moments after Zuko spoke. Heavy silence. Then, slowly, Zuko looked back toward [Y/n], his expression still hard.
"Did you find out anything else?" [Y/n] stared at the table for a second before nodding once.
"Yeah." He paused for a moment, organising his thoughts. "The Burning Eye is after you, like we figured. But not to kill you." Immediate confusion crossed every face in the room. [Y/n]'s expression tightened slightly. "They want to kidnap you." Complete silence followed. Ty Lee blinked once. Suki blinked twice. Zuko just stared.
"Why?" Suki asked immediately. Ty Lee looked toward [Y/n] with the same question already written across her face. "Why would anyone want to kidnap him? If they wanted him gone, killing him would be easier." [Y/n] rubbed at the back of his neck slowly.
"I don't know." He sighed, still frustrated that the three imbeciles didn't know that much. "They said The Burning Eye has some kind of personal business with him. But..." He exhaled slowly. "I do know how they planned to do it." Ty Lee frowned. Zuko narrowed his eyes. Suki's expression hardened immediately. [Y/n] leaned one hand against the table. "The plan was for the three idiots to lure Zuko into a private meeting. Then they'd drug his tea-"
"Tea?" Zuko looked personally offended. Ty Lee stared at him. Suki stared at him. Even Kenta looked confused. Silence. Then Suki slowly turned.
"That's the part you're reacting to?" She asked, all but facepalming as she just stared at him. Zuko looked back immediately. [Y/n] physically rubbed his forehead. Iroh would be proud... at least...
"Anyway, getting back to the part about people trying to abduct you..." [Y/n] continued tiredly, regaining everyone's attention. "Once Zuko was unconscious, the old men would've handled the guards outside."
"Ambush probably. Kill them if they had to. They weren't specific about that part, and I highly doubt they were smart enough to figure it out themselves either." Suki just sighed in response, running a hand down her face. That seemed to be a running theme with those three.
"Go on..." She breathed out and [Y/n] nodded, turning back to Zuko, who looked to be waiting to hear the rest.
"While you were unconscious, they'd tie you up, gag you, and stuff you into a shipping crate and move you through the supply yard disguised as merchants leaving the palace." He finished, crossing his arms over his chest while the others just stared at him, taking in everything they'd heard.
Zuko just stared. For several long seconds, he didn't say anything at all. No outrage. No panic. No shock. He just stood there with his arms folded, staring somewhere toward the centre of the room while everyone else watched him carefully. Then, slowly, he rubbed one hand over his face and let out a long breath.
"Of course." He sighed, shaking his head. "Of course, someone tried to drug me, throw me in a box, and smuggle me out of my own palace." He looked more exhausted than anything else. More grumpy. More irritated. Like this had simply become another problem added onto an already growing pile. Ty Lee immediately frowned.
"Zuko..." Her voice softened slightly. "You don't seem nearly worried enough." Silence followed before Zuko looked toward her and shrugged once.
"Things like this come with the job."
Suki stared at him for a moment before visibly deciding to unpack that problem later. Instead, she looked back toward [Y/n].
"Where were they taking him?" [Y/n] stared back at her for several seconds. Then blinked once. Then twice. Then his expression flattened completely.
"You know... I asked them that too... And apparently, our three geniuses never thought to ask." The room remained silent. [Y/n] rubbed his forehead slowly. "The plan was apparently for the old men to blindfold them after they got Zuko out of the palace. Then lead them to wherever The Burning Eye was hiding."
Suki stared. Ty Lee stared. Kenta stared. Then very slowly, Suki closed her eyes. Long. Deep. Tired.
"...Of course, they agreed to help kidnap the Fire Lord and then willingly let themselves get blindfolded and dragged spirits know where." She looked completely done with this entire situation. "Honestly, at this point I'm not even surprised anymore."
"I had the exact same reaction." [Y/n] stared at Suki for a moment before slowly nodding. "Almost word for word, actually." Then, quietly, from near the door, Kenta spoke without thinking.
"Sir's reaction involved a lot more lightning, thou-"
"Anyway-" [Y/n] cut him off, not even glancing back. He turned his attention toward Zuko. "Where in Agni's name are you even finding ministers this moronic?" He asked, watching a look of genuine offence cross over Zuko's face at the mere suggestion that he'd been the one to choose those morons.
"If I had it my way, I'd fire half the council and start over." He replied, putting a hand on his hip. "...Maybe all of them." He added slowly. "...Actually, definitely all of them."
[Y/n] let out another long sigh and rubbed one hand over his face. Honestly, at this point, it was becoming less of a habit and more of a lifestyle. Eventually, he lowered his hand and looked back toward everyone else.
"Back to our newest conspiracy-obsessed lunatic." He started, crossing his arms over his chest again. "I think the name means something.'The Burning Eye'." He thought aloud, turning to face Zuko again. "Combined with them having some kind of personal business with you, I think it's supposed to mock what Ozai did."
Zuko went quiet. Not for long. Just long enough to think. Then finally, he folded his arms tighter and looked off to the side slightly.
"Yeah. Probably." He replied, almost too casually. "Honestly though?" He frowned slightly, his grumpy expression returning once more. "The whole thing sounds more tacky than offensive." He muttered, raising a hand to trace the edge of his scar while his only eyebrow furrowed in annoyance. "Seriously... The Burning Eye? That's the best they came up with? It sounds like a bad theatre group." He scoffed, lowering his hand as he rolled his eyes. Ty Lee blinked. Suki stared. [Y/n] stared even harder.
"...That's the thing bothering you?" [Y/n] asked flatly. Because honestly? Honestly? There had been so many possible reactions, and somehow Zuko had chosen name criticism. Zuko immediately looked back at him and pointed.
"Okay, let's say someone tried kidnapping you." He started, causing [Y/n] to immediately raise a brow, wondering where the hell this was going. "...And they called themselves..." He frowned thoughtfully, as if he was genuinely trying to put thought and effort into this nonsense. "...The Forcing You To Decide How People Die In A War Society." Zuko's expression remained flat, but his single nod seemed to convey that he thought he'd done something brilliant, all while Kenta, Suki and Ty Lee all looked completely taken aback by the choice of name. ".How would you react?"
Silence. Absolute silence.
[Y/n] stared. Then stared harder.
"...First of all... Your name is somehow even tackier. I hope they'd at least come up with something catchier for me." Zuko looked offended. But then [Y/n] actually imagined it for a second. Not the event itself. Not the memory of his uncle pinning him to a chair and making him choose between the lives on the board. Just hearing some random lunatic proudly introducing themselves with that ridiculous title. Just picturing someone dramatically announcing The Forcing You To Decide How People Die In A War Society has arrived!
Immediately, irritation crawled up his spine. Not fear. Not discomfort. Just pure annoyance. Deep, personal irritation. Like someone had taken something horrible and somehow made it unbearably stupid, too. Slowly, his eyes narrowed. Absolute silence lingered for exactly two seconds before [Y/n] slowly nodded.
"...No, you're right. It's like it's trying really hard to be offensive."
"Exactly." Zuko immediately pointed at him.
"But somehow it circles all the way back around to sounding stupid. Like whoever came up with it sat there feeling really proud of themselves." [Y/n] continued, and Zuko nodded in agreement.
"And practised saying it in a mirror." The pair of them had completely forgotten about the flabbergasted three people currently watching them casually discuss childhood trauma like the weather. Meanwhile, [Y/n] and Zuko looked completely serious.
Then Suki slowly turned toward them.
"What..." She asked carefully. "...is that title even supposed to mean?" She looked between the two of them with an expression that seemed to border between concern and outright bewilderment. [Y/n] just shrugged it off.
"Not important."
Ty Lee narrowed her eyes instantly, worry flaring in her eyes. "...Was it something to do with your uncle?"
[Y/n] looked toward Zuko. Zuko looked toward [Y/n]. Then simultaneously:
"Yeah, obviously."
None of the others responded for a moment, clearly not expecting them to respond so arbitrarily. Suki immediately looked extremely uncomfortable. "...Ty Lee? What exactly do Fire Nation nobles do to their children?"
From near the doorway, Kenta suddenly spoke under his breath. Very quietly. Almost too quietly to hear. "Sweet Agni, I'm suddenly really glad I'm a commoner."
Meanwhile, [Y/n] and Zuko just looked confused. Actually confused.
"What?"
Suki slowly pressed two fingers against her forehead and closed her eyes. Long. Deep. Tired. Like she could physically feel a headache forming behind her eyes.
"We're dealing with whatever is wrong with both of you later." Immediate offence crossed both boys' faces. But before either of them got the chance to argue-
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Everyone jumped.
The sudden pounding rattled against the study doors hard enough to instantly shatter the room's momentum. Absolute silence followed before Hori's voice echoed from the other side.
"I FOUND WHAT YOU ASKED FOR, SIR!" Every head in the room slowly turned toward the doors. Suddenly, the joking came to a halt. Then Zuko blinked once and immediately straightened.
"Come in."
The doors opened almost instantly. Hori hurried inside, looking slightly out of breath and deeply relieved to still be alive. He bowed quickly before moving beside Kenta near the doorway and carefully holding out the journal toward [Y/n].
Instantly, silence settled over the room again as [Y/n] took it and slowly opened the cover. One page. Nothing. Another page. Nothing. Another. Silence. Then suddenly his fingers stopped. Hidden beneath the inner lining of the cover sat a small folded compartment.
[Y/n] slowly pulled it free and unfolded it. And there, tucked neatly inside, rested a tiny sachet filled with pale powder. He released a shaky breath he didn't even know he was holding.
"They weren't lying..."
Every eye remained fixed on the small packet in [Y/n]'s hand while he carefully turned it over between his fingers. Tiny. Unremarkable. Harmless-looking. Which somehow made it worse. Because something that small had nearly gotten Zuko dragged out of the palace in a shipping crate. Slowly, [Y/n] frowned and loosened the wrapping slightly.
Everyone watched him.
Ty Lee leaned forward. Suki narrowed her eyes. Zuko glared. Kenta frowned. Hori panicked.
Then, all at once, everyone realised exactly what he was about to do.
"Wait-" Ty Lee's eyes widened.
"Don't-" Suki took a step forward.
"[Y/n]-" Zuko physically straightened.
Too late.
Before anyone could stop him, [Y/n] lifted the sachet slightly and took the tiniest sniff imaginable.
Silence.
One second.
Two-
Then instantly, [Y/n] stumbled sideways hard enough that his hand slammed against the table to catch himself.
"Spirits-!"
The room immediately exploded into chaos.
Ty Lee shrieked. Suki looked like she'd just witnessed a murder attempt. Kenta lunged forward to try to stop him far too late. Hori made a genuinely distressed noise.
And Zuko...
"ARE YOU INSANE?!"
Actual panic.
Zuko crossed the room in record time and grabbed [Y/n] by the shoulder before he could completely lose his balance, all while glaring at him like he had just decided to abandon all survival instincts.
"What is wrong with you?!"
Meanwhile, [Y/n] blinked once. Then twice. Then several more times in rapid succession. He rubbed one eye and grimaced.
"Okay... wow." Another blink. "That is way stronger than I expected." Silence immediately followed. Because somehow, somehow, he had completely ignored the screaming around him and gone straight back to analysing the powder. "Definitely a sedative... And way stronger than any I've seen before..." [Y/n] blinked hard again and looked toward Zuko. "Whoever The Burning Eye is, they wanted you unconscious for a long time."
He frowned down at the sachet. And suddenly, the panic in the room shifted into something much colder.
Zuko kept one hand on [Y/n]'s shoulder as he slowly helped steady him again. The panic from moments ago had faded, but not entirely. Once [Y/n] was standing properly, Zuko's grip loosened, except his hand didn't fully move away. Instead, it lingered lower against his back like he was still making sure he wasn't about to collapse again. Neither of them commented on it. Zuko just frowned at the sachet still sitting in [Y/n]'s hand and exhaled slowly.
"It makes sense. They'd need me unconscious for a while. Time to restrain me, get me into the crate, move me through the palace and transport me without worrying about me waking up."
Suki's expression darkened immediately. She stared at the tiny packet for several seconds before folding her arms.
"One sniff nearly knocked him over. If they put all of that into tea..." She looked toward Zuko. "...I'd guess you would've been unconscious for at least a day. More likely even longer." Nobody liked that estimate. Nobody. Suki's eyes narrowed slightly. "Which probably means they weren't planning to take you nearby."
The room stayed quiet as Zuko looked downward in thought, his eyes narrowing.
"And if they expected a long trip... they probably already accounted for me waking up or trying to escape." He folded his arms slowly. "If I woke up while being transported, I'd burn through rope restraints immediately." He thought aloud, putting a hand on his chin in thought. "So, if I had to guess, they probably had something waiting for me at wherever this hideout is. Chains, maybe? Some kind of cell meant specifically for firebenders like the one on the Boiling Rock?"
[Y/n] looked down at the powder for a few seconds before slowly tightening his grip on the sachet. He went quiet for a moment, turning everything over in his head, piece by piece. The drug. The ambush. The disguises. The crate. The idea that they'd have planned restraints waiting for Zuko seemed like less of a possibility and more of a guarantee.
None of it felt rushed. None of it felt improvised. Every detail had been thought through and layered over another until even the failures had backups waiting behind them.
"I wouldn't be surprised." He muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Everything else this Burning Eye planned was meticulous. The old men. The palace infiltration. Using my uncle's strategies..." [Y/n]'s expression hardened slightly. "We're dealing with someone dangerously particular." [Y/n] let out a tired breath and rubbed at his forehead again. He was beginning to feel like he was physically wearing grooves into his skin at this point.
"Even if they had chains or some kind of cell ready, we still don't know the most important part." He gestured vaguely toward the table. "We still have no idea why they wanted him alive in the first place. Personal business isn't an explanation. It's barely even a clue."
Suki frowned slightly and looked toward Zuko.
"Can you think of anyone?" Zuko looked back at her. Suki folded her arms tighter. "Anyone who'd want you kidnapped instead of killed..." She paused for a beat. "...while also picking a name specifically designed to mock and irritate you?" Zuko looked away slightly and frowned as he thought. Seconds passed. One. Two. Three. Then suddenly his eyes shifted.
Straight toward Ty Lee.
Ty Lee blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then immediately froze.
Because understanding crossed her face almost instantly. First surprise. Then recognition. Then discomfort.
"Oh." She forced out, clearly not liking whatever he was silently implying. "...It's possible." Ty Lee looked toward Zuko uncertainly. "...But..." She grimaced slightly. "...I really don't think it's her style."
Suki's expression shifted almost immediately. Just slightly. A small narrowing of her eyes. A flicker of recognition. Unlike [Y/n], she actually seemed to be following whatever silent conversation had just happened between Zuko and Ty Lee. [Y/n], meanwhile, looked between all three of them with growing suspicion. First Ty Lee. Then Suki. Then Zuko. Then back again. Silence stretched for several seconds before his eyes narrowed.
"Who are you talking about?" None of them answered. Ty Lee and Suki both looked toward Zuko. They were very clearly making him answer. Zuko immediately looked deeply uncomfortable.
[Y/n] narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Because, immediately, every instinct in his body started screaming at him. Zuko suddenly avoiding eye contact? Ty Lee looking uncomfortable? Suki staying quiet? Absolutely not.
"Zuko." He warned, looking the man up and down. "Why do you suddenly look guilty?" No response. [Y/n]'s eyes narrowed further. "What are you not telling me?"
Zuko visibly regretted existing. Then finally, after several painful seconds, he exhaled through his nose.
"Azula."
The room fell silent. [Y/n] froze, clearly processing the information. Then he frowned.
"What are you talking about?" He asked, confusion lacing his tone as he looked between the three of them. "I thought Azula was still locked up in a mental institution." Zuko looked away.
"She was..." He started, trailing off as he swallowed the lump in his throat. "She escaped." [Y/n] saw that he felt his heart stop. "...Years ago."
Ty Lee folded her arms awkwardly. "I've been tracking her since."
[Y/n] froze. Completely. For one horrible second, it looked like his soul physically left his body.
Then:
"What?"
It wasn't loud. That was what made it so much worse.
The single word fell into the room soft and flat, stripped completely of heat, and the effect was immediate. The air turned painfully still.
Most people expected anger to come sharp and explosive; yelling, slamming fists, fire. This wasn't fire. This was ice over deep water, quiet enough that everyone had to listen carefully, and cold enough that nobody wanted to be the one to answer.
Kenta jumped. Hori looked ready to surrender his position as a guard. Both of them very clearly getting very vivid flashbacks of [Y/n]'s lusterless temper from the prison earlier. [Y/n] slowly turned toward Zuko with quiet outrage written across his face.
"Years ago?" He stepped forward. "And you didn't think that was important enough to tell me?" [Y/n]'s eyes narrowed as he got in Zuko's face, glaring down the Fire Lord, who looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. "Zuko, a murderous psycho princess being loose somewhere, feels like critical information. Especially to the person your soldiers trust with their lives."
Zuko immediately raised both hands in a surrender posture, trying to do damage control because [Y/n]'s cold and calm anger still scared him more than his own hot and loud style.
"Okay, wait..." He looked genuinely alarmed now. "I was going to tell you." He took a step forward. "I planned to. You've only been back a month." He looked increasingly desperate as he spoke. "A lot happened." His eyes shifted away briefly. "And I didn't want to worry you."
Wrong answer.
Absolutely catastrophic answer.
"Worry me?" The words came out flat. Too flat.
For a moment, [Y/n] forgot how to breathe. The words didn't fully register at first. Azula escaped. Years ago. Ty Lee has been tracking her. His mind just stalled.
Then all at once the shock hit him, immediately followed by disbelief and then frustration so sharp it practically felt physical. Not because Azula was free, though spirits knew that was horrifying enough on its own, but because Zuko had known. Zuko had known this entire time and didn't think to tell him, even though he's literally responsible for managing possible threats like that.
As the realisation settled in, something uglier started creeping in beneath the anger, something quieter and harder to look at. A tight, unpleasant feeling twisted in his chest as a thought slowly forced its way forward before he could stop it: Why didn't he tell me? Then another. Why would he keep something this important from me? And beneath even that, beneath the strategist and the logic and all the justifications he would later try to give himself, sat a smaller, uglier thought he immediately hated himself for having.
Did he not trust me enough?
The realisation landed somewhere deep and painful, and for one awful moment, it hurt a lot more than he wanted it to.
No. Push that down. Kill it. Now. This isn't the time. This is serious. You have a job to do. You have people counting on you.
Immediately, [Y/n] shoved it down. Buried it. Crushed it before it could become anything else. This wasn't about that. It wasn't. This was strategy. Safety. Logic. Nothing else.
[Y/n] stared at him. Then his expression hardened immediately.
"An escaped firebending prodigy with a history of coups, manipulation and trying to overthrow you isn't a small detail." Across from him, Zuko immediately raised his hands defensively.
"I didn't want to put you in danger!" Silence followed for exactly one second. Then [Y/n]'s eyes widened in outright disbelief.
"Danger?" He took a step forward immediately. "I've already been in danger." Another step. "Did you somehow forget the garden shed incident? The one where three idiots tried to choke and stab me to death because someone decided I was causing problems? The whole reason we're standing here having this conversation?"
[Y/n] stared at him for another moment before pointing at him accusingly.
"I knew danger came with this job when I accepted it. I knew that when I walked back into the palace. I knew that when I decided to stay." Silence settled heavily between them. [Y/n]'s expression hardened. "You don't get to just decide parts of the danger don't count and push them under the rug because you don't like it. That's not how this works."
Then he took another breath, shoulders rising and falling sharply. [Y/n]'s voice faltered slightly after that. Just slightly. Enough that even he seemed to notice it. Slowly, his eyes dropped toward the floor, and some of the anger in his expression shifted into something quieter. Something heavier.
"And even if... even if you didn't trust me enough to tell me about Azula..." The words came out slower now, like he hated saying them out loud even as they left his mouth. [Y/n] looked away briefly. "You still had a responsibility to tell your strategist." Silence settled over the room immediately. "So I could do my job. So I could make plans. So I could help keep you safe..." His voice lowered slightly. "And keep all the soldiers and guards who rely on me safe." He sucked in a sharp breath, balling his hands into fists by his sides as he struggled to keep his voice level. "What good am I to anyone if I don't have all the information?"
Across from him, Zuko froze so suddenly it looked like someone had physically struck him. For a second, he just stared at [Y/n], eyes widened slightly, like his mind had stopped halfway through processing what he'd just heard. Because the anger? The frustration? He could understand those. He deserved those. But that? That awful, quiet accusation buried underneath everything else? You didn't trust me enough. It hit somewhere deep and ugly inside his chest.
Immediately, panic flashed across his face. Then guilt. Then something worse. Because suddenly Zuko realised this wasn't just [Y/n] being angry as his strategist. Somewhere in all of this, somehow, he'd genuinely made [Y/n] think, even for a second, that Zuko didn't trust him. And spirits help him, that thought alone felt unbearable.
"What?" He took another step forward immediately. "No." The panic was jumbling up his words. "That's not-" Another step. "I do trust you." Silence. "I-"
"Okay!" Ty Lee physically stepped between them, both hands raised. "Okay, nobody panic!" She looked toward Zuko. Then [Y/n]. Then back again. "Everybody, stop talking for one second because this got out of control really fast."
Ty Lee looked between them both for several long seconds, clearly making sure neither of them was about to say something else catastrophic. Once she seemed satisfied that neither [Y/n] nor Zuko was seconds away from exploding again, she slowly lowered her hands.
"I genuinely don't think it's Azula." Everyone looked toward her. Ty Lee folded her arms and frowned slightly. "Not because it's impossible." She shook her head. "Just because this doesn't fit her. Not with what happened before. This doesn't line up with her last attack."
[Y/n] took a slow breath.
Then another.
Then another.
Spirits.
Actually calming down was significantly harder than it should have been. He could still feel Zuko looking at him from across the room. He deliberately ignored it with every ounce of strength he possessed. Eventually, he dragged one hand down his face and exhaled slowly.
"Fine." He forced out, struggling to keep his voice level. "Then what's different?" He looked directly at Ty Lee. "What happened last time?" Ty Lee's expression shifted slightly. Not nervous. Not exactly. More like she was trying to remember how to explain something deeply stupid and deeply awful at the same time.
"When Zuko was eighteen, Azula escaped." She started. "After that, she gathered a group of loyalists, then she had them disguise themselves as spirits." Ty Lee grimaced visibly. "They kidnapped Tom-Tom and Kiyi." She let out a shaky breath, as if the thought alone still made her uncomfortable. "The whole thing was part of this twisted idea she had. She thought Zuko was too soft. She wanted to force him into becoming harsher. More ruthless. More willing to hurt people." Ty Lee's expression darkened slightly while silence settled heavily over the room. Then she looked toward Zuko quietly. "...She was trying to turn him into Ozai."
[Y/n] went quiet for several seconds, turning Ty Lee's explanation over in his head. Piece by piece. Comparing it against everything they'd learned tonight. Kidnapping. Hidden supporters. Long-term planning. Similarities existed. Too many similarities to completely ignore. But eventually he let out a long breath and rubbed at his forehead again.
