Archive of Our Own

Southern Water Tribe, ten years after Sozin’s Comet.

Nothing can compare to a polar sunrise, Zuko thinks.

The young Firelord drags his fur-lined boots through a fresh layer of untouched powder, chin tilted towards golden rays of sun that have just begun to color the tundra in a pinkish glow. In his mitted palms, he carries a small mug, its contents releasing steam into the frigid morning air. The structures surrounding him, constructed of ice and snow, glisten as new daylight strikes their surfaces. 

Fire meets ice, he considers with an upward turn of his lips, and the world is a more beautiful place. 

The city is quiet, for now. The people of the Southern Water Tribe have a propensity for sleeping in. At this hour, in the Fire Nation capital, the streets would already be bustling with citizens, rising with the sun. Not here.

But Zuko doesn’t mind this, he decided as much quite long ago. Morning walks on his own are a rare luxury, nowadays. A security threat, his advisors warn him. Despite wealth and power, he ponders, it would seem many of life’s most simple, everyday pleasures cannot be afforded by the Firelord.

Zuko snorts to himself. At this rate, he’ll be philosophizing over jasmine tea in no time. 

A chill wind sweeps across the street, and Zuko burrows his nose into the knit scarf that covers the lower half of his face, inhaling deeply. Woodsmoke and sweetberries, the scent of his wife’s homeland.

He’s been married to Katara for seven months now. Six, if you’re only counting the time since their rigidly official and ridiculously extravagant Fire Nation wedding. They had wanted something simple, small, but the Fire Sages had insisted. The Firelord marrying a waterbender was breaking with tradition enough, they demanded. To limit the spectacle of a royal wedding in any way was to tempt the Fire Nation’s nobility to challenge the validity of the union.

And so, Zuko and Katara conceded. The Sages did have a point: the Fire Nation had undergone tumultuous change in the decade since Sozin’s Comet. Peace had not come easily for a land so accustomed to war, and the nation was in need of a boost of pride. The pomp and circumstance of a royal wedding was exactly the kind of celebration the people craved. 

But Katara was not one to be overruled so easily. A few weeks ahead of the long-anticipated date, the couple traveled quietly to the South Pole, under the guise of a short diplomatic trip coupled with visits to the bride’s family. Unbeknownst to the rest of the world, it had been then, in a land of ice and surrounded by a people not his own, where the Firelord first swore his life and loyalty to a woman of water. 

Zuko can hardly contain the smile that crosses his face at the memory. These quiet streets had been washed in full moonlight, and filled with the echo of drums and dancing feet. Voices of the tribespeople lifted in song, foreign and bewitching to his ears, the sound sending chills up his spine and scalp. 

And Katara, his wife, was magnificent. Dark hair beaded and braided in the customary way, she looked like the very embodiment of water itself. 

It had been during the whirlwind of their reception that they learned the news which would bring them back to the bottom of the world a full seven months later. Zuko recalled the way Suki had pulled Katara aside, speaking low into her ear, and he had watched in curiosity as his bride’s eyes grew wide and sparkling. 

Zuko’s boots stop at the familiar doorway. For a moment, he considers knocking, but thinks better of it. Instead, he quietly pushes the heavy door aside with a shoulder. 

Katara is alone in the main room, kneeling beside an unlit cooking fire, elbow-deep in a bowl of lumpy dough. Her thick hair is tied at the nape of her neck with a piece of sinew, a few flyaways framing her face haphazardly. She’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday, Zuko notes, unsurprised. She glances over her shoulder at him, and the shadows beneath her blue eyes confirm what he instinctively knows: she hasn’t slept. 

Nevertheless, she greets him with a half smile, arms working ceaselessly on the mountain of quivering dough before her. “Hey.”

“Hi.” He responds with a smile of his own before pulling off his gloves and setting them on a nearby table, careful to keep the mug from spilling its precious cargo. Hands freed, he urges heat into his palms, quickly bringing the tea to steam again. “Brought you something.” he tells her, crossing the room to sit across from her. 

Katara’s eyes jump between his face, the mug in his hands, and back again. She quirks an eyebrow. “Did you make - ?”

“No.” he replies, feigning offense. He would never subject her to such a thing. “I used one of those special prepared tea bags Uncle gave us for our honeymoon.”

“Ah.” she smirks, “Meant to stimulate the desires , if I’m remembering right?”

Despite himself, Zuko feels heat rise in his face. “I was just hoping it would wake you up.”

“Sure.” she rolls her eyes good-naturedly, returning her attention to her work. “Unfortunately, your Firelady is a bit preoccupied at the moment, tea will have to wait.”

“It’ll get cold.” he presses, teasing. 

“Spirits, did I marry a firebender for nothing ?” she quips, returning his grin. He laughs, setting the mug aside with a shake of his head. “Speaking of which, do you mind?” She nods her head in the direction of the unlit cooking fire at the center of the room.

“Yeah, sure.” Zuko stands, pulling off his heavy parka, and moves to collect an armload of firewood from the corner of the room. “How was your night?”

“It went smoothly.” Katara answers. “Suki did really well, and Sokka didn’t pass out, which was a pleasant surprise.”

Zuko snorts under his breath, arranging bits of firewood in the hearth. “Guess I owe your dad a bucket of fire flakes.” 

