Chapter Text
For as long as Zuko could recall, home had been a momentary ache. It was a fleeting sparrowkeet, and it was so shy; home would run from him should he dare look it in the eye.
Home was…brief. Briefly, it was his mother's voice drifting through his bedroom door, her words muffled. Had it always been so muffled?
It was the smell of the kitchens before the household woke, and the sound of Azula already awake and already moving, already leaving, and already becoming something Zuko couldn't, or wouldn't, name. Home was the specific texture of being small in a large palace.
At eight, he understood that honour was the word his father used the way outsiders used home. It was the thing you protected above all else; that which you yearned for. It could be lost, and had to be recovered, and its recovery justified most things. Honour was the measure by which a man – by which a prince – was worth anything at all.
Zuko received this as he received most lessons from his father: completely, without question, rearranging himself around it like a plant turning toward the only available light.
In flickers there was his uncle's laugh from somewhere down the corridor. His mother's hands in his hair. The turtleducks in the palace pond; the hawkpigeons swooping above, free, so free.
Home, dismantling itself so quietly he didn't notice until it was nearly gone; honour, such an immovable force until it, too, was taken forcibly from him. Home was a memory, something of the past and quickly out of his grasp – but it could belong to the future, too.
He had come home. Briefly. He came home and it wasn't there anymore.
"Zuko–"
He chose wrong, in Ba Sing Se. He had known, even as he chose, that he was choosing wrong. Some part of him had hoped that choosing his father's version of home – the honour, the throne – would recover the lost memory.
It didn't work that way.
He knew that now.
Home was a feeling to chase, chase, chase; chase his honour across the whole globe, chase his home to the cold South, please, might I be safe? And in his visions he is chasing a world oh so very blue and so very warm, but it escapes under heavy iron chains and flame; gone, to a place he cannot follow.
When Zuko wakes, a scream dies on his tongue.
For a moment, there is only darkness and the sound of his own ragged breathing, and the cold sweat cooling against his skin. Then the room assembles itself around him: the low ceiling of packed ice, the blue–white glow through the ice window, the weight of the furs. The South. He is in the South.
And there – sky blue amidst fields of snow, watching him steadily in the morning glow.
"–uko?"
Zuko is an adult now. He is the Fire Lord. Home should be wherever he decides it to be. And yet–
"Breathe, love. Breathe."
Home is here. Home is in the hands already reaching for him; home is out the sealskin door, under the warmth of this hut and the warmth of this tribe that has taken in the orphaned Fire Lord and quietly, firmly, named him theirs.
"Sokka," Zuko gasps, and grasps for his boyfriend's hands. He finds them already open in his palms, and so he holds on. He gasps again; there is not enough air.
"I'm here, Zukes," Sokka shuffles forward. "Hey. Breathe for me. In–" they breathe in together. Hold. "–then out," and release.
Gradually, the rest of the world flits into view.
"Nightmare?"
Zuko nods.
"Okay. Can I touch you?"
"Please," Zuko whispers. "Sorry."
"Whatever for, my turtleduck?" Sokka murmurs, and gently rubs circles into the soft of Zuko's shoulders.
"I hate that this still happens. Especially today. I woke you up."
"Hey," Sokka said, his voice a low, gravelly morning rumble. He gently cupped Zuko's cheek, and the ocean met the sun. Zuko found he could hold his gaze without flinching. "You've got nothing to be sorry for."
Zuko was still pouting slightly. He couldn't entirely help it; Sokka and this home wrung so much of the Fire Lord out of him that he was left feeling freely small, and openly vulnerable, and so safe with it all. Sokka nudged him gently, guiding him up from the bed on shaky knees, and instead of rushing for the door, steered them toward the small corner of the room and encouraged him softly onto the stool. He held up one finger – wait there – before slipping out through the sealskin curtain.
There was a muffled shout of 'Sokka, pants!!' from somewhere in the direction of the hearth.
Sokka re–entered a moment later looking entirely unrepentant, a steaming kettle and wash bucket in hand. He placed the bucket in front of Zuko and poured, the vapour rising in a cloud scented with fresh arctic tundra meadows.
"I could have warmed that," Zuko murmured. But he was grateful; firebending after a nightmare had often proved itself too soon.
"What kind of husband would I be?" Sokka said, wringing out a small cloth. "Hold still."
With a tenderness that made Zuko's throat tighten, Sokka began to wipe away the cold sweat from Zuko's forehead, tracing the unmarred side of his face and then, gently and without hesitation, dabbing the jagged scar over his eye. Zuko closed his eyes, leaning into the touch, letting the rhythmic warmth wash away the lingering shadows of his father's palace (no, his, his palace) and the heavy iron chains of his dream.
