dark red sheets swallowed you and your husband’s body as you slept together. his arms gently encircled your waist, his face pressed into the crook of your neck as per usual. zuko loved having you close like this—just beneath his fingertips. you were soft enough to squeeze and hug and kiss, grounding him even as he slept. your presence allowed him a peaceful rest, your warm body against his own a sensation he stated he couldn’t live without.
he was so quiet when he was in bed with you, sleeping through the night like a baby. at least, that’s what you had thought.
the small jerk of his fingers against your stomach was enough to make you shift, the tips of his fingers tickling you through your night clothes. he was probably just shifting around as well, getting comfortable.
but then his lips pressed themselves directly against your shoulder, his grip around you suddenly growing tighter.
“zuko…” you whined, voice laced with sleep and discomfort. zuko wasn’t one to act erratic as he slept, generally silent and still…but now it seemed a flip had switched.
“sorry..’m sorry. stop..” he whispered against your skin, but he…he didn’t seem as if he was talking to you. more like to…himself? someone else? his mumbled apologies woke you up, but before you even had a chance to turn around, to look at him—you heard him choke out a sob. it was so sudden—so unusual you couldn’t force yourself to move. zuko? crying? it wasn’t something you could proudly say you saw often—or ever.
“don’t g-go, i’m sorry.” he cried, slow tears rolling down his cheeks and gradually soaking your top. you stilled in pure shock for a moment, blinking as if time had stopped.
“zuko?”
he buried his face completely into your neck at the sound of your voice, letting his tears fall without resistance. he gripped onto you for dear life, the heat radiating from his palms out of emotion warming your skin.
you let him cry for a while after the realization set, allowing him quiet time without interruptions to just…get it all out. something you knew deep down he needed.
after a few minutes his breathing finally slowed, his tears subsiding as he held you in his arms. “i’m..i’m sorry.” this time he was talking to you, kissing your neck in apology.
he finally let you turn around to look at him, his cheeks all blotchy and pink from his own body heat, eyes red from crying. he looked so…vulnerable. never in your life had you seen him like this. a bit broken but still so desperate for your touch.
you cupped his cheek, wiping away a stray tear just below his eye. “what happened..?”
he let himself melt into your palm before shamefully replying, eyes fluttering shut to avoid the look he’d thought you’d give him.
“..it’s embarrassing.”
“zuko, it’s me…what’s wrong?” you murmured, gently pressing a kiss to his scar. he physically winced as if it hurt, knowing the pain had long faded, but something in the moment made him extra sensitive.
“it was just a nightmare..they happen sometimes, but they aren’t this bad. not like today.”
“oh, my baby..” you sighed, immediately pulling him in towards your chest. you buried your hands into his hair and he breathed a sigh of relief, his own hands pressing into your back to bring you impossibly closer in response.
“i didn’t mean to wake you this time—“
“why? why didn’t you tell me before?” you kissed his head, slowly stroking his scalp with your nails.
“i didn’t want to be a burden.” he confessed, running his fingers up and down your spine to soothe himself—and you. “i know how i am…i ..i couldn’t do that to you.”
your poor baby. your precious husband couldn’t even get himself to open up to you about something that effected him so much. it was heartbreaking.
“you can speak to me about anything. always. i love you.” you started, pulling away slightly to look him in the eye. “i didn’t write my own vows for you to take them as a joke y’know?”
he finally smiled—even if it was just a tiny quirk of his lips—you made it happen. “no..you didn’t.”
“mhm..” you hummed, leaning in ever so slowly before pressing your lips against his own. he moved his mouth back almost instantly, letting out a small noise of defeat when you pulled away.
“we have to get back to bed, zuko. you won’t get up on time tomorrow..” you chuckled, tucking a sliver of hair behind his ear. he looked so beautiful, so peaceful now.
“you’re right, i won’t…but that’s what my dear wife is for.”
illi’s notez; first time writing for atla don’t bully me ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️ i haven’t seen the new movie yet either but these leaks made me sooo excited eheheh :333 zuko is literally younger me’s bf and with this fandom revive i had to get tonwritin ;(( im so hypednfornall the new fics other writes r making too omgogmgogm ok let me stop
aang, in all his avatar glory, is not above tongue-fucking his cum right back into your quivering, convulsing pussy. his wide, stupefied eyes glow white as he licks and scoops and sucks with relentless obsession, lithe tongue sweeping across your folds with striking precision only a master of the four elements could possess. powerful arms pin your thighs against the mattress while roughened hands palm over your lower stomach, cradling the skin above your uterus with something almost reverent in their touch.
“it has to take. . .” he’s mumbling to himself, practically incoherent, but you can still hear the raw desperation threaded through his guttural chanting. “has to, has to, has to—!”
“a-aang, mmph! what’s wrong? did something happen on your trip—?” you whimper through the haze of overstimulation, hands scrambling against his coiled shoulders as you search for something to ground yourself with. he’s been at it for hours, ever since he returned from his home air temple. had stormed into your shared bedroom with the doors rattling against the walls behind him, barely a greeting leaving his mouth before he was climbing over you, frantic hands shoving the hefty layers of his robes and beads from his body like they’ve suddenly become unbearable.
in mere seconds he had you striped and flat on your back.
then on all fours.
and then on your side and everything else in between.
the room is in absolute shambles— feathers spilling from torn pillows and swirling through the air in frantic, whirling currents. the bed barely remains intact beneath you, headboard split apart and canopy hanging in splintered ruin, all of it unable to withstand the force of him as the elements hum beneath his tortured skin.
“aang, honey, are you— hah!— okay? talk to me, baby. please.”
what new revelation could he have possibly had for him to suddenly fold you into a million different positions?
and you tried to run, to tap out after the nth round, but did you really think you could escape the hold of an avatar in his avatar state? a handsome, beefy, six-foot-five, one-hundred-something kilogram man so utterly desperate to revive an entire bloodline, yet far too in love to want to do it with anyone else but you?
aang’s voice comes out rough, wrecked with pathetic want. “need to get you pregnant,” he finally admits, lips never leaving your twitching clit. “need it right fucking now.”
his sharp, unfamiliar words send a shiver down your spine.
he begrudgingly sits up, one hand keeping you spread for him while the other drags down his chiseled abs, ghosting over the twin downward arrows that curl just above his v–line. he fists his burly cock in slow, measured strokes as he readies another thick load, bright eyes trailing from your flushed face to your heaving breasts, tongue-in-cheek.
your heart jumps. you know that look. “aang, i know how much reviving air bending means to you, the duty you have to your people—” you start in an attempt to soothe.
because when he gets like this you tend to wobble for weeks.
he cuts you off with a dry, humorless chuckle. “you think that’s what this is about?” he tilts his head, eyes narrowing.
you could only gulp in response.
then, he’s rising above you, broad, muscular shoulders boxing you in as he settles between your thighs. the heavy heat of his dick presses against your sensitive, aching entrance, his incandescent gaze dragging over your face like he’s trying to memorize every expression, every shaky inhale.
as if he was mapping out your features to store in the forefront of his mind. to painfully revisit over and over again.
the realization that had struck him back at the temple as he looked at every mural, every worn painting and towering statue of the air nomads. they all looked like his people. familiar faces, familiar smiles, familiar powers.
but none of them resembled you.
none carried the curve of your lashes or the little furrow in your brow when you worried. none had your laugh, the unique slope of your nose, your warmth, your favor for sour over sweet, your gentleness for children and particular bugs. none exuded your enchanting presence, whether you could bend or not. and suddenly, the grief that sat in his chest for years changed shape entirely. because what would be the point of preserving the world he lost if, in doing so, he lost every trace of the person he loved most within it?
“this—this isn’t about me reviving airbenders or a duty to save my dying culture. this isn’t about avatar sonam or tagah or monk gyatso or anything that has to do with bending. this is about you and me and me wanting to start a family with you,” he states with that heavy, solid avatar voice of his. firm and sure, thumb brushing along your jaw, “this is about me making sure that a part of you will always exist in a world where the avatar exists. that your lips, your eyes, your soul. . . live on for eternity. so that every time i look into this world through the eyes of the new avatar, i can still see you. see you in our grandchildren, in our great-great grandchildren, in the people that will come to exist because we loved each other. . . to know that you’ll always be in my life someway, somehow.”
“aang. . .”
“i realize now that there will come a day when airbending returns, whether in our lifetime or long after we’re gone.” he presses his forehead against yours, tone softer despite the ache in his words. “i know that i’ll get to see that vision through the eyes of the avatars who will come after me. and if i keep chasing impossible answers, impossible resolves— if i keep throwing myself at a future i can’t force into existence— i’ll lose you in the process. i’ll waste the little time we’re given together. with our friends. with our children. the thought of losing you to time. . .”
it killed him.
“what would become of you if i go down this path?”
and you feel it. the shift in him. the sincerity behind every broken word, every trembling breath. the sheer despair that claws through him at the thought of you leaving nothing behind of yourself, of the love the two of you share. the regret he’d forever live with if he only prioritized the revival of air-bending or the kids that would inherit it. and the fact that he still hasn’t left the avatar state only makes it worse, every emotion stripped raw and vulnerable beneath glowing eyes and tattoos and shaking hands.
“so i vow now that i will never neglect your life or your culture for the sake of mine. whether we have airbending children or not. . . that is up to the universe.”
his hands cup your cheeks gently as he leans in, drawing you into a slow, sloppy kiss. you could only gasp softly when his tongue slips past your lips, kissing you like he’s trying to seal his fate with yours.
he slowly pulls away, thick fingers easing you open as he makes room for himself. “i can live without other airbenders. i can make due with the acolyte family we’ve founded. what i cannot live without is you. what i cannot imagine not ingrained in this world beyond my lifetime is you.”
aang smiles for the first time tonight, like the image in his mind was far more beautiful than anything he could’ve ever imagined. he sinks inside, massive and overwhelming, drawing a raspy breath from your lungs at the sheer stretch of him. still, you pull him closer, wanting nothing more than to feel the slow, heavy drag of him inside you.
