Chapter Text
Aang was born with five marks on his forearm. He grew up with five ghosts protecting and comforting him in equal measure, and eagerly awaited the day he would finally meet them.
He found two of them – the boomerang and the strange swirls - the day after he came out of the iceberg. His soulmates both bore the same fan, eye and crossed swords as him.
Sat in a bison saddle, high up above a wrecked Fire Nation ship, the trio knew that it would only be a matter of time before the six of them were together.
***
Zuko resisted the urge to hum the Blue Spirit theme as he clung to the bottom of a cart entering the Pohuai Stronghold. He was a professional, and that would definitely get him caught.
It didn’t help that one of his soulmates was tapping out one of the beats on his arm. He wasn’t exactly sure what they were doing there in the first place.
(He was glad for the company, much as he pretended otherwise, even to himself. If he failed or was caught… It was always nice to have a constant assurance that he wasn’t minutes away from dying.)
It was child’s play to slip past the guards, and only a little harder to take out the quartet guarding the Avatar’s cell. He wasn't sure whether to take pride in his abilities or to fear for the safety of his nation.
He entered the cell to the oh-so-satisfying sight of the Avatar in chains. He only allowed himself aa half-second to savour it, not wanting the boy to guess his intentions, before leaping to free him – with a little flair thrown in to scare the slippery brat.
The Avatar, strangely enough, was more awed by than scared of his swords. Zuko hid his irritation; it was better that he trusted him, for the moment at least. It shouldn't matter that he couldn't even scare a twelve-year-old right.
“Are you here to rescue me?” the boy asked, head tilted up to see him, eyes overlarge in his small body.
Zuko stayed silent – he’d recognise his voice – and gestured for him to follow him with his swords. The Avatar followed the movement a little too closely, and went with him without protest.
“Wait!” The boy knelt in the next room, already becoming a problem. “My frogs!”
What?
“My friends-” the boy cut himself off abruptly, looking between Zuko and the frogs. Zuko took advantage of his hesitation and dragged him away, ignoring his protests. They needed to get out of there.
(Was he was always like this around 'allies'?)
***
Aang knew those swords. He’d seen them every day, felt the warm, if rough, presence of their owner in all his hardest moments and coldest flights. He was a strong figure, gentle in his own way. A Firebender who still used swords.
The stranger hadn’t acknowledged their bond, but why else would he be there? It couldn’t be a coincidence that someone with those swords – dual dao, Sokka had called them, with blue handles – had appeared out of nowhere to rescue him.
Maybe the stranger wanted to wait until later. Maybe he somehow hadn’t realised that the arrow was Aang – it had taken Katara and Sokka a minute too.
(It was in the middle of his forehead, he couldn't help but grump. It wasn’t exactly subtle.)
Maybe the stranger wasn’t his soulmate. But maybe he’d know someone else with swords like that? Somehow?
Hidden in a water system beneath the prison, the pair had a minute to talk while that waited for a patrol to move.
He had to at least ask, even if the stranger wasn't going to mention it.
Aang pulled up his sleeve to reveal the familiar marks. He traced Katara and Sokka; promised himself he wouldn’t be much longer in getting back to them.
The stranger had turned his head away the second Aang revealed his marks. That was polite but it wasn't what Aang wanted.
“Hey,” Aang whispered, pointing to the swords. The stranger turned; reluctance clear in the set of his shoulders.
He froze, masked head tilted towards Aang's arm.
(He generally seemed to move very cautiously, but the complete stillness was unusual for him, Aang thought.)
The silence stretched on as the stranger stared at the swords.
“Do you have an arrow?” Aang asked, when it became clear that the stranger wasn’t going to react.
Trembling fingers untucked a black tunic, pulling it up to reveal-
Aang felt sick. The scar ran from his ribcage to beneath his waistband. It was vaguely hand-shaped, but no hand would be that huge, how could… who did that?
The scar was pink and faded; long since healed.
“How old were you?” Aang asked.
The stranger looked away, tucking his tunic back in and hiding the scar.
Aang still didn’t know if he’d had the arrow or not. He had to have seen them before he... before. He had to know what they looked like. No one would do that to a little kid.
But two minutes ago he would never have guessed that someone would burn off someone’s soulmarks.
There had to be a reason why he had shown Aang his scar.
“You don’t know what they look like.”
He looked at the stranger, silently begging him to prove him wrong.
The stranger shook his head.
Aang did the only thing he could think of.
***
The Avatar was hugging him.
The Avatar. Hugging.