"You're right." He sighed. "We can't rule Azula out... Not completely." He frowned slightly. "And the kidnapping angle overlaps. But the end goal is different." He put a hand on his chin in thought. "Azula wanted Zuko to stay Fire Lord and become someone else. This takes Zuko away completely. There are similarities, but not enough to say it's definitely her."
Then he paused. Just for a second. Because another thought caught up with him. Slowly, [Y/n] looked back toward Ty Lee.
"...Wait. Who's Kiyi?" He asked, raising a brow. He hadn't heard that name before, but she was apparently important enough for Azula to target her? "I know Tom-Tom. Mai talked about him the last time we spoke. Who's Kiyi? Another noble's kid?" [Y/n] frowned slightly. Immediately, silence swallowed the room again. Absolute silence. Ty Lee froze. Suki froze. Across the room, Zuko suddenly looked very interested in literally anything except eye contact.
Wrong.
Very wrong.
And, instantly, [Y/n] knew that Zuko had apparently forgotten to tell him another thing.
"Your Majesty?"
[Y/n]'s tone alone made Zuko look like he'd been spiritually struck by lightning. Complete dread crossed his face. Actual dread. For several painful seconds, he said absolutely nothing while everyone else very carefully avoided looking at him. Then finally, he exhaled slowly and looked toward the floor.
"Kiyi is..." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously and let out a slow breath, doing everything in his power to ignore the look [Y/n] was giving him. "...my little sister." The room fell dead silent. Zuko physically winced before continuing. "After I became Fire Lord, I found my mother again." His voice softened slightly. "Eventually she remarried and... Kiyi is her daughter."
[Y/n] went completely still. Not visibly at first. Not enough for anyone else. Just enough that something in his chest suddenly twisted painfully and wrong. Because immediately, his thoughts betrayed him. Of course. Spirits. Of course. Zuko hadn't trusted him nearly as much as [Y/n] thought he had. He silently cursed himself for being stupid enough to think otherwise. Eight years. They'd been separated for eight years. Eight years of wars and exile and loss and rebuilding and everything else in between.
Deep down, somewhere buried under years of caution and strategy and growing older, there had still been some terrified little part of him that had latched onto the happiest thing he remembered from childhood and hoped it was all still there waiting for him. Hoped things had somehow stayed the same. Stupid. Completely stupid. He wasn't a child anymore. He wasn't standing over a Pai Sho board anymore. He was a grown man. The Chief Strategist of the entire nation for Agni's sake.
So whatever awful feeling had suddenly lodged itself in his chest, tight and sharp and impossible to name, he shoved it down immediately.
Grow up, you pathetic idiot.
For a moment, [Y/n] said nothing. He just stood there staring somewhere past Zuko, feeling that awful tightness in his chest twist harder and harder until it felt like, if he stayed quiet much longer, something inside him was going to crack open.
So he buried it. Immediately. Ruthlessly.
And, for the briefest second, he could hear his own terrified voice again in his head. A voice far too young to sound so scared.
"Don't let anyone see it..."
The voice of a boy terrified of his uncle's penalty for failure.
He inhaled once, slow and controlled, forced his shoulders to straighten, and shoved every ugly feeling down somewhere deep where he didn't have to look at it. Professional. Safe. Controlled. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm. Not the cold calm that came when he was angry, but an unsettling, almost mechanical calm that felt like it peeled away the warmth in his chest.
"I understand, Fire Lord." The whole room went quiet. That was wrong. Completely wrong. [Y/n] kept his eyes carefully away from Zuko. "Given the circumstances, Your Majesty, I understand why such matters involving Lady Ursa and Princess Kiyi were considered private. I appreciate the explanation." And immediately, Zuko froze. Because he knew. Spirits, he knew instantly. The titles. The voice. The distance. [Y/n] wasn't speaking to him anymore. He was still doing what he did when they were kids. He was hiding. And somehow that realisation hit harder than the anger had.
"Wait-" He panicked, failing to force the words past his lips. "[Y/n], I-" He looked completely lost, like he was trying to figure out where exactly everything had gone wrong and how to drag it back before it got worse. But before he could say anything else-
"Kenta. Hori." [Y/n] cut him off. Both men physically straightened, not because of volume, but because of the tension. [Y/n] didn't even look toward Zuko. "Please return to the evidence storage and go through everything confiscated from Han, Renji, and Daro again; letters, clothing, personal belongings. If we missed something, find it."
"Yes, sir." Kenta and Hori immediately looked nervous but saluted anyway, clearly more focused on escaping the room than bothering to question him. [Y/n] finally looked toward them.
"And not a word leaves this room." Immediate understanding crossed both faces. Kenta nodded instantly. Hori nodded even faster. Honestly, [Y/n] had already threatened them once today. Neither seemed eager for a second experience. Within secords, the pair had al but sprinted out the door.
Suki looked between Zuko and [Y/n] for several long seconds. Then toward Ty Lee. Then back again. Silence stretched a moment longer before she finally sighed.
"We're leaving too." Ty Lee blinked and looked toward her. Suki folded her arms. "We'll go through everything you've gathered on Azula over the years. Every report. Every sighting. Everything." Ty Lee slowly nodded before carefully reaching for the sachet still sitting on the table.
"And we'll bring this too." She lifted the packet of powder slightly. "Maybe someone can trace where it came from." She offered, sending the two boys one last, extremely awkward smile before she and Suki started moving toward the door, leaving two people behind who suddenly looked like they very much did not want to be alone together.
[Y/n] stood there staring at the table for several long seconds, every part of him trying to hold together that calm, detached professionalism he'd forced over himself moments ago. It was easier this way. Easier than acknowledging the awful feeling still twisting in his chest. Easier than thinking about why it felt so bad. Easier than thinking about eight years apart, or expectations, or stupid hopes he should have buried a long time ago. So he focused on work. Strategy. Problems. Anything else. Slowly, he inhaled and straightened slightly. Controlled. Measured.
He needed to get out before his voice slipped, before something in his chest cracked open and spilt out where he couldn't shove it back down.
"I'll continue looking for anything we can use, Your Majesty." [Y/n] finally looked toward the door. "If there are hidden supporters inside the palace, then-"
His words died as his breath caught somewhere in his throat, and every thought in his head abruptly stopped the moment Zuko's hand wrapped around his wrist. Not tight. Not forceful. Just there. But somehow that tiny point of contact rooted him to the floor completely. Suddenly, he couldn't move. Couldn't take another step. Couldn't even make himself look back right away. He just froze, staring ahead while his heartbeat thudded loudly in his ears and his mask of professionalism threatened to crack.
He already knew he wasn't walking out that door anymore.
A week ago, [Y/n] had been sitting across from the Dragon of the West himself while receiving thoughtful advice about balance, growth, trust, and learning from people unlike yourself. Iroh had spoken with the sort of calm wisdom that made every sentence feel like something you could spend weeks thinking about afterwards.
Now, [Y/n] had also arrived at another deeply important realisation; one equally powerful, equally life-changing, equally deserving of careful consideration...
Paperwork was a curse.
Not a difficult curse.
Not a dangerous curse.
Just an extremely irritating one.
The sun shone lazily through the windows of his office in the northern wing of the palace, warming shelves of maps and scrolls that lined the walls around him. The room itself sat only a short walk from the permanent quarters Zuko had arranged for him after his appointment, another change [Y/n] still wasn't entirely used to. The office was spacious, well-organised, and far too official for his liking. Large maps stretched across one wall, covered in markings and routes, while reports and military schedules occupied nearly every remaining surface.
Most importantly: there was entirely too much paper.
[Y/n] sat slumped over his desk with all the elegance of a dying man.
Absolutely no dignity remained.
None.
His cheek rested against one hand while the other slowly dragged a brush across another report as his eyes stared blankly at the steadily growing mountain of documents threatening to consume him alive.
Sweet Agni above... Why did there need to be reports about reports?
Slowly, [Y/n] lowered his brush and stared into the middle distance. Because this... this... was not what he'd imagined when agreeing to become Chief Strategist. Not even remotely.
"...I forgot this part of the job existed."
Near the doorway, two soldiers remained standing guard: Kenta and Hori. Because, naturally, the Fire Lord's deeply insulting "please stop nearly dying" policy remained fully active. Or as [Y/n] called it: the chaperone rule.
For a full month now, he had not gone anywhere alone.
Anywhere.
Not hallways. Not meetings. Not gardens. Not even tea breaks.
Someone always followed him.
Always.
And unfortunately... annoyingly... he understood why.
That somehow made it worse.
Neither guard responded to his frustrated mumblings. Mostly because both had already discovered [Y/n]'s muttering wasn't actually directed at anyone.
Still, they couldn't decide fully if being assigned to him had been better or worse than their usual duties.
Following the attack, reports had apparently confirmed that both men came from families with deeply established loyalty to Zuko and equally deep hatred toward Ozai's regime, making the likelihood of betrayal substantially lower than that of some of the other soldiers. Sensible. Logical. Reasonable.
[Y/n] hated it anyway. Because while being quietly shadowed by the Kyoshi Warriors had at least involved near-supernatural stealth and long stretches where he could almost pretend they weren't there, Kenta and Hori had somehow mastered the exact opposite approach. They simply existed nearby. Constantly. Silently. Permanently. Like two extremely loyal ghosts.
He was just glad they weren't beside him every hour of the day like some officials; instead, they were mainly there during matters that involved sensitive or important matters, such as the political work that was currently killing their charge.
Eventually, [Y/n] sighed and picked up another document.
"...At least Zuko's pile is worse."
That was true.
He'd seen it. It had looked less like paperwork and more like a cry for help. A deeply concerning cry for help.
Slowly, [Y/n] reached for another document from the steadily growing pile and began skimming it with the dead-eyed determination of a man trying very hard not to acknowledge his own suffering. His eyes moved lazily down the page: security classifications, signatures, approval marks, until suddenly they stopped.
Very slowly, his expression flattened as he stared down at the paper in his hands. Transfer Authorisation. Renji. Han. Daro.
Destination: The Boiling Rock.
Immediately, irritation settled into his chest. Because Spirits, almost an entire month. An entire month of investigations, interrogations, patrols, records, and dead ends, and they had found practically nothing. The two older men had died before giving answers, Renji and the others knew less than expected, and whoever had been pulling strings from the shadows had simply vanished without leaving so much as a footprint behind.
[Y/n] stared at the paper for several more seconds before exhaling quietly and shoving it aside with unnecessary force. No. Absolutely not. Not right now. Work first. He immediately reached for another report. Trade routes. Fine. Easy. He read three lines. Stopped.
Slowly, his eyes shifted sideways. Toward the transfer document. No. Absolutely not. He looked back down. Continued reading. Guard positions. Supply concerns. Security distribution. Another pause. Then his eyes shifted sideways again. Spirits... damn it.
Immediately, [Y/n] grabbed another stack and physically pulled it closer like he could bury the problem alive beneath enough paperwork. Ridiculous strategy. Terrible strategy. He read exactly five words before his eyes unfocused again.
The transfer authorisation sat quietly at the corner of his desk like some cursed object personally sent by the spirits to irritate him. Because every time he looked away, another thought surfaced. They're leaving. Another. No answers. Another. This might be the last chance.
Slowly, [Y/n]'s eye twitched once. Then twice. Then three times. Because somehow, despite spending the last week realising paperwork was a curse upon humanity, he'd suddenly found something even worse.
Unfinished questions.
"AGNI, DAMN IT!"
[Y/n] shot upright so quickly his chair slammed backwards into the floor hard enough to rattle the shelves beside him. The transfer authorisation remained clenched tightly in one hand while irritation and unfinished thoughts finally boiled over into action.
Fine.
One last attempt.
One final push before the three idiots disappeared into the Boiling Rock forever.
If fear of being forgotten and abandoned hadn't worked, then maybe transfer papers and a little pressure would. Slowly, [Y/n]'s eyes narrowed at the document in his hand.
"...One more chance." He muttered flatly before immediately turning toward the door.
Across the room, both Kenta and Hori physically jumped. By the time either of them properly registered what had happened, [Y/n] had already crossed half the room and thrown the office doors open.
The pair immediately scrambled after him without hesitation while [Y/n] continued marching down the hall at full speed and, for once, didn't even bother arguing. Didn't tell them to stay. Didn't complain. Because honestly? He already knew exactly what would happen. Fire Lord's orders.
Beside him, Hori hurried to keep pace and blinked in confusion.
"...Sir? ...Where exactly are we going?" [Y/n] didn't even slow down. Didn't look back either.
"Capital City Prison."
~*~
The Capital City Prison rose ahead of them not long afterwards, its dark stone walls standing in sharp contrast against the brighter reds and golds of the palace they'd left. Unlike the palace, there was nothing elegant about it. No decorations. No gardens. No effort to impress anyone. Just heavy walls, a fortified stone tower, steel gates, and enough guards stationed along the battlements to make it abundantly clear that nobody came here by accident.
As [Y/n], Kenta, and Hori approached, several officers stationed near the entrance immediately straightened. Recognition crossed their faces almost instantly before they bowed.
"Chief Strategist." One stepped forward while another accepted the transfer authorisation and identification seals, eyes moving carefully across signatures and official markings before nodding. A moment later, massive reinforced doors groaned open with a low metallic sound that echoed through the stone entryway. Then, without another word, they were let inside.
The atmosphere changed immediately.
The prison somehow felt quieter than the city outside despite housing hundreds of people beneath its walls. Not silent, never silent, but muted.
Voices didn't carry correctly. Footsteps echoed strangely. The place swallowed sound and warmth alike beneath layers of stone and iron. [Y/n]'s eyes shifted quietly as they moved deeper inside, taking in cells, corridors, checkpoints, and guards posted throughout the structure. Spirits knew how many people sat buried beneath the prison. Criminals. Soldiers. Traitors. Politicians.
Somewhere inside these walls sat Ukano, too. Mai's father was likely being held somewhere not far from the level they were heading toward, kept among high-risk political prisoners and former ministers. Close enough that [Y/n] could probably walk past his cell without realising it.
And somewhere much deeper than that, far below where ordinary prisoners were ever taken, sat Ozai. Buried at the heart of the prison, beneath layers of stone and steel, like something dangerous people hoped would never resurface. Not because he posed a physical threat anymore. Not now that his bending was gone. No, if Ozai had simply been dangerous, chains would've been enough.
The problem was that his existence itself still carried weight. Even now. Even stripped of power. To people like Renji and Han and Daro, men who still clung desperately to the old Fire Nation, Ozai remained a flame that refused to die out. A symbol. Proof. Hope. As long as he existed, people like them would continue crawling out of the cracks, believing their era could somehow return. Slowly, [Y/n]'s expression tightened. Because somehow, even locked away underground beneath half the capital, Ozai still found ways to hurt people.
His jaw tightened faintly before he forced his attention back toward the prison corridors ahead as they continued climbing staircases and passing checkpoints deeper within the facility. Stone replaced sunlight. Iron replaced open air. Eventually, footsteps slowed. Then stopped entirely. Silence settled over the corridor. [Y/n] looked up, and immediately irritation returned with incredible efficiency. Because there they were.
Renji, Han, and Daro sat crammed into the cell like oversized rodents someone had swept into a cage and forgotten about. Their robes had lost what little dignity remained after nearly a month behind bars, dirt and wrinkles replacing all traces of ministerial prestige. Han looked exhausted. Daro looked angry. Renji somehow still managed to look smug despite all visible evidence suggesting he absolutely shouldn't. Filthy. Tired. Pathetic.
Immediately, all three looked up. And immediately, all three looked ready to kill him.
Slowly, Renji stood and approached the bars while that familiar expression returned to his face; that same smug little smile that made [Y/n] very glad he got to launch him through a wall.
"...Well. To what do we owe the honour?" He sneered, his smile twitching as if maintaining it were physically painful. "...The great strategist came to visit us personally?"
"You have some nerve showing yourself in front of us." Han chimed in, grinding his teeth.
"Is this your idea of a nice walk? So you can come spit on us?" Daro scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. [Y/n] stared at them for a moment before rolling his eyes.
"...I'd rather be anywhere else." [Y/n] folded his arms and looked between all three men very slowly. "Instead, I'm stuck here surrounded by the smell of piss and shit coming from three lowlives who, despite everything, are still somehow managing to get drunk on their own stupidity."
Renji's smile vanished immediately. Daro looked deeply offended. Han physically recoiled like someone had thrown boiling water at him. And [Y/n] was glad. Because suddenly all three of them looked like they regretted opening their mouths at all.
The three men glared openly now, but [Y/n] simply rolled his eyes again and unfolded a document from beneath his arm.
"...Anyway." The word landed flatly, like [Y/n] had decided the conversation had already wasted enough of his time. He reached beneath his arm, unfolded the transfer authorisation with complete indifference, and glanced down at it briefly before looking back toward the three men. "You're being transferred to The Boiling Rock." He announced,d watching the briefest flash of panic in Renji's eyes. "Which means this is your last chance." [Y/n] folded the paper once more. "Give me something useful... And maybe I'll reconsider whether you stay here."
Immediately, Renji scoffed, as if somehow he still possessed enough pride for that.
"...We're above giving information to someone like you."
[Y/n] just stared at him for a moment, long enough that Renji's expression shifted slightly. Not much. Just enough. Because, somehow, despite everything, they were still clinging to it. The arrogance. The pride. The delusion.
Slowly, [Y/n] blinked once. Then twice. And suddenly, he almost smiled. Not pleasantly. More like someone who just found a string he can pull to unravel something.
"...Someone like me?" Then [Y/n] looked around the cell: at the stone floor, the walls, the cramped space, then back toward Renji. "You know, I think the funniest part of all this... is that you still think you're important."
That made them freeze. Prefect. [Y/n] tilted his head slightly.
"You're being transferred out of this prison." He gestured around, keeping his voice flat to the point of sounding uninterested. "The important prison." He specified, watching the irritation rise amongst the trio. "...You know... The one where they keep actual threats." He laughed, short and mocking. And they hated it. "And now you're being moved to the place where they dump criminals they don't particularly care about anymore."
The words landed hard. Immediately, Renji's face darkened. Han looked toward him. Daro stiffened. And [Y/n] watched every second of it.
Slowly, [Y/n] stepped closer to the bars and lowered his voice slightly, not enough to whisper, just enough that the words somehow felt heavier. More personal. More dangerous.
"And if I remember correctly... The Boiling Rock houses a lot more prisoners." He paused for a second, letting the words sink in. "...A lot more people." His eyes shifted lazily between all three men. "Murderers." Another. "Former soldiers." Another. "Political criminals." Silence stretched. Then: "...Quite a few who probably developed long and extremely personal grudges against corrupt ministers and Ozai loyalists over the years."
And there it was. Not panic exactly. Not openly. But enough. Daro's eyes shifted first. Renji's jaw tightened.
Han, however, reacted worst of all despite trying desperately not to show it. [Y/n] watched him carefully as the man looked away a little too quickly, swallowed once, and shifted against the stone wall behind him before immediately forcing himself still again. Trying to control it. Trying to hide it.
[Y/n] almost sighed. Because suddenly one deeply irritating realisation settled into place: he should have had this conversation weeks ago. Weeks. Absolute waste of time. All this effort. All these interrogations. Meanwhile, apparently, the answer had simply been threatening to throw three arrogant idiots into a prison full of people who hated them personally.
Slowly, [Y/n] folded the transfer papers and tucked them beneath his arm again. He straightened slightly and folded his arms again, expression flattening even further.
"The only reason you're still in the Capital City Prison is because people think you might know something." Silence settled immediately. "That's it. This place isn't for traitors like you." His eyes shifted slowly around the cell before returning to the three men. "...It's for people dangerous enough to be considered actual threats to Zuko." He looked them up and down for a second, then let a mocking smirk cross his lips. "So, if you're really this useless... then honestly, I may as well just get rid of you and make room for someone important."
Immediately, all three men looked toward one another. Not obviously, just small movements. Tiny glances. Eyes shifting. Hesitation. Understanding. [Y/n] caught it instantly. There it was. Not panic. Not fear. Something else. Recognition. They knew something. Knew something.
Then Daro looked back up and forced his expression into something closer to anger.
"...We've got nothing to tell you." Immediate. Too quick. Too flat. [Y/n] stared at him for exactly one second and knew instantly it was a lie.
Slowly, his eyes shifted sideways.
Toward Han.
Because somehow, Han still looked worse than the others. Still too tense. Too quiet. Trying too hard not to react. And suddenly, something surfaced in [Y/n]'s memory. Not from the investigation. Not from the shed. A report. Something buried somewhere between political records and prison documentation. Silence stretched while [Y/n] looked thoughtfully toward the ceiling. Then, without warning, he turned toward Kenta.
"...Kenta."
The young man panicked before immediately falling into attention.
"Sir?"
"Am I remembering correctly... Didn't Han have a brother imprisoned at the Boiling Rock?" [Y/n] kept his voice as flat and unimpressed as it had been, like he was merely discussing the weather. Han froze. [Y/n] continued before anyone answered. "Fraud? Government embezzlement?" He let the words hang in the air for a moment. "And if I remember correctly... Han conveniently inherited his ministerial position right after his brother was imprisoned?"
Kenta blinked once and looked between Han and [Y/n] before slowly nodding.
"...Yes, Sir, I believe that's correct."
"That's fantastic news." His tone carried none of his words' excitement. He lowered his gaze to look eight into Han's eyes. "...I'll make sure you're roommates."
Han physically paled. Completely. Not subtly. Not gradually. Gone. Absolutely gone. And suddenly [Y/n] knew he'd found the crack.
"I'm still a little annoyed about that whole trying-to-choke-me-to-death thing, after all." [Y/n] watched the colour drain from Han's face in complete silence. Han looked like he might physically collapse. Meanwhile, [Y/n] looked genuinely thoughtful for several seconds as though carefully weighing options.
[Y/n] stared at all three men for a few more seconds before simply shrugging, as if none of this mattered. Then he turned on his heel and started walking away.
"...Enjoy the reunion." Silence followed immediately. One step. Two-
"WAIT!" Han screamed at the top of his lungs.
And slowly, very slowly, [Y/n] smiled. Because finally... finally... someone had cracked.
[Y/n] stopped walking. But he didn't turn around. Not immediately. Because behind him, he could already hear it, panic swallowing pride whole. Heavy breathing. Shifting feet. The sound of metal bars rattling as Han gripped them hard enough to shake the cell.
Slowly, [Y/n] tilted his head slightly without looking back.
"...Go on."
Immediately, the panic spread to Renji and Daro, but for a very different reason.
"Han, shut your mouth!"
"Don't be an idiot!"
"Keep your mouth shut!"
Absolute chaos erupted behind the bars. But fear had already won. [Y/n] heard it immediately. Loyalty had cracked beneath panic. Han spoke over them anyway.
"The old men! They were the ones who reached out to us!" He forced out through panicked breaths. "...On behalf of their boss!"
The corridor fell silent for a moment, neither criminal nor guard daring to speak up.