"See?" Sokka kissed the tip of his nose. "Good as new."
"Mm," was all Zuko could manage past the tightness in his chest and the heat flooding his face. He watched a long breath draw ghosts from his lips into the cold air.
"Ready to face the world?"
"Mmhm," Zuko mumbled, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. But then he spotted the loose rucksack by the door, and the clothing that had been thrown in its general direction and left to fend for itself. "Wait – Sokka. You still have to pack."
"Ah, spirits." A beat. "Okay. Packing first. Won't be a moment, firelily."
"And put on some pants," Zuko murmured, and stepped out through the tigerseal curtain to say good morning to their family.
*~*~*~*~*~*
When Zuko emerged from the hut, the transition to the bright Southern morning was momentarily blinding – but beautifully so. Agni behaved differently in the South; what He lost in heat He made up for in sharpness, and was now cutting through the coastal fog, turning the sculpted ice paths into a landscape of glittering diamond. Zuko pulled his crimson parka close and breathed in deeply.
As expected, two Fire Nation guards stood just outside. They bowed low in unison, and Zuko nodded.
"Good morning, Fire Lord Zuko."
He tried to place their faces behind the armoured masks, squinting in the polar glare. He couldn't.
At least it isn't Zensa.
"My Lord, we are to accompany you until the arrival of the Kyoshi Warriors."
They should have been here already. Zuko gulped down the concern, and steeled a neutral expression. "Yes. Very well. At ease."
Sokka emerged from the hut a moment later, wearing a modified hunting parka; it was sleeveless and form fitting, and entirely impractical for subtlety. Zuko kept his eyes straight ahead.
"Ambassador Sokka," the guards said in unison, and bowed.
"G'morning, guards," Sokka said sleepily. "Uh, what should I call you two?"
The guards straightened slightly.
"I'm Jaosa," said one. "I'm Raosa," said the other. A beat. "We're twins. Nonidentical."
"Right! Well, welcome to the Southern Water Tribe." Sokka flashed them his most ambassadorial grin. Then, lower, he mumbled "Suki should have been at the dock an hour ago..."
The Kyoshi Warriors were meant to relieve his guards before the morning's errand; without them, the cover held less cleanly, the margins were thinner. It wasn't that the guards were untrustworthy - Zuko had been working hard to hand-pick his escort for safety on multiple levels - but having also been raised udner the iron fist of a nation that would spit at his relationship, Zuko was not willing to put anyone else at risk for his...treason. There were a list of reasons that loyalists wanted to usurp him from the throne; and longer still was their list in measures of tactics. So the guards didn't have to be untrustworthy. But Zuko didn't trust anyone that didn't already know. There was a difference between a secret kept in privacy and a secret kept in plain sight, and Zuko felt that difference sitting beneath his ribs like a coal.
"Zuko, do you still want to participate in a Southern cleanse?" Sokka asked from his side. "We would be honored to continue hosting you, until the Kyoshi Warriors' arrival."
They had no real choice. Zuko was familiar now with the ways of the South, and he had asked specifically to do this traditionally; the cleansing had to happen before the Moon Lake. Waiting conspicuously in the village square for a Kyoshi Warrior who may or may not be an hour behind would draw more attention than simply going.
"Yes. I want to participate. Shall we?" Zuko said.
Sokka didn’t miss a beat. "Rukka's hut is just past the communal smokehouse," Sokka explained, leading the party down a steep ice–carved path.
The hut was small and more traditional than some of the surrounding newer builds; packed snow interlaced with dried hay and mapleoak rind for insulation. The bark door had been removed, signalling the healer's hut as open for business. As they entered, they were welcomed with drifting herbal scents.
"Just a moment," a clear voice chimed through the mist. “Oh. It’s you. Welcome!”
A young tribesperson stepped out from the steam. Rukka was tall and lean, with glossy black hair tied back in a practical warrior's knot, combined with braided hair loops that clacked with small silver beads as they turned.
"Hi, Rukka!” Sokka beamed, and he and Rukka shared a Water Tribe greeting. "I brought the guest of honour."
Rukka's bright blue gaze shifted to Zuko, and then steadily to the two Fire Guards – one stationed outside, one remaining at Zuko's shoulder. Rukka's expression gave nothing away. They hummed thoughtfully.
Rukka is trustworthy, Zuko reminded himself.