“aang!”
“sh, deep breaths, baby. yes, like that. be good. fuck, there we go. was made for this.” and he settles there for a minute, buried at the hilt. “my sweet, perfect, silly girl.”
his body hums as you shake beneath him.
“so for now,” he whispers, breath warm against your lips as he begins moving slowly, in and out, “all i want is a child with you. one that embodies everything that you are. one that will carry on your memory, your curiosity, your strength, your traits.” gone was the glow of the avatar state, the white fading slowly from his eyes until they were simply his again, fixed on yours with a tenderness so deep it was almost unbearable. “so i’m begging you. . . give me a baby that looks just like you.”
you cry out helplessly as he buries his face into your throat, holding you impossibly close. every stroke is long and deliberate, driven far less by hunger and more by an emotion too large for words. the slick of your arousal coats his balls as you helplessly grind against him, cunt fluttering around the girthiness of his base. you could feel all the veins that line him, tracing your walls as he fucked you like he needed you to breathe.
you blink back the tears threatening to spill. “b-but i do want our baby to be like you. i do want to help you—”
he shakes his head fervently, fingers tightening around you like he’s afraid you still don’t understand. “no. no,” he rasps, “i don’t want this to be some duty you carry for me. i want this because it’s us. because it’s the life we chose together. no obligations. no sacrifices.”
you feel the dampness at the corner of his eyes as he clings to you, hands roaming your body in a worship-like trance, as though he was reassuring himself that you were real and here and present and his. to have and to hold and to sink himself into when the world is in chaos.
“please,” he croaks hoarsely into your neck, voice cracking around the word, and the raw vulnerability in it makes your chest ache more than anything else ever could. “say you’ll give me a baby, sweetheart. say you’ll give me this one thing. even if they come without air-bending.”
a broken sound leaves your throat as you cling to his shoulders, nodding desperately against him, back arching into his warmth. “yes,” you breathe out shakily, fingers curling around his nape. “yes, yes, yes. of course, i will.”
the words—your defining proclamation—undo him entirely. he groans into the curve of your neck, holding you so tightly it almost hurts, every breath hot, cold, then hot again against your skin. you run a hand down his spine, flattening your palm against the scar on his back.
his hand glides down the length of your stomach until it finds your sensitive clit. his thumb traces slow, firm circles over the small, aching bundle of nerves, each deliberate stroke sending another wave of pleasure through you. your vision flashes white as your body trembles, every muscle tightening before you shudder beneath his touch. he follows as he cums in thick, long spurts, coating your insides pearly white as you cream on his cock, legs caging him in. his tattoos begin to faintly glow once more as he shivers, hips still pumping his seed into you, forehead pressed beneath your jaw, as though he can’t bear even an inch of distance between you.
when he finally pulls back, his eyes have returned to their natural state, shining with something far softer than desire.
devotion, perhaps. a need to always keep you safe. to give you—and your children—a world that offers everything and takes nothing in return.
“i love you,” he murmurs softly, brushing the damp strands of your hair from your face. he rests his forehead against yours again, eyes slipping closed as his heart, for once, is at ease. “thank you.”
your lips tremble into a tired smile, fingers curling weakly around his head. “you never have to thank me for loving you.”
though your words alone could never truly capture the depth of everything you’ve given him.
࿐ synopsis ⦂ you could wear the crown and speak the right words and smile at all the right moments; and still find yourself alone in a garden, wondering if loving the fire lord was ever supposed to feel this much like disappearing.
꒰꒰ involving contents ⦂ soft angst with a pure fluff ending, fire lady responsibilities, a random oc, hidden feelings and a confrontation.
they dressed you in red and gold the way they'd dress a weapon before it's presented, with a manner that had nothing to do with what you want.
you stood very still while the handmaidens work. the robes were heavy, though the pins for your hair were even heavier. a headpiece was placed at your crown, while you admired the making of you becoming someone you didn't quite recognize, in the bronze mirror.
...fire lady... the title rested in your chest, bright enough with status, but never truly feeling like it belonged to you.
ZUKO appeared in the threshold behind your reflection. he was already dressed for this kind of life... the attire of statecraft suited him differently than it once did. you can see it in the way he carried the weight of the crown with admirably acceptable that this was where he was meant to be.
his eye found yours in the mirror. "are you done here?"
for a second, you thought of honesty... of the hundred courtiers waiting beyond the doors... the ministers with their assessments in their eyes... the way every room in this palace seemed to judge you. but amongst all that worry, you still thought about how much you love him, and how that love taught you to give in to the life that was offered with him...
"yes!"
the banquet was a perfection of performance.
you smiled when you were meant to. zuko sat to your left and managed the table of highborns like he had made peace with being looked at. you watched him from the corner of your eye... he was so good at this. how was he so good at this.
you weren't any good at it...
that you knew, the moment LADY SHAN, wife to one of zuko's senior generals, asked you what you make of the proposed trade with the earth kingdom... an easy question to anybody. you opened your mouth, and the only honest answer in your tired mind, was... I haven't been spoken to, on it properly and I'm afraid of saying the wrong thing... but, you decided to let it go with carefully dragged out words that probably meant nothing to her. you held your breath as she gave a polite smile and kept on.
when the final course arrived, you were so far behind your own eyes that the candlelights were speaking to you. you smiled for the last time, waiting for it to be over.
you were trying to even out your breathing when you heard his footsteps. zuko found you perched on the garden's bench, overgrown compared to the formal ones near the audience chambers... no one has been here in years.
"you left..." he brought up, attention shared between your abandoned headpiece beside you, your unheld up hair... and finally, the way you were sitting, shoulders down, face tilted up to the midnight sky.
"I needed air."
"I know." he came to sit by your side, close in silent comfort. "I saw your face during the shan conversation."
your eyes flutter shut for a second too long. "was it obvious?"
"to me." he spoke in hushed tones. "not to her."
you glanced down at the folded hands in your lap, still wrapped in red silk. "I don't know what I'm doing in there, zuko. I know how to be... I know who I am. I know that. but I don't know how to be that in there, in that room, with all of them watching me decide what words to say before I say them." you exhaled. "I don't know how to be your fire lady in a room that already has an opinion about what your fire lady should look like."
zuko stayed quiet for long enough, that you just had to face him. his profile, in the dim light, was serious for you mattered to him and he, now had to work out what to say without destroying your bond.
"...when I became fire lord," he began, "I sat in that throne room for an entire day of petitions and I understood maybe a third of what was being asked of me. and I had trained for it. I was certain everyone in the room knew how out of place I looked."
"that's different. you're... "
"I'm what?"
... you sighed, swallowing it back... you're zuko.
"I didn't marry you because you were born for this," he said. "no one is born for this. I barely survived learning it, and I had years of it before my exile as preparation." he twisted to look you in the eyes, now. "I married you because you are... you're honest in a way that people in that room have forgotten how to be. you're kind without overthinking it. you see things." he paused. "those aren't weaknesses in a fire lady. those are exactly what the fire nation has been missing."
"I couldn't answer a question about trade policy," you deflected.
"I'll have someone fill you in on that. properly, this time .. I should have done that already. that's on me." his jaw tightened slightly at his mistake of being so caught up on having you a wife and your time, that he forgot, the both of you weren't the only two to exist in his world of duties. "I keep forgetting that I can't just throw you in and expect you to swim because I know you can. that's not how this works. you needed scaffolding and I didn't build you any and I'm sorry."
"I'm not fragile," you started. "I'm not asking you to protect me from it."
"I know you're not." zuko picked up the headpiece from beside you, tumbled it over in his hands, studying detail. "I'm asking myself to be better at the parts of this that are mine to carry. preparing you. telling you when something's going to be hard instead of assuming you'll figure it out." he set it down, gently. "we're a team in this. that means the failures are mine too."
he stared you down, waiting on you... though you weren't sure what he was waiting for... permission, correction, or simply for you to say something true .. the truth is what you chose.
"I was scared tonight," you confessed. "not all the time. there were moments I was fine. but the scared parts were very scared."
"that's allowed." his eyes, in this light, were very gold. "I was scared tonight too, for the record."
a half laugh left you. "you looked so calm."
"I've had more practice looking calm than being calm." the corner of his mouth lifted heavenward. "It's a different skill."
you spilled laughter again, properly this time, and something in your chest set free the tension that had been building since the handmaidens first pinned your hair.
zuko reached over, in search of your hand. his fingers were always fired up. "...next time," he said, "come find me before you disappear into the garden. we can leave together for a few minutes. I need the air too."
"people will notice."
"let them." his thumb swiped your knuckles, once. "I am the fire lord. If I decide my wife and I need five minutes of quiet, I think I can make that decision."
it was quietly radical in his words of my wife... you were never something as little as a title, or a trophy draped in gold to be presented to crowded rooms.
you flipped your hand over and held his the right way. "alright" you agreed. "next time."
he nodded, but neither of you moved for a while. the lantern light from the main hall was lost to the moonlight. you can hear the faint drift of a late musician still playing in the palace... you sat in the garden until the song ended. soon, Zuko fetched your headpiece, standing, and offered you his hand... it was time to return... together.
atla masterlist . . . . . ↷
all atla and zuko works ࿔ ✎ wanna be tagged in future works? click here.
⤿ঌ 𝑰𝑵𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑺𝑪𝑬𝑵𝑻 — someone who glows with intense passion, brilliance, or joy, or conversely, someone burning with extreme rage.
⤿Content : Plot & build up. Pregnancy. Nudity. Wounds & bruises. Kissing. Suggestive. Intimacy. Heavily Implied sex. Fluff. Drizzle of angst. Scene inspired by Pursuit of Jade. The most self-indulgent a self-indulgent fic can get.
