Flame Dancer
Summary: As the Fire Nation is rebuilding under Fire Lord Zuko, you’ve been called to the palace as a candidate for marriage. Having fled the capitol after Ozai’s removal from the throne, you fully intend to attend only out of obligation. As much as it will pain you to watch your childhood love select a bride, you can’t fathom Zuko would select a pardoned criminal who turned her back on him the second she was freed.
Pairing: Fire Lord Zuko x fem!reader
Word Count: 3.4k~ (oops!)
Content Warnings: brief mentions of imprisonment, slight angst, yearning,
A/N: heyyyy so I haven’t written fic since 2020 so plssss be kind y’all T-T Huge shoutout to my best friend for proofreading this and keeping me sane as I crashed out over this lmao hope you guys enjoy <3
Your hands tremble at your sides as you pace through the halls of the palace among the crowd of candidates being herded towards the banquet hall. As a former lady of the court, and one of Ozai’s favorite Flame Dancers, the way is familiar to you even after years spent far from these halls.
The other women glance around in awe at the luxurious spaces, but you cannot bring yourself to share in their amazement at your shared opportunity. Girls across the Fire Nation would have sacrificed life and limb to be among the twenty or so invited tonight; to even be considered as a potential bride of the Fire Lord was an honor few could have even dreamt of. The members of the royal court had sought out only the most eloquent and impressive bachelorettes the Fire Nation has to offer; and you stand among them, called back to your gilded cage to perform once more for the new Fire Lord.
Zuko… when was the last time you’d had the opportunity to speak with him at length?
When he had taken control of the nation and released those imprisoned for defiance to Lord Ozai, you had fled the country’s capital without a shred of hesitance. You can only remember the hurt in his eyes as you swore to never return, and that ever since, you’ve noticed a royal messenger present at your performances; even despite his best efforts to remain hidden within the crowds. There’s not much you could imagine is worth him sending along but far be it from you to call into question the Fire Lord’s motives. Returning today was nothing but obligation. You would attend, perform, and watch as your first love chose a bride for the Fire Nation. All the more reason to wash your hands of the guilt you felt for abandoning him as soon as your chains were undone.
You’ve come to a stop outside of the door to the banquet hall. The court ladies surrounding you fuss with their hair and gowns and whisper nervously to each other. A handful of them ask you if they look alright, and you nod and smile: adjusting hairpins and murmuring reassurance that each one of them looks like the embodiment of sunlight.
And you mean it, every woman called to court possesses beauty worthy of royalty. Even those who are rejected by Fire Lord Zuko are sure to find themselves approached by the soldiers and nobles in attendance. It would be surprising for any in your group to leave the palace tonight without a marriage proposal. Even if it is only a consolation prize when compared to being made wife of the Fire Lord, it guarantees a lifetime of ease to be wed to a noble. Finally, the rustle of silks and whispers of the girls fade back to silence, and the doors of the hall are pulled open.
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The banquet hall is overflowing with members of the court, bustling with movement and conversation that hushes as the candidates enter. The crowd of officials from all four nations part to allow you all to pass and approach the Dais to present yourselves to the Fire Lord. The wait in line feels agonizing, you want this whole event to be over.
The air feels heavy with whispers of guests as you step up to the dais and kneel, the silk of your gown settling across your lap as you sink into your most reverent bow.
“My Lord, I’m most grateful to have been deemed worthy of even a moment of your attention.”
“You have my gratitude for attending. Please, stand.”
Your pulse hammers in your ears so loudly you nearly miss his instruction, his voice achingly familiar and gentle. As you stand, you finally take a moment to take in the man seated on the throne ahead of you.
Zuko’s build and demeanor are a drastic change from the awkward prince who had returned from exile mere years ago; despite wearing his heavy formal robes, the very way he moves speaks to the powerful corded muscles concealed beneath the layers of silk. He lounges comfortably on the throne and for a moment you are reminded of a crueler man who once occupied this space, but his eyes lack any shadow of his father’s malice, they are kind and concerned as he seems to take in every detail of you standing before him. You feel a wave of relief wash over you as you realize there is none of the anguish or resentment you feared would have lingered with Zuko, and your relief must be present on your face, because the Fire Lord’s lips quirk up the slightest bit into an awkward smile.
