Chapter Text
Zuko woke to the fading heat of a fire tugging at the edge of his consciousness. He reached for it, half-asleep, and felt the heat reach back. He almost always woke at dawn, but all around the war balloon the sky was still dark, and the burner...
He jerked awake, stomach swooping with the sudden realization that he’d fallen asleep and left the burner unattended, and spirits, he was going to crash—
He wasn’t in the war balloon.
Zuko turned his head and saw that the fire he had felt was guttering low in an ashy hearth, not dying in an untended burner. What…?
Zuko pushed back the heavy furs. He immediately regretted it, shivering violently as all the warmth trapped beneath the blanket escaped. It was freezing cold, even inside, and the thought stopped him dead.
There was a fire burning in the hearth, but it was still freezing.
Where was he? Definitely not the Fire Nation, if he was this cold. The room was cramped, and stacked with an organized sort of clutter that made it look well lived-in. Zuko raked his eyes over it, the slightly rounded ceiling, the unfamiliar blue decor. Zuko brushed a hand along the bed of furs he’d been laying on. He snagged the corner of it, tugged it back, and his knuckles brushed—ice?
Zuko struggled to his knees. He swore softly under his breath as the room began to spin. His head hurt, a dull throbbing pain that radiated from the base of his skull upwards. Zuko squeezed his eyes shut and breathed through his nose until the dizziness receded. The fire in the hearth was moving strangely with his breath. His bending didn’t feel… right, something was off about it, but…
Spirits, his head hurt.
How did he get here?
He’d been in his stolen war balloon, following the Avatar’s trail…
What had happened after that? He didn’t remember. He must have been... ambushed, somehow, by the enemy forces fleeing Caldera City. The explanation expanded in his mind with a creeping sort of dread. That had to be it. They’d seen a lone war balloon, straying too far from the covering fire provided by the battlements surrounding the caldera, and…
Zuko shoved himself up to his feet, gritting his teeth until the haziness in his vision passed. He’d finally decided to do the right thing, to help the Avatar, and… he hadn’t even made it a full day before messing it all up. He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, through his hair, and then froze.
He ran his fingers through his hair again, then pulled it forward over his shoulder.
His hair was long. It was—it was much, much too long.
How long had he been unconscious? What day was it? The comet had to be coming soon. It was… had he missed it? Had the Avatar managed to find a firebending teacher, or… or…
Oh, Agni. Cold dread closed around his throat, dragging down through the pit of his stomach.
His father’s plans. The Earth Kingdom. What had happened to them?
Zuko clutched at his arms. He fought back against the chill sweeping through his limbs, tightening in his chest. He couldn’t afford to panic. He had to get out of here, and then he needed to find his bearings, figure out what day it was and what he’d missed. He’d… been on the Avatar’s trail, with the war balloon, but now he’d need to find the thread again.
If he was still alive, Zuko thought grimly, and then shook the thought from his mind. He’d find the Avatar, one way or another. He’d figure something out—he’d done it before.
First, he needed a coat.
The room was cluttered but not unclean, too small to tidily store the amount of junk piled up on the shelving along the walls. It reminded him, inexplicably, of Uncle’s room back on their ship, stacked full of all the things he’d purchased on his shore leave shopping sprees.
He didn’t want to think about Uncle.
There was a door leading further back into the home, but he didn’t want to test his luck. The possibility of someone lurking further inside the house hadn’t occurred to him until just now, but once the idea crossed his mind Zuko froze in place to listen for several long moments. He didn’t hear anything. He moved quietly to the edge of the room, footsteps near silent on the rug.
Zuko upended a stack of furs draped over a chair and sifted through them, keeping a wary eye on the door. He found a coat tucked away at the bottom. He moved quietly to rifle through the chest next to the chair, hoping for the boots to match. He emptied two more with no success, and then circled back around toward the fire before stopping.
There was a pair of boots tucked away on the opposite end of the fire to dry. He’d almost missed them, partly hidden next to the kindling stacked up by the wall. They were still slightly damp, like they’d been worn recently out in the snow, but Zuko wasn’t in any position to be picky right now. He had to pause for a moment to squeeze his eyes shut and just breathe through the little flutter of nausea that gripped him as he leaned down to tug on his new boots.