⤿Word count: 7.7k
⤿ Authors note: Sokka is vital to the plot of every fic! Zuko loose hair and back muscles when they're flexed *drools*. Last last thing, I suck at content/warning tags sorry ://
Once again... balance had been restored to the world, peace revived to the united republicans, and a dawn on the horizon to mark it's arrival.
But the suns awakening did not remove the cinder from the air nor the scorch of the city from below—a new day had not meant a forgotten yesterday—the damage was done and much was to be rebuilt.
Birdsong returned to the skies. And a memory stirred of all the mornings he had spent on the terrace overlooking the flourishing expanse of his nation, a whiff of cider musk breathing from his silk robes.
Zuko set aside much of his concerns for the time being and embraced the kindred fire of first light as they braved the clouds. He had not wanted to—he felt he did not deserve to—yet was unable to stop himself from succumbing to relief, for what a long arduous battle it had been.
"This marks another win for team Avatar!" Sokka exclaimed breathlessly as he landed unceremoniously beside Zuko. He threw his arm over the railed edge of Appa’s saddle and deflated from the aftershock of nearly free-falling to his death.
"And what exactly did you contribute?" Toph queried.
"O you know, brains and brawn. Saved yalls butts twice! Not forgetting how my spectacular no bending invention single-handedly restored peace and balance to the world"
"You think you could use that no bending skills to save me from the wrath of my wife?”
Silence.
Sokka's head whipped toward Zuko whose face had shifted in an instant from calm serenity to petrified realization.
“I didn’t tell her I was leaving,” he muttered under his breath, staring into the sun as if it might offer him mercy.
Toph chortled, “Goodluck with that”
Sokka furiously shook his head. “Don’t drag me into this”
Aang, perched atop Appa’s head, looked back, glad he had not been in Sokka’s—or, worse yet, Zuko’s—stead because he, like the rest, had known your fiery temperament and had been subjected to its terrifying nature before, close enough to understand it wasn’t just talk or a joke passed over lightly.
Even Katara who could silence a room with a glance had never made him feel quite like this: that uneasy awareness of having already chosen the wrong side of a coming conversation.
He swallowed, suddenly very aware of his torn clothes, and looked away from Zuko. He was taken back to that one time during a stealth mission when Sokka and Zuko’s simple bantering had turned a quiet mission into near disaster.
It was a few years after Firelord Ozai’s defeat, when the plans for Republic City were still ink on paper and the world was trying to stitch itself back together.
They ran on exhaustion more than certainty, moving between rebuilding efforts, negotiations, and the precarious work of keeping the nations—set in their ways of war—from tearing at each other again.
The group had split in two. Probably not the smartest of plans. Aang was to take Sokka and Zuko, stake out a camp, trace patrol patterns, count soldiers, gather whatever intel they could, and await the signal.
But with three hours gone and still no sign of movement, Zuko, who wasn’t even supposed to be there in the first place, shifted from stillness into irritation. And with Zuko, irritation never stayed small for long.
Sokka noticed, of course. And Sokka—well, Sokka had never met a tense situation he couldn’t make worse on purpose.
“We’ll age out here before we see a single soldier. Look, Zuko’s already balding,” Sokka said, poking at a branch at Zuko’s feet with his boomerang.
“If you would stop talking, we might actually hear something useful.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sokka shot back, louder, “I didn’t realize Fire lord grumpy here was conducting a listening ceremony.”
The air tightened.
Aang had glanced between them, already sensing the shift before either of them fully committed to it. “Guys... maybe—”
And just like that, their bickering grew harsher, loud enough to have alerted an unseen passing patrol. “It’s the Avatar!!”
“You guys did it again!” Aang snatched up his staff in one motion. Air lifted him upward as he rose above the bushes, frustration flashing across his face. “Every time you argue, someone shows up and I'm always the first one noticed!”
Troops had plunged from the canopy of trees, emerging one after the other from the dark crevices of the forest with no end in sight.
Aang landed to help Zuko and Sokka.
But they were steadily driven back into a position where the enemy had gained the upper hand.
Like fury incarnate, earth had suddenly surged up in twin walls from the ground, folding the attackers in and cutting off every escape, and then water followed—an erosion, swift and precise washed through the space, locking every step in place as it hardened around their feet.
Every threat was flattened in a single, controlled strike.
The chaos gone as quickly as it had escalated.
You stood there afterward with a flat, unreadable expression, sweat clad and breathing heavier from the strain of such coordinated yet strenuous bending, your disappointment settling over them like stone.
Aang visibly shivered, his body reacting as the memory surfaced.
He could still feel it: the pressure of your words pinning them in place more effectively than any Earth Kingdom soldier ever had.
Since then, he had avoided anything even remotely reckless within your orbit. If something looked like it might spiral, he was already halfway out of it.
If Sokka started arguing, Aang found air.
If Zuko started pacing, Aang found distance.
If a plan felt even slightly like it might become “that kind of situation again,” Aang was suddenly, urgently needed somewhere else. Anywhere else.
He let out a small breath, rubbing the back of his neck as if it could ease the memory away.
“Yeah,” he muttered to himself, glancing off toward the horizon. “Not doing that again.”
Katara had heard the whole thing.
She didn’t feel sorry for them. Not really. They made their choices, and choices had consequences, therefore they should own up to it. Simple as that. Still, there was something faintly amusing about the way they spoke of you, like your presence alone had rewritten the rules of survival.
Katara had seen real fury before. Water crashing, storms breaking, emotions spilling over in waves.
And you…you were rational. That was all.
You were control. And control when it turned toward them felt like standing still in deep water as the current decided where one would go.
You were calm, collected, even when you reprimanded them. Somehow, that was exactly what made it worse. Because you didn’t raise your voice. Like every situation wasn’t an emotional mess to be shouted through—but a problem to be solved, with consequences carefully considered.
She sighed, shaking her. “Deserved.”
Toph nodded in agreement. Boys were stupid. Brainless. Rash. They had tendency to ruin most of what they touched… and didn’t touch.
Sokka spoke first, very carefully. “She once looked at me like I had personally offended the concept of intelligence.”
“You did,” Toph and Zuko replied in unison.
Sokka glared.
“You’re all ridiculous.” Then, almost absently, Katara added, “She doesn’t scare me.”
“And me,” Toph raised her hand.
Aang blinked. “Really?”
Katara rested against Appa. “She’ll be angry—and it's within her right to be. You left without telling her.”
Zuko looked toward the horizon, where messengers and rumours always seemed to travel faster than wind.
“And after what just happened,” she added, quieter now, “news of the scale of the wreckage will reach her soon.”
Sokka patted Zuko’s shoulder with forced sympathy. “You're going to have to deal with this one yourself buddy”
Zuko’s expression didn’t change. “You’re coming with me.”
“Nope.” Sokka's leg hooked lazily over the other, letting the slight breeze catch him as if he had already emotionally checked out. “This is a royal problem. Fire Nation business. Husband wife stuff.”
Toph snorted, pointedly removed from the conversation in the exact way Sokka had hoped to be.
“Sokka”
“What Katara? I value my life.”
Aang shifted uncomfortably as Appa readied to land. “In her… condition. I don’t think she’s going to just—focus on one person.”
Zuko’s eye twitched. He clearly caught the implication, but swallowed it down with visible effort. “…You’re all coming,” he said flatly.
Sokka pointed at him. “That’s not how protection works!”
Appa touched down near the city center with a thud that rippled through the streets below.
“It's been a while. We could do with a visit” She smoothed a hand over Appa’s fur, a smile written across the corners of her mouth.
With Katara and Toph in agreement, the decision was already made.
Zuko would be returning home regardless, so his vote counted for nothing.
As for Aang and Sokka…they weren’t given a choice.
With much still to be done in the wake of the destruction left behind, Sokka suggested they remain in Republic City for the day, where they would clean up, rest, and handle a few lingering matters before setting out for the Fire Nation the following morning.
This time, his opinion had been heard and agreed upon.
Zuko was grateful, albeit hesitant. He told himself it was better to return home fully rested and composed than to arrive in torn clothes, injuries half-healed, and every weakness laid bare for scrutiny.
•.‿︵˖⤿🐦🔥 ঌ˖︵‿.•
Steam curled lazily along the stone walls.
Zuko submerged himself under the hot water longer than necessary. When he resurfaced, it ran over his shoulders, down his arms and chest as if it could rinse out more than just soot and sweat.
The day replayed itself in fragments. Then went further back to when his hope for redemption sparked and brought him to this point. Then even further back—deeper into the memories of his childhood when he'd been taught the history of his Nation, their climb to dominance and success…to the demise of the Air Nomad. Aang's people.
He exhaled slowly, tilting his head back against the tub, his arms resting along its curved edges.
His chest rose with the steam, then eased back down—steady as the flicker of candlelight in a still room.
“What troubles you, My Lord?”
A ghost of a touch brushed his shoulder where a deep incision had been healed to a dark bruise. Another sensation had followed shortly, a softer collision against his shoulder.
“Why? Do you plan on kissing my troubles away?” He had found himself smiling.
“Oh, I can do a lot more than that…” you replied, voice warm with that familiar spark—the kind that didn’t burn outwards so much as it simply refused to dim.
His hand had rested on your hip, fingers idly tugging at the absurd amount of layers in your dress as if grounding himself in something real.
“Thank you…”
“I haven’t even done anything yet,” you mused, tilting your head to capture his lips in a simple kiss before tucking his hair behind his ears.
But Zuko had meant it in all honesty. “For being here. Even when it got hard. Even when everything changed… when it was an upheaval and adjustment for you.”
You had become his calm, the push and pull of water, steadying him when everything else felt uncertain.
And yet, despite the water that flowed through your veins, making you strong, composed, and grounding, there was a fire breathing beneath it.
It was obvious in the way you moved through the world—quick to flare, quick to speak, quick to challenge anything that stirred too comfortably around you.