Until...
Tch.
The sound of his scoff echoed softly through the corridor.
"...Obviously."
Han froze.
Renji froze.
Daro froze.
Slowly, [Y/n] finally turned around and looked at them with an expression so flat it bordered on insulting.
"...Did you genuinely think anyone believed three idiots hiding in a garden shed were masterminding all of this?" The three of them looked insulted beyond measure. [Y/n] gestured lazily toward them. "Three fools with stolen plans and delusions of grandeur? No one thought you were the brains behind anything." His eyes narrowed slightly. "You were puppets. Pawns. Pieces someone else moved around and discarded when they stopped being useful."
[Y/n] folded his arms, practically watching the gears turn in the men's heads as reality finally overtook delusion.
"And honestly?" He paused to laugh, tired and bitter. "...I doubt you even understood half the plans you were reading." Immediate offence flashed across all three faces. [Y/n]'s expression didn't change. "I'd bet my uncle's strategy documents were taken, reviewed by your mysterious boss... and then handed down to you once they were finished with them... Like children being given scraps from the adults' table."
His words hung in the air for a moment, echoing softly down the corridor. And then, outrage.
"That's not true!"
"We mattered!"
"They needed us!"
"We were important!"
[Y/n] just stared at them for several long seconds. No anger. No amusement. Nothing. Then, slowly, he lifted one hand and gestured around them. Toward the bars. The walls. The cramped cell. The prison.
"...Really?" Silence settled immediately. "Because from where I'm standing... this doesn't exactly look like how people treat someone important." His eyes shifted slowly between all three men. "You've been rotting in this cell for almost a month." He watched them visibly flinch at his words. "No messages. No rescue attempts. No help."
Slowly, his expression hardened.
"You were thrown away the moment you stopped being useful." He sighed, not even pitying them, just exhausted by the whole situation. "And the moment I started noticing the old men... your boss realised I was a problem." He reminded, his eyes narrowed faintly. "And compared to the threat I posed to your boss by helping Zuko, your lives were inconsequential." Every word he spoke made the air grow heavier, crushing the three fools under the weight of their own incompetence.
"Because whoever they are... they looked at all three of you and decided I mattered more... and then, they discarded you."
No one spoke. Not immediately. And, for the first time since [Y/n] had met them, none of them argued. Renji looked down. Han looked sick. Daro's face slowly tightened before his eyes lowered toward the stone floor beneath him. Silence settled heavily through the corridor while realisation finally washed away the last scraps of arrogance clinging desperately to them.
Slowly, [Y/n] watched understanding settle over all three faces. Not outrage. Not denial. Defeat. Real defeat. And somehow that looked far uglier.
After several more seconds, [Y/n] sighed. Long. Tired. Then unfolded his arms.
"Last chance. Give me something useful."
Nothing.
No movement.
No answer.
[Y/n] stared at them for several seconds more before shrugging lightly and turning away again.
"Well... I guess I should at least be impressed." He mused, turning away from the three of them again, ignoring the look of overwhelming dread that washed over the three of them. "Loyal enough to throw your lives away for someone who clearly didn't give a shit about you."
Then [Y/n] took one step forward.
Two-
"THE BURNING EYE!"
The words tore through the corridor so suddenly that [Y/n] stopped dead in his tracks, plunging the whole corridor into silence.
Slowly, very slowly, he turned his head. Not all the way. Just enough.
Internally, however, immediate discomfort settled into his chest.
The Burning Eye?
Slowly, [Y/n]'s expression flattened as he raised one hand slightly.
"Talk."
Immediate chaos followed. All three men started speaking over one another at once, panic completely overwhelming whatever dignity they still possessed.
"That's what the old men called them!"
"Their leader!"
"We didn't know who they were!"
"We swear!"
"But they were the ones helping the old men!"
"Advisor robes!"
"Access into the palace!"
"Everything came through them!"
[Y/n] turned fully now, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he looked over the shaking, heavily breathing forms of the three worthless fools begging for a last chance at freedom.
"...Everything?" He asked, wondering just how much 'everything' was. Han nodded immediately.
"Letters..." He forced out, though strained breaths.
"Where are they?" No response. No movement. Then slowly, all three men looked downward.
"The rule was that... after reading them..." Renji said quietly, lowering his head as he swallowed the lump in his throat. "...we had to burn them."
[Y/n] stared for a moment. Then sneered.
Of course.
Of course.
Worthless idiots.
Without another word, he turned and started walking away again. Panic erupted immediately, screams singing alongside the cacophony of metal bars rattling violently.
"WAIT!"
"PLEASE!"
"WE'RE TELLING THE TRUTH!"
[Y/n] exhaled sharply through his nose and took another step toward the exit.
"...You're giving me nothing."
Flat.
Tired.
Done.
Because Spirits... letters burned, mysterious robes, shadowy figures with dramatic names... none of it was enough. Not enough to grab. Not enough to follow. Not enough to drag whoever this Burning Eye bastard was into the light. He shifted his weight and prepared to keep walking.
Then...
"THEY WANTED ZUKO ALIVE!"
Everything stopped in an instant.
Absolute silence swallowed the corridor whole.
[Y/n] froze.
Not slowed.
Not hesitated.
Froze.
Because for one horrible second, his mind simply refused to process the words. Alive. Not dead. Not assassination. Not revenge. Not politics. Something else. Something far, far worse.
Slowly, he turned around. The movement felt almost mechanical. Deliberate. Controlled. Dangerous. His eyes locked onto the three men behind the bars, and when he finally spoke, his voice came out low and flat enough that even Kenta shifted beside him.
"...Explain." [Y/n]'s eyes narrowed, and the calm in his voice was enough to make even Kenta and Hori shake. Because, hearing what the men had just said, they'd expected the Chief Strategist to scream at them, threaten them, or anything else. But keeping his voice dangerously low and staring them down with the most unreadable expression known to man? That was somehow far more unsettling.
And they were right to feel that way. Because beneath that terrifying calm, was the burning sensation of pure, unfiltered loathing. Because killing Zuko was one thing. Awful. Horrific. Unforgivable.
But understandable.
People wanted Lords dead all the time.
Political enemies. Traitors. Usurpers. That happened.
And suddenly [Y/n] hated every possible answer his mind supplied.
The three men immediately recoiled beneath his stare. Han swallowed hard enough that [Y/n] physically saw it while Daro stepped backwards and Renji looked away entirely.
"We don't know why!" Han blurted out immediately, panic almost swallowing the words whole before he could even speak them. "We swear!"
"The old men just said that The Burning Eye had personal business with him!"
"They wanted him brought in alive." Han gripped the bars harder.
"We were supposed to kidnap him. Bring him to them." Renji explained, his grovelling form trembling with every panic-filled word that left his throat.
And suddenly something cold settled very, very quietly in [Y/n]'s chest. For several long seconds, [Y/n] said absolutely nothing. He just stared. Suddenly, every thought in his head crashed together at once. Alive. Not dead.
Alive meant planning. Alive meant preparation. Alive meant someone somewhere had sat down and thought carefully about how to take Zuko away breathing.
His jaw tightened.
"...How?" His voice remained perfectly flat. "...Explain the plan."
No one answered. Not immediately. Han looked at Renji. Renji looked at Daro. Daro looked downward. Silence stretched. Wrong answer. Worst answer.
CRACK.
Lightning exploded down the prison corridor.
Blue-white light violently swallowed the hallway for one blinding instant as electricity tore across stone and slammed into the far wall with a deafening roar. Stone cracked instantly. Guards shouted somewhere further down the prison. Kenta physically jumped. Hori nearly had a spiritual experience.
Behind the bars, all three men screamed and recoiled backwards hard enough to slam against the rear wall.
Silence followed immediately afterwards, except for the soft hiss of smoke curling upward from blackened stone. Slowly [Y/n] lowered his hand. His face hadn't changed at all. Not anger. Not rage. Nothing. Somehow, that looked worse.
"I wasn't asking." The moment he spoke those three small words, another wave of hysteria washed over the prisoners who screamed over each other as they tried to save themselves.
"We'd lure him into a meeting!"
"The old men arranged everything!"
"Tea!"
"Drugged tea!"
"We'd knock him out!"
"The old men would've handled the guards outside!"
"They said they'd ambush them!"
"We'd tie him up!"
"Gag him!"
"Move him into a shipment crate!"
"We'd leave through the supply yard disguised as merchants!"
For one horrible moment, [Y/n] could actually see it. Zuko sitting through some tedious meeting, half-listening while pretending not to be annoyed, absently reaching for tea without suspicion because tea was normal. Safe. Then darkness. Guards outside collapsing. Hands dragging him somewhere while unconscious. Bound. Gagged. Trapped. The image hit with enough force to make something cold twist violently in [Y/n]'s chest. Not fear exactly. Something sharper. Something uglier. Because suddenly all he could think about was Zuko alone, waking up somewhere unfamiliar after spending years finally clawing freedom back for himself...
And the thought made [Y/n] feel sick.
"We can prove it!" Renji screamed, pulling [Y/n] from his thoughts. All eyes shifted immediately. "The drug! The drug should still be hidden inside the cover of my journal!"
[Y/n]'s eyes narrowed. For a moment, he said nothing. Nothing at all. Immediately, another thought surfaced and slammed into place hard enough to cut through the irritation. The drug. Silence settled while his eyes lowered slightly.
If they still had it, if the journal was still in evidence, then maybe they had something tangible for once. Something real. Not burned letters. Not dead men. Something traceable. Ingredients. Origin. Merchants. Distributors. Apothecaries. Spirits, maybe even fingerprints if Agni decided to show mercy for once.
Slowly, [Y/n] felt the smallest shift in his chest. Not relief. Absolutely not relief. But something. A thread. Tiny. Barely visible. Better than nothing.
Then his eyes lifted again, because there was something they still hadn't told him.
"Where were you taking him?"
Immediately, the three men froze. No one answered. Not Renji. Not Han. Not Daro.
Wrong answer.
CRACK.
Another blast of lightning exploded down the corridor. Closer this time. Much closer.
Blue-white light swallowed the hallway again while stone cracked and smoke hissed upward from fresh black marks along the prison walls. The three men physically screamed and threw themselves backwards while Kenta looked like he was rapidly reevaluating several life choices.
"WE DON'T KNOW!" Han shouted immediately.
"We swear! The old men said they'd blindfold us!" Renji practically stumbled over the words.
"They'd lead us there themselves! We were supposed to finally meet The Burning Eye!" Daro exclaimed.
[Y/n] stared for a moment, long enough that all three men slowly lowered their eyes again. Then he sneered.
"...You really are useless." Because somehow, somehow, these idiots had agreed to kidnap the Fire Lord, assist in a conspiracy, and follow two mysterious old men to an unknown location while blindfolded. Spirits. [Y/n] suddenly felt significantly better about calling them pawns earlier. Because honestly? That had apparently been generous.
The silence afterwards felt dangerous. Not loud. Not angry. Just dangerous.
[Y/n] simply stood there, staring at them while smoke still curled faintly from the scorched stone nearby. He wasn't speaking anymore. Wasn't mocking them. Wasn't threatening them. Somehow, that looked significantly worse.
Behind him, Kenta had gone completely still. Because even he looked like he had realised something deeply important: [Y/n] now looked like he was actively debating whether murder remained illegal inside prisons.
"The New Ozai Society or the Safe Nation Society?" [Y/n] forced out slowly, glaring down at the three men. They all just stared back at him for a moment, realising what he was inferring before shaking their heads.
"T-They never said! They never even mentioned either of them." Daro replied, slinking back a little when he saw that his response only seemed to enrage the Chief Strategist even further.
"Great... An entirely new threat, and you three are dipshits don't know the first thing about what they're actually planning..." The way his jaw tightened was all the warning they needed to realise this was about to get a lot worse for them.
"W-wait!" Han practically stumbled over the words. "We know one more thing! The Burning Eye had scouts! They saw you getting off the airship!" [Y/n] narrowed his eyes. They already told him that in the shed.
"Yes, we've been over this. They saw me with the others, they wanted me to join, they realised I made Zuko dangerous, and then you tried to kill me. Did you forget you already said all of this before trying to kill me?"
None of them answered.
Slowly, [Y/n] closed his eyes and released a long breath through his nose to steady himself. Because Spirits... kidnapping plots, spies at the airship docks, and an enemy with a dramatic name trying to drag Zuko somewhere alive was already more than enough for one conversation.
His chest still felt tight. His thoughts still moved too fast. But eventually he opened his eyes again and looked back toward them.
"Who else did The Burning Eye contact?" He asked, growing even more irritated when the three of them just stared back at him in confusion. "What other ministers are involved?" The three exchanged glances before taking turns to answer.
"No one."
"...Just us."
"The old men only dealt with the three of us."
[Y/n] lifted one hand and pressed it directly against his face. Full facepalm. Complete. Absolute spiritual exhaustion. Because Agni above... he genuinely could not believe this conversation was real anymore. They seriously thought they had been the only people involved? Them? These three idiots?
[Y/n] stood there in silence, trying very hard to process the idea that someone intelligent enough to place spies around the palace, infiltrate the capital, manipulate officials, orchestrate a kidnapping plot against the Fire Lord, and remain invisible for nearly a month had apparently looked at Renji, Han, and Daro and thought: Yes. These were clearly the finest minds available.
Absolute nonsense. Absolute stupidity. Honestly, [Y/n] wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh, scream, or introduce his forehead to the nearest wall.
"You're even dumber than I thought." Without another word, [Y/n] turned and started walking. Not dramatically. Not slowly. Just immediately. Because honestly? He'd heard enough. More than enough.
Behind him, there was a second of complete silence while the three men apparently processed what was happening. Then absolute panic erupted.
"WAIT!"
"You promised!"
"You said if we helped-! You can't send us there!"
Their voices practically crashed over one another, desperation replacing every remaining scrap of arrogance.
[Y/n] didn't even slow down. Didn't turn around either. He just kept walking through the prison corridor while Kenta and Hori hurried after him, trying to keep pace. Behind them, the shouting continued. Louder now. More panicked. More desperate. Then, without looking back even once, [Y/n] spoke flatly over his shoulder.
"I never promised anything."
There was a single beat of stunned silence, and then, immediate screaming from the traitors while Kenta looked toward the floor, and Hori suddenly found the prison wall deeply fascinating.
The walk out of the prison happened significantly faster than the walk in. Not because [Y/n] wanted to leave. Because he was storming.
Boots struck stone hard enough that the sound echoed sharply through the corridors while Kenta and Hori hurried several steps behind him, trying and failing to keep up with him. Heavy doors groaned open one checkpoint after another as guards quickly stepped aside, visibly startled by the expression on the Chief Strategist's face as he passed.
Because [Y/n] looked furious. Not loudly furious. Not visibly raging. Worse. Quiet furious.
The dangerous kind.
And unfortunately for Kenta and Hori, they'd both just witnessed that side of him for the first time.
The walk back out of the prison passed in relative silence. Heavy doors groaned shut behind them one checkpoint at a time while cool air slowly replaced stone and steel again as they stepped back toward the Capital City streets. Guards nodded respectfully as they passed, entirely unaware of the absolute disaster of information [Y/n] now carried around in his head.
Beside him, Kenta and Hori followed a few paces behind while exchanging increasingly awkward glances with one another. Finally, after several minutes of visible hesitation, Kenta cleared his throat.
"...Sir." Silence. No response. Kenta looked ahead nervously. "...I didn't know you had.. that side to you."
"...Are you trying to get electrocuted?" Immediately, Hori turned toward him with complete horror written across his face.
"...What? No." Kenta physically stiffened. He glanced ahead toward [Y/n] before lowering his voice slightly. "...I'm just saying... I'm suddenly very glad I turned down that sparring offer and chose Pai Sho instead that one time."
Hori stared at him like he'd lost his mind.
Unfortunately for both of them, [Y/n] heard absolutely none of it. Not a word. Because by now the conversation behind him had dissolved completely into distant noise. Meaningless background sound beneath the thoughts crashing around in his head.
The Burning Eye.
Spies.
The old men.
Drugged tea.
Kidnapping.
Personal business.
The words repeated over and over until they blurred together. And beneath all of it sat one thought louder than the others: someone had been close. Far too close. Close enough to watch them. Close enough to make plans. Close enough that if things had gone even slightly differently, if [Y/n] had missed something, if he'd arrived later, if Renji had kept his mouth shut, Zuko might have vanished without anyone understanding how.
And suddenly the walk back to the palace felt much, much longer.
Slowly, very slowly, one thought began separating itself from the others:
The Burning Eye.
Silence settled over [Y/n]'s thoughts as the words repeated themselves again. And again. And again. Because Spirits, something about it felt wrong. Deeply wrong. Not because it sounded dramatic. Not because it sounded threatening. Something worse. Something colder. Like the name had been chosen carefully. Deliberately. With purpose.
And suddenly [Y/n] felt sick.
Because alongside personal business, his mind started drawing connections he desperately did not want to make. Eye. Burning. Zuko.
His footsteps didn't slow, but something cold twisted sharply in his chest anyway. Because slowly, the thought forced itself together piece by piece. Ozai. The Agni Kai. Fire. Scars. That side of Zuko's face.
If someone had chosen that name intentionally, if someone wanted Zuko alive because of some twisted personal fixation, then it felt less like a title and more like mockery. Like a cruel joke made by someone looking directly at one of the worst things that had ever happened to him.
And somehow that made [Y/n] hate them even more.
Not because of politics.
Not because of conspiracies.
Suddenly, all he could picture was thirteen-year-old Zuko standing in that arena beneath his father's shadow. Burned. Broken. Exiled. Everything crashing down around him because of one monster's cruelty. And now some unknown bastard was taking that pain, that scar, and twisting it into a name. Into an identity. Into this.
Slowly, [Y/n]'s jaw tightened hard enough that it hurt. Because suddenly he wasn't just angry anymore. No. Now it felt personal.
Suddenly, [Y/n] stopped.
So suddenly that Kenta nearly walked directly into his back, while Hori physically stumbled, trying not to collide with both of them. For several seconds, [Y/n] just stood there, staring ahead while thoughts rapidly rearranged themselves in his head. The Burning Eye. The journal. The drug. Zuko. Spies. Personal business. Too much. Too many moving pieces. Too many things that couldn't wait. Then slowly, he turned toward Hori.
"Go on ahead."
"...Sir?" Hori blinked.
[Y/n]'s expression remained completely serious.
"Find Captain Suki. and tell her to organise a private meeting." He started, crossing his arms over his chest as he tried to arrange his rapidly spiralling thoughts. "Her. Me. Zuko. Tell her it's extremely important. Then, go find Renji's journal and retrieve the drug hidden in its cover."
Hori straightened immediately but still hesitated.
"What exactly should I tell Captain Suki?" [Y/n] stared at him for a few seconds. Then shook his head once.
"Nothing specific. Just tell her I said it's of the highest urgency, and that I'll explain when I get there." He explained, not wanting this to get out to a single more person than necessary for any reason. Hori stared for exactly one second before immediately nodding.
"Understood."
"...Wait."
Hori stopped immediately. Kenta straightened beside him without hesitation while [Y/n] stood there silently for a few seconds, staring at both men. Not angry. Not irritated. Just serious.
"I appreciate both of you." Both guards blinked in surprise. Because that wasn't where either of them expected this conversation to go. [Y/n]'s expression softened slightly. "And I mean that. The trust you place in me... following orders that could change your lives... trusting my judgment as a strategist..." His eyes shifted between them. "It means more than either of you or any other soldier probably realises." A moment of stunned silence followed. Then, slowly, his expression hardened again.
"But despite that..." He started, his voice dropping slightly. "You are not to say a single word about what we learned today." The two of them immediately stiffened."...To anyone." He added, keeping his voice steady and his eyes fixed. "...And if either of you do... You'll answer to me."
Then both men straightened instantly. No hesitation. No uncertainty.
"We are loyal to Fire Lord Zuko."
"We will protect him no matter what."
Silence followed immediately afterwards while both men held their ground without wavering even slightly. And slowly, [Y/n] nodded once. Because somehow, despite everything else twisting around inside his head right now... hearing that helped. Just a little.
Hori nodded once more before immediately taking off at a full sprint, disappearing down the street toward the palace with the same urgency he'd shown every other time [Y/n] had sent him running today. Within seconds, he was gone.
Kenta watched him disappear before his eyes slowly shifted toward [Y/n]. Silence followed. And now that Hori had left, Kenta could finally get a proper look at him. And unfortunately? [Y/n] looked... wrong. Not physically. Not injured. Just somewhere else. Too quiet. Too still. Like half his mind was ten steps ahead, trying to solve problems that hadn't happened yet. It wasn't like looking at the same man who used Pai Sho to help him see how people's lives mattered more than pieces. Kenta frowned slightly. Because, despite everything, despite the sarcasm and irritation and threats and lightning, he suddenly found himself wondering how exactly [Y/n] was handling all of this.
Unfortunately for him, [Y/n] wasn't handling it at all.
Not even slightly.
Because the moment Hori vanished, every thought immediately came crashing back. The Burning Eye. Kidnapping. Spies in the palace. Drugged tea. Hidden operatives. The old men. The journal. Zuko.
Suddenly, paperwork, the paperwork he'd spent all morning spiritually dying beneath, felt like the least of his concerns. Reports and trade routes and security schedules had transformed from unbearable suffering into a strangely peaceful memory from a much simpler time. A time before he'd learned there was a conspiracy trying to drag the Fire Lord into a crate and smuggle him out of the palace like stolen produce.
Silence lingered for several more seconds.
Then very carefully:
"...Sir?"
"Something wrong?" [Y/n] didn't look over. Kenta looked ahead, awkwardly fidgeting with the hem of his robe.
"...Were you serious about making Han room with his brother?"
[Y/n] slowly turned. The question had genuinely caught him off guard.
Because for one deeply exhausting moment, he found himself silently realising something important: Kenta had a lot to learn. Not about fighting. Not about discipline. About strategy. About words. Because sometimes destroying an enemy had absolutely nothing to do with swords or bending and everything to do with knowing exactly where to stab them emotionally.
He was silently glad the poor guy didn't have any political roles, or he'd be eaten alive.
Slowly, [Y/n] looked away again and started walking.
Zuko x f!reader | wc 1.7k
The Fire Lord takes you for a ride on his dragon.
no cw, fluff only (maybe heights?)
You didn’t remember him being this big.
When you first saw Druk it was both mesmerizing and amusing. He was just a tiny, scruffy, smoke-snorting lizard who'd trip over his own wings and sneeze sparks into your hair. Absolutely no hint of the stern composure expected by what should be an imposing creature.
Now though he looms over half the palace, grown into the legend of its kind, hard scales of copper gleaming in the afternoon sun.
You’ve been gone a little less than a year for ambassadorial duties and can’t quite believe it took only this amount of time for him to grow that much.
When you enter the rear palace his stare is on you in an instant, gleaming yellow eyes the size of shields pointed in carefully inspection.
For a moment you wonder if he recognizes you, and you frantically start to look around for his companion and master in case he decided you’re a threat worth incinerating.
