Chapter Text
“Thank you, Katara.”
“I think I’m the one who should be thanking you.”
For what, exactly, Zuko isn’t entirely sure. It’s Katara who brought him back from the edge, Katara who coaxed her healing water over his blistering chest. It’s Katara who cradles his head now as he struggles to stand, who braces him as pain shoots through his abdomen and he stumbles forward—who somehow, miraculously, managed to stop his homicidal sister from finishing the job she started.
They watch as Azula thrashes against her chains, remnants of her blue fire scorching the ground in desperate bursts. Zuko knows this is the most he could’ve hoped for, the three of them more or less in one piece, yet it doesn’t feel anything like a victory. He wraps his arm tighter around his middle, whether to steel himself against the effects of his sister’s lighting or her keening wails, he can’t say.
“…Sir?”
The head Fire Sage strides across the courtyard towards them, the others following a few beats behind. Zuko tries to stand taller, tries to square his shoulders, and just barely suppresses a gasp as the slight motion sparks fresh heat in his chest.
Zuko sees the man’s eyes flit from Katara’s hand hovering defensively over her waterskin, to Azula’s crumpled form, back to him. Usually, the Fire Sages are stern, authoritative, self-assured, so much so that it takes him a moment to fully recognize the fear in the Sage’s eyes. The hesitancy holding the rest of them back.
“Sir,” he starts again. “Forgive me—Your Highness. By our law—by Fire Nation custom—you are the rightful winner of the Agni Kai.” With shaky hands, the Sage makes the symbol of the flame, bows so low that his pointed hat nearly falls off. “The throne is yours, Prince Zuko.”
“Thank you.” Zuko manages a nod and a smile, hoping it doesn’t look like a grimace. He tries not to lean too hard on Katara’s steadying hand at his back.
“Your Highness,” another Sage says as he steps forward, voice trembling. “What would you have us do with the princess?”
By now, Azula’s shrieks have died down to whimpers. Her body shivers like an injured animal, frail and helpless. He can’t remember his sister ever looking so small, not even in his mother’s arms as they played on the beaches of Ember Island—
“Shall we take her to the prison tower, your Highness?”
Zuko’s heart twists painfully in his chest. “No,” he says firmly, ignoring the way Katara’s hand tenses behind him. He tries for a deep, steadying breath. Too deep—he immediately regrets it as his lungs catch fire and he forces back a cough. “Not yet. Please. What she needs right now is a healer, not a prison cell.”
“As you wish.” The head Sage bows again, and the others move in unison toward Azula. “And—and you, your Highness?” he adds hesitantly.
“Me?”
“Will you be coming with us? To the infirmary?”
Zuko shakes his head, and the world starts spinning. He lets himself lean back against Katara, just until the spots clear from his vision. “No. Thank you.” He tries for another smile, easier this time. “I’m in good hands.”
“Very well,” the head Sage says with a final bow. “It is an honor to serve you, Prince Zuko.”
It’s only when the Fire Sages are completely out of sight, Azula in tow, that Zuko exhales. He slumps involuntarily into Katara and of course she’s ready to catch him, as if she’s been expecting this all along.
“I’m fine,” Zuko pants, even though his legs aren’t quite cooperating. “Sorry. Just dizzy. That’s all.”
Katara’s not buying it. “You really need to lie down.”
“Just—just for a few minutes,” he concedes, and maybe he should’ve put up more of a fight, because judging by Katara’s face, actually agreeing to rest might be the most worrying sign he could’ve given her.
They mean to head for the servants’ quarters—close by, Zuko reasons, and not where anyone still loyal to his father would expect to find them—but soon, it’s all too clear that they’re not making it past the courtyard. Katara is practically dragging him, with his arm slung over her shoulders and her hand wrapped around his waist, and yet within moments, Zuko’s brow is already slick with sweat, his legs shaking, his heart fluttering frantically.
By the time Katara manages to prop him up against a pillar at the courtyard’s edge, the agony in his chest has returned in full force, radiating out to his limbs with each pulse. Zuko tries to catch his breath but it’s coming in ragged gasps that set his lungs on fire. Carefully, gently, Katara peels back his tattered robes to reveal the angry, raw red splatter across his front. The all-too-familiar, acrid smell of burnt flesh hits him, makes his eyes water, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut.
He listens for the faint whirring of her healing water, its white-blue light shining through his eyelids. Coolness meets the burn and he waits for the relief, just like it came before…
“…There. Does that feel any better?”