“Those eyes look as if they could do no wrong,” your finger traced the slope of his nose, slow and unhurried, like you had all the time in the world to map him out, to revitalize the memory of him.
It lingered there for just a moment too long—enough to blur the line between thought and touch—before drifting down, over the heat of his cheek, across his jaw to pinch his chin.
His breath caught, subtle but sharp.
He didn’t move at all, caught between the instinct to step back and the more dangerous urge to stay exactly where he was.
“But it’s not enough to get you out of trouble,”
His body jolted upright.
The bathwater around him swayed at the suddenness. The illusion broken instantly, like heat breaking through glass.
He dragged a hand down his face. Once. Firm.
Exhaustion. That was all it was. A tired mind pulling shapes out of absence just to fill the missing and overexertion and the hunger.
Nothing more.
He pushed up through the water, muscles tightening as cold air met damp skin. Heavy droplets clung to him, sliding slowly down his shoulders and legs, tracing paths to corners touched by your heat.
For a moment, he stood there letting the realization settle back into something he could control. Then he stepped out of the tub.
The towel came around his waist in practiced motion. Water hit tile in uneven rhythms behind him as he dried his hair, wringing it out before clipping it back and walking into the room he'd been given.
Soft bedding, muted light, walls too clean to feel familiar. Comfortable, but not home. Not anything that could anchor the feeling he’d just shaken off. He crossed it anyway.
He dressed in silence, awkwardly folding each movement into the next like he'd long forgotten how to do it himself.
By the time he lay down in bed, at last, the room was dark except for the faint spill of city light through the window.
Sleep didn’t come quickly, and so he stared at the ceiling, listening to the distant ensemble of Republic City—too alive to feel entirely restful. His mind drifted anyway: plans, routes, conversations yet to happen, versions of tomorrow that all ended in the same place.
Zuko closed his eyes. And eventually, after a long stretch of misery—sleep finally took him.
•.‿︵˖⤿🐦🔥 ঌ˖︵‿.•
The sun wasn’t even up yet. Sokka stared into oblivion with a bag slung under his arm, blinking slowly like sleep itself was personally refusing him entry.
Toph flicked a pebble at him. It struck him square in the forehead.
“OW—hey!” Sokka yelped, stumbling sideways and nearly taking himself out on a crate. “What was that for?!”
“Keeping you awake,” Toph said. “You were starting to look peaceful. It was disturbing.”
Zuko stepped past them, passing Aang the last of the supplies before climbing up onto Appa with the efficiency of someone ready to get back home.
“I feel like I should’ve been consulted on this,” Sokka muttered, rubbing his eyes.
Katara didn’t even turn around. “You were.”
“I would remember being consulted.”
“You were informed,” she corrected. “Then you complained.”
“I am not whining—this is strategic concern for my continued existence.”
Katara was unimpressed.
“I hate when the group consensus is ‘we suffer together.’”
“Oh, don’t be such a dramatic shrimp fry. You’re the only one acting like this is a funeral march.” Toph laid down and pulled a blanket over herself and lay down.
With the long journey ahead, she might as well catch up on sleep
“I’m not being dra—” he yawned mid-word, staggering slightly, “matic.”
“Sure.”
Aang tightened his cloak against the early morning chill. “Everyone ready?”
Zuko nodded.
“Appa, yip yip”
Appa shifted beneath them with a low rumble, then launched into the air.
︵ঌ︵
The flight home filled with an anticipation Zuko had yet to process.
It was not the first time he'd been away from you this long.
Between diplomatic missions, routine territory checks, and military assessments, distance had become a familiar part of his life. But this time was different.
This was the only time he had left without telling you where he was going. And that sat with him miserably.
There was much to think about—beyond the worry for you and his children. It was what lingered beneath that, something he had long claimed to have moved past. And yet, still kept him awake.
Years had passed. He had healed. He had… He had tempered those stubborn irrational flames that drove him. Gained loyal allies, true friendship, married the love of his life, named his first born through strength and legacy.
Why couldn’t he forget the years shaped by hate and obsession?
He had once believed capturing the Avatar would prove his worth. That it would earn back his father’s love, his respect. But somewhere along that path, his ambition had twisted—and the that which he hunted had turned, and hunted him in back.
His honour had never known the golden glory of which existed so strongly today, at the same time, his heart sunk unbearably beneath the guilt such honour carried.
As a full day passed since they left Republic City, Appa flew as though time itself were pressing forward.
Aang could feel the anticipation build in the air surrounding Zuko, he and his bison shared the same understanding—faster was better. The sooner they arrived, the sooner everything could finally settle.
With the second sunrise creeping over the horizon, Sokka and Toph snored their way through the early hours in complete disregard for dignity or altitude.
Katara and Aang sat closer together, speaking in low voices, their conversation soft enough to fade into the wind. Zuko remained near the edge of Appa’s saddle. He looked away from them.
He traced the familiar shapes of mountains and rivers as they passed beneath him, each landmark drawing him closer to home—closer to you, and he counted the minutes.
Quite literally.
Though how accurate he was, he couldn't tell. Only that home was getting closer.
When they crossed into Fire Nation territory, the land was scarred by craters of old destruction, softened now by layers of green grass and scattered wildflowers.
Time had not erased them—only made them appear less frightening.
Sokka stirred at last.
He sat up, squinting at the light. He took in his surroundings, let out a long yawn, then moved closer to Zuko who watched as shapes began to form in the distance.
The roads grew more ordered. The settlements more structured. A different world unfolding as they neared the capital.
“Amazing,” Sokka breathed, genuine admiration softening his voice.
Things had changed since he was last there.
Zuko felt pride swell in his chest. It had taken all of them… but most of all, it had taken you. The Fire Nation was no longer something to fear. It was thriving.
By the time they arrived at the palace, the sun was high overhead, drawn near its peak.
They were all momentarily pulled from their grievances, awestruck by the bright banners stretched across the streets below, and the sound of voices rising in organized waves—chants, cheers, a welcome that rolled through the capital.
Their arrival had been expected, it seemed. Likely your doing.
They offered their waves in return, Sokka a little more enthusiastic once he realized this wasn’t a public execution.
Toph tilted her head. “What’s happening?”
“They’re cheering,” Aang said.
“Yeah, I got that. What does it look like?” she shot back dryly.
“Cheerful… alive,” Katara answered, an understatement to the welcome they received.
Appa stuck his landing with heavy force, wind rushing outward with a strong gust that sent he robes and banners snapping.
The members of court straightened immediately, then bowed in unison as their Fire lord stood to his full height.
And there he saw you. At the forefront, fury that rivalled his flames—no smile, no softness, nothing but your gaze focused squarely on him.
Zuko descended from Appa, his feet meeting cold concrete, his shoulders poised.
He approached.
Even with a scowl firm upon your face, you were—without question—the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"My love" his voice lowered, tone of command gone, replaced with reverence of worship.
Behind him, Katara felt her chest tighten just slightly, warmth blooming as she watched it unfold—this quiet, undeniable proof of how far he had come from the boy who once burned too quickly for his own good.
But all good things must meet reality eventually—or in this case, a wife reminding her husband he was still in trouble, and no victory or sweet tone would get him out of it.
“Welcome home, Fire lord Zuko”
His breath hitched for the smallest fraction of a second, not enough for anyone to call it out. Composure followed a half-beat late.
Behind you, his Advisor and Chamberlain stood rigid, guilt practically written into every wrinkle on their faces.
The court, usually so accustomed to political tension, held a bated breath for an entirely different reason now.
It wasn’t fear of their Fire Lord that alerted them, it was the controlled fury of their Lady that unleashed when she saw her husband.
"Do you care to explain yourself, or shall I have the divorce papers drafted?"
Zuko’s collar suddenly felt tighter than it had any right to be. The fabric pressed against his throat like it had shrunk in the heat of the moment. His posture stayed upright out of habit, but something in him had clearly faltered.
“Aang needed my help,”
The courtyard seemed to forget how to breathe.
The attendants stiffened altogether; one advisor’s scroll slipped slightly in his grip before he caught it too late, the rustle sounding far too loud.
Katara’s stifled her amusement while Sokka made a small, strangled noise like he was deciding whether to laugh or pray.
Toph smirked faintly, head tilted as if listening to the emotional damage in real time.
Even Aang, somewhere in the group, looked personally betrayed by his own name being used as justification.
And at the centre of it all, the air between you and Zuko sweltered.
"Is that an excuse I hear?”
“No—”
“Someone’s in trouble.” Sokka said with a grin that suggested he was enjoying this far too much.
It lasted exactly until Katara struck him lightly on the back of the head, silencing him mid-smirk.
“I was going to tell you—”
You side-stepped your husband mid-sentence. No hesitation.
They had all frozen, the Fire lord reduced not by battle, but by the displeasure of his wife.
“Katara.” Your voice noticeably changed first. The warmth returned like nothing had happened. Like it had all been folded away in an instant and replaced.
Katara didn’t hesitate as she crossed the space and pulled you into a tight embrace. Sisters through water, war, and everything that came after it.
Sokka, who had been raving in fear of your reaction was pulled into a hug too, which surprised him.
“Wow. Pregnancy has changed you" he said before he could stop himself.
Katara immediately pinched him.
“Battle wounds? No. More like survival wounds from you violent people.” Sokka barely had time to finish before Katara pinched him again, harder this time. “OW—okay, okay! I’m kidding! Mostly kidding!” he yelped, recoiling and rubbing his arm.
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “It’s fine. Pregnancy has been messing with me, but I’m in a good mood.”
“You're lying” Toph chuckled.
“I'm trying to be in a good mood,” you corrected. “I haven't seen you guys in a while… A visit must've fell from your list of priorities”
Toph gestured to Appa. “Not all of us have a flying bison or a fleet of airships, you know.”
“Mhm.” You looked sideways. “Zuko won't have an airship for a while either.”