But a low rumble vibrates in the dragon’s throat. And then a gentle hand squeezes your shoulder.
When you meet Zuko’s eyes, his warm smile greeting you, you settle instantly, at ease.
“He remembers you”, he says, guiding you closer with a careful nudge.
Concurring with his master, Druk lowers his head to nuzzle against your shoulder once you’re close enough.
He’s so brawny and impossibly warm. Not just his scales beneath your hands but the heat rolling off him in waves as he crouches down, smoke curling in soft spirals from his nostrils.
He’s even more massive from up close, where you can see and feel his wings twitch with restless energy, claws scraping grooves into the ground.
“You used to fit in my lap”, you tell him, scratching the spot under his jaw he used to love. With no surprise he still does, since the vibration increases. He always had somewhat the manners of a cat.
Behind you, Zuko huffs though his nose. “He lit your sleeve on fire”.
“That happened once”.
“Three times”.
You ignore that and keep running a hand along the smooth red scales of his neck. “Still love when I do this, huh?”.
Zuko’s expression softens at the sight. It always did when it came to Druk. Or you. And both of you in the picture melt his heart instantly.
“Yeah,” he admits quietly. “He does”.
Druk wasn’t the only one that grew up, you couldn’t help but notice as Zuko adjusted the saddle straps one final time before your departure.
Today he traded Fire Lord’s garments for lighter traveling clothes that highlight his broad shoulders, a cloth belt wrapped around his waist. The wind whips through his hair, his headpiece still on, a shiny star in the dark firmaments of his locks, bright in the afternoon light.
He promised a breathtaking view as a gift for your return, but you think he’s already giving you one.
Zuko settles into the saddle with practiced ease and extends his hand to help you up. You vault into the saddle behind him with what you hope is graceful confidence, settling your hands lightly on his shoulders.
"Ok. Perfectly balanced”.
“You sure you’re alright?”, he asks.
You scoff. “Please, I got this”. The mere though of holding on to another part of him, being closer to that chiseled body, makes your blood run as hot as Druk’s.
Zuko makes a fond sigh. His hand reaches back for a moment as he checks your harness.
“Besides, I’ve known this little lizard all his life”.
Druk growls in offence.
“First: don’t call him that”, Zuko gripes. “And second: you're going to eat those words in about three seconds”.
"I never—"
The world drops away when the dragon surges upward with a powerful beat of his wings.
One second there’s safe earth beneath you and the next there’s only sky and violent wind and the terrifying realization that nothing is holding you up except an enormous flying reptile.
Each downbeat rolls through the air with a deep, leathery boom, a sound halfway between a ship’s sails snapping and the muffled crack of distant thunder.
The air slams into you like a solid wall and your hands fly from Zuko's shoulders to wrap around his waist, clutching him with enough force to probably crack ribs.
Your press your cheek flat against his shoulder blades, squeezing your eyes shut as the wind roars in your ears.
"Oh, Spirits—!"
Zuko barks out a laugh that gets lost in the wind.
“Oh, shut up””, you yell over the noise in your ears.
“I didn’t say anything”.
“You’re thinking it”.
“I’m thinking”, he shouts, putting one hand over your locked arms on him, “that maybe you should hold on tighter”.
When you do so, even though with a displeased grunt, he leans back into you with a small, satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
He relishes this closeness, the way you’re practically fused to his back.
Every climb presses you backward. Every dive makes your stomach lurch into your throat.
Until after a few moments, Druk levels out and the ride smooths into a gentle, soaring rhythm.
"Still with us?", Zuko’s voice vibrates through his chest and into your cheek.
Clinging to him in response, you keep your eyes shut still.
"You can open your eyes now”. How does he know? "Trust me”.
You crack one eye open. Then the other.
And forget how to breathe.
The world stretches endlessly beneath you, The Fire Nation capital now shrinking, turning into a miniature model of red tiles and winding canals.
The forests all around it are a ripple of green ocean and rivers twist through valleys like silver veins catching the sunlight. Villages appear for only a moment — tiny clusters of chimneys and torchlight — before vanishing behind clouds.
You loosen your grip on Zuko just enough to look around properly, though one arm remains firmly around his waist.
A quiet woah escapes you in a breath.
You’d traveled around the world and seen your fair share of things, but never like this. Not from this angle.
Everything looks softer from the sky. Bigger somehow, and smaller at the same time.
Wind tears past your ears in a constant roar. It steals breath from your mouth and turns every inhale razor-cold. Sometimes Druk exhales and heat rolls back over you in waves, carrying smoke and sulfur.
Zuko turns his head just enough to look at you. His eyes of molten gold catch the sunlight and he gives you a cheerful smile.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “That’s what I thought the first time too”.
Druk gives a proud trill as he soars higher, catching a warm current. When he banks, the entire horizon tilts and the earth swings sideways.
You yelp, but this time not in panic. There’s now an exhilaration bubbling in your chest as you lean with the movement, following the subtle tilts of Zuko’s body.
“Oh Spirits”, you laugh. “We’re flying!”.
He echoes your sentiment; you can’t hear his laugh, that crystalline sound that pours from his lips from a place deep within him. But you feel the way his chest rises beneath your arms, and his shoulders bump, and something about the closeness suddenly felt easy. Natural.
Once again, you rest your cheek against his back, now enjoying the view with wonder-wide eyes.
Then suddenly, Druk lets out a low, rumbling huff, folding its wings for speed and free-falling for a few second before snapping his wings open again with a deafening WHUMP.
Your entire body jolts as the fall transforms back into flight.
“DRUK!”, Zuko reprimands, but the dragon thrills and ignores his master’s grunts.
“Sorry, he likes to show off when he has a guest”.
“I didn’t know the Fire Lord offered free rides”, you say teasingly, not without a certain edge to the tone.
“What? No, I don’t—”, he stammers, squirming in his seat trying to look at you.
He’s cute.
“Hope I’m not gonna be charged for this since it was your idea”.
“There are no guests!”, he shouts, just a bit too loud, to be heard over the whirling wind.
He’s a little warmer than before, even thought the layers of clothes. You let a little giggle escape you.
“Druk is just happy to see me, then?”.
“Well, it has been quite a while. And you stopped writing”.
“Didn’t know a dragon was reading my missives”.
“I used them as bed-time stories”, he says drolly.
You’re about to make another witty remark but he stops you, pointing at something in front of you.
Couds become physical things at this height, and Druk carries you to them. You don’t just pass through, you enter them. Mist beads against your skin and for a few second you’re surrounded by a glowing rosey-gold silence. Quickly you burst free above the cloud layer into amber sunlight and endless sky now slowly turning violet.
The world below disappears entirely, replaced by a sea of clouds stretching farther than any ocean.
For a while you’re both quiet, taking in the view.
Druk glides smoothly through the clouds now The rhythm of his wings becomes steady beneath you, almost calming.
Your hands still rest around Zuko’s middle.
At one point he places his hand over yours, fingers warm and gentle as he gives one light squeeze.
"You know, I like this”.
"Flying?"
"This." He squeezes your hand again. "Having you close. You're usually so... independent. And quite stubborn".
"Watch it, Fire Lord”, you admonish, with no real edge.
He chuckles. He wants to tell you that the way you're holding on to him now, like he’s the only solid thing in the world, it’s awfully nice.
Instead he takes advantage of a little bump in a current to say “You can hold on tighter, if you want”.
He feels you tilt your head on his back. “I’m already holding on”.
“I know”, he tries to make the sentence flow smoothly, running over the slight pitch in his voice. “Just making sure you feel secure”.
You narrow your eyes and let a moment pass.
“You like this”.
“Flying?”, he mirrors you.
“The excuse to get cuddled”.
Zuko is very silent for a while. You squeeze his hand.
Druk lets out a happy chirp, as if agreeing.
“…Maybe”, he mutters.
Hiding your flushed cheeks and merry smile on his back, you tighten your arms around him, but this time it’s not out of fright. It’s because you want to stay right here, wrapped around him, flying above a world that suddenly feels full of possibilities.
dividers by @uzmacchiato and @/saradika-graphics@radicaldualism it took a while but here we are, soaring high :3
Not in the effortless way they once had when [Y/n] was younger.
Back then, he'd run through these corridors without thinking. He knew every shortcut, every staircase, every quiet balcony and forgotten room hidden away from nobles and servants alike.
Now it felt different. Familiar, but distant. Like walking through a place remembered from someone else's life.
[Y/n] moved quietly through the crimson halls, doing everything in his power to ignore the Kyoshi Warrior that silently walked ten paces behind him. Zuko's chaperone rule...
Extremely annoying.
Soft lanternlight spilt across polished floors beneath his feet, blending with the morning sunlight that drifted through tall windows overlooking palace gardens below. A few servants passed occasionally, bowing politely as he walked by. [Y/n] still wasn't entirely used to that.
Not after Karr Lok.
Not after eight years.
One hand absently scratched at the back of his neck as irritation quietly simmered beneath his ribs. Because Spirits, the last two weeks had been exhausting. Not physically. Mostly. Mentally. And unfortunately, a large amount of that irritation had a name.
Zuko.
Specifically, Fire Lord Zuko.
Because, apparently, someone who became visibly awkward if forced to compliment another human being for longer than ten seconds or, Agni forbid, hold down a casual conversation with someone, somehow possessed absolutely no difficulty whatsoever speaking publicly when embarrassing [Y/n] was involved.
None.
Absolutely none.
[Y/n]'s eye twitched faintly.
The morning after the attack had been one of the most humiliating experiences of [Y/n]'s life. Zuko had stood before the audience chamber with all the composure expected of the Fire Lord, straight-backed, calm, and perfectly controlled, and very casually announced that the newly appointed Chief Strategist had exposed Ozai loyalists operating within the palace and personally apprehended them.
Personally.
Apprehended.
Them.
[Y/n] had stood there in complete horror while Zuko continued speaking without even a hint of the usual awkward pauses or carefully chosen words that plagued him during ordinary conversations. [Y/n] still wasn't over it. He suspected he never would be.
The reaction afterwards had somehow been worse. Silence had struck first, before whispers immediately spread throughout the chamber. Advisors stared. Ministers stared. Nobles stared. One elderly official had physically leaned forward in his seat while another looked as though he had forgotten how blinking worked entirely.
The newest Chief Strategist had barely held the position for a couple of weeks and had somehow already uncovered a usurpers' plot hidden inside the palace itself. [Y/n] still remembered standing there while dozens of eyes slowly turned toward him and feeling every instinct in his body scream at him to vanish into the floorboards. He hated the attention. Hated it. Strategy was supposed to happen behind people. Quietly. Subtly. Preferably from somewhere hidden where no one looked directly at him.
Unfortunately, the weeks that followed had slowly replaced embarrassment with something significantly more frustrating: absolutely nothing.
No names.
No new information.
No explanations.
The two old men had died before giving anyone answers, and the Kyoshi Warriors had quickly confirmed exactly what [Y/n] had already suspected about Renji, Daro, and Han: they truly had been as blind as they looked. Prideful fools convinced they sat near the top of the board while someone else quietly moved pieces around them.
Meanwhile, the real trail had practically vanished entirely. Whoever had been pulling strings behind the scenes had simply disappeared, leaving behind dead ends and questions and the deeply unpleasant realisation that someone out there still knew far too much about [Y/n]. Every day without answers felt like staring at an unfinished Pai Sho game and realising someone had quietly stolen half the board pieces while he wasn't looking.
Spirits.
He hated that.
Hated it deeply.
And as if the lack of leads wasn't frustrating enough, part of [Y/n]'s irritation had gradually shifted toward something far less deadly but somehow still deeply, spiritually annoying: whatever in Agni's name "what's coming up soon" meant.
Ever since Suki had let those words slip in the medical room two weeks ago, both she and Zuko had developed an infuriating habit of immediately changing the subject whenever he brought it up. Not subtly either.
Zuko would suddenly remember paperwork.
Suki would conveniently have captain duties elsewhere.
Even Ty Lee had somehow started smiling and leaving rooms whenever it came up, which honestly felt more threatening than answers.
All [Y/n] had managed to pry from them was that it would happen next month and that, apparently, he would have an important role in it.
That was it. No details. No explanation. Nothing. Which meant his mind had naturally filled the silence with increasingly horrible possibilities ranging from political ceremonies to diplomatic disasters to some deeply cursed Fire Nation tradition involving public speeches. Knowing his luck lately, it was probably all three.
[Y/n] let out a long breath and physically shook his head as he rounded another corner, trying to forcibly shove the thoughts away before they spiralled any further. Conspiracies, dead ends, secret plans, and whatever nightmare Zuko and Suki were hiding could wait for a few minutes.
Preferably several years.
He scratched absently at the back of his neck and looked up just as the familiar doors leading to Zuko's private study finally came into view at the end of the hall. He heard the Kyoshi Warrior behind him stop walking when they arrived, likely falling into guard formation. Relief barely had time to settle before his steps abruptly slowed. Then stopped entirely because, suddenly, something hit him all at once, strong enough that he physically blinked.
A scent.
Sweet. Warm. Familiar. Overwhelmingly familiar.
Jasmine.
An absolutely unreasonable amount of jasmine. [Y/n] stared at the closed doors in complete silence as confusion immediately replaced every other thought in his head. Because there was no possible reason why there should be that much jasmine behind a single door.
[Y/n] stood there staring at the doors for several long seconds, brow furrowing slightly as confusion steadily overtook irritation. The scent wasn't faint. It wasn't subtle either. It rolled out beneath the doorway like someone had physically trapped an entire tea shop inside the study and sealed it shut.
For one ridiculous moment, he wondered if Zuko had somehow ordered enough tea for an army. Silence stretched another second. Then another. Eventually, curiosity won. A terrible weakness of his, really. [Y/n] narrowed his eyes slightly, reached forward, and slowly pushed the doors open before stepping into the room.
And immediately went pale.
Because the study itself looked normal.
Beautiful, obviously.
Zuko's private study sat open and spacious beneath high painted ceilings, warm sunlight spilling through wide windows overlooking palace gardens below. Shelves lined the walls, filled with scrolls and books, while dark, polished wood and Fire Nation architecture stretched across every corner of the room. Tea sat prepared on a low table near the centre, steam still lazily curling upward into the air.
Very elegant. Very grand. Very peaceful.
[Y/n] did not process a single part of it.
Because someone sat across from Zuko.
And suddenly the room stopped functioning. Because sitting calmly beside a tea set like this was the most normal thing in the world, was a man [Y/n] recognised instantly.
A man he'd only been in the presence of a mere handful of times his entire childhood.
Former general.
Dragon of the West.
The man who had stood at the head of armies.
The man who had broken sieges.
The man who invented lightning redirection.
The man who had once toppled entire battalions and walked away from battlefields like storms simply happened around him.
General Iroh.
Fire Lord Zuko's uncle.
For one suspended moment, [Y/n]'s brain simply stopped functioning. Completely. Not slowed. Not stalled. Stopped. The instant his eyes landed on the older man sitting comfortably across from Zuko, he swore he physically felt his soul detach from his body and begin ascending peacefully into the Spirit World. Not metaphorically. Actually. He felt it leave.
Because absolutely not. No warning. No preparation. No chance to mentally recover. [Y/n] suddenly felt six years old. No, five. Possibly unborn.
Nobody warned him.
Nobody.
Not Suki.
Not Ty Lee.
Not Mai.
Not even Zuko.
Especially not Zuko.
Unfortunately, while [Y/n] stood in the doorway experiencing complete spiritual collapse, both men inside the study looked up. Zuko glanced over first and immediately looked far too calm for someone responsible for this betrayal. It took every fibre of [Y/n]'s strength not to scream 'ASSHOLE' at the Fire Lord for dropping this on him.
Beside him, Iroh turned a moment later and blinked once before his expression immediately softened into a warm smile. Neither looked surprised. Neither looked alarmed. Neither looked concerned that [Y/n] had visibly frozen in place and appeared to be experiencing the worst moment of his life.
Instead, Zuko casually gestured toward the room while Iroh smiled as though greeting someone arriving for tea was the most natural thing in the world.
"Ah..." Iroh breathed out warmly. "Please, come in."
Years of etiquette training immediately betrayed him. Before conscious thought could catch up, [Y/n] had already stepped forward slightly and bowed automatically, posture straight and respectful despite the absolute catastrophe currently unfolding inside his head.
"My apologies for interrupting." He said smoothly, far more smoothly than he felt. "I wasn't informed that General Iroh would be visiting." Somewhere beneath the calm professionalism, [Y/n] was already mentally drafting Zuko's murder. Slowly. Thoroughly. Painfully. Because absolutely nobody had warned him about this betrayal on a national scale. Still smiling politely, [Y/n] straightened and took a subtle half-step backwards. "I can return another time once you're finished." He very calmly, very professionally, began turning toward the door and his rapidly disappearing chance at survival.
Perfect.
Excellent.
Wonderful.
Escape.
He had found escape.
Dignity restored.
"No."
[Y/n] stopped immediately.
Not because he wanted to. Not because he consciously decided to. His body simply obeyed before his brain had the opportunity to participate. Because that single word hadn't been gentle. Hadn't been amused. It had been firm. Deep. Commanding. The voice of a man who had once stood at the head of armies and given orders that people followed without question.
Slowly, very, very slowly, [Y/n] turned his head back toward the room and found Iroh looking at him with a calm expression while casually gesturing for him to come closer. Absolute panic immediately erupted somewhere deep inside his soul. Internally, [Y/n] was screaming loud enough to wake the dead. Externally, however, he walked forward in complete silence because apparently, his survival instincts had chosen betrayal today, too. Beside the tea table, Zuko sat there looking perfectly calm. Perfectly relaxed. Not helping. Absolute traitor.
Every step closer felt increasingly horrible. By the time [Y/n] finally stopped in front of Iroh, his heart had climbed somewhere into his throat, and his mind had already begun preparing for judgment.
Was his posture wrong? Had he spoken incorrectly? Had he accidentally committed some horrifying breach of etiquette in front of the Dragon of the West? Spirits, was he being punished?
Then suddenly, Iroh reached up. [Y/n]'s thoughts immediately died. Completely. And, as he prepared for the worst, his mind stopped. Because, instead of anything terrifying, the older man did something far less expected.
He pinched his cheek.
"You've gotten so big!" Iroh smiled warmly, watching the young man before him mentally malfunction as he tried to register what had just happened. "The last time I saw you, you only came up to my waist!" [Y/n]'s brain went entirely blank. Gone. Evaporated.
Across the room, Zuko looked like he was fighting for his life trying not to laugh while [Y/n] simply stood there, staring into the middle distance with the expression of someone who had just been spiritually disconnected from reality. He looked completely, utterly lost. Iroh smiled warmly and gestured toward the cushions nearby.
"Sit."
Still nothing. No thoughts. No resistance. [Y/n] obeyed automatically.
Sat.
Completely dead inside.
Then, as though nothing strange had happened at all, Iroh calmly reached toward the tea set and poured him a cup. Steam curled upward between them. Jasmine. Of course.
[Y/n] stared at the tea. Just stared. For several long seconds, he didn't move at all. Didn't reach for it. Didn't speak. Didn't blink much either, honestly. Because currently, he was occupied with something significantly more important.
Namely: the slow and deeply confusing process of his soul returning to his body.
Only moments ago, he'd been preparing himself to stand before the Dragon of the West and somehow survive whatever terrifying evaluation awaited him.
Instead, he'd had his cheek pinched.
His cheek.
Like a child.
And somehow, the sheer violence of that emotional whiplash had completely shut down every remaining thought in his head. So, [Y/n] sat there staring at the steaming cup of jasmine tea while confusion, shock, lingering panic, and spiritual reconstruction all fought for control of his expression.
Across from him, Iroh looked entirely unbothered. Naturally.
While [Y/n] slowly attempted to recover the scattered remains of his dignity and whatever fragments of his soul had survived the cheek-pinching incident, Iroh calmly poured another cup of tea as though nothing unusual had happened at all. The older man smiled softly over the steam curling from his cup before glancing toward [Y/n].
"I was very happy to hear from Zuko's letters that you had returned." The older man was met with nothing but silence for a moment. [Y/n] blinked once. Then twice. Letters. Slowly, very slowly, pieces of his awareness began returning just in time for immediate horror to replace them. Because when Iroh mentioned those letters, Zuko visibly looked like he wanted the earth to open beneath him and end his suffering.
Iroh's smile softened further as he looked between them.
"I always thought the two of you were good influences on each other." Beside [Y/n], Zuko immediately looked confused. Deeply confused.
"...What?" He frowned slightly and looked toward his uncle. "We spent most of our childhood provoking each other." He thought for a moment before correcting himself. "...Actually, no, all of it." He pointed toward [Y/n], like presenting evidence before a trial. "We argued constantly, riled each other up, and somehow got dragged into trouble together every few weeks." Zuko narrowed his eyes slightly, raising a finger as he spoke. "There was the turtleduck incident." A pause. "And the roof incident." Another. "And that thing with Mai's stuffed armadillo bear." [Y/n] looked away immediately, remembering that whole mess far too vividly.
Iroh looked delighted. Completely delighted.
"Yes." He said warmly. "That is exactly why." Both [Y/n] and Zuko looked toward him at once. Iroh smiled into his tea. "You argued because neither of you feared the other. You challenged one another. You spoke honestly, grew close honestly, and trusted one another honestly." His smile grew wider as he took another sip. "And you treated one another like friends before titles ever became involved." His gaze shifted gently toward Zuko. "Most people spend years searching for that. And some never find it at all."
Silence settled over the room for a few long seconds. Not awkward silence. Not quite. Just stillness.
Because for one strange moment neither [Y/n] nor Zuko seemed entirely sure what to do with those words. [Y/n] stared quietly into the tea in his hands, watching steam curl upward while something warm and uncomfortable twisted faintly in his chest again. Not painful. Just... heavy.
Beside him, Zuko had gone unusually still, too. Gone was the embarrassment and offended outrage he was used to. Instead, he sat staring downward with his arms loosely folded, avoiding eye contact with a level of dedication that immediately gave him away. His ears had gone faintly red again. Not enough to comment on. Just enough to notice. Neither of them spoke. Neither looked at the other.
And somehow that only made Iroh's smile widen slightly around the rim of his teacup. After a moment, his attention shifted back toward [Y/n]. His expression softened slightly, and suddenly the look on his face felt less like someone speaking to an advisor and more like a family friend catching up with someone he hadn't seen in years.
"So..." He said warmly, leaning back slightly. "How have you been these past few years?"
[Y/n] blinked when he realised Iroh was talking to him. And then internally grimaced when he realised he'd still hadn't actually said anything since he sat down. And, somehow, that question felt significantly more dangerous than military strategy or assassination attempts.
Not because it was difficult. Just because suddenly his mind had gone completely blank.
"...Good." He answered awkwardly. Then immediately realised that had been a terrible answer. "...Mostly."
Better.
Marginally.
Iroh waited patiently. Not pushing. Not interrupting. Just listening. And slowly, awkwardly, [Y/n] found himself continuing.
He talked about Karr Lok.