The coat and boots fit him perfectly. Whoever lived here wore the same size as him. Somehow the thought wasn’t all that comforting—with how his day, month, life was going, that little lucky break would probably use up all the good will he had coming to him.
The front door was unlocked.
Zuko eased it open slowly, expecting someone on the other side. He’d combed the front room looking for weapons, but aside from a few hefty trinkets that might have made a good bludgeon, the only thing he’d been able to find was a small carving knife, hidden, for some reason, at the bottom of an old tea box full of leather scraps. He’d found the box tucked behind some books on the shelf, and had hoped it might have money, or at least something valuable he could use to barter for information once he’d escaped. The knife was almost as good, a comfort to have in his pocket.
If they’d taken his swords, they were smart enough to store them somewhere else. His hand flexed around the hilt of the knife in his pocket for just a moment, but… he shouldn’t be rash. The more trouble he caused in his escape, the less likely they would be to cut their losses and let him go.
Zuko stepped outside and nearly slipped on the powdery snow on the walk. The street was empty. There was no guard. Zuko cast his gaze over his shoulder nervously. Weren’t they worried about him escaping?
The building looked more like a home than a prison cell, but… if he’d been unconscious for as long as he thought, maybe they weren’t expecting him to wake up any time soon. Or at all.
That must have been it. Maybe this was one of their healer’s workspaces (or homes, it looked like a home to him, well loved and lived in). Their security had gotten lax. All the better for Zuko—he didn’t intend to be around when they realized their mistake.
The snow crunched quietly under his boots as he edged the door closed behind him, the only sound to shatter the perfect stillness of the night. The streets around the home were dark and quiet. He prodded the back of his head gently and took a breath. He would have sworn it was day time, with how he’d felt when he woke, but the whole street was plunged into an eerie twilight.
This had to be the Northern Water Tribe. There were wide, rounded homes dotted along the street, all crafted from ice that glittered in the lamplight—waterbender craftsmanship. There was no way the South could have organized construction like this, not without waterbenders and certainly not with this much progress in the few short months since Zuko’s crew had sailed there.
He’d thought the North Pole was centralized, hidden behind the wall and the might of the waterbending forces in Agna Qel’a. He didn’t see the palace, though, so wherever he was, it wasn’t the capital city. Maybe that had been naive of him, to assume—but of course, it was no surprise that the Fire Nation might latch onto that belief, that the Northern Water Tribe was so afraid of them that they’d all huddled together in one place, when they had the whole of the tundra at their disposal. Maybe there really were other villages out there...
Well, there must be, because he was in one now.
The Northern Water Tribe was supposed to be neutral in the war. It made no sense that they’d have assisted the attacking forces during the eclipse, let alone taken prisoners, unless something had changed while Zuko was away, or… maybe something had changed while he was unconscious. The thought settled uncomfortably, all the open questions leading to how much time before it was too late—
He was sure that regardless of their status in the war, the Northern Water Tribe wouldn’t be very friendly with him if they knew that he’d been there during the Siege of the North.
Did they recognize him? Was that why they’d taken him? That seemed… a waste, even if they were just looking to avenge their princess...
If he was lucky, Zuko would never learn the answer. He pulled his hood up against the cold and turned toward the distant shadow of the harbor.
He walked quickly until he heard the sound of voices, and then forced himself to slow down. He needed to get out of here, and the fastest way to do that was to find himself a ship to escape. He really didn’t have any choice but to cut through the center of the village and pray that no one found him suspicious. There was no way around them that would still lead him to the harbor, and the more he tried to sneak the more likely he was to draw attention to himself. If he had more time he would hang back, just observe, and plan his escape more thoroughly. He didn’t have that luxury now, when the healer could return at any moment to find him missing, and with so much time already wasted. He had to hope that the darkness and the Water Tribe style coat was enough to disguise him.
This looked… more like a community than a base camp. The streets were strangely crowded for the time of night. The harbor vendors were open, the merchants merrily chatting with customers. There was a huddle of children playing on the street corner, far too young to be awake at this hour. Pedestrians had steadily begun to fill the walkways as Zuko approached the harbor. He kept his hood pulled up and his face tilted down, walking with a purposeful stride that he hoped looked like he had business to attend to, and not like he was running.