That earned a quiet exhale from him.
He stepped closer toward you, but you moved away anyway.
A beat passed. Then Aang stepped forward last, a smile that hadn't truly reached his eyes.
You embraced him tightly. “You look worse for wear" you said.
“Getting better” he breathed out.
That seemed to ease something in you.
You stepped back, one hand resting over your stomach as your eyes moved across them—taking in all of them at once.
The whole mess. The whole family. Back in one place, even if briefly.
Above you, Momo suddenly darted in a tight circle, chittering excitedly around your head.
“Hello to you too, Momo,” you said, amused. “And Appa as well.”
You motioned once, and your lady servants quietly withdrew. “I've had someone prepare your rooms. I'm sure you'll want to rest. The kitchen has prepared a light meal—we can meet for dinner tonight”
Zuko exhaled halfway then stopped when you turned to him, and the breath he’d started to release stalled completely in his chest.
“And you…”
“The Avatar needed my help. I didn't know things would—”
“You had the whole court lie for you!”
A beat.
The officials shifted first. Then the attendants. Then the guards.
Zuko raised a hand.
The courtyard moved. Footsteps scattered and scrambled. Armor clinked. Doors shut too quickly.
“He lets them run but tells me to face my death with honour.” Sokka whispered to Toph.
She smirked. “That makes you less of a coward.”
Katara didn’t hesitate when she grabbed Sokka by the ear and Toph by the forearm.
“Aang!” she called sharply.
Aang blinked then hurriedly followed, leaving you and your husband alone in the courtyard.
“Are you really mad?” He asked softly, catching your face and tilting so your eyes met his.
“Oh rest assured, Honourable Fire Lord—” you swat his hand away, “I am furious!”
You walked first. And he shadowed your every step.
No argument. No pride. Just footsteps behind you, matching your pace through the palace halls, through archway and past carved pillars.
When you finally reached the bedroom, the door shut behind him with a firm click.
You pulled the headpiece from your hair—the one he had given you—and set it down onto the vanity harder than necessary.
“I am not some weak women who can't handle knowing her husband is needed for some greater purpose,” you said. “I do not need constant coddling for every matter you think might cause even the slightest negative reaction. I will not fall apart and I will not beg you to stay when Aang needs you…
But I am your wife!”
His arm came around you carefully, folding over your swollen stomach first, grounding himself there as if that was the most honest place to start. His hold was warm, steady, deliberate.
"You are..." he affirmed with pride—with certainty, submission and subservience that wasn’t defeat but devotion.
He leaned his forehead briefly against your shoulder. “You are my wife. And I know that.”
You slapped his hand. It stung, but he just refolded them into place again. “Let go”
“No”
You looked one sentence away from losing patience entirely. For a brief second, you even looked like you might hit him again.
Zuko, infuriatingly calm, smiled like he could read the thought forming. Then he pressed a light kiss to your shoulder, unbothered.
“I’ll let go if you stop being angry.”
“Not a chance.” You elbowed him in the gut, easily manoeuvring out of his hold, slower but no less familiar with the way your body had been trained to move.
“Feisty woman,” he rasped, hunched over.
He said your name.
No answer.
Repeated it again.
You slammed your hands down on the table. “What were you thinking!?”
“I'm sorry.”
“You hear that, little one? That’s what we call a half-hearted apology. A lie. Your father pulled that one straight from his ass.”
He was sincere—not just because he knew he’d upset you, or because you deserved an apology, but because he knew better. He knew better… and still doubted himself.
“I am sorry… but I—”
“Left. You left. With lies. With people keeping me in the dark because you thought it was best.
Where is your honour in that, Zuko?”
Your voice cracked.
The baby, as if sensing your distress, delivered a series of sharp kicks to your abdomen. You pressed your palm over your stomach, trying to soothe the movement, but the ache lingered.
“What if you died? You would’ve left without a proper goodbye. I would’ve known nothing. Nothing.”
Zuko finally moved—like he was forcing himself not to recoil from the hurt in your voice. “I didn’t think further than what had happened last time”
The memory surfaced, uninvited. A civil war breaking out across the Nation. Smoke on the horizon. Orders lost in the collision. And you—pregnant, close to term, already carrying more weight than anyone should have had to.
There had been a complication then. One that had nearly forced him into a choice that still didn’t feel real even years later—he was on the ground mid-battle when they told him. A decision he had never forgiven the world for making him consider.
So when Aang’s summons came—impossible to ignore—he had hesitated.
He had told himself he was protecting you by not telling you. By leaving quickly. By avoiding panic, avoiding stress, avoiding anything that might tilt the balance again.
But standing there now, watching your hands press into the table, watching the anger that came from love rather than distance, he understood what he had actually done.
He hadn’t protected you.
He had repeated the mistake in a different way.
His throat tightened.
“I thought—” he started, then stopped. Because there was no version of that sentence that didn’t fall apart halfway through. “I was wrong,” he said instead. “I should have told you. I should have trusted you with it.”
A pause.
“It was foolish to leave. It was even more foolish to think I could have the entire court lie to you… keep you in the dark until things blew over… I was foolish.”
"You were."
"I was…"
No deflection. No attempt to soften it.
You hated him. But you couldn't deny him. He had tried, but he was still only human. Human in his mistakes, human in the way he carried them, and human in the way he sometimes let fear speak louder than trust.
Neither of you moved. But then you stepped forward.
Zuko raised his arm, and you walked into his embrace, your forehead pressing into his chest as your breath caught like you’d been holding it in for too long.
“I’m here,” he murmured, meant only for you.
His hand brushed along your jaw as he leaned in—slow enough to give you time, to let you pull away if you wanted to.
You didn’t.
Your breath met his first. Then your lips.
Zuko left soft, lingering pecks along your bottom lip, unhurried, testing, like he was relearning something he had no right to rush.
Then, slowly, he deepened the kiss.
His hands came up to cradle your neck, warm. Always warm.
You swore he ran hotter than any fire bender alive. Not just heat, but presence.
Something constant, something that pressed into you without burning—unless you let it.
He was warmth in every sense of it. Like the thick summer air that clung to your skin, heavy and inescapable.
And like a fire in the dead of winter, steady, consuming, offering comfort the moment you stepped too close to the cold.
He stroked your earlobe while his other hand found the inner corner of your robe, easing it from your shoulder.
Zuko hummed, pleased by the way you inclined toward his touch.
But you sooner pulled away, telling him to go ahead to the bath chamber.
When you joined him, towel set aside, your fingers found his belt and began undoing the knot with practiced ease.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But his eyes traced your every move while you carefully avoided his gaze.
You pushed his robes from his shoulders, letting the fabric fall away and onto your forearm.
Zuko stepped back to remove his boots and the rest of his clothing followed soon after, until nothing remained between you and him besides the air and a visible shiver in his shoulders.
“Could you…” you gestured toward the water.
“Of course.” Zuko lifted his hand, and with an effortless breath, flame sparked to life in his palm.
The water responded instantly, steam rising in soft curls with a gentle hiss, the surface rippling before it settled.
You sat on the low stone slated edge of the bath as he lowered himself into the water.
“…You’re not joining me?” he asked.
“Waters too hot for me," you replied, reaching for a cloth.
You dipped it, then dragged it gently over his chest, over the bruises no water could heal.
Zuko had eased almost instantly under your care, the tension in his neck and shoulders unwinding as he rested his head against the stone.
His eyes closed, letting you take care of him.
︵ঌ︵
His face sank into the plush mattress, inhaling the faint trace of your scent that lingered in every crease of the sheets.
A low groan escaped him as his body finally registered how tired it was. His arms stretched out loosely, then went still, like even moving felt optional now.
“Where’s Atsumi?”
“Asleep. She’s been running a terrible fever.”
Half-lidded eyes shot open. Halfway through getting up, you pressed a hand firmly to his chest and pushed him back down.
Zuko's breath hitched.
“She hasn't slept well in two days. She needs rest…”
“Then I should—”
You didn’t let him.
“Carry on,” you said flatly.
Zuko exhaled through his nose, tension easing in reluctant stages. His shoulders sank back into the mattress, the fight draining out of him.
“She’s going to hate that I didn’t check on her immediately,” he muttered.
“I spent two nights consoling her cries all while dealing with this little Firestarter in my stomach kicking and acting up. You’re not going to wake her.”
He cupped your thigh as you came to straddle him, thumb rubbing circles.
“I should’ve been here,” he said quietly.
“You are here now.”
“That’s not the same.”
“No,” you agreed. “It’s not. But because of you, we're still here”
“…Is she really alright?”
“As alright as any child with your temperament could be” you said.
That earned the smallest, tired curve at the corner of his mouth.
“She’s more like you…”
She was. But she looked exactly like him.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” you replied softly, running your fingers through his hair… a little insecure of it.
Zuko kissed your clothed inner-thigh before he smoothly flipped your positions.
He lifted your leg to wrap around his waist, lowering you into the position he was just in. Then, like he couldn't help himself, he face invaded your personal space—no such thing existed between you.
A kiss to your cheek, your forehead, then the bridge of your nose. His hand found yours, fingers threading tightly with yours against the sheets before he raised them above your head.
“You have nothing to fear,” he whispered.
“Beside my husband sneaking off on suicide missions.”
“Aside from that…”
Zuko caressed the back of your hand, his touch slow and deliberate, before lifting your joined hands to his mouth.
Your leg tightened around his waist. He made a low sound in the back of his throat, half a grunt and half pleading. He looked at your through his eyelashes—in worship… with unveiled devotion.
You skimmed your fingers up the column of his throat—over the thick pulsing vein—pausing at his scar.
He went still as you kissed it.
The heat flourished in his cheeks, not just embarrassment or shyness, but something far more vulnerable—enough to bring him to tears.
He kissed you before they ever fell—before he could retreat into his pain instead of his heart.