About harbour mornings and merchant stalls. About helping unload shipments, arguing over prices and learning how to recognise customers trying to scam him before they opened their mouths. He mentioned travelling for work, keeping records, balancing trade routes, and gradually inheriting responsibilities he never expected to enjoy.
Somewhere during the explanation, he realised he was talking more than intended.
"I mostly worked as a merchant," He finished awkwardly, coughing into his hand.
Iroh's eyes widened. Immediately afterwards, he leaned forward so quickly [Y/n] nearly flinched.
"A merchant?" He asked excitedly, watching [Y/n] nervously nod back. "A tea merchant?"
"...Sometimes?"
Wrong answer.
Terrible answer.
Because suddenly, Iroh looked deeply excited.
"Wonderful!" Zuko closed his eyes immediately, like this exact outcome had been predicted, like he'd watched disaster arrive in real time and accepted his fate.
"Oh no..." He muttered quietly. Iroh either didn't hear him or chose not to. Possibly both.
"Then you must visit my tea shop someday!" He announced immediately, crossing his arms over his chest triumphantly. [Y/n] blinked. Tea shop? Iroh looked delighted. "The Jasmine Dragon! In Ba Sing Se!" [Y/n] didn't even have time to respond before Iroh immediately looked toward Zuko. "Next time you visit, you must bring him."
Not should.
Not perhaps.
Must.
Zuko sighed the sigh of a man who had clearly lost this argument before it had even begun.
"...Yes, Uncle."
Iroh nodded approvingly before looking back toward [Y/n].
"You can try everything."
[Y/n]'s brain wouldn't let him do anything but stare blankly ahead for a moment until he forced a single word past his lips.
"...Everything?"
"Everything."
[Y/n] just stared at him for a moment, bewilderment slowly fading into amusement. And that's when he noticed that, somehow, somewhere between the tea and Iroh's smile and the complete absurdity of this conversation, he wasn't as tense anymore.
Not really. Not like before. The panic had faded. The anxiety had loosened. The pressure sitting between his shoulders had disappeared somewhere along the way.
And honestly?
He couldn't tell if that was because of Iroh himself or because of the tea.
Possibly both.
But between the tea, Iroh's easy smile, and the bizarre realisation that the Dragon of the West apparently treated everyone like family within ten minutes of meeting them, some of the panic had begun fading.
And now that the immediate terror had loosened its grip around his throat, another thought quietly surfaced.
After several long moments, [Y/n] finally cleared his throat quietly and lifted his eyes from the tea in his hands. The earlier panic had mostly faded by now... mostly... and curiosity had gradually begun winning out over embarrassment.
Slowly, he sat up a little straighter and looked toward Iroh.
"Sir Iroh..." He began politely, carefully, with all the caution of someone approaching a wild animal they deeply respected. "If it would be alright, could I ask how you developed lightning redirection?" Iroh seemed surprised by the question, but the smile he held said he'd be delighted to explain.
Beside him, however, Zuko looked deeply confused.
"...'Sir Iroh'?" He repeated. Zuko stared at him. [Y/n] stared back. "You don't have to sound so formal with my uncle. He's not a general anymore, and he knows we're friends." Very slowly, [Y/n] leaned slightly toward him and whispered through a smile that looked physically strained,
"...Your uncle is one of the most respected and feared men in the entire nation." [Y/n] said, as if Zuko had somehow forgotten that little detail. Zuko blinked, then slowly pointed at himself.
"I am too. And that never once stopped you from yelling at me."
"That's different, you're a pain in the ass." Zuko looked genuinely offended. Betrayed, even. Whether it was by the words themselves or how fast [Y/n] delivered them, he didn't know. Probably both. Zuko stared at him for several increasingly offended seconds before trying again.
"Aang talks casually with him." He retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "Sokka does too. Katara. Toph. Even Suki. All of them."
"...Zuko." [Y/n] slowly turned his head toward him. Slowly. Very slowly. Then stared at him as if he'd just said the most ridiculous thing imaginable. [Y/n] gestured vaguely into the air. "Those are the Avatar and the people who literally helped save the world. Your argument is that the chosen saviours of humanity don't act formally with him?"
Zuko just stared at him for a moment before rolling his eyes.
"You can still do it."
"Why are you so set on this?"
"Well, excuse me for wanting my uncle and my friend to get along."
"We're getting along fine. I'm just being polite."
"Too polite. Treat him like family."
"Oh, good grief."
Zuko rolled his eyes so hard [Y/n] genuinely thought they might leave his skull. Immediately afterwards, he looked away with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Across from them, Iroh looked suspiciously amused. But thankfully, he spared [Y/n] from further suffering and gently set down his tea.
"Lightning is a very dangerous thing..." He began calmly, watching the pair quiet down as they turned to give him their full attention. Iroh folded his hands loosely over one knee and smiled thoughtfully. "For many years, the Fire Nation viewed strength as something direct. Forward. Overwhelming."
His expression softened slightly.
"But I learned that power does not always move that way." Then Iroh glanced toward the open windows where distant gardens stretched beyond palace walls. "I learned from the waterbenders."
[Y/n] blinked in surprise. Beside him, Zuko remained completely still, because even though he'd heard this before, something about hearing his uncle explain it made the words settle differently, but still impactful no matter how many times he heard it.
"The people of each nation have strengths unique to them." Iroh smiled faintly. "Water teaches change. Adaptation." He lifted one hand and slowly moved it through the air. Smoothly. Gently. Like tracing currents only he could see.
"Lightning is dangerous because people try to resist it." He explained, pointing two fingers out. "But water..." He smiled slightly wider. "...water flows."
[Y/n] found himself staring. Completely focused. Iroh's hand shifted slightly.
"Instead of fighting the lightning, I learned to guide it." His fingers traced a path through the air. "Through the body. Across the stomach. Out again."
Silence lingered for a few moments. [Y/n] found his mind flicking back toward his father's lessons, how he explained it and how, in retrospect, he'd more than likely learned the technique from Iroh himself.
...Definitely didn't learn his teaching methods, though.
After a moment, Iroh looked toward both of them and smiled.
"We become stronger when we learn from one another. From different people. Different cultures." His expression softened. "And from ideas outside ourselves."
Silence settled again. And for reasons [Y/n] couldn't entirely explain, he suddenly remembered Karr Lok.
Market streets. Travelers. Merchants. Different people. Different lives. Different worlds. And somehow, sitting here with tea warming his hands while Iroh smiled across from him, those words made perfect sense.
For a few moments, [Y/n] just sat there quietly, fingers curled around the warm teacup while Iroh's words settled somewhere deep in his chest. The explanation felt... different from what he expected. Simpler somehow. Softer. Not less intelligent, not less impressive, just absent of all the weight and pressure he'd grown up associating with lightning.
Because his father had explained lightning like a weapon.
Like control.
Like precision.
Like responsibility heavy enough to crush someone beneath it.
Iroh explained it like understanding.
Like movement.
Like learning.
Slowly, [Y/n] found himself smiling. Very slightly.
"You know..." He said after a moment, glancing down toward the tea in his hands. "The way you explain it is significantly more comforting than how my father did."
Iroh laughed. Warmly. Not loudly. Not mockingly. Just genuinely.
"Oh?" His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners as he put his hand on his chin in thought. "I remember hearing from your father that you had quite an aptitude for lightning."
[Y/n]'s smile immediately faltered.
Because unfortunately... There was a deeply important detail attached to that particular subject.
"...Yeah." He admitted after a moment, voice quieter now. "I was always good at lightning." Silence stretched briefly. Then his shoulders lowered slightly, and he looked vaguely betrayed by reality itself. "...Just... lightning..." [Y/n] stared into the steam rising from his cup like answers might appear there if he waited long enough. "My firebending is... practically nonexistent." He physically winced, saying it aloud. Spirits. Why did that still feel embarrassing? "I can still barely make enough fire to light a candle." [Y/n] looked away immediately because there was absolutely no world where he intended to make eye contact after admitting that.
For a moment, neither Zuko nor Iroh said anything. Then, beside him, Zuko made a suspicious noise that sounded dangerously close to a laugh. And it took every ounce of strength [Y/n] possessed not to bring up Zuko's abysmal attempts at lightning generation in response.
Across from them, however, Iroh simply smiled warmly. Not amused. Not surprised. Just understanding.
"That makes perfect sense." He said gently. [Y/n] paused and looked up, confused by what he meant. Iroh folded his hands loosely around his teacup. "People resonate with elements differently. Some understand certain ideas more naturally than others. Strength does not always come from what we expect." He explained, eyes drifting further away into thought. "Fire and lightning are connected, but they are not identical." His expression softened slightly. "Lightning requires stillness. Control. Separation from emotion." He smiled faintly. "And some people simply hear one song more clearly than another."
Slowly, [Y/n] looked down into his tea again. Because, somehow, coming from Iroh, that felt embarrassingly nice to hear.
Iroh's expression softened, and for a few seconds, he simply watched [Y/n] stare into his tea with the particular look of someone quietly mourning the unfairness of life. Then, very slowly, a deeply suspicious smile crossed his face. The kind of smile [Y/n] was rapidly learning meant someone unfortunate was about to become an example. Slowly, Iroh turned his head. Toward Zuko. Instantly, [Y/n] felt danger. Real danger. Beside him, Zuko narrowed his eyes.
"...Uncle." He warned, knowing his uncle was about to say something he'd hate. Iroh ignored him completely. Naturally.
"For example..." He began pleasantly. "Zuko was completely hopeless at lightning generation." [Y/n]'s eyes immediately shifted sideways. He already knew that; he'd been ready to comment on it, but hearing it from Iroh just felt better somehow. Beside him, Zuko looked deeply betrayed. Iroh calmly continued drinking tea as though he hadn't noticed the glare he was getting from his beloved nephew. "And even learning lightning redirection itself was a tremendous struggle." A pause. "...A tremendous struggle."
Then Iroh looked thoughtfully toward the ceiling.
"Although... I suspect the lessons only truly settled in because he realised Princess Azula was eventually going to kill him if he did not learn it in time." Zuko stared at his uncle in complete horror, clearly not at all liking the conversation now that it shifted from [Y/n]'s shortcomings to his own.
"Okay, that's enough!" The betrayal in his voice felt almost spiritual.
Beside him, however, [Y/n] had gone perfectly still. Completely still. Because for one beautiful, miraculous moment, the attention had shifted away from him entirely. He felt his shoulder jolt once. Zuko was not pleased.
"...Don't you dare."
Slowly, he looked sideways at Zuko. Then looked away. Then looked down into his tea. Then immediately failed because a laugh escaped before he could stop it. Tiny at first. Then another. Then another.
Across from him, Zuko turned slowly with the expression of a man who had just realised his own family had switched sides. Meanwhile, [Y/n] sat there feeling something deeply satisfying bloom in his chest. [Y/n] kept his gaze fixed on the wall to hide the smile trying to betray him, while beside him, Zuko crossed his arms with all the dignity of a man actively losing an argument.
"Oh, well then, why don't we tell my uncle about the time you tried firebending, set your own hair and fire and couldn't figure out how to put it out?" [Y/n] felt every last shred of amusement leave his body, replaced by an irk mark on the side of his forehead.
"Oh, you wanna go there? How about the time you set the ball on fire and nearly hit Mai in the face with it?"
"That was an accident!"
"And you wonder why she dumped you years later."
"You son of a..."
For several moments, the two of them continued bickering quietly back and forth, small remarks, increasingly ridiculous accusations, childhood embarrassments weaponised with alarming efficiency.
And slowly, they forgot something important.
Namely: Iroh still existed.
Across from them, the Dragon of the West simply watched. Watched [Y/n] lean away slightly to avoid Zuko's increasingly offended expressions. Watched Zuko point accusingly while trying, and failing, not to smile. Watched both of them argue with the complete ease of people who had somehow slipped backwards several years without realising.
And eventually, Iroh smiled quietly to himself. Because there it was.
The thing he'd remembered.
The thing Zuko had written about.
Not titles.
Not positions.
Just two people treating each other like themselves.
Like home.
Then, slowly, Iroh smiled to himself and set his teacup back onto the table. The soft sound immediately cut through the conversation. Both heads turned at once.
Silence followed.
Because somehow that tiny sound immediately reclaimed the room. The teasing stopped. The laughter faded. And [Y/n] immediately noticed the way Iroh was looking between them, not amused exactly. Softer. Thoughtful. His eyes shifted briefly toward Zuko before moving back toward [Y/n]. Then he folded his hands loosely in front of him.
"Fire and lightning are similar..." He began quietly. "But people often misunderstand how different they truly are." Iroh looked toward Zuko first. "Fire comes from emotion. From drive. From passion." His eyes shifted toward [Y/n]. "Lightning, however, requires separation. From calm. From control." His hand moved gently through the air as he spoke, tracing invisible currents only he could see. "Fire expands." He looked back toward Zuko. "Lightning narrows." Another pause. "Fire wants to consume." His gaze shifted toward [Y/n]. "Lightning chooses."
Silence stretched while Iroh's eyes moved thoughtfully between the two young men.
"Neither is superior." He declared calmly, like the fact couldn't be disputed. "Both can destroy. Both can protect. Both can empower." He let his words hang in the air for a moment, the weight of them hanging over the boys. Less crushing, more comforting. "Fire has warmth." His gaze shifted briefly toward Zuko. "Movement." Then toward [Y/n]. "Lightning has energy." Another pause. "Direction."
The two young men continued to watch him, almost stunned into silence by the man's words.
"Where one risks spreading too far..." His eyes shifted back. "...the other reminds it where to go." Then again. "And where one becomes too rigid..." Another pause. "...the other reminds it to breathe."
The room had gone completely quiet now. Neither [Y/n] nor Zuko spoke, almost entranced by the man's words.
"Fire and lightning complement each other. They protect each other's weaknesses. And build on each other's strengths."
Iroh smiled into his tea.
"You did this for one another as children." He started, letting out a content sigh. "[Y/n] challenged Zuko." His eyes shifted. "Zuko challenged [Y/n]." Another pause. "One pulled forward. One held steady." His smile softened. "You balanced each other." Silence lingered for several long seconds. Then Iroh looked between them one final time.
"And even after years apart..." His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. "...you still do."
Slowly, [Y/n] looked sideways and immediately found Zuko already looking back. Neither said a word as the breath caught in both their throats. They stared at each other for one suspended second before they both immediately looked away again without saying a single word.
Across the room, Iroh quietly reached for his tea, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Tea steamed quietly between them while sunlight washed across the study floor, and somewhere outside, distant voices drifted faintly through palace halls.
Absolute silence still loomed over the whole room. Not uncomfortable exactly, just deeply, profoundly awkward. Because neither [Y/n] nor Zuko seemed entirely sure what they were supposed to do with what Iroh had just said.
[Y/n] stared very intently into his tea again, while beside him, Zuko had suddenly become fascinated with a random section of wall that absolutely did not require that level of attention. Neither looked at the other. Neither spoke.
And across from them, Iroh simply watched with a small, knowing smile slowly spreading across his face. Not smug. Not teasing. Just soft. Gentle. Like he'd seen this exact silence before.
Then quietly, almost out of nowhere:
"...Thank you for returning."
[Y/n] blinked and looked up. Iroh's smile remained, but something sadder sat behind it now.
"Reading Zuko's letters..." His gaze drifted briefly toward his nephew. "...felt like seeing a part of him I thought had gone out a long time ago." Iroh's eyes softened. "Like a candle I thought had been snuffed out.... Like a young boy suddenly excited to have his best friend back." His words were soft and caring, as if saying them out loud felt like some kind of relief. "A young boy who finally got to finish a long overdue game." The last part came out through a soft laugh as Iroh shook his head, clearly referring to the Pai Sho game.
His nephew, however, did not share the feeling. Because, beside [Y/n], Zuko physically froze.
"...Uncle." Zuko looked like someone had just publicly announced state secrets. "I'm a grown man... There was absolutely no need to bring that up..." Across from him, Iroh blinked once. Then smiled. Slowly. Dangerously.
"Zuko..." He started, the faintest whisper of excitement slipping through into his tone. "...If you truly wish to be embarrassed... I could read some of the letters aloud."
Zuko looked like he wanted to die.
Not metaphorically.
Not dramatically.
Actually die.
"NO."
Immediate.
Instant.
Dread.
Beside him, [Y/n] physically looked away because absolutely not. No eye contact. None whatsoever. Because if he looked over and saw Zuko's face right now, he was going to lose the fight for his life.
If whatever Zuko had elicited that reaction, then it wasn't even worth it as teasing ammunition. [Y/n] would probably die, too, the moment he heard it.
Across the room, Iroh looked delighted while Zuko sat there staring into the middle distance like a man whose soul had quietly abandoned him out of spite or pity. Probably both at this point...
[Y/n] just sat there staring down into his tea. Because, unfortunately, beneath all the embarrassment and chaos and Zuko very clearly wanting to launch himself directly into the sun, something warm had settled quietly in his chest. Small. Uncomfortable. The kind of feeling that immediately made him want to ignore it out of self-preservation.
Because hearing that Zuko had written pages about him, hearing Iroh talk about seeing a happier version of his nephew return, it did something unpleasantly soft somewhere beneath his ribs. [Y/n] frowned faintly into the steam rising from his cup and tried very hard to shove the feeling away before it became a problem.
Slowly, he lowered the cup into his lap.
"...You don't need to thank me."
Silence settled immediately. Not awkward. Just attentive.
[Y/n] kept his eyes lowered for a moment longer before speaking again, quieter this time.
"My uncle... my family..." The words felt heavier than expected. "They did horrible things in Ozai's name." His expression tightened slightly, not with anger exactly. Something more tired. More distant. "Things people still haven't recovered from." [Y/n]'s fingers shifted slightly around the warm porcelain in his hands. "...I couldn't sit somewhere else and just watch someone fix that for me."
Silence lingered. Long enough that he finally lifted his eyes.
"It wasn't really a matter of whether I wanted to." Let released a shaky breath that rattled his whole self. "Or whether I could." His shoulders lowered slightly. "This isn't a matter of can or cannot..." He trailed off, finally looking up to meet Iroh's eyes.
"...This is something I have to do."
The words settled softly into the room.
Simple.
Honest.
Because they were true.
For years, [Y/n] had hated the strategist position. Hated what it represented. Hated how it felt like another choice made for him before he'd even been old enough to understand it. Another role. Another expectation. Another path decided by people long before he ever had a say.
Slowly, his expression softened.
"The position itself..." He looked down briefly. "Always felt like something chosen for me. Like people kept deciding where I belonged. What I was supposed to become." His brows furrowed in thought. "...But coming back wasn't that."
Slowly, very slowly, [Y/n] looked up.
Toward Zuko.
"...That was my choice." And suddenly the room had gone very still. [Y/n] held his gaze. And quietly, very quietly, continued: "...I'm staying because I believe in the future you're trying to build."
No one replied. No one knew how to. Iroh just smiled warmly, a knowing look in his eye as he gave a single, understanding nod. Zuko, on the other hand, looked like he had a thousand thoughts flying through his mind and didn't know how to speak a single one of them.
He opened his mouth to reply. Then he closed it when he failed. Again. And again.
Then, after a moment, [Y/n] spoke again.
"And..." He paused, feeling the heat rising to his cheeks as the words themselves got caught in his throat, speaking itself becomming difficult again. [Y/n] looked away for exactly one second. Then back. "...I believe in you."
Nothing moved. Nothing breathed. And slowly Zuko's expression changed. Because for several long seconds, [Y/n] and Zuko simply looked at each other. Neither spoke. Neither moved. [Y/n] immediately regretted existing somewhere around the I believe in you part, but it was too late now. Far, far too late.
Across from him, Zuko stared back completely motionless.
And then [Y/n] saw it, something small passing briefly through his expression. Something that flashed in his eyes and disappeared almost immediately afterwards. Surprise first. Then disbelief. Then something quieter. Softer. Something [Y/n] couldn't quite name before Zuko looked away for a second, and it vanished entirely.
Beside them, Iroh watched the exchange unfold over the rim of his teacup with an expression so gentle it almost hurt to look at. Not amused. Not teasing. Just understanding. Like he had seen enough years pass and enough people hurt to recognise moments like this when they appeared. Slowly, he lowered the cup back to the table and looked between the two young men.
"What happened to both of you as children..." He began quietly, pulling their attention away from each other and back to him. "...was cruel and unfair." He paused for a moment, like the thought alone stung his heart. "No child should have had to carry the things either of you carried."
Neither [Y/n] nor Zuko spoke. Because there wasn't really anything to say. Not when memories of palace halls and expectations and Ozai and missing years quietly hung in the spaces between words.
Iroh's eyes shifted between them once more, and a small smile gradually returned.
"But despite that... I am immensely proud of both of you." He folded his hands loosely in front of him. "Because somehow, despite everything taken from you... You still grew into young men trying to build something kinder than what you inherited." His eyes softened slightly. "...A better Fire Nation."
Then, slowly, Iroh looked toward [Y/n]. And smiled. Small. Warm.
"...And thank you." [Y/n] froze for a moment because he immediately thought he understood, thought it was the same thing; coming back, returning. But then Iroh gently shook his head. "Not for coming back." Iroh's gaze shifted briefly toward Zuko before returning. "For being there for him."
And suddenly [Y/n] felt something warm twist painfully in his chest all over again.
For several long moments after that, Zuko didn't say anything. He just sat there. Quiet. Still.
His eyes lowered briefly toward the tea in his hands before shifting toward the windows and then finally back toward [Y/n], like he was trying to sort through thoughts before speaking them, trying to decide which words belonged outside his head and which ones stayed there. And slowly, when he finally looked back at [Y/n], there wasn't any embarrassment sitting there anymore. Or teasing. Or annoyance.
Just honesty.
"...You already know I'm glad you're back." Zuko looked down briefly again. "...Not just because you're my strategist either." He paused for a moment, then laughed to himself. "Even though there genuinely isn't anyone better for the job." [Y/n] watched his expression soften slightly. "Having you around again..." Zuko hesitated. "Helped more than I thought it would." Silence lingered while his fingers shifted faintly against the teacup. "I thought it'd just help with..." He frowned slightly. "...old things." Another pause. "...Missing you. The years apart. Stuff like that." He looked up again. "...But it wasn't just that."
For a moment, Zuko went quiet again, clearly struggling to put his thoughts into words.
"...You're someone I trust."
Not as Fire Lord trusts his strategist.
As a friend trusts a friend.
Zuko looked toward him and shrugged slightly, almost awkwardly.
"You make things easier... You say things nobody else does... You argue with me when I need it... And I don't have to wonder if you're saying things because of titles or politics or because you're trying to get something from me." Silence settled quietly around the room. Zuko couldn't stop the small smile from tugging its way onto his face as memories of their years together as kids swirled together with the events of the last month since [Y/n] returned. Ball games mixed with audience chamber meetings. Playing pretend mixed with exhausted catch-ups over alcohol after a long day of meetings. And the teasing and bickering from both eras blended together so perfectly they may as well have been identical.
"You just... you're you."