His mortal enemy.
His soulm- No. He couldn’t be.
He couldn’t be such a terrible soulmate that he would… He hadn’t been hunting his soulmate.
(Soulmates, plural. The boomerang and the swirls; they had to be the Water Tribe peasants.)
The Avatar touched his swords.
Zuko recoiled, his mind finally having caught up enough to push the boy away.
“We can touch blood,” the boy said, promises and pity and care in his eyes and Zuko didn’t deserve want any of it. “Then you’ll know.”
He reached for his swords again, ignoring Zuko’s shaking head.
“I know it’s you,” the boy insisted. “There are six of us, right?”
(Five bodies held him on his worst nights.)
Zuko stepped back.
“You know you’ll do it eventually.”
Not with him. Not with his enemy.
(What would he even do if it was him? He couldn’t hunt his soulmate – couldn’t have been hunting his soulmate either. Surely fate wouldn’t be so cruel.)
The boy looked at him with stars in his eyes. He was standing too close, but Zuko didn't find it in himself to mind.
“After,” he heard himself say in a roughened voice.
The boy nodded. “Okay, that’s fair, it’s exhausting. But you have to promise you’ll at least try it.”
The boy held one of his hands between his two, eyes beseeching.
Zuko nodded, then, before the boy could say anything more, pulled them up and out of the tunnel to make their escape.
He’d have to find some way out of their promise. But later.
***
Those familiar swords were cold against his throat. Aang swallowed, unsure of whether or not he should look afraid – unsure of whether or not he felt afraid. His soulmate could kill him with a slip of his hand, and they needed that Zhao guy to believe that he would.
But they were out the doors. It wouldn’t be much longer before they could join blood and he could get to know his soulmate.
(It was him; he could feel it.)
Aang didn’t see the arrow coming until it was too late.
He did see the face beneath the mask.
***
Zuko dealt with a lot of terrible things - that was just his life. It made him an expert in awful. He had a phD in getting punched in the face both physically and metaphorically. He’d practically made a career in falling down hills only to land in rivers only to be attacked by hippogators.
This meant that he could certifiably say that his current situation was the absolute worst without anyone being able to refute it.
First off, he had a headache. A really bad one too, the kind that made you almost throw up but you never actually do so you’re just anxious and uncomfortable for several hours without the relief of just ending it.
Secondly, his wrists and ankles were bound. With rope. He’d be even more offended if they hadn’t tied his palms on his elbows, so he couldn’t actually burn them off without setting himself on fire.
(The fact that the good knotmanship and clear effort in his captivity sated his ego was a smaller, but no less awful, thing he had to deal with.)
Thirdly, and most importantly, The Avatar was a scant three feet away from him, and he had no way of getting to him. Every time he spotted him, some reflex tripped in the back of his mind telling him to go and hunt and catch that tiny child. This happened every few minutes.
(The fourth and actual worst part of all of this was the part where the child he had been hunting could be one of his soulmates. If Zuko couldn’t get out of there quickly enough, there was a not-insignificant chance that the Avatar would force them to join blood to try and make him switch sides.
He didn’t know what he’d do if he had to make that decision.)
Eventually, the Water Tribe siblings came to, spluttering and yelling at Aang.
First about the frogs.
Then about Zuko and his general existence.
(Zuko kept his eyes shut. Better they think he’s not listening. Maybe he could get a clue about where they were going next.
Or about what they thought of him as their potential soulmate.)
“Aang, that’s rope!” the brother exclaimed.
“I know.”
“He’s a firebender!”
“I know.”
“Why did you kidnap Zuko?” the waterbender asked, only confusion in her tone. “It’s a little… backwards.”
Thank you!
“It’s a lot backwards,” Sokka agreed. “What would we even do with a Fire Prince?”
“I was captured by Zhao last night,” The Avatar told them. “Zuko broke me out.”
The siblings paused.
“That doesn’t make him your friend, Aang,” the boy said, cautious.
“No,” Aang agreed, “But these might.”
Zuko heard a clink of metal. The siblings let out small noises of shock and dismay.
There was a rustling as the waterbender climbed out of her sleeping bag to look closer. “These are his?” There was no mistaking the awe in her voice - nor the bizarre hope.
“Pshaw,” her brother scoffed, unconvinced. “They’re good fakes, but he must have seen our marks at some point. He’s just trying to trick us.”
“He didn’t use firebending at all last night,” the Avatar said. “Just his swords. He was pretending not to be Zuko – he had a mask and everything. And he knew how to fight with them.”