•.‿︵˖⤿🐦🔥 ঌ˖︵‿.•
The last remnants of the day had begun to flee when you, flushed and exhausted, pulled yourself out from beneath the blanket and sank back onto your pillow. Zuko's insatiable hunger followed instinctively—too close, too heated.
You pushed at his shoulder before he could hover over you completely.
He laid a kiss onto you stomach, the gesture reverent. The baby kicked which warmed his heart.
Lowering himself until his ear rested against it, nuzzling his nose against the stretched skin.
Endearments whispered his love—the ache in your bones a testimony to it.
“We should get ready for dinner…” you mumbled weakly.
“Not obliged to attend,” Zuko replied, unmoving, still half-lounged against you like he had no intention of letting go.
“Courtesy…” You sat up.
He muttered something incomprehensible under his breath before sitting up properly, dragging a hand through his hair to reset himself into something resembling a Fire Lord again.
But the softness didn’t fully leave his face. Not when he stared at you.
You rolled your shoulder with a wince, working out the tension still lingering there.
Without a word, he crossed the space between you.
His silk robe draped over your shoulders, adjusted it gently, fingertips brushing briefly as he made sure it covered well.
“As you wish.”
And so he did.
From the bath to the cloth, from lifting you in and out and carrying you about, from laying out your dress and seeing you fit for the hall—Zuko had done it all.
By the time you entered the dining hall, the others were already seated.
Zuko led you in with your hand set light upon his forearm. His hair bound up neat and proud, the Fire Nation emblem set through it, gold catching the lamp-light and casting a warm gleam over the room’s high beams and carved stone.
You took the first step in. Then, just as you had almost reached the table, a small blur sprang from Aang’s lap and darted across the room in a flash of light and laughter.
Zuko dropped at once to one knee, swift as a striking hawk, and caught the child with ease before she could collide with his legs.
“Papa!” she cried, laughing so hard it came out like a squeal.
At the sound, Zuko’s heart was pried open with joy.
His arms closed around her small body without hesitation, his entire composure shifted in an instant to her father.
Katara’s face softened at once, and Aang watched her with a look that held both warmth and wonder. You saw it.
And you smiled just slightly as you took your seat.
Sokka, already halfway through pouring a drink, slid a glass toward you with exaggerated seriousness.
“For the Lady of the Fire Nation,” he said, trying—and failing—not to look smug about the chaos he was witnessing.
Zuko lifted her with ease as she tugged at his collar and pointed at nothing in particular with the absolute certainty of a child who believed everything belonged to her.
“I found him,” she announced proudly to no one and everyone.
“You always do,” Zuko said, almost amused, pressing a brief kiss to her hair.
Zuko sat beside you, his daughter in his lap. But she stayed no longer than a minute before she was up and dangling onto Sokka's shoulder.
With everyone seated and settled, though “settled” was a generous word for it. You began to eat.
Your daughter—who by all means should have been limp and fever stricken—had decided otherwise.
She clung to Sokka’s shoulder one moment, nearly toppling over into his plate of food the next.
But she had slipped from him like water, already darting after Momo, who chittered in alarm and delight as he took flight just out of her reach.
He yelped, simultaneously catching her and his plate. “Hey, hey… tiny tyrant, sit down!”
Aang winced. “Momo, don’t encourage her—!”
Too late.
She spun again, quick as a spark, and made her way to Toph’s side. A small hand reached. A piece of food vanished.
Toph didn’t even move. “You’re lucky I like you,” she said, chewing slowly, though the faintest smirk tugged at her mouth.
Zuko watched her with a mix of disbelief and quiet awe, like he couldn’t quite decide whether to intervene or admire the sheer force of her will.
“She was sick?” he murmured under his breath.
You shrugged.
Atsumi, after several laps around the dining table, finally slowed and squeezed her way between Katara and Aang, picking up the little bison stuffed toy she had left in their care earlier.
Conversation had found its rhythm. Old friends catching up. Distant family telling tales.
“…And the damage?” you asked.
You listened. You replied. You added where needed. But eventually, almost without noticing, the conversation had deepened.
Zuko’s hand stilled slightly beside yours.
Aang glanced up. Katara’s posture straightened just enough to be noticed. Even Sokka quieted, though he tried to hide it behind a bite of food.
“Later then,” you glanced at Zuko.
Sokka, ever the first to recover, leaned back on his hands. “Great. ‘Later.’”
Toph snorted. “You act like you’re the one in trouble.”
“I am in trouble,” Sokka shot back. “I was there. I participated. I enabled—”
“If anyone’s in trouble… it’s Zuko,”
Zuko shot her a look of warning immediately—but there was no real bite to it.
He was just grateful you were currently occupied with redirecting your daughter away from Momo’s tail before she discovered yet another way to test the limits of her mothers patience.
“…She shouldn’t have this much energy.”
You huffed, sitting down with her.
Aang smiled faintly at that. “I remember someone else who didn’t know when to stop.”
Zuko pursed his lips.
“…You chased me across the world.”
Sokka pointed between Aang and Zuko. “See everyone here has a history of making questionable decisions but I’m always the liability?”
“You are the liability,” Toph said flatly.
“I am the glue of this group.”
“You’re the gum that gets stuck under my barefoot,” she shot back.
You and Katara shared a laugh.
“So what will happen now?” you asked afterward, looking over your daughters head as she climbed into your lap without permission and then dove into her fathers lap when he sat.
He was breathing heavy.
Atsumi had made him chase her around the room, laughter echoing between the tables until even the guards had started pretending not to watch.
You argued it was dinner and he had already eaten half of his meal, but Zuko didn’t know how to say no to her—especially not when she looked at him like that.
Aang set his bowl down before answering, his tone thoughtful, already a step ahead in planning. “We’ll head back to Republic City. There’s still work to be done”
Sokka groaned softly. “Ah yes, more work. My favourite.”
“You don’t do the work,” Katara said.
“I supervise the work.”
“You eat during the work.”
“I fuel morale.”
Toph flicked a raisin at him.
Ignoring them, Aang concluded. “After that… I’ll be taking the new Acolytes to the place Sonan mentioned.”
Zuko glanced between them before speaking. “I can have airships prepared by morning, if you'd need it.”
Aang nodded in quiet appreciation. “That would help.”
Katara glanced at him. “You’re sure about this?”
“It’s time,” Aang said simply.
Zuko considered that. “Let me know what you need. Supplies. Support. Anything.”
Eventually, you had the table cleared and replaced with light desserts and tea because no one seemed ready to head to bed yet. The atmosphere was warm. Unrushed. The company welcomed.
Aang met his gaze and nodded once. “I will.”
And in that small pocket of noise, you leaned slightly toward Zuko.
Your voice dropped—low enough that it belonged only to him.
“You should go with them.”
You smiled, faint yet certain. “I want you to see there’s still hope.”
He stilled. “You want me to leave again?”
Your words sunk in—finding places within his soul that had learned to never complain again. The past was not something he spoke of often, but it lived in him all the same.
The Fire Nation had taken everything from Aang’s… and even now, it still kept him up at night—haunting thoughts that never went away no matter how much time had passed or how much he had tried to make right what could be made right.
It was part of the reason he had moved so quickly when Aang’s message arrived.
And though he had not been the one to begin it, he had once chased its ending for all the wrong reasons.
That guilt had never quite left.
Your hand brushed lightly against his beneath the table.
“That isn’t yours to carry alone, nor is it his” you added, looking across the table.
Aang laughed boisterously at something Sokka had said.
“You think I can help with that?”
You didn’t hesitate. “I know you can.”
“Uhm… guys— just letting you know… she's really hot," Sokka said, wide-eyed as she clung to him with alarming determination.
Zuko’s eyes flicked toward him. Toward Aang. Toward the future being built in small, stubborn pieces.
“Atsumi” Zuko called.
Her fever must be returning.
At once, she looked up. And just as quickly—faster than she ever listened to anyone else, faster than when you called—she broke away from Sokka and returned to her fathers side.
No hesitation. No protest.
He bent down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. There was still too much left unspoken behind his eyes, too many thoughts he hadn’t yet sorted into words.
“I’ll take her to get her medicine” Zuko stood for the hundredth time that night.
He lifted your daughter carefully into his arms as if she were the most natural extension of himself.
Then he turned—already halfway gone in his mind. Tethered only by habit, by love, by everything he had built and still didn’t quite believe he deserved.
zuko suddenly jerks upright in bed, a blood curdling scream tearing out of his throat.
your eyes burst wide open, ear drums quaking from his sudden shriek as you almost fall out of bed from fright.
then routine kicks in.
you so very carefully reach for your husband. calling out his name softly as place a comforting hand on his shoulder, trying not to startle him.
but just like every time before he jumps at the sudden touch, body taut with fight or flight coursing through his system.
then teary golden eyes meet yours.
“it’s ok, my love. it’s ok. it was just a dream.” you soothe.
your hand reaches out to hold his face. skin slick with sweat yet icy to the touch. the fear in his eyes, the trembling in his body makes your stomach roll with a wave of nausea and anger bubble in the depths of your soul.
not anger at your husband, no.
anger at his father.
tears slowly begin to slide down zuko’s face and you’re pretty sure you can hear how hard his heart is beating as you pull him gently down with you.
you pull him onto your chest, cradling him with one arm as you use your hand to stroke his hair.
you feel him cling to you like a safety blanket. his nails biting into your skin like someone might try and tear him away from you.
“it’s ok, my love. i’m right here.” you whisper. “it was just a dream, you’re safe. i won’t let anyone hurt you.”
your own tears begin to shed silently, as zuko sniffles against your chest. your heart breaks for him further every time this happens.
you know your husband has made mistakes. you don’t deny that. but he’s a different man now. a better man. a good man.
and he sure as hell never deserved the way his father maimed him.
you both lay in silence, besides the sniffling every now and then from zuko, as you try your best to bring your husband some sense of comfort.