For one suspended second, [Y/n] forgot how to breathe. Because of all the things Zuko could have said, strategist, advisor, friend, trusted ally, that wasn't what he'd chosen.
You're you.
Simple.
Stupidly simple.
And somehow that made it worse.
Because suddenly something warm twisted sharply beneath [Y/n]'s ribs again, and for one deeply unfortunate moment, he found himself staring back at Zuko completely blankly while his brain desperately attempted to recover. He looked away almost immediately, suddenly finding the tea in his hands extremely interesting again.
Then Zuko frowned suddenly and pointed directly at him.
"...I would appreciate it if you'd try harder not to get yourself killed, though."
Moment ruined.
[Y/n] stared. And the irk mark appeared on his head instantly. Because there it was. Of course, there it was. Agni, give him strength. There had to be one.
[Y/n] looked deeply offended immediately. Of course. Of course, Zuko somehow found a way to drag this back around to that. Again. The man held onto grudges with the determination of a cursed spirit.
But beneath the annoyance, and beneath the urge to physically object on principle, something warmer quietly settled there too. Because despite himself... despite the irritation... despite absolutely everything...
[Y/n] understood exactly what he meant. And, despite himself, he let a soft, genuine laugh pass his lips.
"You are the most irritating Fire Lord I've ever served."
The words should have sounded offensive. They should have sounded annoyed. But unfortunately, the small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth completely ruined the effect. Because, despite the irritation and despite Zuko's commitment to never letting the shed incident die, something lighter had settled quietly in [Y/n]'s chest. Something warm. Familiar.
And judging by the way Zuko's own expression immediately softened, he noticed too.
Across from them-
CLAP.
Both heads turned immediately.
Because Iroh had suddenly brought his hands together with the expression of a man who had just witnessed something deeply important. Or possibly deeply entertaining. Honestly, with him, it was difficult to tell. The Dragon of the West looked absolutely delighted.
"Wonderful!" He announced with a smile wide enough to rival sunlight itself. "This deserves another round of tea." Of course, it did. Naturally. Before either of them could object, he was already pouring while steam curled lazily back into the air around them. Then Iroh looked up and smiled between them. "Now... tell me everything." Silence. Another pause. "...What exactly has been happening in the lives of two young men who apparently enjoy getting stabbed, attacked, and emotionally devastating one another?"
[Y/n] stared.
Zuko stared.
Slowly, very slowly, both turned toward each other at the exact same time. Then, simultaneously, they sighed.
Long.
Deep.
Exhausted.
And somehow, despite everything, the conspiracies, assassination attempts, old wounds, embarrassing letters, and spiritual damage caused by tea and relatives, both smiled.
not rushing by any means and do want to say that i'm really enjoying the story - just curious when he will meet team avatar
Thanks, I'm glad you're enjoying it
Currently, the upcoming chapters are below (titles could change in the meantime):
Jasmine Scented Warmth - meeting someone important + MC/Zuko moments
Gazing Upon Fools - conspiracy plot progression
Machinations of Machiavellians - conspiracy plot progression
Oneiric Haze - MC/Zuko moments
Spark of Solicitude - MC/Zuko moments
Antagonistic Assignments - MC/Zuko/Mai moments
Sweet Memories, Old and New - meeting someone important + MC/Zuko moments
Shifting Winds of Familiarity - meeting the Gaang
So there will be seven more chapters until they meet, but a lot happens in between to keep it interesting in the meantime, plus updates come every 2/3 days, so realistically you won't be awaiting that long lol
I'm not going into detail on what the moments between them are since that'll just straight up spoil it all, but trust that what goes on in each chapter is different lol
Also, the Gaang chapter is currently 15000+ words long lol
৻ꪆ firelord!zuko drabbles — deux (18+, smut w no plot)
a/n ୭˚. ᵎᵎ i like zuko lol hi finger me timbers
“f—fuck..mmhh..i-im sorry!—”
the ever mighty and oh so powerful firelord whimpers out of his mouth, face planted into the silk sheets of his oh so grand bed in his oh so grand private chamber. his ass was propped up, three long fingers pumping in and out of his hole, arms cuffed in metal that was bended by his lovers metalbending prowess.
you were beyond irritated, not admitting it but showing it through how ruthlessly you plunged your fingers in knuckle deep, scissoring his gummy insides before pulling them out and then repeating it over, and over, and over.
zuko moans, tears pricking his eyes at the overstimulation as he tried rutting into the sheets despite his cock being untouched but spent with how may times he’s orgasmed from just your fingers deep inside him. he was a mess, crow discarded onto the floor, hair spilling everywhere, teary and drooling into the silk pillow cover at the delicious pressing on his bundle of nerves by your long fingers. you kept quiet, listening to his sounds as you felt yourself tighten up painfully, as you slapped his plush ass, making him moan out in pain and pleasure as you spank him again.
“count.”
zuko cries out, his lips babbling up to ten, his ass jolting with the last spank, moaning as his skin burned, his skin a bright reddish pink, and you placed a soft kiss onto his skin, and he whimpers, throat hoarse.
in all honesty, the only reason you were annoyed was because of the fact that he silenced you during a council meeting with the other commanders and military generals of the fire nation about a rebellion group in the west forming and demanding payment. you had reasoned to discuss and resolve it with proper negotiation but another general had argued with you saying brute force and a display of power would resolve it efficiently and in one go instead of taking representatives and talking. the argument between you and this fellow general that disagreed had been going on for a straight half an hour with everyone else including the firelord in attendance just observing and quite afraid of how and when this would ever end.
what threw you off, was when the general had said that you were inexperienced and you should refrain from input, the second you opened your mouth, zuko had raised his hand and dismissed everyone.
you were boiling, sparks were emitting from your hands and steam was waving off of you as you refrained from burning the entire room down altogether. everyone in attendance was quick to note this and all of them had left all at once, afraid of your wrath and fury that would cause them all to probably reduce to an entire pile of ash.
the firelord that you were fingering had finally whined, signaling to you that he was cumming for the nth time, and you take out of your fingers from his hole, causing his body to slump fully down into the mattress. he heaved, sighing softly as his lower half lays flat in the pool of cum from his cock that was left untouched. you hum for a second, watching him with your own untouched and rock hard cock, before you pull him into your embrace, and he winced ever so slightly, his spanked skin pressing against your leg.
you kiss him, holding his waist as he leans into you, his hair a mess, lower half sticky with release as he presses into you.
“you still mad with me?” he mumbles into your lips, and you trail kisses down his jaw to his neck, causing him to sigh softly as he gently presses the back of your head deeper.
“..no, but don’t silence me again,” you paused, “..but i’m glad you did,” you admit sheepishly, looking up at him.
zuko huffs out a soft laugh, and you nip his cheek in between your lips softly.
“i’ll make it up to you.. but you are welcome,” he say softly, before his arms wrap around your neck, and your breath catches in your throat as his hips provide friction against your cock, making you huff out a laugh, pulling him into a kiss.
Masterlist - AO3 - Wattpad
Previous Chapter > Chapter 6 > Next Chapter
A/n: The beginning of this chapter involves a dream/flashback that contains themes that some readers may find unsettling, as it portrays emotional and psychological child abuse. This opening highlights a large part of how [Y/n]'s uncle "trained" him for the strategist role and offers an insight into a lot of [Y/n]'s experiences around the role and thoughts regarding his uncle, but if you feel like it will be too uncomfortable to read, please skip to the ~*~ page breaker and start from where he wakes up.
The dream began wrong. Not obviously. Not at first.
At first, it felt familiar.
Warm lanternlight spilt softly across polished floors while distant evening rain tapped gently against the windows of the estate. The strategist's study looked exactly as [Y/n] remembered it from childhood; dark shelves lined with military texts, maps hanging from the walls, and incense burning somewhere nearby with that same faint scent of cedar and smoke.
For one brief moment, it even felt comforting.
Then [Y/n] looked down.
Ten years old again.
Small hands. Small shoulders. Small enough that his feet didn't properly touch the floor while sitting atop the chair positioned before the strategy table.
And immediately, something deep in his chest twisted.
Because he remembered this.
Not exactly, but enough.
The large map stretched across the table before him, painted with rivers and mountains and city markers, while small carved pieces sat arranged across its surface. Tiny soldiers. Battalion markers. Supply lines. Red pieces and black pieces.
A battlefield.
A lesson.
And behind him, someone stood.
He couldn't see him, not properly. He never once turned around, never saw a face.
But he knew. Of course, he knew.
A hand rested lightly against his shoulder. Another guided his wrist gently over the map. His uncle's voice came from somewhere behind him. Calm, measured and patient in a way that sounded almost inhuman.
The same voice that used to explain Pai Sho strategies and war theory in exactly the same tone.
"If the eastern battalion advances first, enemy attention shifts immediately." A piece moved. Small carved soldiers sliding across the map. "Then the second division cuts through the flank here."
Another movement.
Another line.
Another strategy.
Another battle.
"And by the time reinforcements arrive..." His uncle's voice softened slightly. "...the enemy has already lost."
[Y/n] remained silent, his eyes scanning the map as he studied the tiny battalion markers that sat across the painted terrain.
And slowly, very slowly, [Y/n] frowned. Because even at ten, something felt wrong. His eyes drifted downward toward the pieces, fixating on the markers his uncle moved so casually. His gaze fell on the groups positioned directly in the enemy's path.
Small fingers hesitated above the battlefield map.
"...Uncle?"
For a few moments, only the sound of rain tapping softly against palace windows answered him. The room felt strangely warm now. Too warm. Incense still burned somewhere nearby, lanternlight still flickered across maps and bookshelves, and his uncle's hand still rested calmly against his shoulder from behind.
Then, flatly:
"Yes?"
[Y/n] kept his eyes on the battlefield spread beneath him. At first, it was still just pieces: tiny carved soldiers, tiny battalions, tiny formations arranged carefully across painted mountains and rivers.
But the longer he stared, the more uncomfortable he felt. Because his uncle kept talking about them so easily.
Move this division here.
Sacrifice this flank.
Delay reinforcements there.
Like the pieces vanished once they were moved away from victory.
Like they stopped existing after serving their purpose.
"...A lot of these strategies..." [Y/n]'s small voice hesitated uncertainly. "...they lose soldiers."
Silence followed.
He looked harder at the battlefield beneath him, tiny brows slowly pulling together. The formations suddenly felt wrong somehow. Too many pieces positioned directly in danger. Too many soldiers left behind. Too many markers his uncle moved aside without even slowing down.
"...A lot."
And suddenly [Y/n] felt something unpleasant twist in his stomach.
Because he tried to imagine them. Not pieces. People. Actual soldiers. People standing in formation waiting for orders. People looking toward commanders and strategists because they believed someone older and smarter knew what they were doing. Because they trusted them. Because they followed.
And suddenly the idea made his chest feel tight. Made him feel strangely sick.
Because if they listened, if they followed him, then that meant they were relying on him. Trusting him. And the thought of looking at someone and knowingly sending them somewhere they wouldn't come back from felt horrible.
It felt wrong.
Beside him, the hand on his shoulder didn't move. He could almost feel the ambivalence radiating off of the older man.
"They trust us, don't they?" [Y/n] asked quietly. No answer came immediately. So he kept looking down at the map. Kept staring at the little carved soldiers lined neatly across the battlefield. "They follow orders because they think we're supposed to protect them..."
His voice grew quieter because suddenly his stomach twisted harder. Because suddenly he imagined what happened after he made his decision;
Families praying.
Children waiting.
People expecting someone to come home.
And maybe they never did because of a decision made by someone sitting safely beside a strategy board.
[Y/n]'s gaze lowered further.
"...Isn't it wrong to throw them away?"
Behind him, his uncle never shifted, never hesitated, never tightened his hand around [Y/n]'s shoulder. Nothing. And somehow, that frightened him more than if he'd gotten angry.
"They are honoured."
Flat.
Calm.
Certain.
The voice behind him remained perfectly level.
"They die serving the Fire Nation." The hand on his shoulder tightened slightly. "They die for a noble cause."
[Y/n] frowned.
"But-"
"It does not matter what happens to them."
And suddenly, something felt wrong. Not just the words, but the whole room itself. Because suddenly the study felt darker somehow. The lanternlight dimmer. The corners longer. And slowly [Y/n] looked down at the pieces again.
Then carefully... hesitantly... reached forward...
One soldier.
Just one.
He nudged it sideways.
Out of danger.
Away from the formation.
Because maybe...
If he moved them...
Maybe-
A hand suddenly covered his mouth.
Instantly.
Firm.
Cold.
[Y/n] froze.
His eyes widened so fast it hurt, and for one horrible second, his body simply locked. He didn't understand. Didn't process it. Something was wrong. Deeply, horribly wrong.
Then another hand wrapped tightly around his wrist.
Not guiding.
Not teaching.
Holding.
Stopping.
Behind him, his uncle leaned closer.
Still unseen.
Still impossible to look at.
[Y/n] still could see him, but now he could feel him there. Feel the weight of him standing over his shoulder and hear his breathing somewhere close behind his ear.
And suddenly [Y/n] felt very, very small.
"The lives of soldiers mean nothing in the grand scheme of things." The voice came quietly beside his ear. Calmly. Patiently. Like explaining something obvious.
[Y/n] shook immediately.
No.
No no no-
Small hands grabbed desperately at the wrist around his own, trying to pry it away. Pulling. Twisting. Fighting.
Nothing.
Couldn't move it.
Couldn't move anything.
"If you think of pawns like people..." His uncle whispered softly. "...you'll drive yourself mad." The grip around his wrist tightened. Not painfully. Just enough to remind him that he couldn't pull away. Couldn't stop it. Couldn't leave. "Because they will die anyway."
The light flickering around the room felt dimmer. The walls felt farther away. The strategy table beneath his hands felt larger somehow.
"By your orders."
[Y/n]'s breathing quickened immediately. His chest tightened. His stomach twisted. Because suddenly he could see them.
Not pieces.
Not soldiers.
People.
Children laughing.
People smiling.
Hands waving goodbye.
Someone promising they'd come back home.
"Children orphaned." The hand over his mouth pressed tighter. "Wives widowed."
And suddenly... voices...
Somewhere far away, echoing in the distance.
"...Please..."
[Y/n] froze instantly. His eyes widened.
Not his uncle. Someone else.
"...Please..."
Another voice.
Then another.
Then another.
All around him.
Whispering.
Begging.
Crying.
"Please don't!"
"Please let me go home!"
"I don't want to die!"
"Please!"
"Please!"
"PLEASE!"
Panic slammed into him immediately. Real panic. Violent panic.
[Y/n] fought harder. He twisted violently in the chair. Tried to pull his wrist free. Tried to rip away from the hand over his mouth. Tried to scream.
Couldn't.
Couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
Couldn't-
Tears blurred his vision immediately. They spilt down his face as panic surged harder and harder in his chest.
He tried to cry out. Tried to beg. But the hand over his mouth smothered every sound before it could escape, caught every tear before it could reach the soldiers. He could feel himself crying, feel his chest shaking, feel tears sliding down his cheeks.
But he couldn't even speak. Couldn't tell them he didn't want this. Couldn't tell the voices he was sorry. Couldn't tell them he was trying.
His uncle's hand still held his wrist.
Still guided him.
Still forced his fingers downward.
Back toward the battlefield.
Toward the soldiers.
Toward the formation.
Toward the place he wanted.
"No-"
Muffled. Tiny. Barely even a sound.
And beside his ear:
"Just listen to your uncle..." He forced his hand toward the blockage. "I know best." The hand tightened. "You want to be good, don't you?"
[Y/n] shook harder.
No no no no-
"You want to be useful?"
The voices grew louder.
Closer.
So much closer.
"Please..."
"Please don't let us die..."
"Please..."
[Y/n] sobbed against the hand covering his mouth. Pulled. Twisted. Begged silently.
Nothing worked.
And slowly... horribly... his hand moved.
Not his choice.
Not his.
Forced.
Guided.
The battlefield blurred completely beneath tears. The soldiers cried, begged and screamed. And suddenly one voice tore through all the others.
Close.
Right beside him.
Desperate.
Terrified.
"I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"
~*~
[Y/n] woke with a violent gasp.
Air tore painfully into his lungs as he bolted upright immediately, panic still gripping him hard enough that for one terrible second, he couldn't tell where he was. His heart hammered violently against his ribs. The room blurred. Darkness and lanternlight twisted together. The nightmare still clung stubbornly to the edges of his vision.
For one horrible, disjointed second, his mind never left the dream.
Hands... Someone touching him... Someone holding him down...
No.
[Y/n] jerked violently before thought could catch up, breath catching hard in his throat as adrenaline slammed through his body all over again. Every muscle locked immediately. His chest seized. His lungs forgot how to work.
The nightmare still clung stubbornly to him. He could still hear voices. Still feel hands. Still feel fingers around his wrist.
His heart hammered wildly against his ribs as panic surged straight through him, and suddenly the pain in his shoulder and ribs barely even registered beneath it. Instinct took over completely. Move. Fight. Get away.
For one terrible second, he genuinely didn't know where he was. Didn't know who was touching him. Didn't know if he'd actually escaped.
Then, slowly, his eyes adjusted.
The world around him stopped blurring. Shapes sharpened. Lanternlight flickered softly against white walls. Medicine shelves sat lined neatly along the room's edges. Cool night air drifted faintly through partially open windows.
Not a strategy room.
Not a battlefield.
Not the dream.
And leaning over him stood Ty Lee and Zuko, both staring down at him, both extremely worried.
For several long seconds, [Y/n] simply stared, breathing hard, blinking, trying to force reality back into place while panic slowly, painfully loosened its grip around his chest.
And only then did he realise... he was safe.
Ty Lee looked alarmed enough that he could tell she had clearly been panicking herself moments earlier, both hands still resting lightly against his shoulders like she wasn't sure whether to let go yet.
Zuko looked worse. Much worse. Because concern sat plainly across his face. Real concern. But beneath it, sat something else. Something much, much more dangerous.
Anger.
Not at him.
Hopefully.
[Y/n] blinked once. Twice. The room settled around him slowly. The nightmare loosened its grip. Reality returned piece by piece.
No battlefield.
No voices.
No hands.
Just... Ty Lee and Zuko.
After several long seconds, his breathing finally slowed.
"...Sorry." He muttered quietly, dragging one hand across his face. "...I-" His voice caught slightly.
Ty Lee immediately smiled, not her usual huge smile, a small one of genuine relief.
"You're okay."
[Y/n] let his eyes adjust as he looked around properly this time. He was in one of the smaller treatment offices of the northern palace medical wing. A narrow cot sat beneath him instead of a proper bed, while medical shelves lined the nearby walls. Bandages and herbs sat arranged across nearby tables beneath softly burning lanternlight.
Slowly, [Y/n] looked down. And immediately regretted it.
Bandages wrapped tightly around his ribs beneath the loose medical robes. More crossed over his shoulder, disappearing beneath layers of white cloth. Smaller strips rested against his cheek where Renji's blade had caught him, and when he shifted slightly against the cot, a dull ache immediately flared along his back, too.
Dear Agni, that hurt...
For a few seconds, he simply stared blankly. Then memory hit all at once. Not gradually. Not gently. Everything.
The meeting. The hallway. Renji. The shed. The scrolls. The fight.
And immediately [Y/n] froze. Because suddenly one final memory arrived directly:
Zuko.
Very slowly... very, very slowly... his eyes lifted.
Silence settled instantly.
Because Zuko looked... concerned. Very concerned.
But somehow that wasn't the problem.
No.
The problem was that he also looked completely ready to commit murder.
Not metaphorical murder.
Not emotional murder.
Real murder.
His arms remained folded tightly across his simple, casual robes instead of his usual formal Fire Lord attire, his hair sat messily tied back rather than arranged properly, and he looked like someone who had absolutely not slept since yesterday.
Not even slightly.
But more importantly, his expression was horrifying. Because somehow Zuko had accomplished something deeply unnatural. He looked relieved and furious at exactly the same time.
Not one after the other.
Simultaneously.
Like he wanted to either hug [Y/n] or physically launch him through a wall and genuinely had not decided which.
[Y/n] stared.
Zuko stared back.
Silence stretched.
Long enough to become deeply uncomfortable. Long enough for [Y/n] to start wishing Ty Lee would say literally anything. Anything at all. Unfortunately, Ty Lee looked between them. Paused. Looked again. And immediately raised both hands.
"...Oh wow." Her voice shook nervously. Another glance between them. "...You seem okay now." [Y/n] blinked. Ty Lee took one step backwards. Then another. Then smiled much, much too brightly. "Suki needed help with investigation things!" Another step back. "I should go do that." Ty Lee looked between them one final time before dramatically pointing at both of them. "...Good luck!"
Then she vanished. Actually vanished. Not walked. Not excused herself politely. Vanished.
The door slid shut behind her, and silence immediately reclaimed the room. And suddenly, [Y/n] realised he had been abandoned. Completely betrayed by someone he had considered a friend.
[Y/n] felt his heartbeat climb directly into his throat the moment the door shut. Because suddenly he was alone. Completely alone.
Alone with Zuko.
Who still looked like he hadn't fully decided whether he wanted to hug him or strangle him.
[Y/n] sat propped awkwardly against the medical cot while Zuko remained standing a few steps away, arms still folded tightly across his chest. Soft lanternlight flickered between them, stretching shadows across the pale walls while cool night air drifted faintly through the open windows nearby.
Neither moved.
Neither spoke.
They just stared at each other.
And somehow, [Y/n] was becoming increasingly certain this felt worse than getting stabbed. Because Zuko wasn't doing anything.
Wasn't pacing.
Wasn't yelling.
Wasn't lecturing him.
Wasn't even scowling properly.
Just staring.
And now that Ty Lee had fled the room and taken every possible distraction with her, [Y/n] could see everything much more clearly.
The concern still sat plainly on Zuko's face.
But beneath that, beneath all of it, sat exhaustion. Worry. And, Spirits... the anger.
Not explosive anger. Not loud anger. Worse. The quiet kind. The kind that sat beneath someone's skin after hours of fear and panic and imagining everything that could have gone wrong.
And after several increasingly horrible seconds of silence, [Y/n] reached a very important conclusion:
He physically could not survive this.
So naturally, he made a terrible decision.
"...Can I trust that you believe I had a good reason?"
Silence.
Zuko blinked once.
Just once.
Then immediately:
"Can I trust myself not to kill you for scaring me half to death?"
[Y/n] shifted slightly on instinct and immediately regretted every decision he'd ever made as pain stabbed sharply through his ribs. He coughed awkwardly, winced hard enough to feel it in his shoulder too, and suddenly found the blanket over his legs absolutely fascinating.
"...Sorry." The word slipped out quieter than intended, because suddenly the guilt came back. Not just for the fight, not just for the injuries. For everything. The nightmare. The bruises. The panic. Zuko standing here looking like he hadn't slept even slightly since yesterday.
Silence stretched again, long enough for [Y/n] to continue staring stubbornly downward. Then finally. Zuko sighed. Long. Deep. Tired. Zuko stared at him for another few seconds before finally speaking.