Perhaps he hasn’t changed quite as much as you thought.
You have some time to mingle, to eat and drink and prepare before the candidates are given the floor for their skills showcase. You find a quiet corner away from the chaos of the noblemen, all balancing precariously on the verge of drunkenness, and try to get your breathing under control as you stretch. When you turn back towards the dais as a guard calls attention to the center of the room and announces the beginning of the skill showcase, you’re startled to see the Fire Lord’s eyes on you, his beautiful features pulled into a sad smile.
“Would you care to start?” His voice carries across the hall, and it’s not as if you can really decline. You plaster a smile on your face and make your way towards the dais once more, Zuko’s eyes never stray from you as you approach.
“It would be my pleasure, Lord Zuko.” His cheeks tint pink at the use of his name.
You take a moment to speak with the musicians at the base of the dais and approach the padded mat that had been set out for the girls to perform on. You breathe as slowly as you can in an attempt to quiet the roar of blood rushing in your ears.
And then music fills the hall.
Your body sheds the tension you’ve felt the entire evening as you step through a basic fire-bending combination, the warmth of the flame familiar and comforting as you wield it like a silk ribbon. Flame Dance isn’t unlike the kind of fire-bending taught for combat, and the skill is certainly not uncommon for court ladies who can bend.
Before Zuko’s banishment, when Ozai had still hosted events in the palace, you had been a favorite performer of the royal family. Flame Dance was supposed to be a testament to the elegance and power of fire-bending; and though Azula had always sneered at you with your flowing silks and feminine flames, Zuko had always been your biggest fan. As children he would tear you away from the festivities and into the courtyard, begging you to teach him to fire-bend like you did. When he struggled to match the style of the dance he would pout endlessly, until his uncle Iroh would come wrangle the two of you back into the halls of the palace.
But after his banishment the event became suffocating. Talk of foreign policy you couldn’t understand began to sink in, the hatred brewed into every mention of the other nations tainting the only expression you had ever had.
Your art was supposed to be about showcasing what made fire-bending unique, not superior. Your style warped and became harsh as it took the shape of your anger, your distrust of the message that the Fire Nation was above all others. That’s what prompted you to develop the style that led you to be imprisoned for defiance, the style you’ve returned to for tonight.
You shift your stance, close your fists, and blunt your sharp movements so that you launch the flames as if they were solid earth. You’ve traded the technique of fire for the strength of earth-bending. The crowd of officials begin to murmur, but you focus on the rhythm of the music and again morph the flames into a new style.
This time you loosen your limbs, draw the fire around your body as if it’s become a liquid, recreating the gentle flow of water-benders. The whispers tick upwards in volume again. You can’t seem to slow your heart rate as you finish another verse of dance and exchange styles one final time.
This is what had warranted imprisonment under Ozai’s rule, technique mimicked from stolen scrolls hidden away in the palace archives. A scrap of an art he wanted erased from the world. You step lightly, twirl as your flames surround you and mix in your vision with the blended colors of robes from every nation, and finally the whispers silence as you adopt the movements of an air-bender.
It could never truly compare, not without a teacher or example to learn from outside of static illustrations worn by time, but it’s the sincerest attempt you can make. With one final flourish, you let your fire dissipate and go still in the absence of the music. When you finally bring your eyes to the man sitting on the throne your heart skips at the expression on Zuko’s face. He’s beaming like he’s the same little boy from the performances of your childhood, eyes full of excitement.
“Beautiful.” He speaks softly, with such fondness in his voice that it causes your heart to ache. You can’t even form a response and opt to simply bow to the Fire Lord before you escape to the edges of the hall.