“Uh.”
Is that it? He pries open his good eye to find Katara watching him, hopeful and expectant. He shifts as much as he dares, testing, and hides an ill-timed wince. “A—a little.”
Zuko’s always been a terrible liar.
Luckily, by now, Katara knows better than to trust him.
It isn’t a total lie, he thinks as she coats her hands in water again and gets back to work. The throbbing has definitely subsided, now only a lingering ache, but the first time Katara healed him, he could’ve sworn it had disappeared entirely. At any rate, he doesn’t think he could make himself stand again now, not even if the Sages came back to check on him.
Something is wrong. Something is wrong, but he can’t disappoint Katara, not when she’s hovering over him, determined to fix his irreparably broken body. She works wordlessly, her brow furrowed in concentration, and for a long time, the only sounds are the movement of her water and his shallow breaths.
Then, a third sound, at first so faint that Zuko thinks he must be imagining it. But no, it’s growing, that distinct mechanical thrumming that could only mean one thing, and when he looks up, sure enough—
An airship. Zuko’s heart stutters, enough for Katara to gasp. It’s still too far away to tell, but if it’s his father’s, if he’s already coming home after burning the Earth Kingdom to the ground—
He has to tell Katara to run, to leave the city while she still can, but the words die in his throat as he watches the single dot of the airship become two. The second dot hurtles towards them, taking shape, and if Zuko squints…
“Katara,” he rasps, “is that—?”
Her head snaps up, following his eye line, and then—
“AANG!”
She sprints towards the Avatar as his glider swoops down into the courtyard. In one fluid motion, he lands and takes her into his arms, sweeps her off her feet, both of them laughing and crying and—uh, aren’t they a bit young for that? Even so, Zuko can hardly blame Katara. Not that he ever doubted Aang, but it’s still a relief to see the little monk here, alive and whole and well.
From this distance, Zuko can’t hear what Katara says, but by the way Aang’s gaze immediately meets his, he has a pretty good guess. Judging by the airbender’s face as he hurries towards him, maybe Zuko looks even worse than he feels.
“Hey, buddy,” Aang says as he kneels at Zuko’s side, Katara at the other. Both sets of eyes flicker briefly to the blistering chest wound.
“Knew you’d come back.” Zuko smiles weakly. “Did we…did we win?”
Aang nods. “We did. It’s over.”
Zuko exhales shakily. “And…the Fire Lord?”
“I took his bending away,” Aang says, and Zuko’s eyes widen. Could he really do that? “He won’t ever hurt anyone, ever again.”
Zuko huffs a laugh. Leave it to Aang to find the vegetarian way to end a hundred years of war.
“Like I said,” he says faintly, “you’re a talented kid.”
Aang preens at the compliment, though the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Are the others…?”
“Everyone’s okay,” Aang reassures him, “just landing the airship. When we saw you two down here, I flew ahead because, uh, I couldn’t wait,” he finishes sheepishly.
The hand he places Zuko’s shoulder is feather-light, as if afraid of hurting him. His eyes drop again to his chest and he knows Aang is thinking of the matching scar on his back, that firework mark that could only mean—
Katara’s eyes are brimming. Zuko shakes his head to stop her, and the world starts spinning again, and Agni, he has to remember not to do that. He tries to clear his head with a deep breath, only to set off a chain of coughs that rack his body.
By the time the coughs subside, something has steeled in Katara’s expression. “Let’s try to get you inside again,” she says matter-of-factly, the healer in her clearly taking over.
Without another word, the two wrap their arms under him and lift, and Zuko can’t even bring himself to try to protest. Katara keeps one glowing hand pressed to his middle in an attempt to mitigate the pain he’ll feel from the jostling. Even so, every movement sends ripples along the charred, jagged edges of his chi paths, and he has to grit his teeth to keep from crying out. They move silently through the halls, scanning for any sign of trouble, but it seems the entire palace is deserted.
Mercifully, the servants’ quarters are unlocked. The door hangs slightly ajar, as if its last occupants had left in a hurry. Katara and Aang lower him gently into the nearest of the four beds, propping him up against the pillows. Katara settles in to resume her healing as Aang moves to close the door behind them, but his hand freezes at the distant scuffle of approaching footsteps. He tenses, ready to defend at a moment’s notice, listening closely for who it could be—
Which turns out to be unnecessary, because these three voices aren’t even trying to be quiet.