"Guest of honour, hm? And how is our Fire Lord faring?"
They had gone over this on their last visit. Rukka was actually asking: is it safe?
Zuko felt the coal beneath his ribs burn a fraction hotter. He kept his voice level. "I am comfortable, thank you, Healer Rukka. I am here on short business with Ambassador Sokka and Chief Hakoda, so I must not stay long." In short: no, it isn't.
Rukka nodded, and only then bowed deeply. "Be welcome. Please, sit." Rukka is also very smart.
They fetched an extra cushion for the guard inside – that was Raosa, Zuko thought, squinting – and settled into the ritual with unhurried ease, as though a Fire Nation guard in the corner were the most ordinary thing. "Now then. You are here for a traditional Southern spirit cleansing. Is that right?"
Breathe. In, and hold, and out. "Yes," Zuko said. Beside him, he saw Sokka's chest move in the same rhythm.
They were here for a spirit cleansing. It's just that they were here to cleanse their spirits for a very particular reason. Zuko allowed himself a sideward glance at Sokka. His tribesman’s features were schooled into a pleasant neutrality, but Zuko knew how to read the faint tension line that sat at his brows.
"I did ask Katara to begin this process with the tallow," Rukka continued, and raised a brow at Sokka. "But I can see that hasn't been done. No matter. To begin, then; our ways are about alignment. We use the living water of the tundra to lock in the heat of the body. The heat clears the skin so that the spirits may see your true face." He looked at Sokka and smirked. "Though in Sokka's case, it may also address the raw fish smell…"
"I washed!" Sokka squawked.
"Huh, really?" Rukka grinned. "Now hush. We'll get started."
Rukka instructed them to remove their outer parkas and tunics, and then to Zuko's surprise, turned to Raosa, in the corner.: "And you – do you wish to participate?"
"No," came the flat reply.
Zuko did not flinch. Rukka seemed totally nonplussed. He breathed in the steam, and let Rukka's hands begin their work.
As the warm herbal salve was applied to his arms and neck, Zuko felt a deep, penetrating warmth spreading through his muscles. Sokka sat close beside him, undergoing the same ritual. As Rukka worked, they chanted a low, rhythmic Water Tribe melody under their breath – Zuko recognised it with a quiet jolt; a song of two rivers meeting to form a greater sea. It was the same melody Kanna had sung at their announcement. With the growing scent of herbs and the rising steam, he let himself drift into joyful memories; flames of fear banked by tears of joy; being named Zuko, of the Southern Water Tribe; the Southern spirit lights mirrored in eyes of ocean blue, where he would drown with relief.
When he surfaced, Rukka was gone. The healers rhythms had been replaced by the slow beat of Zuko's own heart, and the mist must have condensed into droplets on his wet cheeks. Zuko glanced towards Sokka, and with a start met his gaze. Perhaps having them both shirtless and oiled up in the same room was a bit too much of a fantasy for now. Zuko dared to linger for one second longer than was advisable, then cleared his throat, wiped his face, and reached for the steamed towels left for them on the counter.
Something small caught his eye. A vial, and beside it, a folded note in Rukka's handwriting. Personal massage oil. Use sparingly. Multiple uses ;)
The heat that flooded Zuko's face had nothing to do with the steam. He pocketed the vial without a word and stepped outside before he could combust. Rukka would be hearing from him later!
"Are you well, Fire Lord?" – Jaosa, he thought.
"Mmhm," Zuko managed, and turned his face up to the coastal sky, grateful for something to fix his eyes on. He squinted into the glare. There were birds above the bay, wheeling in loose formation.
"What did you think of the South's spirit cleansing, Lord Zuko?" Sokka asked, stepping out of the hut. Zuko knew him too well; the amusement was invisible in his face and completely audible in his voice.
Zuko took a beat too long to answer. "Very good, Ambassador. Very informative."
"Hm." Sokka tilted his gaze skyward alongside him. Tenderly, he asked, "What are those?"
"Goosegulls," Zuko replied instantly, his composure slipping slightly with the enthusiasm. I'll have to tell Katara, later. "I think. Possibly." He cleared his throat.
There was a distant clatter from up the path, and then a Fire Nation guard came sliding down the ice, boots scrabbling against the glassy surface, arms wheeling. Zuko recognised this guard. Even as he fought for balance, Zensa tried for a bow – which sent him the remaining distance on his front, his face ploughing a neat furrow through the snow.
Sokka leant down to help. "Here–"
"No," Zensa said, muffled by snow. "I can get up."