The harbor was crowded. Zuko silently cursed his luck. Why was it so crowded? It was absurd, how many people were out and about haggling and chatting over the fishmongers catches like this was a perfectly reasonable thing to do on a firelit pier.
At least he could use this to his advantage. The crowds near the docks gave him cover for his approach, and he walked up to the edge of the water casually, as though he was just another shopper. He reached the edge of the docks, thick with ice blown off the water, and surveyed the ships moored in the harbor. He swore quietly under his breath.
Of course all they had were water tribe ships.
The littlest ones didn’t even have sails, or motors. He’d never make it, paddling across the ocean—not that there was a single paddle in sight either. Were these meant to be operated by waterbenders? The Northern Water Tribe had enough benders, maybe they didn’t have single person crafts for nonbenders.
The next smallest ship type definitely looked like it took more than one person to man, but at least it had sails, which… theoretically, he knew how to use. He’d managed it with Uncle on their raft leaving the North Pole. He wished he’d been paying more attention, because Uncle had shown him how to operate it but that had been weeks ago on a craft built for two...
Zuko was in no position to be choosy. He’d just—take the ship, and figure something out on the water. That was… he’d done harder things before, he could do this, so long as he could get away. He didn’t have a choice, because he’d clearly already wasted enough time as it was. He didn’t even know what day it was, or how long had passed since the eclipse. Sozin’s Comet could be coming any day now. It could already have come and gone, for all Zuko knew. He could already be too late. He didn’t know, but he needed to find out, and to do that, he needed to get far away from here.
Zuko backpedaled slightly. This part of the dock was too crowded. If he could just find a ship that wasn’t being watched too carefully—
His back struck something warm and solid. A hand came to rest on his shoulder, and Zuko flinched and pulled away on instinct. He realized only after he’d jerked back that the man wasn’t trying to grab him, just steady him to keep him from falling.
Stupid, he should have played it off before the man recognized him, and now—
“You’re awake!” he said, reaching for his shoulder again.
Zuko’s hand flinched for his knife, heart hammering in his throat. His fingers closed around the hilt, easy, the man hadn’t even moved, wasn’t even defending himself. Zuko could get away. He had so many targets with his arm and his chest and his throat all right there, stance loose and unguarded and—
Zuko didn’t even know this man, but the thought of trying to hurt him rose like bile in his throat. He couldn’t.
No, no, he needed to run. He let go of the hilt, still in his pocket, and shoved past the man with all his weight. He was huge, and there was no way Zuko could beat him in a fair fight, not unarmed, not without firebending and giving himself away. For some reason he didn’t seem to be expecting the blow. He staggered back into the crowd as Zuko shot past him, boots slipping on the slick ice near the dock’s edge.
He needed a ship, one with sails, one that was small enough that he could manage it on his own and one that could shove off now before they had the good sense to fetch a waterbender and drag him back to shore or write him off as a lost cause and drag him under altogether—
Another warrior stepped out of the crowd ahead of him, and Zuko skidded to a stop, nearly losing his footing on the dock. He swore, tried to change directions—too many people to his left, he had to go right, further up onto the dock with the ships to his back until he ran out of dock to retreat onto. He clenched his fists at his sides and edged back as the man strode forward.
He looked concerned, and for a moment it looked like he was coming right for him, but he stopped when Zuko flinched. Zuko glanced to the side, back the way he’d come. The other warrior had recovered and was coming toward them now. Okay, two on one, plus the crowd, whoever else in the night market that might be able to fight...
Not great odds, but Zuko had dealt with worse.
Running had been a mistake, because his head was throbbing now with the beat of his heart, vision just a bit unsteady. Zuko eyed the man in front of him warily. He was dressed finely, blue and black beads woven through his braided hair, the full moon embellishments of his coat marking his status. This had to be the chief. The other people on the dock were all watching them, confused and carefully still, like Zuko was something strange, a wild animal let loose in their marketplace. The attention made him grit his teeth, but he said nothing as the other warrior came forward to join the chief at his side.
“Zuko,” the chief said slowly, projecting calm, as though Zuko was… being unreasonable, trying to escape his captors. Zuko bristled at his tone.