“—whole place is a maze, I’m telling you, we’ve already been down this way—“
“We have not! My instincts tell me—“
“I told you noodle-brains, I can feel them! They’re right—“
“Over here!” Aang calls out, and then Toph, Sokka, and Suki are skidding to a halt in the doorway, sweaty and panting but beaming anyway.
They pile into the room, and Zuko can only watch helplessly as one by one, their eyes land on him and their smiles falter. Now it’s five of them crowded around his bed and suddenly he’s back in that group hug on Ember Island again, only days ago, and yet he hadn’t been sure if he’d ever see them again, but here they are, all in one piece—
Well, almost all of them.
“What happened to your leg?”
“Ugh!” Sokka rolls his eyes so hard, he might have seen his brain. He’s been using Suki’s shoulder for balance, but now he hops towards Zuko, leaning on the bed. “You’re the worst, you know that? Worried about my leg, when you’re…you’re…” He flails his arms about, coming up empty.
Toph steps forward to put her small hand on the bedframe. She frowns, no doubt sensing his erratic, disorganized heartbeat.
When she speaks, her voice is softer than he’s ever heard it. “Zuko, what happened?”
“Azula,” he says simply. “I wasn’t fast enough.”
Katara’s mouth opens in disapproval because clearly, that is not the entire story, but Sokka cuts in. “You can heal him, though, right?” he pleads.
“I’m not sure,” she says slowly. Once again, her hands assess the damage in his torso. In the few minutes since she last healed him, the ache has returned, pounding in his ears. “It’s…different. It’s not like last time.” Her voice trembles. “The damage is spreading. I can slow it down, but…”
She can’t stop it.
She looks at Zuko warily, gauging his reaction, but it’s nothing he didn’t already know.
“What are you saying?” Sokka demands. “Can’t you, I don’t know—?”
“I’m trying everything I can,” she whispers shakily.
Zuko nods his understanding, tries to reassure her, because of course she is. It’s unfair that she’s their only healer, unfair that they depend on her for so much. It’s not right, but he knows she’ll blame herself when he’s gone.
It probably shouldn’t be this easy to accept, his own fate, but if it had to be any one of them, then isn’t it only fair that it’s him? The one whose country, whose psychotic family started this entire spirits-damned war in the first place? If it had been anyone else—if it was Katara lying in the bed instead of him—he wouldn’t be able to live with himself, anyway.
“Spirit water!”
Everyone’s heads snap up to see Aang’s eyes wide, mid-epiphany.
“Spirit water,” he repeats when it’s clear no one is following him. “From the North Pole. Don’t you see? That’s what’s different than last time, Katara! You used spirit water when you saved me.” He’s talking faster with his growing excitement. “We need to get Zuko to the Spirit Oasis!”
He moves as if to pick Zuko up again, only for Katara to stop him with a firm grip on his arm. “We can’t move him.”
“Why not?” he asks, bewildered. “It’s his only chance!”
“Aang, you saw yourself how hard it was just to get him in here. If we try to take him halfway across the world? On Appa? He’s not going to make it.”
Katara’s right. On a good day, Zuko’s lucky if the turbulence doesn’t make him airsick, but now?
“Besides,” she continues, “even if he did make it there, I don’t know if…”
“The Northern Water Tribe might not be willing to help him,” Sokka finishes for her. He’s not looking at any of them, only gazing out the window at the cloudless night sky.
Sokka’s right, too, and they all know it. Zuko would hardly blame the Water Tribe, not after his country attacked them with an entire fleet of battleships. Saving the Fire Nation’s prince, after the death of their princess, with healing water from the oasis he himself invaded? Not likely.
“Aang.” Only now does he realize how long it’s been since he’s spoken. His voice is breathy and weak and he has to stifle the cough bubbling in his throat. “You have to go alone.”
The airbender frowns. “But if I go alone, it’ll take twice as long.” Off the top of his head, Zuko doesn’t know how far away the North Pole is, let alone what that distance translates to in flying bison travel time—hours? Days?
Does he have days?
Zuko strains to take hold of the hand hanging at Aang’s side. It takes considerable effort, sending a jolt through his shoulder, but it’s worth it for the small smile he gets in return. “You can do it,” he murmurs. “I trust you.”
Finally, after a resigned sigh, Aang nods. “I won’t let you down,” he says with one last squeeze of his hand. “I promise.” And then, with a gentle gust of wind, he’s gone.