What a waste! Zuko idly considered falling over himself, just to have an excuse to grip Sokka's hands.
Zensa instead accepted the assistance of a fence post. Jaosa coughed once, pointedly, and directed a very deliberate look from Zensa to Sokka.
Point to Jaosa, Zuko thought.
Zensa offered Sokka a brief, stiff bow. "Fire Lord Zuko. The Kyoshi Warriors have arrived."
Sweet relief.
"They are accompanied by Miss Ty Lee."
Agni, save him.
"We leave immediately," Zuko said, and set off across the ice–carved streets before anyone could propose otherwise.
Out on the bay, the Fire Nation cruiser was preparing for its homeward turn; thick smoke was rising from its chimneys, and its occupants were busy aboard the deck, preparing the sails and anchors.
Zuko watched it from the staging area at the village's edge, and felt something shift in his chest that he couldn't quite name. He had spent five years trying to make the Fire Nation home; perhaps he had spent his entire life trying. And here, at the edge of the world, looking at the ship that carried some echo of a home he couldn’t reach–he found he couldn't untangle the relief from the guilt. His home was not enough for him, now, and perhaps never had been. Would it ever be?
Beside the cruiser, a smaller wooden Earth Kingdom vessel sat at the dock, its sails green in the polar light.
"Look alive, boys!"
Suki came striding down from the gangplank, face paint vividly. Sokka jogged forward to meet her.
"You're late," he said, catching her in a brief embrace.
"I know. I'll explain." She stepped back, and offered Zuko a crisp formal bow. "The Kyoshi Warriors are ready to assist you with your Southern Water Tribe and Earth Kingdom democratic expeditions." Her voice was steady, pitched to carry the right distance.
Zuko nodded and dismissed his own guards with a word, watching them make their farewells with professional courtesy. He kept his expression level. He did not look at Sokka's hands.
"Hi, Zuko! Hi, Sokka!"
Ty Lee materialised from behind Suki in a heavily modified, fur–lined version of her acrobatics gear, pink cheeks bright against the snow. She gave an enormous wave. "Oh my gosh, your auras are so aligned right now, I can literally see the blending from here–"
"Ty Lee," Zuko growled. Ugh. It wasn't that he didn't like Ty Lee- quite the opposite, actually! But she had become a sort of surrogate sibling. And no one wanted a sibling joining them on their maplemoon, even if it was just as a guard. "You are supposed to be undercover."
"She is undercover," Suki said, with the fond weariness of someone who had made peace with this. "Special tactical scout."
"So? What happened?" Sokka asked.
Something brief passed between Suki and Ty Lee – Zuko recognised it as the look of two people who had already argued about what to say. He had shared the same with Sokka many times.
"We ran into some trouble before departure," Suki said, even. "A scuffle near the ship. Looked opportunistic – someone after supplies, most likely. It's been handled. The guards back home are dealing with it, and we'll have an eagle in a day or two once they know more."
Ty Lee opened her mouth.
Suki didn't look at her, but the slight shift of her weight was enough. Ty Lee closed her mouth. She smiled brightly at no one in particular.
Zuko didn’t have it in him to care about this right now, but he could see that Sokka’s shoulders were tense.
A third Kyoshi Warrior stepped forward from behind them – taller, with a quiet, observant bearing and a long scar running down the side of her neck. A heavy recurve bow was slung across her shoulder.
"This is Lena," Suki introduced. "A senior officer. She'll be leading the direct escort for Healer Rukka and the Chief, and joining us on your…on our democratic mission to the Earth Kingdom.”
Lena offered a respectful bow, but said nothing.
The group settled into motion – Suki talking logistics with Sokka, Ty Lee drifting into cheerful orbit around them, Lena falling into step at a quiet remove. Zuko walked at the edge of it all, pulling his parka a fraction tighter.
He thought about home – about all the shapes it had taken, all the shapes it had failed to hold. As they went to depart for their transport- arctic camels!- Zuko glanced backwards towards the port, and found that his ship was already reduced to smell fleck on the horizon. He watched until the fog took it.
The Moon Lake sat hidden deep in the glacial valley ahead of them, somewhere beyond the jagged peaks pale and enormous under the southern sky. He had not seen it yet. He had only read his father–in–law's careful descriptions in ink–smudged letters and imagined carved ice and a still valley, and the free arctic henswans that were native to its waters.
Agni was also departing, now; Zuko gave the Sun Spirit an internal farewell. As the last of Agni's rays gave way to the coming shadows, Sokka fell into step beside him, and Zuko grasped his hand with fierce devotion.