“Aang…”
“We fought well together.”
“Did you try to join blood?”
“He wanted to wait ‘til after.”
“He didn’t want you to know that you’re not soulmates and he’s trying to manipulate you. It’s a dirty trick; but I wouldn’t expect anything less from the Fire Nation.”
How dare he-
Zuko was so sick of this. He just wanted to go back to his ship.
“That,” Zuko said, pulling himself halfway upright (which here means ‘onto his side because that really was some quality knotwork’) and glaring at them, “would be in no way honourable. Just because we’re mortal enemies doesn’t mean you have to insult me like that.”
The Water Tribe boy blinked at him. “Yes, it does. What’s the point in having a mortal enemy if you don’t make fun of his terrible awful ugly ponytail?”
“I’ve resisted the urge with you so far.”
He squawked, sputtering incoherently. “This is a warrior’s-”
“Sokka,” his sister placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, though her expression was unsympathetic.
The boy – Sokka – reeled on him again, his voice only getting higher and louder and worse on Zuko’s headache. “Stop trying to distract us!”
“You’re the one who insulted my Phoenix Tail.”
“You’re pretending to be our soulmate!”
Zuko flinched. The fact that they thought the swords matched their mark was… not good for him. Maybe he could convince them it was on purpose and they wouldn’t try anything – but faking a soul connection was just… what kind of person would do something like that? He wouldn’t even pretend to stoop that low.
(And what if it was them? Shouldn’t he try to fix things now, before he wronged them even more?)
“I’m not,” he protested. “Those are my swords. They just happen to look like your soulmarks. I wasn’t trying to trick you – give me some measure of credit.” They looked unconvinced.
“I didn’t even know about your marks until the Avatar showed me last night,” he added.
The waterbender got a strange look in her eye. She stepped forwards, and sat cross-legged a few feet from Zuko. Even sitting down, she was a lot higher up than he was comfortable with in his vulnerable position.
He puffed out a mouthful of flames in warning, and got a raised eyebrow in return.
(Her brother waved his arms in frustration and panic behind them, but didn’t intervene. The Avatar watched with undisguised fascination.)
“You didn’t know they would match our marks?” she asked. “It really was a coincidence?”
He snarled. “I may be your enemy, but I still have lines I wouldn’t cross. I’d appreciate it immensely,” and how it stung to ask a favour of his enemies, “if you would just let this go – and let me go while you’re at it.”
He gave a half-hearted tug at his bonds for emphasis. His shoulders were starting to ache.
She moved closer. “Where are your soulmarks?”
His blood froze. He bared his teeth and said in a hiss, “Don’t you dare touch me.”
He wrestled with his bonds again; to no avail, as before. She placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Do you have matching marks?”
“No!” He pulled back, trying to free himself from her grip or the rope. Both held tight. “I don’t-”
“They’re scarred over,” the Avatar said. “He doesn’t know.”
“You shut up!”
Sok- the Water Tribe boy looked over in half-interest, half-horror, eyes wide and brow furrowed. “What does that even mean?”
“He showed me last ni-”
Zuko let loose a stream of fire from his mouth, cutting off the conversation.
The trio continued talking quietly, at a safe distance. Try as he might, Zuko couldn’t make out what they were saying.
The fact that they were even considering it made his stomach churn.
(It couldn’t be them. He wouldn’t let it be them.)
The Avatar and the waterbender both seemed in agreement about something, nodding when the other spoke and standing shoulder to shoulder; but the Water Tribe boy was vehemently against whatever it was, with dramatic head shaking and arm flailing. Either the group worked unanimously, or the boy had some sort of leadership role given by his age or gender.
Zuko knew that if the trio offered hi some sort of peace based in these soulmarks that would only aid him in his goal to capture the Avatar. That idea should be the only thing he thought about.
He was far more concerned about what might happen if they did force him to join blood.
(What if it really was them? If they’d found him against all odds? The fact that they were discussing it surely meant that he would have a chance, right?)
Eventually, the waterbender broke off from their group, ignoring their protests, and grabbed a small knife from a huge selection of random objects that he could only assume they’d stolen, for whatever reason.
She was walking towards him holding a knife. That wasn’t good.
He managed not to flinch when she sat next to him again, but it was a near thing. Her knife sliced into her palm first, before she reached for his arm, throwing a handful of water in his face when he tried his breath of fire again.
The knife dug in. There was a hand, soft and soothing on the wound.
His vision was overwhelmed by white.