"Explain the nightmare first."
[Y/n] blinked. Of all the directions he had expected this conversation to go, that had not even remotely been one of them. [Y/n] stared. Explaining the fight would have made sense. Explaining the conspirators would have made sense. Explaining the injuries would have made sense.
The nightmare absolutely did not belong at the top of the list.
"...The nightmare?"
Zuko just stared at him. Actually stared. No hesitation. No uncertainty. No indication whatsoever that this was negotiable. Just complete disbelief.
"You woke up screaming." He reminded, narrowing his eyes as if the reason for his request were the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm worried, you idiot."
The words landed with embarrassing force.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Not with anger.
Just honestly.
And somehow that made them infinitely worse.
[Y/n] immediately looked away. Because suddenly the blankets looked fascinating. Because suddenly eye contact felt like a genuinely terrible idea. Because suddenly something warm and deeply uncomfortable twisted somewhere beneath his ribs, and he absolutely, categorically refused to examine why.
Silence stretched.
And when [Y/n] finally spoke, his voice was much quieter.
"...It was about my uncle." Zuko seemed to freeze in place. He swallowed once. "...One of the times he was..." He hesitated slightly. "...training me."
The word felt wrong.
Not inaccurate.
Just wrong.
"...The time with the chair..."
[Y/n] kept his gaze fixed on the sheets. Waiting. Bracing. Preparing himself for questions. For concern. For sympathy. For tell me about it. For something.
Anything.
Instead... nothing...
No pressure. No questions. No demands. No gentle insistence. Just silence. Long, patient silence. And slowly, after several seconds, [Y/n] looked up slightly.
Zuko's expression had softened. Not pity. Not concern worn openly across his face. Just understanding. Quiet understanding.
Enough to say I heard you.
Enough to say you don't have to explain.
And then, very deliberately:
"...Let's talk about the five men you apparently beat half to death instead."
[Y/n] looked down at the blanket gathered loosely over his lap for a few moments, silently thanking his old friend for letting the matter drop, his fingers absently picking at one of the folds while silence settled between them again.
Zuko didn't rush him.
Didn't interrupt.
Didn't push.
Just stood there watching quietly, arms still folded, waiting.
[Y/n] exhaled softly through his nose.
"...They cornered me." Zuko immediately straightened slightly. Not much, just enough that [Y/n] noticed. "In an empty hallway after the evening meetings." His eyes lowered toward the floor. "The two older men showed up first behind me. Then Renji, Han and Daro blocked the front." He paused to take a breath. "I already knew something was wrong."
[Y/n] shifted slightly against the cot before immediately regretting every decision he'd made in life as pain shot through his ribs.
He winced.
Ignored it.
Continued.
"There weren't any guards around." His expression tightened faintly. "No servants either." His brows furrowed in thought. "But if I'd tried fighting there..." His eyes lowered. "...someone could've gotten involved."
The words came quieter, because, even now, he could still picture it. A servant turning a corner. Some palace guard hearing shouting. Someone stepping in because they thought they were helping. Someone getting caught in lightning or blades because of him.
His fingers tightened slightly against the blankets.
"I didn't want innocent people getting hurt."
His voice trailed off quietly. Across from him, Zuko's expression shifted slightly. Not surprise. Something softer. Something sadder.
[Y/n] looked away immediately before he could think too much about that.
"...So I followed them."
The words left [Y/n]'s mouth and immediately sat there between them. Silence followed. Long enough that he finally looked back up toward Zuko, only to find the Fire Lord staring at him with an expression that somehow managed to combine confusion, disbelief, and the beginnings of what looked like a headache.
[Y/n] hesitated. Then, perhaps very unwisely, continued:
"...Into a shed."
Silence settled between them again. Zuko stared. Just stared. [Y/n] stared back for several increasingly horrible seconds before Zuko finally repeated, very carefully:
"...A shed?" [Y/n] frowned immediately. Zuko continued staring at him as if he had physically stopped understanding the language they were speaking. "You followed five traitors into a gardening shed?"
[Y/n] looked genuinely offended.
"It was more of a storage building."
Zuko blinked once. Very slowly.
"...You followed five armed traitors into a slightly larger shed?"
[Y/n] stared right back at him.
"That feels unnecessarily judgmental."
Judging by the way Zuko suddenly looked ready to put his head through the nearest wall, that had apparently been the wrong thing to say. Zuko looked like he wanted to say approximately twelve different things. Instead, he dragged one hand slowly down his face.
"...Continue."
[Y/n] frowned slightly before continuing.
"They had some of my uncle's plans." That immediately changed things. The irritation vanished from Zuko's face almost instantly. [Y/n] noticed immediately. His expression sharpened, focus replacing frustration. "They were the missing strategy scrolls from the pavilion..." A shaky breath escaped him as his mind flashed back to the scroll on the table. "And they asked me to review one."
Zuko frowned slightly.
"...Review it?"
[Y/n] nodded.
"They wanted me to tell them how I would've changed the strategy."
Understanding crossed Zuko's face almost immediately. And, slowly, he nodded.
"...We found them."
"What?" [Y/n] blinked.
"When we assessed the area afterwards." Zuko shifted slightly against the nearby wall. "There were scrolls everywhere after..." He paused. "...after the wall incident."
[Y/n] looked away immediately.
Because 'the wall incident' felt like deeply unfair wording.
Zuko continued anyway.
"Suki and I looked through the ones that hadn't been destroyed." His expression darkened slightly. "There were notes." [Y/n]'s eyes went wide. "Changes." Another pause. "Different handwriting besides your uncle's. And it definitely wasn't yours."
"They'd been studying them." [Y/n] looked back up immediately. Zuko met his eyes.
The realisation settled heavily between them. Not just hiding. Not preserving. Studying. Learning. Using them.
[Y/n] felt something cold settle quietly into his chest. Because suddenly he remembered Renji smiling. Remembered Han asking questions. Remembered the way all of them had looked at him.
They'd looked at him like an answer. Like a replacement. Like they had spent days, maybe weeks, constructing some version of him in their heads and desperately trying to force reality to fit it.
The thought made his stomach twist violently, a disgusting familiarity settling in his heart as the image of his uncle flashed through his mind lightning-fast. Across from him, Zuko looked equally unhappy. Not confused. Not surprised. Just deeply, deeply unhappy.
"...Yeah."
Silence settled over the room after that. Heavy silence. Full of too many thoughts and too many things neither of them had quite managed to process yet.
[Y/n] looked down at his bandaged hands for several moments, absently tracing the edge of the gauze wrapped around his palm while his thoughts drifted back toward the shed.
"...They questioned me." Zuko looked up immediately. [Y/n] kept his gaze lowered. "Not directly..." He said after a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. "Not at first." He frowned harder, trying to find the words. "It felt more like..." He hesitated. "...they were trying to build a version of me." Zuko looked to be growing more uncomfortable with every word [Y/n] spoke. "Testing different answers... They asked about my family. About my uncle. About his policies."
Another pause followed before his expression tightened faintly.
"And eventually..." His jaw shifted slightly. "...they asked if I hated living among peasants."
Karr Lok flashed through his head. Market streets crowded at sunrise. Tea shops with open windows. Harbour docks lined with fishing boats. Children running through alleys.
People. Not titles. Not ranks. Not status. Actual people.
His jaw tightened faintly.
"They talked about it like..." His expression twisted slightly. "...like ordinary lives were something beneath them."
The disgust slipped into his voice before he could stop it. Then slowly, very slowly, [Y/n]'s expression changed. Because suddenly he remembered something.
Not one of the questions. Not Renji. Not Han. Not Daro.
Something worse.
Much worse.
His eyes slowly lifted toward Zuko.
And immediately the words felt heavier somehow.
"...They knew about the island." [Y/n]'s words hovered in the air, and Zuko looked like his mind had just frozen. "...They said they watched us. Since the carriage."
[Y/n] could see the realisation flooding over Zuko like waves. All the colour left Zuko's face in an instant.
And [Y/n] watched the realisation happen in real time. Watched Zuko mentally retrace days of conversations, movements, meetings, routines, and security routes. Watched him understand exactly what that meant.
How long.
How close.
How many opportunities they'd had.
How many chances things could have gone horribly wrong.
Zuko looked horrified. Actually horrified. And suddenly [Y/n] regretted saying it at all. Because the expression on his face looked exactly like someone realising danger had gotten much closer than he'd ever allowed himself to imagine.
The change was immediate.
Zuko's expression tightened all at once as realisation continued crashing through him piece by piece. [Y/n] could practically see it happening, the thoughts stacking on top of each other faster than he could sort through them.
The airship.
The carriage.
The palace.
Ty Lee.
Suki.
Mai.
[Y/n].
Too many opportunities.
Too much time.
Too many things that could have gone wrong.
"...Shit." The word barely left him. Zuko turned away sharply, one hand dragging through his hair as he started pacing almost immediately. Not the controlled pacing he did during meetings or strategy discussions. This was different. Restless. Agitated. Frantic.
"They were watching all of you?" His voice tightened. "Since the docks?"
[Y/n] immediately saw where this was going, saw it before Zuko even finished thinking it. Zuko stopped moving. And when he looked back, [Y/n] already hated the expression on his face.
Because there it was.
Guilt.
Immediate, horrible guilt.
"I put you in danger." His voice came out ragged from panic. "I put all of you in danger." Zuko looked increasingly pale the longer he kept talking. "Suki... Ty Lee... Mai... You..."
"Zuko."
He didn't stop.
"I brought everyone back here and-"
"Zuko."
Still nothing.
"...If I hadn't asked you to come back-"
"Zuko!"
Louder this time. The Fire Lord stopped immediately. [Y/n] held his gaze. Then sighed, long and tired, like placing blame would do astronomically more harm than good. Because he knew it would.
"They would've done it anyway." Zuko frowned immediately. [Y/n] continued before he could argue. "And don't even start." And, judging by the way Zuko inhaled, he had absolutely been about to start. "They didn't care that you brought me here." [Y/n] shifted slightly and instantly regretted existing as pain shot through his ribs. He winced, ignored it, and kept talking.
"They already knew where I stood." He declared, letting out a frustrated sigh. "They said they knew I wasn't loyal to Ozai. They knew I was loyal to you."
The room fell quiet. [Y/n] looked away briefly toward the dark windows.
"...And after that?" He laughed once under his breath. Bitter. Exhausted. "They said I would've been useful... But that I was dangerous beside you."
He looked back toward Zuko, frowning as he watched his jaw tighten slightly. Zuko stared at him, still looking like he was blaming himself.
[Y/n] closed his eyes briefly. Because honestly? He was getting tired of that expression. So slowly, he looked back up.
And quietly:
"...I hated it." Zuko blinked. [Y/n]'s fingers tightened slightly against the blankets. "The way they talked about you." His voice had gone quieter somehow. Flatter. Not angry. Worse. "They spoke like you were the traitor. They talked about Ozai like he was some great leader. Like they were the loyal ones." He gritted his teeth in frustration, barely forcing the next few words out.
"They laughed." [Y/n]'s eyes lowered. Not because he wanted to avoid looking at Zuko. Because suddenly remembering it made something ugly tighten in his chest. "When they realised we were close... They joked about you finding my body." The room seemed to stop breathing. [Y/n] stared quietly down at the blankets gathered in his hands. "...They wondered if you'd blame yourself."
Then quietly, almost to himself, he laughed. Small. Bitter.
"...Should've used stronger lightning... But then we wouldn't have anyone left to interrogate."
Nothing.
No response.
No movement.
And slowly, very slowly, [Y/n] looked back up.
Zuko looked disgusted. Pure disgust sat openly across his face now, not directed at [Y/n], not even slightly.
Directed at them.
At Renji.
Han.
Daro.
All of them.
His expression had gone still in a way [Y/n] remembered very clearly from years ago. Because beneath the disgust, beneath the anger, sat something much colder. And suddenly [Y/n] was very, very glad those idiots had survived the lightning.
Zuko looked like he was about to say something.
[Y/n] saw it immediately.
Saw the way his shoulders shifted slightly. Saw the guilt returning again before the words had even reached his mouth. Another apology. Another this happened because of me. Another attempt to shoulder something that had never been his alone.
Absolutely not.
"[Y/n]-"
"No." Zuko blinked. [Y/n] stared at him flatly. "No." The Fire Lord frowned immediately. [Y/n] sighed and shifted slightly against the cot before instantly regretting every choice he'd ever made as pain stabbed sharply through his ribs.
He hissed. Paused. Recovered with dignity... Mostly... Then looked back toward Zuko.
"I knew this was probably going to happen." Zuko's expression immediately tightened. [Y/n] continued before he could interrupt. "Not this specifically." He paused, gesturing to his bandages. "I didn't predict garden shed conspiracies." Another pause. "Or being thrown through furniture." Silence. "...Or Han apparently being built like a mountain." He ran a hand along his throat that was absolutely bruised beneath that bandage, a look of annoyance crossing his face.
"But I knew something would happen." [Y/n] looked down briefly at the blankets gathered in his lap. "From the second I agreed to come back." The words came quieter, more honest. Because suddenly the room felt smaller somehow. Because suddenly he remembered the carriage. Remembered the palace gates. Remembered sitting across from Zuko beside a Pai Sho board and making a decision fully aware that it might drag him directly back into everything he'd spent years running from.
And still, he didn't regret it.
"...I knew the risk. I don't regret coming back."
For a moment, [Y/n] just held Zuko's gaze. Really held it. Because beneath all the guilt and frustration sitting on Zuko's face, he could still see the same question buried underneath all of it: Was it worth it? Was coming back worth this? Worth the injuries, the conspiracies, the risk? And the answer came so quickly [Y/n] almost felt insulted by the idea of hesitating.
He had come back for Zuko. For the idiot standing in front of him who had spent years carrying a country and everyone in it on his shoulders. For the friend he'd already lost once. The attack hadn't changed that. Not even slightly.
And maybe because the thought felt too serious, too heavy sitting there between them, [Y/n] immediately tried to escape it the only way he knew how: with a terrible joke.
"Though I do wish they'd attacked me in a larger room. I feel like I would've been injured less. Do you have any idea how hard it is to generate lightning when you can barely move your arms?"
The room went quiet again.
Zuko stared. Just stared. Completely expressionless.
[Y/n] stared back.
"...That wasn't funny?"
Nothing.
Not one reaction.
Not even slightly.
Damn... Tough crowd...
Silence lingered again for several moments before [Y/n]'s expression slowly shifted. Because suddenly another thought returned. Something buried beneath the pain and adrenaline and chaos.
Slowly, he looked toward Zuko.
"...Who were the older men?" [Y/n] asked quietly. "The two who followed me."
Zuko frowned immediately, but he didn't answer right away. The silence stretched long enough that [Y/n] felt the answer before it came. Then Zuko looked away, and that confirmed it.
"We checked records. Nothing. No names. No appointments. No military history. Nothing." His expression darkened. "They don't exist." Momentary silence settled between them. Then Zuko added, lower this time: "And they still haven't spoken."
[Y/n] stared at him for several seconds, letting the information sink in. No records. No names. No history. Two men who had followed him for days, armed themselves inside the palace, and vanished into the system as if they had never existed at all.
Slowly, very slowly, his expression shifted. Not into panic. Not confusion. Thought. Deep thought. Because suddenly, pieces started moving.
Renji.
Han.
Daro.
The questions.
The timing.
The older men.
The airship.
The shed.
Zuko noticed immediately. [Y/n] hadn't even realised his expression had changed until Zuko's eyes narrowed slightly across from him.
"...What." Not a question. An order.
[Y/n] didn't answer right away. Because the whole thing felt wrong. Not suspicious. Not dangerous. Wrong.
Wrong in a way he hadn't properly processed before. Wrong in the way a strategy board felt when one piece sat slightly out of place. Small enough to overlook at first. Small enough to ignore.
Until suddenly it wasn't.
Slowly, [Y/n] looked toward Zuko.
"...They had opportunities." Zuko frowned immediately. [Y/n]'s gaze drifted downward again. "They knew more than I thought they did. They watched us since the airship. They knew where I'd been. They followed me for days. And they had better positioning."
Across from him, Zuko stared without speaking. [Y/n] looked down at his hands resting against the blankets, absently tracing his thumb over the edge of the bandaging around his palm as thoughts slowly arranged themselves into place.
They left him in bandages, but they had chances to leave him in a coffin.
"...So why waste it?" His eyes narrowed faintly. "Why corner me in a room? Why reveal themselves? Why now?"
Long silence settled between them.
Then slowly, very slowly, something shifted in [Y/n]'s expression. Understanding. Not complete. Not yet. But enough.
"Renji, Han and Daro were idiots..."
"...What?" Zuko blinked. [Y/n] looked up immediately.
"No, really. They were arrogant and loud. The kind of men who liked hearing themselves talk. They weren't careful enough. They couldn't have managed all the trailing and investigations they did." He looked back toward Zuko, expression tightening slightly as the thought settled more heavily in his chest.
Because now that he thought about it, really thought about it, he couldn't stop seeing the cracks.
Renji had loved hearing himself speak.
Han had let his temper show too easily.
Daro had practically tripped over his own ego every time he opened his mouth.
Men like that didn't build networks in secret. Didn't infiltrate palaces. Didn't erase records and plant people in positions for years without slipping.
No, people like that followed someone. People like that mistook being useful for being important. And suddenly [Y/n] felt something cold crawl slowly down his spine.
Because if Renji and the others weren't the ones truly running things, then someone else was.
Someone quieter.
Smarter.
And far more dangerous.
"...The older men."
"...I narrowed down the other three, but you're the one who noticed them... They knew you were close to something..."
Both of them froze. Absolute silence filled the room. And simultaneously, they understood. Renji's words came rushing back.
"...But we both know he's far more dangerous with you by his side."
[Y/n] stared.
Zuko stared.
Neither spoke.
Because suddenly the answer sat directly in front of them. The three ministers weren't leaders. They were pieces. Pawns. Used. Just like how his uncle would view them...
[Y/n] felt something cold settle violently into his chest.
Because someone above them had willingly sacrificed all three. Not because they mattered. Because they didn't.
A final move.
A last attempt.
Either kill [Y/n], convince him to turn on Zuko, or fail and expose his loyalty.
Force his hand.
Because if he survived, if he fought, if he protected Zuko, then his cover disappeared anyway.
Across from him, Zuko had gone pale all over again.
The real person pulling strings, the one who mattered, had never been in the shed at all. And Renji, Han and Daro had been too prideful to even realise they'd been thrown away.
Silence hung between them. Heavy. Oppressive. Because suddenly everything felt painfully obvious in retrospect.
The questions. The timing. The older men. The way Renji and the others had acted.
Spirits... they had walked straight into it...
Slowly, very slowly, [Y/n] lifted both hands and slammed them directly over his face.
"...Agni damn it." He groaned immediately, dragging both palms down hard enough to nearly pull himself forward off the cot. "How did I miss that?" His voice came out muffled beneath his hands as frustration immediately surged through him all over again. Because now that he saw it, it felt obvious. Painfully obvious. The pieces fit too cleanly. Too perfectly. And somehow he'd let himself get dragged around the board anyway. "I let them bait me. I let those idiots drag me exactly where they wanted-"
He stopped abruptly as pain stabbed through his ribs again. He was getting really sick of it. Across from him, Zuko looked equally unhappy.
Not angry.
Not at [Y/n].
Just frustrated.
Because judging by his expression, he had arrived at approximately the same conclusion.
"They got both of us."
The words settled heavily between them. Because that was the worst part. Not that [Y/n] had been attacked. Not that he'd been injured. Not even that his cover was gone.
No, the worst part was that someone else had been several moves ahead the entire time, and both of them had walked directly where they were meant to go.
Slowly, Zuko dragged a hand through his already dishevelled hair and exhaled hard through his nose. Frustration flashed briefly across his face. Real frustration. [Y/n] recognised it immediately. The expression Zuko wore whenever he was one second away from setting something on fire out of pure irritation.
But instead of lashing out, instead of pacing or cursing or spiralling into guilt, Zuko looked at him.
"Hitting yourself isn't going to help."
"...I know." [Y/n] kept both hands over his face.
The room went quiet for a moment, until Zuko spoke up again.
"...Hitting you might make me feel better, though."
[Y/n] froze immediately. Very slowly, very, very slowly, his hands lowered. He turned his head, looked at Zuko, and found the Fire Lord staring directly back at him with a perfectly straight face.
No smile.
No amusement.
Nothing.
Absolute sincerity.
[Y/n] blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Because honestly? Honestly, his brain had stopped functioning somewhere around hitting you.
"...What?"
Zuko didn't respond. Didn't move. Didn't react. Just stared.
And suddenly, [Y/n] remembered something deeply important: Zuko still looked ready to kill him.
Spirits.
Right.
That.
[Y/n]'s eyes widened immediately.
"...Wait." Zuko took one step forward. [Y/n] immediately sat up straighter. Bad. Very bad. "Hold on." Another step. "Let's think this through."
Zuko kept walking. Not quickly. Not threateningly. Slowly. Calmly. Which somehow felt infinitely worse.
Zuko looked him over, then nodded once, completely serious.
"I know." He leaned down so his face and [Y/n]'s were at eye level. "...That's why I'm waiting until you're healed." [Y/n] could physically feel the colour draining from his face. "...Then I'm going to kill you for scaring the shit out of me."
The tone alone was enough to make [Y/n] wish the traitors had killed him. Because Zuko was not even slightly joking. And suddenly, [Y/n] realised something deeply horrible: Zuko wasn't focusing on the conspiracy anymore, wasn't focusing on the traitors, wasn't even focusing on being outplayed.
No.
He'd looked at [Y/n], decided that problem was more important, and immediately reprioritised.
Which felt infinitely more terrifying.
Immediately, and with all the speed of a deeply injured man making terrible decisions, [Y/n] slowly began shifting sideways across the cot.
Very slowly.
Very carefully.
Not obvious.
Not suspicious.
Just a gentle tactical retreat.
One inch.
Then another.
Then another-
Zuko narrowed his eyes immediately. Then, suddenly, a hand shoved directly against his shoulder.
[Y/n] yelped, very undignifiedly, and immediately found himself shoved backwards onto the cot again. Pain exploded through his ribs.
"Ow!" [Y/n] glared immediately.
Zuko sat down directly on the edge of the bed. Right there. Close enough that escape suddenly felt significantly less possible.
[Y/n] stared at him and immediately regretted it. Because Zuko was wearing that expression; concern, relief, disappointment and murderous rage, all mixed together in one terrible expression that somehow hurt worse than being stabbed.
Until, suddenly, Zuko didn't look angry anymore. Not really. Not entirely.
Just... tired.
Tired and relieved and upset all at once, like someone who'd spent hours convincing himself not to imagine the worst.
Neither of them spoke.
And slowly, [Y/n]'s expression shifted, too. Because suddenly the memory hit him; waking up to see Zuko standing over him, exhausted and terrified, looking like he hadn't slept. And suddenly [Y/n] had the deeply horrible realisation that Zuko had probably been sitting here worrying about him the entire time.
And that felt much, much worse than the promised ass-kicking.
