Katara likes to be right, but not about this.
As promised, hawks with red ribbons find their way to her on a weekly basis for many years. They come without delay and without exception: even when he is in remote parts of the world; even when he is clearly exhausted and the characters on the page are hastily printed; even when he falls so ill that he has to return to the Fire Nation for a month to recuperate. He updates her on his location as well as requests her advice on the matters he faces as he meets with various officials from all over the world. He asks about the Avatar's training and if there are any ways that the Fire Nation can contribute to the task. When she is lucky and his travels by ship are particularly long and dull, he shares stories with her: of his childhood, of captaining a ship at the age of thirteen, of his marriage, of parenthood, of being the Fire Lord. There is no clear reason why he chooses to share one story over another, but she finds that she is greedy for them and is disappointed when they are not included. Despite her excitement when one arrives, reading them always leaves her with a strange feeling afterward; the tales he tells fill in the gaps of her knowledge and she is left with the sensation that despite how close she feels to him it will never be close enough.
There are a few times he schedules visits, but the universe manages to prevent each one: uprisings in the east, tensions in the north, illness and famine and the outbreak of dark spirits. By the time the last of these occurs, she almost has to laugh at the barriers that have been put in the path of their friendship over the course of a lifetime, and she supposes that this is just one more. He promises her that as soon as travel in the south is safe again he will come to visit her; after all, he never gives up without a fight. But she can tell by the feeling in her bones and the shaky quality of the characters on the page that it won't be long before the letters stop coming altogether.
She thinks she is prepared for the hawk that comes down from the sky with a black ribbon fluttering behind it.
She is not.
She leaves the South Pole for the first time in years on the back of her son's sky bison. Tenzin tries to engage her in conversation from time to time, but she finds that she has little to say. Or rather, there is little that she can say. There is no way to explain to her son the complicated and intense emotions that course through her as they make their way toward warmer waters, so she finds it best to remain silent.
When they arrive at the Fire Nation palace, it has been transformed; though this time she is not ignorant of the meaning of the white banners that are draped from the high walls that surround the palace grounds. The capital is thick with people from all nations awaiting the events to come later in the day. As Tenzin leads her closer to the entrance, Katara notices the smoke that curls up from the ground and seems to cloud around the base of the wall. At first she is alarmed, but as they approach the crowd thins enough for her to see its source. Hundreds of miniature vigils line the base of the wall. Incense sticks trail blue smoke in the air, and small portraits of the former Fire Lord in his youth are propped up with pieces of fruit and other mementos. Her heart aches at the sight of them, but she smiles through the tears that build behind her eyes at the thought that he had more support than he probably knew.
The ceremony is held at sunset. The coronation plaza is crowded, but as she listens to the Fire Sages deliver his eulogy, she has never felt so alone. They speak of his great deeds and accomplishments, and she feels an irrational anger build in her chest as the list goes on. She wants to shout that his life was more than great works and acts of diplomacy. His life was also pain and laughter and included mistake after mistake. He was warmth and anger and bitterness and love. She wants to scream at them for focusing on the things that he did, not the man that he was. But most of all she wants to rage that a part of him, no matter how small, was hers. And now it is gone.
She tries to remain stoic when the Fire Sages ascend the dais, but she can't help but flinch and look away when they release jets of flame from their fists. She huddles closer to Tenzin and waits for the intensity of the heat to recede before taking her eyes off of the ground. Even when she does, her eyes avoid the fire itself, choosing to focus instead on the smoke that billows into the darkening sky and the sparks that look like dying stars.
When the last of the crowd has filed out of the plaza, she asks Tenzin to take her to her guest room in the palace so that she may rest. It is only after the door is closed safely behind her that she truly allows herself to mourn. She chokes on the memory of him, of the boy who betrayed her trust only to earn her love instead. She endures the memories as they flood her senses, from the fights to the silence to the tenderness to the smiles. In the end her eyes are swollen and her throat and head ache from the sorrow she has allowed to possess her. When it finally passes she sighs deeply, feeling as though she had finally been able to set down a heavy load.
In the morning, she gathers her belongings and waits for Tenzin in the gardens. It is probably just her imagination, but even the turtleducks seem listless as she tosses bits of a roll from breakfast into the water. When she hears footsteps from behind her she thinks that Tenzin must finally be ready to take her home.
"Master Katara?"
Her heart drops and her blood freezes at the sound of that voice, his voice. Her head whips around and an irrational disappointment pierces her chest when she sees a young man in a military uniform carrying a large box under one arm. He bows at the waist and introduces himself.
"General Iroh, it's a pleasure to meet you."
When he stands back up he is smiling warmly, and though the features aren't quite the same, she thinks for a moment that she can picture what Zuko might have looked like in his youth if the events in the crystal catacombs underneath Ba Sing Se had gone a little differently. The thought of it makes her feel dizzy. She puts a hand on the ground to confirm that the earth is not sliding out from under her.
"Master Katara? Are you alright?"
She clears her throat as her thoughts start to become coherent again. "Yes, I'm fine, thank you." She makes a move to get up, but falters. Her embarrassment knows no bounds. "I'm sorry to ask, but would you mind giving me a hand?"