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You step out into the courtyard and swallow a few lung-fills of the cool night air. The air inside the palace doesn’t scorch your lungs as horribly as it used to, the decorative flames in the gathering spaces toned down from the heights they had once burned, but you need a moment away from the confines of the place regardless.
The guards hadn’t been too keen on letting you exit into the garden at first, but something had prompted them to step aside and release you into the night air. Perhaps it had been the panic on your face when they barred your exit, or perhaps it had been a stern look from royalty.
You tilt your face up towards the moon, reveling in the silence of the night. The constant buzz of conversation in the hall had begun to weigh on you. That, and the constant feeling of Zuko’s eyes on you had become too much to bear. Every lull in conversation you couldn’t help but steal glances at the dais, and throughout the entire night each stolen peak resulted in you catching the Fire Lord observing you. It looked like it almost pained him; to sit and watch showcase after showcase as you mingled with his court.
At one point a young man from the military officers approached you to express his admiration as a longtime fan of your art, and you could’ve sworn the flames in the hall had burned hotter for a moment; right before the man turned white as linen and hurried away from you like you had caught fire.
To be away from the eyes of the Fire Lord for a moment was what you needed to shake the longing from your heart, to remind yourself that you simply needed to survive him selecting a bride so you could flee the capital one final time. But your peace is short-lived; footsteps approach from the doorway as the guards shift once more to let someone pass.
“You dance even more beautifully now than when we were teenagers.”
Speak of the devil.
You glance over your shoulder to see none other then the Fire Lord himself standing a few paces away from you, his long hair swaying gently in the cool breeze. Your heart aches as you smile at him and bow politely.
“Thank you, I’ve not had such an honorable audience in a long time.” Zuko returns your smile, taking a step closer.
“Could you make one final attempt at teaching me to bend so gracefully?” The word final hangs between the two of you, bitter and unpleasant, but you nod.
As you walk him through the movements of your routine, it becomes even more apparent that this is not the prince you knew before; Zuko’s movements are precise and elegant, despite the bulk of his frame he is as nimble as you. When he finishes his practice, he places his hands on his hips and flashes that beautiful smile at you.
“It only took me 23 years to pull it off.” He laughs.
“You’re a far more graceful man than you were in your youth, My Lord.”
At the sound of his title from your lips the comfortable smile disappears from Zuko’s face. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.” His tone is mournful, and he casts his gaze away from you.
“I’ve missed you, you know?”
You open your mouth to respond, but choke on the words as they form. “I’m sorry.” Is all you can manage. Sorry for not leaving with him when he was banished, sorry for fleeing the second he undid the shackles Ozai had condemned you to, sorry for returning.
“I understand why you left. I trust you’ll believe me when I say this palace is as haunting to me as it is to you.” There’s a sadness in his voice that causes your heart to ache; you long to reach out to him and comfort him.
“I would imagine it is even more so my lord.” You feel selfish for having made your discomfort so apparent knowing that this is his home, that he’s been made responsible for cleansing it of the cruelty steeped into it by the generations before him.
“I can’t undo the things that have happened here. I’m ashamed to have once believed my father’s ruthlessness to be a true love of his people.” Zuko’s voice is barely audible, and he scratches uncomfortably at the base of his skull, eyes cast downward to avoid your gaze. “It pains me to request you stay here knowing how desperately you fled from the capital.” He takes a deep breath and finally meets your eyes.
“But know that I would rebuild the palace, the Fire Nation, the entire world to make it a place kind enough to be worthy of your presence in it.”
Your breath catches in your throat and Zuko’s cheeks burn scarlet as silence hangs between you. “I’m not fit to stand at your side, Majesty. I don’t have the skills to lead that the rest of your candidates do.” Speaking the words feels like swallowing white hot embers, but they’re true enough. You have no grasp of foreign affairs, or diplomacy and trade. Zuko shakes his head and steps towards you, his hands reaching for you.