Zuko stared at him, not normal staring, not annoyed staring, not even Fire Lord staring.
No, this was somehow different. This was Zuko looking directly into his soul and personally evaluating every decision [Y/n] had made in the last several days.
[Y/n] immediately looked away. Then looked back. Then looked away again. Because Spirits help him, he suddenly felt exactly like he was ten years old again, standing beside a broken vase while waiting for someone to discover he'd absolutely been responsible.
The silence kept going. And somehow, Zuko still hadn't said anything. Until, finally, after what felt like an entire Avatar Cycle, Zuko sighed. Long. Deep. Tired.
The anger was still there, [Y/n] could see it lingering around the edges of his expression, but it had dulled somehow, softened beneath something heavier. Exhaustion sat plainly across his face now that [Y/n] was really looking. His shoulders looked lower than usual, tension still wound tightly through them like he'd forgotten how to relax entirely. His hair remained hastily tied back, loose strands falling around his face like he hadn't even bothered fixing it, and beneath the lanternlight, [Y/n] could see shadows beneath his eyes that absolutely had not been there before.
But worse than any of that, far worse, was the brief flash of something in Zuko's eyes. Something raw and unguarded that only appeared for a second before he buried it again. Fear. Real fear. Not Fire Lord stress. Not concern for palace security or political disasters. Personal fear.
He let out another quiet breath before speaking.
"...I'm really glad you're okay." The words landed harder than they should have. Harder than knives. Harder than bruises. Harder than waking up half-panicked and covered in sweat. Because suddenly, [Y/n] wasn't looking at the Fire Lord anymore. He was looking at Zuko, at the person who had apparently spent however many hours he'd been unconscious sitting beside his bed, looking exhausted and terrified.
And all at once guilt hit him with enough force to make his chest tighten. Not because of the injuries. Not because of the fight. Because suddenly he realised he'd done this to Zuko. Made him worry. Made him imagine everything that could've happened. Made him sit here looking like he hadn't slept at all.
"...I'm sorry for making you worry." The apology was soft and genuine. And anyone could tell. No jokes this time. No deflection. Just quiet honesty. He shifted slightly against the pillow and winced. "...I just..." He hesitated briefly. "...I couldn't let anyone else get hurt." His fingers tightened slightly around the blanket. "If I'd fought in the hallway... someone would've heard. And if someone had gotten involved because of me-"
He stopped. Because honestly? He didn't want to finish that sentence.
Zuko didn't answer immediately.
For several long seconds, he just looked at [Y/n], and somehow that silence felt heavier than if he'd argued. The anger still lingered there in pieces, and the frustration certainly hadn't disappeared, but [Y/n] watched something else slowly win out beneath it. Something quieter. Something more honest. Zuko's shoulders lowered slightly as he exhaled through his nose, gaze dropping briefly toward the floor before lifting again. When he finally spoke, his voice had lost nearly all of its sharpness.
"...I know." Silence lingered for another moment. Then Zuko looked at him properly again, and [Y/n] immediately wished he hadn't, because there it was again, that same expression from before. The exhaustion. The relief. And underneath it all, that fear he'd only barely hidden.
"I understand..." He started quietly. "I do." A pause followed, and his jaw tightened faintly before he continued. "...But I still worried."
The words settled heavily between them. Zuko looked away for a second, then back again, and when he spoke this time, his voice had gone softer in a way that somehow hurt more.
"...I just got you back." He started, instantly knocking the wind out of [Y/n] a hundred times harder than Han slamming him into a table ever could. "...After eight years..." His voice grew quieter with every word, and it was almost as if [Y/n] could see Zuko imagining himself sitting at that Pai Sho table again, the way he did as a child, waiting for [Y/n] to come back, and slowly realising he was all alone again. "...I don't want to lose you again."
And suddenly something unpleasant twisted painfully in [Y/n]'s chest. Not unpleasant. Not really.
Just... too much.
"I missed you."
The words settled heavily in [Y/n]'s chest.
"I don't want to lose you again."
For a moment, he just stared. Because suddenly every joke he'd made, every attempt to lighten the mood, every effort to redirect the conversation away from the terrifying seriousness of it all seemed to evaporate completely. What remained underneath was guilt. Quiet, heavy guilt that twisted unpleasantly somewhere beneath his ribs. Slowly, [Y/n]'s expression softened, and when he finally spoke, his voice came out quieter than before.
"...I'm sorry..." The apology sat between them for a moment before he continued. His eyes lowered toward the blankets gathered over his lap, fingers absently curling into the fabric. "...I really am." [Y/n] looked back up again, softer this time. "...But Zuko..." He hesitated for a moment before giving a faint, tired exhale. "...I'm not made of glass." His expression shifted slightly, not dismissive, not joking, just honest. "You can trust me."
Zuko stared at him for exactly two seconds before immediately looking around the room with exaggerated disbelief. Then, very slowly, he pointed at him. Then at the cot. Then back at him again.
"You're sitting injured in a medical office." [Y/n] frowned immediately.
"Okay, but in my defence..." He gestured vaguely toward himself and instantly regretted existing as pain shot through his shoulder. He ignored it with practised determination. "I fought five armed men in a tiny room, and I still won." He folded his arms as much as his injuries allowed and looked deeply offended by the accusation. "I walked away with a few cuts, bruises, and exhaustion." Then after a brief pause: "...And honestly, the exhaustion is mostly my own fault. I haven't trained nearly as much as I should've been."
Zuko just stared at him without blinking while [Y/n] stared stubbornly right back. One second passed. Then two. Then three. And slowly, very slowly, the tension in Zuko's expression shifted. Not completely. Not enough. But just enough for reluctant logic to win out over panic.
Finally, Zuko sighed through his nose and dragged a hand down his face.
"...Alright." Zuko stared at him for several more seconds after that. Long enough that [Y/n] immediately knew something terrible was coming. Because that expression had returned again, that deeply irritating one where Zuko looked like he was actively compromising with himself. Like half of him wanted to argue, and the other half knew he was losing ground. Eventually, he sighed heavily and folded his arms again, shoulders slumping slightly in defeat.
"You clearly can handle yourself." The admission looked like it had cost him several years of his life. Then he pointed directly at [Y/n]. "But you're still having someone with you at all times."
It was as if [Y/n] needed a second to even process what he had heard.
"What?"
Zuko didn't even hesitate.
"A Kyoshi Warrior. A palace guard. Someone." His expression hardened again, not angry this time, serious. "We know whoever's targeting me is also targeting you now." His jaw tightened faintly. "And now they know exactly where your loyalty is." [Y/n] looked ready to protest. Zuko was not about to let him. "I'm not arguing about this."
"...I can literally generate lightning." [Y/n] immediately frowned. Zuko just stared at him. [Y/n] folded his arms, immediately winced because of his ribs, unfolded them again with dignity, then continued as if nothing had happened. "I defended myself pretty well before." A pause. "...Very well, actually."
Zuko stared for exactly two seconds.
Then:
"...I can use fire." Zuko pointed toward himself. "I'm the Fire Lord." Another point. "And I still have Kyoshi Warriors following me around." He narrowed his eyes. "Apparently, being able to create walls of fire does not stop people from worrying about me, the exact same way that you shooting lightning blasts doesn't stop me from worrying about you."
[Y/n] stared at him. Because Spirits help him, Spirits damn him, that made sense. Deeply annoying, horrible sense.
[Y/n]'s face slowly twisted into a look of pure betrayal while Zuko watched realisation happen in real time. And judging by the way one corner of his mouth threatened to move, he looked deeply satisfied with himself.
Then Zuko sighed again, softer this time.
"...Fine. Compromise." He looked toward [Y/n], expression relaxing just slightly. "When we can, we'll chaperone each other." [Y/n]'s expression immediately went blank. "[Y/n], I'm serious." His voice lost some of its teasing edge. "That way we're both safe." A pause. Then quieter: "...And we both know the other's okay." For a moment, his expression softened again before he quickly continued. "Besides..." He gestured vaguely. "It'll look normal. The Chief Strategist is supposed to stay close to the Fire Lord anyway."
Silence settled between them again. Until, eventually, [Y/n] sighed the sigh of a man who had realised fate itself had betrayed him.
"...I hate that this makes sense." Zuko immediately looked pleased with himself. Deeply irritating. "...Fine." Another dramatic sigh. "I agree."
And somehow Zuko looked more relieved by that answer than he had about almost anything else they'd discussed all day.
The relief and irritation from their agreement lingered for a few moments after that. Not enough to erase everything weighing over the room, but enough that the tension loosened slightly around their shoulders. Slightly. Then, slowly, the silence settled back in. The lighter mood faded, and both of them drifted toward the same thought at almost the same time.
The real problem.
Whoever was still out there.
[Y/n]'s expression gradually lost what little amusement had remained as he stared down at the blanket gathered over his lap. His fingers absently traced the edge of the fabric while his thoughts returned to the shed, to Renji, to the old men in the cells and all the things that still didn't make sense.
"...We still don't know who we're dealing with." His voice came out quieter than before. More thoughtful. More uneasy. "Not really..." Then his brow furrowed slightly. "...And that's bothering me."
He hesitated. Then immediately wished he hadn't thought about it at all. Because suddenly something cold twisted sharply in his stomach. Not fear exactly. Not entirely. Something closer to dread.
"[Y/n]..." Zuko said quietly, immediately noticing the change in him. [Y/n] swallowed.
"...Whoever this is..." His fingers tightened faintly against the blanket. "...they use people exactly like my uncle did." [Y/n] almost hated himself for even saying it. Because now that he'd said it aloud, he couldn't stop hearing it. Couldn't stop seeing it. Renji. Han. Daro. Sacrificed. Used. Convinced they mattered while someone else moved pieces around them. His stomach twisted harder. "...Maybe one of his old advisors." Another pause. "...Or followers." Smaller. Quieter. "...Someone who learned from him."
The thought made him feel sick. And, suddenly, another realisation followed directly behind it, worse than the first. His expression tightened immediately.
"...They wanted me." [Y/n]'s eyes lowered slightly. "...Not just because of you... They knew enough about me to know I'd correct the mistakes in those plans." He remembered the maps in the shed. Remembered Han asking what was wrong with them. Remembered immediately spotting flaws and weaknesses and instinctively fixing them. His chest tightened. "...They knew me enough to predict that."
"...That's our biggest advantage." [Y/n] blinked and looked up. Zuko's expression had softened slightly again, though his eyes remained steady. Certain. "Think about it." He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting against his knees. "If whoever we're dealing with acts like your uncle..." He paused. "...then you already know how they think." He thought back to all the times, even as kids, when [Y/n] would ramble on about one of his uncle's plans while Zuko just stared blankly at him, not registering a single word of it. And, even if Zuko hadn't understood what [Y/n] meant, [Y/n] clearly understood his uncle's plans. Thoroughly. "...And you've already beaten him before. At least at Pai Sho, anyway."
[Y/n] stared. Then looked deeply unimpressed.
"...I beat him one time."
Zuko blinked. Then stared right back.
"[Y/n]." He started, looking right into [Y/n]'s eyes like he was trying to guide him toward a very obvious realisation. "You were eleven."
[Y/n] just stared back, and Zuko could practically see the gears turning in his head. Sometimes he wondered how someone so strategically smart could be so emotionally inept.
He remained quiet for a moment, watching his old friend put the pieces together, then, very quietly:
"That's exactly why they wanted you either beside them..." His expression darkened slightly. "...or out of the way."
Eventually, [Y/n] looked over at him. Really looked at him. At the exhaustion still sitting across his face. The worry still lingered there beneath everything else.
And somehow, sitting there beneath lanternlight with bandages and bruises and conspiracies hanging over both of them, [Y/n] felt something loosen quietly in his chest. Just a little. Enough.
The moment lingered only briefly before the soft sound of footsteps approached outside the medical room. A second later, the door slid open, and both [Y/n] and Zuko looked up immediately. Suki stepped inside, one hand still resting against the frame for a moment before her eyes landed on the cot. The second she saw [Y/n] sitting upright and conscious, some of the tension in her shoulders eased almost immediately. Relief crossed her face first.
"...Good." She exhaled quietly, stepping into the room. "...I'm glad you're okay." A faint smile tugged briefly at the corner of her mouth, but it didn't last. Not even close. Because almost immediately afterwards, the expression disappeared again, and [Y/n] felt something unpleasant settle into his chest. Suki sighed.
Long.
Heavy.
Not good.
"...The two older men are dead."
For a few horrible seconds, neither of them reacted at all, as if their minds had simply refused to process the words. Then frustration hit almost instantly. [Y/n]'s jaw tightened hard enough to hurt while beside him, Zuko physically slumped backwards with a hand dragging across his face. Spirits. Of course. Of course. After everything, after finally realising the older men had been the real problem, after finally finding the thread worth pulling...
Gone.
"...Damn it." The words left [Y/n] immediately beneath his breath.
Beside him, Zuko looked equally furious, but after several seconds, he exhaled heavily and closed his eyes briefly.
"...That was a possibility." His voice sounded tired. Resigned. "...We just hoped we could avoid it." Because honestly? They had known. Deep down, they'd known. Whoever was behind this had already sacrificed Renji and the others without hesitation. Men like that did not leave loose ends.
[Y/n] looked down at the blankets gathered over his lap, frustration settling heavily in his chest.
"...We lost our only lead." The words tasted awful. Because it was true. The only people who had actually mattered had died without names, without answers, without giving them anything. Across the room, Suki's expression tightened slightly before she nodded.
"But we'll keep digging." Her eyes shifted toward Zuko. "I'll have people look into the bodies. If we can't get names, maybe we can at least figure out how they got inside the palace." A pause. "How they got uniforms. Who helped them. Something." Zuko nodded once, his expression hardening again as his mind shifted back toward what to do now.
"...It's a start."
For a few moments, silence lingered again while the weight of everything settled over the room. Dead leads. Missing names. More questions than answers. Eventually, Zuko exhaled slowly through his nose and dragged one hand through his hair again, looking every bit as exhausted as he felt. Then he looked toward Suki and gave a small nod.
"Thanks."
Suki nodded once in return. No ceremony. No need. Not when no stuffy advisors or chamberlains were watching. Not after years of friendship.
Zuko glanced toward the ceiling for a moment before letting out another long sigh.
"Agni give me strength..." He leaned back slightly in his chair. "We've got a lot of work to do." Across the room, Suki folded her arms and immediately nodded in agreement.
"Especially with what's coming up soon."
Slowly, very slowly, [Y/n] looked up, his eyes shifting between them.
"What does that mean?" Both Zuko and Suki looked toward him at the exact same time. Then they looked at each other. Held eye contact for one deeply suspicious second. One second became two.
And immediately [Y/n] hated everything.
Because that was a look.
Not a normal look.
Not an accidental look.
A 'we've already discussed something, and now we're communicating silently' look.
Absolutely not.
Zuko looked back toward him with an expression that was suddenly much too calm. Much too casual. Much too innocent.
"...I'll explain later." [Y/n] just stared back at him, not at all trusting that tone. Then Zuko added: "Especially since you're going to have a part in it."
[Y/n] stared harder.
He did not like that.
Not even slightly.
Unfortunately, before he could begin objecting, or more importantly, demand answers, Suki suddenly looked toward Zuko with a smile that immediately made [Y/n] deeply suspicious.
"Actually..." she began slowly. Spirits. No. Absolutely not. Suki tilted her head. "How exactly does the Fire Lord intend to publicly thank his Chief Strategist for exposing Ozai loyalists hiding in the palace?"
[Y/n] froze. And very, very, very slowly, he turned his head toward Zuko. And immediately regretted everything. Because Zuko was smiling.
Not a normal smile.
Not a small smile.
A smug smile.
A deeply horrible, shit-eating grin.
And [Y/n] immediately hated that even more than the question itself.
Summary: Zuko comes back from his perilous trip in need of a little more than medication from his royal medic AKA his secret lover
Warnings: Smut; Explicit, handjob, technically sub zuko, jerking him off from behind, gn!reader, lover boy zuko, temperature play (?)--he lowk a freak, "baby" used, he says "I love you", barely proofread
I have seen the movie and OHHH MY GODDDDDD THEY'RE ALL SO FINEEEEE😭😭😭 Ik this is short but i had to put something out 😩
Word count: 1.5k+
Zuko finally made it back to the fire nation safe and sound after making sure Republic City didn't go under. With half his outfit gone and hair disheveled (yet still beautiful), his council insisted he go get treated and rest up.
Normally he'd refuse and shake off his injuries, acting like they're not nearly as severe as they really are, but ever since a new doctor was hired to the palace he hasn't hesitated since.
Why, you might ask?
Because he found out the new doctor was someone he knew. A friend from wayyy back when. Long before he was banished or his family life went to shit.
However, nobody else knows this.
Zuko was escorted to the medical room--for some reason no matter how times he told them it wasn't necessary. He walked in with a cloth across his body, body and muscles overly defined by the candlelight illuminating the space.
You were kneeled before him with your eyes lowered when he came in. Once his guards left, he just stood there.
"...you know you can stop pretending, right?"
You looked up with a smile on your face as you jumped to your feet and into his arms. A solid, longing kiss on the lips to follow. He kissed back with intention as he held you close. Then came a wince. You stop abruptly and step back.
"Zuko! You're hurt."
"It's not that bad," he says with a whole bunch of bruises littering his entire upper body. The look you gave him made his heart skip a beat.
"C'mon," he continued as he grabbed your hand to pull you closer. "It's been a long couple of days and I'd like to spend the night with the love of my life before going back to Firelord duties."
"Zuko," you narrow your eyes at him, "the last time we got intimate while you were this injured, you were bedridden for three days. And I almost got punished. By death."
"That was one time," he pouted. The only time he ever pouts is when he's alone with you. It's actually quite bizarre. "And you know I'd never let anything happen to you."
His arms wrapped around your waist and his forehead rested upon yours with a soft sigh. He hasn't been able to show this side of him for a long while before another world saving trip with the Avatar.
"I missed you," he murmured. "And I only became bedridden cause I did all the work."
"You were drunk."
"Mmm, we both were-"
You shut him up real quick when your warm palm found the front of his crotch and gave a light squeeze. He grunted softly as he backed away an inch, and you just smiled at him.
"Apologies, Firelord, what was that?"
"You're unfair."
"Oh, should I stop?"
"No," he stopped you from pulling away with a shudder. "Please."
"Please what?"
"Touch me," he said, "please."
"I don't know, Zuko," you practically purr. "Will you let me treat you after if I grant your wish?"
"You could strike lightning directly into my heart if it meant having your hand down my pants right now."
A genuine chuckle couldn't stop from escaping as you backed him closer to the wall and ended up behind him. Hand trailing from his now bare chest to his abs right back to where he desperately needed you to be. You could feel him physically melt while your other hand lightly massaged his bicep.
"We haven't done this in a while," you whisper while toying with the band of his pants. "You might be more sensitive than last time."
"I don't care," he shuddered once more. You could feel the goosebumps rise on his skin for a moment. Zuko felt like he was willingly jumping into an abyss when he started to descend to the ground with you.
As he sat there between your legs, you just had to admire him from his side profile. The sight of him all flushed and panting softly before you even touched him the way he wanted only made you want to tease him even more, but you decided against it only because you really wanted to treat his minor injuries later.
His breath caught in his throat when you lips attached to his neck while simultaneously reaching in his pants and pulling him out. You hummed and shushed him softly.
"Don't be so loud," you whispered.
He leaned his head against yours after you spit in your hand and started stroking. Eyes real tight. Jaw clenched. Hips subtly bucking. Oh, he's so sensitive.
"Can you, uh," he began, his hands squeezing your thighs to focus. "Can you do that thing? Please."
"What thing?" You asked. Knowing exactly what he was talking about.
"With your hand," he said, "your palm. The warmth thing."
"Ohhh...you mean like this?"
When his head fell back into your shoulder, it was like instinct for your free hand to cover his mouth. You could hear him muffle "yes" repeatedly while nodding frantically. Breaths shaky and irregular.
"Someone had a long few days," you muse to yourself, but you know he heard you. He could only whimper and grunt in the same vain when he felt your thumb run over the tip. "And we haven't seen each other in weeks...you missed me, huh?"
"Mhm.." he nodded again. "Missed you so much..."
"How much?" You uncovered his mouth to trace his Adam's apple.
"So fucking much," he exhaled. "I thought about you everyday. Every waking hour. No wonder the Chamberlain keeps saying I zone out so much-"
You hear him gasp and strain his voice to keep himself quiet.
"Ooo," you muse, "you're getting close."
"Hotter," he muttered. You feel like you misheard him.
"What?"
"Hotter," he repeated, "make your hand hotter. I'm almost there."
"...that won't hurt?"
"Please don't make me say it- fuck."
"Say...what?"
"Just- I like the pain okay? Just, please, make your hand a little hotter. I'm right there, baby, please."
This genuinely caught you off guard. You knew he had his freaky tendencies every once in a while but you can't believe you haven't caught on to his rare masochistic desires as long as you two have been dating. And that makes him all the more hot. Pun intended.
His eyes open a little once you made your palm a little hotter. His chest rising and falling a lot quicker than before. The main sound in this little room being your incredibly warm hand jerking him off with your own spit had him about to see stars.
"Yes. Yes, just like that. Gods-"
He grabbed the hand occupying his throat and slapped it back onto his mouth as he came. His hot seed spilling all over your fingers as you worked him through it. His hand rested on top of yours for extra security to prevent his array of deep groans from echoing through the palace. His eyes shut tight again as a single tear slides down his cheek. He hasn't felt this good in so long. Which was almost a month but to him it's a millennia.
After about a minute was when he started to really calm down. His heart wasn't leaping from his chest anymore but boy was he sweating. He moved his hand along with yours and took a few good breaths to center himself.
"Thank you," he finally said. Head still resting on your shoulder. "Thank you so much."
"Just doing my job," you lightly tease. Pulling the top of his pants back up and wiping his sweat with the other. "Just don't fall asleep yet. I still have to treat you."
Zuko just smiled lazily at that, lightly shaking his head.
"I love you."
You smiled back at him. He couldn't see it but he could feel it against his face. The side with his scar. Which made his heart flutter a little bit more than usual.
"I'm gonna marry you someday."
Now it's your turn for your heart to flutter. Skip a beat, even. He notices.
"I don't care how long it takes for me to make real changes around here," he continued on. "We will be together. In the open. And you won't just be my nurse anymore."
"...wow," you manage to say. "It's not like you to be this sentimental after we get intimate."
"I kind of almost died," he admitted. His tone very serious now. "One of my last thoughts before Katara helped us was that I didn't even get to marry you, so...yeah."
He sat up slowly and rolled his shoulder before shifting to get a good look at you in this gorgeously lit room. Falling in love all over again. He looked down at the hand he, uh... came on and cleared his throat while blushing.
"Um- sorry about that."
You laugh softly through your nose and grab a nearby little towel that was within reach and wiped it off.
"It's okay," you said. Copying the way he was sitting so that you were right across from him, leaning forward to give him a peck on the lips. "I love you too."