He’d backed himself into a corner, with the Water Tribesmen blocking the way further into the village and the frigid ocean at his back. He might be able to make it up the dock if he tried, but he doubted he’d be able to get to one of the ships before they caught up to him. He definitely wouldn’t be able to launch it without time, which meant… which meant he was screwed, unless he could fight them all off, or manage to lose them long enough to regroup and sneak back around when they weren’t suspecting.
They had to know he wanted a ship now. There’d be guards, next time. He’d blown his only chance at an easy escape.
He could cut through to the other side of the village and try to escape into the tundra. If the weather and his luck both held, he might make it to a neighboring village before he froze to death.
(He wasn’t very lucky.)
As though sensing Zuko’s thoughts, the chief took a step toward him—to block his escape? It had to be, because the concern on his face couldn’t possibly be for him. The chief was worried that Zuko was going to flee into the village and hurt someone, maybe, in his desperation.
“Stay back,” Zuko snapped. He shifted into a firebending stance, and the onlookers all shied back at once.
All except the chief. He didn’t move, other than to raise both hands slowly in front of him. He was looking at Zuko like there was something wild about him, like he was trying to calm a startled ostrich horse. The tall man had taken a half-step back, flinching away at the sight of his stance. He moved forward again now, slowly, and laid a hand on the chief’s shoulder.
“Hakoda,” he said, a gentle warning. The chief half-turned his head, eyes still on Zuko, and gave a slight nod.
“It’s all right, Bato,” he said. He turned his attention more fully back on Zuko. “Talk to me, son. What’s going on?”
Zuko stared at him, confused, but he… seemed serious, like he genuinely wanted to know what he was doing. He narrowed his eyes, waiting for the catch, but the chief only stayed where he was, patiently watching him for his response.
“I’m leaving,” Zuko said. That should be obvious. He wasn’t just going to… to sit here, and let them hold him as their prisoner. They’d gotten the drop on him, but that was hardly honorable. They couldn’t possibly expect him to sit back and wait for them to interrogate him, or kill him, or worse, try to ransom him to his father, without him putting up a fight.
“That’s, uh,” the chief said. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea, Zuko, you—”
“I wasn’t asking your permission!” he shouted, sparks flying from his mouth.
Bato’s hand flexed on the chief’s shoulder, but otherwise neither of them flinched.
“All right, just calm down. We’re trying to help you,” he said. “I’ll… take you home, and then we can go find—”
The chief moved toward him again, and Zuko felt the fire leap in his chest.
“You’re not taking me anywhere,” he shouted, scything through the air with his open palm.
The fire—didn’t come, sputtering from his fingertips on dying wisps of smoke. Zuko flinched back from the scattered embers and pressed a hand to his chest.
His inner fire flared strangely, hot and overwhelming. It felt wrong, quiet, clawing at the edge of his frustration and then… shying away, like the anger didn’t want to take hold. Zuko gasped against the flood of heat, but it felt like the flames wouldn’t come, pooling quicksilver in his fists and then just as quickly wicking away from the pressure of his strike, refusing to be forced.
He clawed at the frustration desperately, and he could feel it coiling in his core, burning up his lungs, but it felt like a powder keg without the spark, too much raw energy and nothing to make it ignite.
Zuko swayed a bit, the heat in his chest washing through him in a dizzying rush, and then he tensed, because he’d let his attention stray and the chief—
The chief hadn’t moved.
Zuko was defenseless, other than the knife they didn’t know about, the one he couldn't force himself to use, and… the chief hadn’t moved. Why weren’t they attacking him? The chief looked like he was holding himself back, arms still outstretched, but like… he wanted to steady him, face so etched with concern and alarm that Zuko nearly staggered back.
Stop looking at me like that, he wanted to snap, because he wanted to be on their side, but they shouldn’t know that, and the concern was too much. This was all too confusing, or… a trick, maybe, meant to catch him off his guard so they could recapture him and lock him up somewhere more secure. That was… maybe that was it. They were pretending, trying to keep him calm, trying to protect the people they cared about, or…
“Why are you doing this?” Zuko asked. His head hurt, spirits his head hurt, and he needed to get away from here, figure out what was happening to him, and why the chief was looking at him like that when Zuko was their enemy—
“Dad, what's going on?”