“i’m sorry.” zuko croaks.
your brows furrow, teeth sinking into your lip as you try to slow your own tears and steady your voice.
“you don’t ever have to apologise.” you whisper. “not to me.”
zuko weakly nods as he presses his ear harder against your chest. the steady beat of your heart soothing his, grounding him.
the world is slowly returning to a sense of peace. you hope the same can happen for your husband one day.
Imagine 12 years ago, you and prince zuko were good acquaintances–but that all changed when you were promised to another man. Many years passed, and he became Firelord so that he could see you again.
She cried when she said she'd been promised to another man
That's when I left my heart with the girl made in Japan
Yes, my heart will always be with the girl made in Japan
Prince / Firelord zuko x reader
>> this is inspired by the lady fuyou story from the apothecary diaries, ahhhh Firelord zuko.
Sidenote : this might be inaccurate but who cares because who doesn't want a man who yearns for you.
<< might contain suggestive content >>
Imagine during the reign of zuko as Firelord, your father was the royal advisor for him and a previous acquaintance towards his father which causes a lot of political tension cause your father wanted the now Firelord to establish back the fire nation former glory.
You were an old acquaintance of his but, didn't get too close towards him until he was already Firelord that's where you and him got closed. Working as an advisor as a replacement towards your father's place, you saw how the once former prince who's known for being impatient become a person who's wised.
Although the path wasn't easy, he started to grow and learn to navigate the politics of the fire nation while also maintaining peace in the nation. Despite all of that, you were never once brave enough to make a move on him because you always thought he belong to mai–so you often stay out of the way.
Even when Mai gave you the green light of pursuing him, you don't have the guts to do it–in the end your family have already set up an arranged marriage for you. You can often, feel the Firelord soft gaze upon you as you voice your concerns and statement over state affairs.
Zuko's reaction towards the marriage was quiet at first... But deep down he was enraged, if this is what you truly wanted then has no choice but to watch. But it's so painful for him to watch you whisk away towards a land far from him–the feeling that he's losing you forever would haunt him more.
He has to watch as the woman that he loves, board a carriage that will take you away from him and unable to do anything but watch. Despite his status as the now Firelord, his reign is still new and not respected yet–if he stops you, it would cause a large scandal that might cause him a lot.
Twelve years have passed, and you live a normal life as a noble wife–your husband was a good man. He knows that the marriage happened for business so he would never force his hands upon you out of respect for you which is a relieved.
Suddenly an incident happened leaving your noble clan in disgrace and the death of your husband, due to being caught conspiring against the current government all asset and title was stripped away. As a way to return back their glory, your brother in law chooses you to be sent away as gift towards somebody in the capital because somebody requested you–bringing you back towards your home
Never would you have thought that the person who was standing in front of the carriage, was zuko–he looks older and more mature. His hair grows much longer and his build more muscles over the years of being far away from you, you have heard his reign become more successful which is something you are proud of him.
You were frozen in shock, he made the move of leading your hand towards the luxurious carriage that was tasked to bring you home with him. When he closed the door, he enveloped you in a warm embrace without talking.
He waited and waited for years for you, working hard as Firelord to hope one day to see you again. Despite the chances of that dream never gonna happen again. When he learns about your husband and his family's current situation, and learns that there's might be a chance of you being sent towards a convent he couldn't bear to let go and asked for your hand.
He is caressing your face, trying to remember and feel the changes that happen towards you after years of being apart from each other–"you look beautiful as the day that I lost you" started to leave kisses on your face as a way to memorize your features as he cradles you in his palms who are full of callouses due to rulling and training.
Zuko would put his face on your shoulders, breathing as if he's been drowning for twelve years and you are hi only Oxygen. He feels like he awoke from a nightmare, and you are there by his side as a sign of the night mare being over.
The entire ride towards the capital, he's afraid of letting you go because if he did–you might disappear again. When you were brought back to the palace, everyone treated you with the same respect as him. You were settled in his chambers which is expected because you and him are gonna get married soon.
For the past days towards the wedding, zuko wanted you to be on his side 24/7–as his advisor and also as his future wife you are task to be by his side as he makes decision for the nation.
Everyday you would feel his touch, his fire would burn away your worries and memories–giving birth to a new era of love as the sun rises bringing day towards his restless days. Hes never gonna go starving because he has you, to be there and satisfy him with your presence.
He would not let you go or let you feel unloved, he would be there in sickness and would be there to fill your cup with wine–he spent a lifetime without you and he would wish not to lose you again, and there's nothing in this world that can keep you and him apart.
The reader's reaction towards their old situationship comes back to pick them up and see a fine shyt waiting for them :
Zuko had been trying to draw a map. A simple coastline, nothing complicated. Instead, his hand betrayed him. By the time he looked down, he'd drawn the curve of your jaw. He stared at it for a long time before he ripped the page out.
The second sketch happened the next night and the third happened a week later. After that, he stopped pretending it was accidental.
Months after the breakup, nobody knew about the notebook. Every page was you.
You laughing, asleep against his shoulder, sitting cross-legged on the palace balcony, reaching for his hand.
The sketches grew messier the farther he got. He was afraid he'd forget and was trying to preserve every version of you before time stole the details. Some pages only contained your eyes and others were covered in notes written in the margins. Tiny things that nobody else would remember or care about.
The worst nights were when he couldn't remember your voice. He'd sit at his desk until dawn, sketchbook open, trying desperately to hear it. He’d try to remember the exact way you laughed and said his name. The way you'd whisper "Zuko" whenever you found him spiraling into one of his moods.
Some nights he could hear it perfectly but other nights it felt distant like a dream fading after waking up. Those nights terrified him because if he forgot your voice, what came next? Your smile?
Page 127.
A drawing he'd started earlier that evening of you sitting in a garden, head tilted back, smiling at something he couldn't remember. The smile wasn't finished and the eyes weren't right. He could feel the memory slipping. Little pieces disappearing every day and he hated himself for it.
Maybe if he had fought harder or said the right thing. If he'd been better, you might still be here.
A tear drop landed on the paper, making the pages wet. The dark spots of the ink began spreading across the drawing. He cried because forgetting was worse than losing you.
Losing you once hadn't already destroyed him enough.
The next morning, a servant would find the Fire Lord asleep at his desk, head resting on an open sketchbook.The page beneath him unfinished with another portrait. A memory of a girl he couldn't stop loving.
☆Wrote this because I am in fact a yearner and I miss my ex. Lmao
tags: @strangeprincessblog @cinnamongirlkisses @amethyst09 @skyavyel @butterflygirlblogg @rubyyworld @uchihabbynic @annichka
Warning: briefly mentions child neglect, mentions self exiting ideations, zuko does one good deed and acts like he’s on his deathbed Pt2, epilogue
Will Zuko be a monstrous father like his own, or will he break the cycle?
A/n: art -> @yvrenin. Enjoy! (this feels a little boring sorry if it is)
You hated your life. You hated your husband. You hated waking up in the morning so much that you wished you would peacefully die in your sleep and wake in the spirit realm instead.
At least then you’d be free.
Zuko refused to take a wife for the first five years of his reign, deeming it a distraction. That was until your father—the royal treasurer was caught skimming money from the accounts and sentenced to death.
He only saved himself by offering up his only daughter.
Zuko refused at first and was prepared to get rid of both of you, but his advisors kindly reminded him that he needed heirs, and quickly. So, rather reluctantly, he agreed.
Which brought you to today.
You dreaded today.
Today was the day your entire family had to attend the war council meeting. Zuko insisted on showing your children how kings conquered and ruled over their subjects, just as his father once had.
You were terrified of this. More terrified for your children than yourself.
Your son, Azael, adored his father. He wanted to be strong and fierce just like him. Your daughter, Zarina, was more like you—reserved and observant. They were both good children with kind hearts, and that was what worried you most.
They were too kind for the life ahead of them.
You stared at yourself in the mirror, feeling as though you no longer recognized the woman looking back. If it weren’t for your babies, you would have taken the poison your healer gave you years ago.
“My lady, we’re finished.” Your servants bowed before leaving the room. You continued staring at your reflection, trying to gather enough courage just to sit through the dreadful meeting ahead. Reluctantly, you stood and stepped out of your chambers, servants bowing as you passed.
“My lady, the meeting has already started. Lord Zuko is waiting for you.” You sighed. Damn it, you hadn’t realized how long you’d delayed.
Slight fear buzzed through your body. Zuko wasn’t abusive, but he certainly knew how to make you pay for disobedience or disrespect.
“Where are the children?” you asked worriedly, quickening your pace.
“Out in the gardens. Would you like me to retrieve them?”
You shook your head. “No, thank you. I will.”
You found your twins in the gardens chasing turtle-ducks, mocking their waddles and quacks. Despite everything, the sight brought a small smile to your face. It was nice seeing them behave as children should.
Too bad you had to ruin the moment.
“Azael, Zarina, come. Your father is waiting for us.”
“Aww, do we have to?” they pouted simultaneously.
You shook your head, holding back a smile. “Yes, and hurry or he’ll be upset.”
They immediately straightened their posture and ran over to you. They had yet to face their father’s wrath, but they knew better than to push their luck.
You guided them inside with a hand on each of their backs. The walk to the council room was silent, your mind praying the meeting would pass quickly.
The soldiers stationed outside snapped to attention and opened the doors for you. Zuko’s attention immediately shifted toward the entrance. He watched as you and the children entered, the three of you bowing before taking your seats. You could tell he was irritated by your lateness, but that would be dealt with later.
You sat down and your children moved beside you, but Zuko beckoned Azael over with a small motion of his hand.
“Come. Sit here, son. It’s time you learned how to lead.”
Azael hesitated, glancing toward you. You gave him a slight nod of permission before he walked over to his father and carefully sat beside him.
The meeting continued, though it all blurred together. You barely paid attention, too focused on your son. He listened intently, his little eyes fixed on Zuko as though he were a god himself.