“You have a love for the people in our nation. And respect for those outside our borders. You were willing to be imprisoned, to be executed, for learning the styles of benders my father saw as sub-human.” His hands find yours, strong and warm, and you blush terribly and drop your gaze. But he won’t allow you to avoid him, releasing one hand to lift your chin and bring your eyes back to his pleading expression. “You can be taught to participate in the affairs of the nation; you will always have my support as you learn to lead. I don’t want a diplomat as my wife, I want you. I want your kindness and your warmth to remind me that fire can be nurturing instead of destructive. I need you by my side to keep our people from returning to cruelty.”
Your heart is thundering in your ears as you stare at the man before you. Zuko’s face is flushed and you can feel the heat of his body radiating from him in the chilled evening air. His eyes are desperate and searching your face for a clue to what you’re thinking, and you can’t help but reach out and touch his face. Your fingers skim his cheekbone on the scarred side of his face, and he leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut.
“I won’t force you to stay, I could never bring myself to cage you here.”
But you haven’t felt more at ease this entire night than you have here with him. Perhaps the cage was never the palace itself, only the man within it; because Zuko feels like home in a place you thought could never be hospitable.
When he opens his eyes again you take another step towards him, closing the gap between you. For a moment he’s still as you press yourself into him, leeching from him his warmth, and then he wraps his arms around you. His touch is gentle and unsure as he holds you.
“It would be too torturous to leave you behind a second time.” You whisper, and you can hear his heart thud louder against the solid muscles of his chest.
“Tell me to stay. Ask me outright to be your wife.”
You need to hear it again, that he would choose you to stand by his side as he faces ruling the Fire Nation, because you can’t quite grasp it. Zuko wraps you tighter in his arms, and when he speaks his voice seems to hum through you.
“Please. Stay with me.”
He releases you for a moment and sinks to his knee before you, his hands on your hips as he looks up at you.
“Take me as your husband and know I will never let harm come to you again. Help me be the ruler our people deserve.”
You reach out to touch him again, running your fingers through the untied part of his hair. “I accept your proposal, my lord.”
The smile that breaks across his face is dazzling. Zuko stands and pulls you to him, pressing his lips to yours and clutching at your waist like you might disappear if he lets go of you. When you pull away for air, he buries his face into the place your neck meets your shoulder. “My queen has no need to use my formal titles.” He says against your skin.
“Call me by my name, my love.”
Before you can respond, he sweeps you up into his arms.
“Zuko!” you throw your arms around his neck, startled by his strength as he lifts you up as if you weigh no more than a feather.
“That’s much better.” His smile lingers as he strides towards the palace, the guards at the entrance to the hall parting as he approaches. “Zuko, I can walk. If you waltz through the banquet carrying me people will talk.”
“Let them talk, they were going to anyway.”
He crosses the threshold of the hall and is immediately approached by guests, all staring incredulously at the two of you. Fathers of candidates begin to request awkwardly if he would spare a moment to speak with their daughters. Court ladies ask with skepticism if something has happened to you that prompted his chivalry.
It is rather improper to have reentered a court festivity with one of the candidates cradled in your arms, blushing with embarrassment. But Zuko hardly slows his pace as the people crowd around him, striding past and towards the main entrance.
“I’ve made my selection.” His voice rings out over the chatter of the room.
“Stay and celebrate, or feel free to leave for home. I’ll be retiring for the evening with my partner.”
At the word partner some of the candidates begin to fuss and weep, you feel a pang of sorrow for the girls. You had come here with every intention of uplifting and supporting the other candidates, setting them up with worthy nobles if the Fire Lord rejected them. From within the crowd you hear Uncle Iroh consoling some of them.
“Now don’t look so sorrowful, we’ll find you a wonderful husband among the nobility in attendance tonight. Rejection is simply the spirits guidance towards destiny.”
As he reaches the door Zuko lowers you to your feet, hand lingering on the small of your back as he turns to address the stunned crowd, speaking one last time to the dejected candidates.
“As my Uncle has said, feel free to connect with the bachelors of the court. You are free from your obligation to devote your attention to me. I’m afraid I’ve wasted your time, and for that I need to apologize. I knew my choice from the moment she stepped into the palace.”
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