(Zutara) Hold it Gently; My Heart Burns For You

The Avatar Returns - Part Two

"You will not cross the sea by staring at the water, Prince Zuko."

"That's why we have a ship." Zuko's in no mood to listen to his uncle quote Sunblood to him. The old man respected his colleague when they fought at the walls in Ba Sing Se, and still respects him long after his sudden departure. He always said the legendary Sunblood was a great man, it was why he was never at peace. Zuko knows that weight by proxy, years watching his grandfather, then father, rule a nation, watching them bend like the willow a little more each day. Barely twenty, Zuko wonders when his own spine will creek after he retakes his place in the courts.

His uncle is a good man. Good men don't have to understand why great men sacrifice their peace so the good can remain so.

The endless blue water stretches before them, ice bordering their slow passage north, towering corridors disappearing into the sky on both sides. The Southern Watertribe sets at their backs with the sun. Agni's light, how he wishes the poles would succumb and melt away. A week here, and he can thoroughly say he hates the cold. Or, more than ever, he misses his home.

He misses the precise heat of the Fire Nation capital, how the welcoming breeze atop the Caldera can't find its way between the bustle and bodies of the market proper. He misses watching fire lilies bloom with the sunrise. His throat burns with the memory of his mother and he drinking aged red spirits in her personal garden, stout tumbler for her while he was only permitted a finger or two. He misses the turtleducks.

The purple frost-iris rests in his palm, a disappointing facsimile to the vibrant colours of his home. He'll smile when it dies, signalling warmer weather on their horizon. The men assigned to his command will twirl and jump with the setting sun tonight, in the boastful flips and cartwheels of the people they're returning to. A people of raw strength, kinetic heat, and powerful movement. Unlike his uncle with his treasured tsungi horn, Zuko will take no part in the foolery. He hasn't danced since his mother disappeared.

Instead, he'll be consumed by the disdain the watertribe peasants so readily greeted them with. He knew they would not be welcome, but the utter loathing surprised him. Fire Lord Sozin, his great-great grandfather, had a dream of sharing their Nation's wealth with the rest of the world. Ozai has not yet completed it, nor reached this deeply into the poles. The fact there was a tribe at all to welcome them was a shock.

In his other hand he grips the airbenders staff. A hundred years old, yet when he tested it across his knee, the wood was supple as the day it was made, flexible like the ashroot Azula would swat him with as they chased each other through the palace. They'd have duels over who got to swing the switch by placing it on the ground between them and see who could charr the wood first, fighting to disrupt the others fire while shooting their own. Azula always won even when, as big brother honour decrees, he stopped letting her.

He's on his way back now. Will she be happy to see him? Will father? Destiny would always bring him home. It was his choice to come wrapped in victory. Surely, finally, they'd smile at the sight of him.

Uncle opens his mouth. Bored, getting awfully close to irritated, Zuko spins precisely and strides to the bound boy surrounded by guards. So extreme on such a small child, but it's been seven years. Zuko won't waste another second on soft-hearted flights of sympathy. Uncle's footsteps clink between the clonks of the staff on the deck, until Zuko stands it before the Avatar.

Zuko appreciates the wood again. "This will make an excellent gift for my father." A round impassive face watches him. The blue arrow tip brushes the spot between grey eyes. Zuko isn't sure which to look at, both so unknown to him. "I suppose you wouldn't know much of fathers, being raised by monks."

He blinks slow, imploring Zuko. "What's your father like?"

It's a spark of a question, simple and innocent on its own. But his innate curiosity, infuriating honest grey eyes, years away from home, and the damnable cold, combine and settle on the dry, frail kindling of Zuko's temper.