Eventually, one of the commanders stepped forward. You could immediately tell he carried bad news by the sweat forming on his forehead.
“There’s an earthbending village refusing to surrender. We sent troops, but Lord Zuko, I believe we underestimated them.”
An eerie silence settled over the room.
“Underestimated?” Zuko repeated coldly. “The Fire Nation does not underestimate peasants. Weak commanders do. Burn their homes and crops. Take those who surrender as prisoners, and the leaders…” His voice lowered dangerously. “Make an example out of them. Execute them on the spot.”
Your eyebrow twitched at the harshness of the order. Your heart ached for them, but there was nothing you could do.
“Father… what about the children?” Your son’s small voice echoed through the chamber.
Your heart began to beat so loud you could hear it. You looked at him desperately, silently pleading for him to stop talking.
“If they choose to fight,” Zuko answered evenly, “they too will perish.”
Azael looked dissatisfied with the answer. Slowly, he rose to his feet until he stood directly in front of his father.
“Father, you can’t. Mother says all children are innocent no matter where they come from. Give them a chance to defect. We can help them.”
Small gasps and whispers filled the room. The tension was so thick it could choke someone.
Zarina noticed the shift and scooted closer, you instinctively wrap an arm around her, but your eyes remained fixed on your son as you silently begged the spirits that Zuko wouldn’t harm him for speaking out. Then your gaze shifted toward your husband.
Normally, you could never read him. But today…There was conflict written plainly across his face. Why would he ever be conflicted? When Zuko made a decision, it was final. He never reconsidered, never doubted himself.
“Azael,” he said quietly, “you believe my decision is wrong?”
Azael glanced nervously toward you before looking back at his father, tiny hands fidgeting with his robes.
“N-no, Father, I—” Zuko’s hand rose to cup the side of his face.
Your heart plummeted. Without thinking, you rushed forward, pulling Azael out of the way before collapsing onto your knees.
“Please,” you begged desperately. “I beg of you, Lord Zuko, do not take what he said to heart. Forgive him, please. I myself will make sure he is dealt with. Please, my lord… have mercy on our son.”
Your hands flattened against the cold marble floor, forehead hovering just above it. You remained perfectly still, not daring to move until commanded otherwise.
“Look at me,” he ordered. Slowly, you lifted your head. His amber eyes burned with controlled anger.
“Is this the nonsense you teach our son?” he questioned, his voice rising slightly.
You said nothing.
“Leave my presence. You are dismissed.”
•••
You anxiously paced back and forth in your room. This is the most frightened you’ve ever been since marrying him, this time not for yourself but your son.
You’ve heard the rumors of what Ozai did to Zuko after he spoke out against him, it’s like watching history repeat itself.
Your pacing came to a halt after you heard your chamber doors slide open then closed.
“Where is he?” His voice was calm and demanding.
You straightened out your posture walking over to him, your fear was replaced with a wave of protectiveness.
“I sent them to their rooms.” You kept your voice strong unwavering, unwilling to back down even if that meant taking the punishment for your kids.
Zuko stared at you for a long moment before turning on his heels toward Azael’s chambers. You took in a sharp breath immediately following him, not because he told you to but because you were terrified of what he might do.
The palace halls were silent except for the sharp echo of his boots against stone. Servants lowered their heads as he passed, too afraid to even breathe in his presence. You kept a few steps behind him, heart pounding harder with every turn. Your mind raced on a million scenarios that could happen and what you would have to do to protect them.
You could run away changing their names, send them with your cousins far east, he’d never find them there. Or if worse come to worse…you’d have to kill him with the poison you kept hidden.
When he reached the children’s chambers he paused. You furrowed your eyebrows at his hesitation. Again? He’s never hesitated before this.
He let out a deep breath then slid the door open. Azael sat on the floor surrounded by miniature soldier figurines and turtle-duck carvings, though the moment he saw his father he scrambled upright so quickly one of the toys rolled beneath a cabinet.
“Father.” Fear. Your son was afraid, your heart sank you hated it seeing him so terrified.
Zuko’s gaze swept across the room before settling on the small boy standing rigidly in front of him. He was waiting for punishment. Waiting for his father to berate him for embarrassing him.
Instead, Zuko crouched in front of him. Your head tilted in confusion, the movement startled both of you.
“You embarrassed your mother today,” he said calmly. You raised an eyebrow shocked.
Azael glanced at you then lowered his head instantly. “I’m sorry, Father. I’m sorry for speaking out of turn, I know better. I know mercy makes you weak”
There was a pause before Zuko spoke. “But you were not weak.”
Your eyebrows furrowed, is this some joke? Why was Zuko behaving this way?
Azael blinked in confusion waiting for his father to continue. Zuko picked up one of the fallen figurines, turning it slowly between his fingers.
“A leader surrounded by people too frightened to challenge him becomes a complacent fool.” His eyes lifted toward his son. “You spoke because you believed it was right.”
“You’re… not angry?”
“Oh, I am angry,” Zuko admitted his voice lowering an octave. “You questioned me in front of my generals.”
The child visibly shrank with shame. Then Zuko placed the figurine back into Azael’s hands.
“But I would rather have a son with conviction than one who bows his head to everything I say.”
Your eyes slightly widened, you didn’t know what to do or feel. This has to be a twisted game he’s playing.
Zuko rose to his feet once more, towering over the both of you.
“You will learn one day,” he said quietly, “that compassion and mercy are not the same thing.”
Azael looked up at him carefully, hanging onto every word.
“Mercy can make a ruler weak. Compassion tells him when to be merciful.”
Your son nodded despite not fully understanding, he was too young to understand. Too young to be sitting in war meetings. Too young to already fear disappointing his father.
Zuko rested a hand atop Azael’s head briefly before turning away. “Get some rest. Tomorrow you and your sister will resume your studies.”
He lowered his head bowing “Yes, Father.”
Zuko cut his eyes at you as he walk past. The chamber doors slid shut behind him and only then did you breathe.
Azael looked toward you with wide eyes. “Mother… Father wasn’t angry with me.” You forced a smile onto your face, though your thoughts were in complete disarray.
“No baby,” you answered softly. “No, he wasn’t.” But that almost frightened you more.
•••
Sleep avoided you like the plague that night. You tossed and turn but could never fall asleep longer than thirty minutes. Every time you closed your eyes you saw the look on Zuko’s face in the council chamber. Not anger but conflict.
As though Azael’s words had struck someplace buried deep within him. You hated yourself for wondering what kind of man he would have become had Fire Lord Ozai never broken him.
The thought alone felt dangerous.
With a sigh you toss the quilt off of you. You rose from bed near midnight, unable to endure the silence any longer. You walked to your vanity wrapping a robe around yourself, you stepped into the palace halls intending to clear your mind.
Not too far in your walk, hushed voices stopped you. You’re not one to eavesdrop but they were speaking about your husband.
“I heard for suggesting the prince be punished.” Ice flooded your veins, you wanted to bust them for gossiping but something in you wanted to hear more.
“He said the prince’s behavior was disrespectful and dangerous. Suggested harsher discipline before the boy became difficult to control.”
Your stomach twisted with anger, Azael would never do anything to betray his father. He loved him too much.
“And what did Fire Lord Zuko say?” The servant lowered his voice further, though you still heard every word.
“He said no man would speak on how he disciplines his family again.”
There was a pause.
“Then he ordered Zhao dragged to the lower cells.”
A gasp almost escaped your lips.
“He threatened anyone else who questioned Prince Azael’s character with the same fate.”
The servants eventually scattered, unaware of your presence hidden within the shadows.
But you remained frozen. You didn’t know how to feel, you should have felt relieved.
Instead you felt… confused? Because none of this made sense. This was the same man who ordered villages burned without hesitation. The same man who was feared throughout every nation. The same man who ruled with an iron grip so merciless even his own generals trembled before him. Yet the moment someone threatened his son— No not even threatened, questioned, Zuko protected him.
Your thoughts spiraled so deeply you nearly didn’t notice the approaching footsteps until a familiar voice cut through the hall.
“You enjoy wandering the palace in the middle of the night?”
You jumped turning sharply. Zuko stood at the end of the corridor dressed in dark robes, his hair completely loosened from the day. You noticed he looked exhausted. More exhausted than you had ever seen him before.
“I could ask you the same thing,” you replied cautiously. His gaze narrowed, lingering on you for a moment before he stepped closer. He didn’t have to say a word to appear threatening he just was.
“I…I heard the servants talking,” you admitted carefully.
His expression darkened instantly, “They forget their place.” He began to walk around you headed to punish said servants.
“You imprisoned a councilman over Azael?” He stopped for a moment then turned on his heel to face you again.
“He spoke about my son as though he were some disobedient animal to be beaten into submission.” His jaw tightened. “I will not tolerate that.”
The words stunned you silent. Not because they were cruel, because they weren’t. You looked up at him head tilted trying to understand this confusing man. One moment he wants to raise a tyrant who strikes fear in the hearts of the disobedient and willing to disown him if not. The next he’s defending him punishing anyone who speaks ill of him.
For a moment neither of you spoke. His strong stature not seeming any less intimidating as he stood in front of you. Then suddenly Zuko swayed slightly.
Your eyes widened as your hands almost go out to try and catch him. He caught himself against the wall, breathing sharply through clenched teeth.
“Zuko?”
“It’s nothing.” But it clearly wasn’t. Even beneath the dim firelight his skin looked pale, a thin sheen of sweat covering his forehead despite the cool night air.
“You’re ill, I will call the physician at once.” You turn to leave but a weak hand grips your forearm.
“I said it’s nothing.” His voice came harsher this time, though weaker too. “Walk me back to my chambers.”
He’s…asking for help? Without question you obeyed him, but that didn’t stop your mind from racing. For the first time since marrying him he felt human instead of this terrifying monster.
What could possibly be going on with your husband?