That earns him a look from her, which he returns with a smirk. Katara rolls her eyes, smiling in spite of herself. “Everyone’s fine, which is the most important thing.” she continues, all business, “They’re all resting now. I just couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d make them a batch of saltwater biscuits. Suki won’t feel up to making meals for a little while, and Sokka can’t cook to save his life, so it’s the least I can do.” 

Zuko nods, stacking larger pieces of firewood carefully in the circle. Yesterday had been chaos. Suki had gone into labor first thing in the morning, and the rest of the day rapidly became a blur of fetching water, getting rags, and reminding Sokka to breathe. At some point, Zuko had slumped against one of the walls in this room for a short break. Hours later, he awoke to Katara shaking his shoulder, her eyes brimming with tears. 

It’s a boy.

Once he’d been assured at least half a dozen times that he was no longer needed, Zuko trudged his way back to their place down the street, and into bed. 

At his command, sparks erupt from Zuko’s fingers and catch on dry bark, growing steadily into flames. Katara smiles at him. “Thanks. Once that gets down to coals, I’ll -” 

Her words halt suddenly, and she straightens her neck to fix her eyes on the doorway to the next room. 

“Katara?”

She shushes him. At first, Zuko doesn’t hear it. He opens his mouth to ask, but stops short when his ears detect the feeble sound. Like the plaintive mews of a baby Fire Ferret, calling for its mother. 

Under her breath, Katara curses colorfully. Zuko raises his brows at her, but she ignores him, looking down at her arms still slathered to the elbow in sticky dough. The cries have already started to grow stronger, more insistent. Zuko meets her eyes, and knows her words before she speaks. “Zuko, please, could you - “

“Katara, I can’t - ”

“You have to!”

“But - ”

“He’ll wake up Sokka and Suki!”

“So? They’re the parents!”

“Zuko!”

He sputters. “I-I have no idea how to handle one of those....things!” 

She frowns. “It’s called a baby . And I fed him and changed him less than an hour ago. He probably just wants to be held. Now, please, just go pick him up before he wakes the entire village!” 

“But I don’t - how do I - ?” He gestures wildly with his hands, giving her his best hopeless expression. She doesn't waver. This is bad. The cries are becoming even louder, demanding. 

“Support his head with one hand and hold his body with the other. It’s simple, Zuko, really. Now, please!”

The Firelord knows better than to argue with his wife when she uses that tone. He swallows his next protest and turns his feet toward the nursery, clenching and unclenching his hands a few times with each step. His pulse is suddenly quick. 

He pushes his way past the heavy buffalo-yak skin that serves as the nursery door. The room is small, cozy and dark. Blinking a few times, his eyes adjust to the dim light provided by a single oil lamp, turned down low. A bassinet hangs from the rafters, made of striped tiger seal hide stretched over curved bones and lined with rich white fur. Only a step forward and Zuko is looking down into the pinched face of the wailing newborn.

Tiny , he thinks, so tiny . The baby’s round face is a flush of pink, eyes shut tight against the world. Frustrated little limbs kick and thrash against the snug binding of his swaddle. A cap of thick brown hair already covers his head - a family trait. Zuko would smile if he wasn't so damn scared.

How long has it been since he’s seen an infant? Never, it seems, though he knows that isn’t true. Azula had been a baby, once, as hard as that is to rationalize. But at the time, he was so little himself that he had no memory of those days. Mai’s little brother, Tom-Tom, he can recall, but even he wasn’t this small. 

The child’s wails have become piercing, and Zuko struggles to collect himself. What did Katara say? One hand supporting the head, one hand supporting the body. 

Rigidly, brow furrowed, Zuko makes his attempt. He slides a cautious palm under the base of the neck, and another under the swaddled body. The baby is so small, and his hands feel too large, too clumsy, for this precious, fitful package. Zuko sets his feet apart in a ready stance. Gently, gently, he lifts the child out of the bassinet. 

Moving his arms carefully, he transfers the baby’s head to rest in the bend of his elbow, and tucks the tiny, wriggling body securely against his chest. Something strange and instinctual has him shifting his weight from foot to foot, moving his body in a gentle sway. A measured breath, and he kicks his core temperature up a few degrees. Cries dampen to whimpers, and the tension that strains Zuko’s shoulders starts to ease. 

A few moments, and the newborn quiets. Katara was right, of course. He just wanted to be held. Zuko imagines it must be strange, to have spent one’s whole existence in quiet, weightless comfort, accompanied by the sound of a mother's steady heartbeat, only to be suddenly thrust into the world. To be alone for the first time. The Firelord stares into the tiny face, a twisting in his gut. 

A little hand has broken free of the swaddle, and Zuko marvels: five pink fingers, wrinkled knuckles, a chubby palm. Do they carry the power to control water? Or will they fashion weapons and inventions? Perhaps, they will do something else entirely. Time will tell. For now, Zuko offers the little hand his index finger, and feels his chest swell.  

Of all the things his hands have held - from dragon eggs and ancient texts to the element of Fire itself - this is by far the most precious, the most powerful: a new generation, one born into a world without war. A new start. Redemption. 

The firm slap of a strong hand on his shoulder, and Zuko’s thoughts abruptly shatter. He jolts, turning his head sharply to find his bleary-eyed brother-in-law leaning heavily against him. Sokka scrubs a tired hand over his face, grazing a new growth of stubble apparent on his jawline, and gives the Firelord a lopsided grin.