Zuko froze. He knew that voice.
The crowd parted, making room for the man elbowing his way to the front. He was slightly out of breath like he’d been running, drawn in by the commotion on the docks. He looked toward the chief, first. When he turned toward Zuko, recognition stole the breath from Zuko’s lungs.
It was the Avatar’s friend—the Water Tribe boy. He had his hood pulled up against the cold, and his face looked different, somehow, but he clearly recognized Zuko, so it had to be him.
Zuko stared at him, hope and nervous anticipation bubbling. The Avatar’s friend was here. Did that mean the Avatar was here? Maybe… maybe he’d finally caught a lucky break, and for once he hadn’t ruined his chances before even beginning.
“It’s you,” Zuko said, and then, because he could never keep his stupid mouth shut, he blurted, “Where’s the Avatar?”
The Avatar’s friend just blinked at him. Then he frowned and glanced back at the chief. The chief just shook his head.
Right. He didn’t trust him. And… of course he didn’t trust him, when as far as he knew Zuko was still hunting them, and the last time they’d seen him, he’d betrayed them to Azula in Ba Sing Se. They didn’t know that he'd switched sides, because he’d gone and gotten himself captured before he could explain.
Okay. This was… okay.
Zuko took a breath to steady himself. He’d been planning what he was going to say on the war balloon, but… he didn’t get a chance to practice. It was now or never, though, because if he couldn’t convince them to trust him then… then maybe he’d just leave him to the mercy of the Northern Water Tribe.
“I’m… I’m a firebender,” Zuko said. “And… no, I mean, obviously you know that I’m a firebender.” Bad start. He was staring at Zuko now like he’d just sprouted another head. Zuko cleared his throat. “Right. Well, I’m considered to be pretty good at it.”
Zuko paused, clenched his fists, where the heat was pooling uselessly in his fingertips. “Well, my firebending usually… It doesn’t look like… It usually works.”
Oh, he was really selling himself.
“Uh,” Zuko cleared his throat again. “But. I’m good now, and… I wanted to join your group, but I don’t…”
Zuko was making a fool of himself, and the Water Tribe boy was only looking more and more confused.
“I’m good now,” Zuko insisted, “And… I don’t know how long we have, but my father—”
“Zuko,” he said softly, and the gentleness in his tone made the words catch in his throat. He pushed his hood back, and Zuko froze, staring at him. He looked different. He was... older, much older, and now that he was really looking he was clearly taller, too. He almost would have wondered if the Water Tribe siblings had an older brother, if not for the fact that he’d clearly recognized him. “Where do you think you are?”
“The… Northern Water Tribe?” he guessed. It had to be, with the number of houses, the docks, the people—the South hadn’t looked anything like this.
Zuko could tell that was the wrong answer, because he turned and exchanged a concerned glance with the chief.
The chief, who he’d called dad, even though he was from the Southern Water Tribe. Zuko glanced around the harbor, back toward the village. That was… impossible, there was no way that the Southern Water Tribe could have recovered so quickly in the time since he’d been there. Their village had been nothing but a scattering of tents on the ice.
“And what’s the last thing you remember?” he asked.
What kind of question was that? Shouldn’t they know if they were the ones who’d captured his war balloon and brought him here? He was waiting patiently though, like he truly wanted to hear Zuko’s answer. He dared a glance at the other warrior, then the chief, but they all seemed… almost… No, that couldn’t be right, because they looked so concerned, not afraid of what he might do, but concerned for him.
“I was… following you,” he said. “Not to—I wasn’t trying to capture you, I was—”
“Going to teach Aang firebending,” he finished for him.
“Yes,” Zuko said breathlessly. “You believe me?”
That was easier than he’d expected. Too easy? He hadn’t done a very good job explaining himself, but maybe they were desperate—
“Zuko, I believe you because we’ve already had this conversation,” he said. “You already joined us, and traveled with us, and taught Aang firebending. That was years ago.”
“I…” Zuko’s head was pounding, he was dizzy, and he—couldn’t possibly have heard him correctly. It was embarrassing, how weak his voice came, “Years?”
His expression softened. This time when he tried to come toward him, Zuko let him.