He rushes to set down the box he is holding before helping her off of the ground. Taking her arm, he leads her to the stone bench near the pond and helps her sit down.
"It's good to meet you, General. My condolences on the passing of your grandfather. He was an honorable man, and one of my best friends."
"Thank you. He spoke very fondly of you."
She smiles a little sadly. "I appreciate your saying so." She glances at the box beside her. It is long and narrow, and the high gloss on the mahogany gleams in the sun. A braided red silk cord with tasseled ends is wound around the center and tied in an intricate knot. Along one side she can see an engraved brass plate featuring a keyhole. "What's in there?"
"I don't know, actually. It's for you."
She makes a face. "For me?"
"Yes. My mother asked me to make sure you received this, per my grandfather's wishes. She regrets not being able to present it to you herself."
Katara can't help but picture the little girl with the delicate features and the tiny crown in her hair. Though she may be a grown woman now, Katara knows what she must be feeling as she mourns the loss of her father. "I completely understand. Please give her my warmest regards."
At this moment she hears Tenzin call for her. "Mother?" She turns and sees him coming down the path. "There you are. I've been looking for you. Everything is ready to go. Oh, General Iroh! Good to see you again, despite the circumstances."
They exchange pleasantries for a moment but Katara isn't listening. She eyes the box by her side and wonders what it could possibly contain. She is startled out of her musings when her son lays a hand on her shoulder.
"Are you ready to go, Mother?"
She takes one last look at the gardens and sighs. "Yes, I think I am." Tenzin hefts the box under one arm and offers her the other.
They wander through the palace halls and she finds that the grandeur of it impresses her still. When they pass through the corridor featuring larger-than-life depictions of past Fire Lords, her feet slow to a stop in front of Zuko's. Her son indulges her as she stares up at the portrait and smiles.
"Bye, Zuko."
Reluctantly she turns to continue down the hall, but she hears a familiar voice call for her. "Master Katara!"
General Iroh is jogging down the hall in their direction, his boots echoing against the high ceilings. When he approaches he reaches into his coat and pulls out an envelope. "I almost forgot. You'll need this."
He hands it to her and she examines it. Her name is on the front and Zuko's seal is stamped on the back. As she turns it over in her hands, she notices that it is heavy on one end.
"I'm pretty sure that's the key to the box, so be careful not to lose it. I'm sorry for not giving it to you earlier. Again, it was nice meeting you and have a safe journey home."
"Thank you General. The same to you." She smiles and he give a small bow before he turns and heads back in the direction from which he came.
The ride home is another mostly silent affair, but this one she spends in quiet contemplation instead of despair. After ensuring that she has everything she needs and making a general fuss, Katara watches her son wave to her from the back of his sky bison on his way back to Air Temple Island. After she can no longer see him, she pulls up her hood around her ears and makes her way home.
The box is sitting on her bed where Tenzin had left it along with the envelope. She sits down next to it and runs a hand along its smooth surface. A strange anticipation settles over her as she considers the possibilities within; she desperately wants to know what it contains, but another part of her hesitates to open it: it is the last gift from him she will ever receive.
Curiosity wins out in the end, and she slowly tugs the red cord off from one end of the box and sets it aside, careful not to disturb the fancy knots. Picking up the envelope, she tears it open along one edge. It would have been a simple task to break the seal, but for some reason she feels the need to leave it intact. The key falls into her hand and she rolls it around in one hand before taking a deep breath and inserting it into the lock.
The lid whispers open along its hinges, and her free hand automatically gropes for the pendant at her throat. Inside the box, secured and displayed on a bed of red silk, are his twin broadswords.
A folded note is pinned to the inside of the lid. Careful not to damage the fabric, she unfastens it and begins to read.
Katara,
When I was young, I once met a family along my travels that showed me great kindness by allowing me to sleep in their barn. They had a young son who took an interest in these swords. That night, I caught this young boy sneaking into my room to take them. Curious, I followed him out into a nearby field to see what he would do. After watching him struggle to wield them, I offered some basic instruction.
I told him that it was a mistake to think of them as separate, because they are not. They are two halves of a single whole.
I have known this principle since I first started training with broadswords as a child. Though they may move in different directions, though they may pass by one another, and though they may occasionally meet; they are never really apart. I have known this, but I had never really considered what it meant.
It is only now, reflecting on the course of our friendship, that I think I finally understand.
Zuko
Her hand comes up to cover her mouth as she smothers a sob. She had thought she had emptied herself of grief, but she is surprised to find that the well of her feelings goes deeper than she ever knew. She curls in on herself and cries until she thinks there may be nothing left behind but a dried out husk. With blurry vision and trembling hands, she pins the note back into the lid of the box, and adds the envelope with his wax seal. Sniffing hard, she takes one last long look at the swords and is about to shut the lid when a stray thought occurs to her.
Her tears subside and she pushes herself off of the bed. She makes her way to the other side of the room where an old trunk sits nestled in the corner. Hastily, she kneels down and tosses aside the old papers and scrolls that are piled on top of it. After struggling with the rusted latch, she throws open the lid and begins digging frantically toward the bottom. Finally, her hands touch silk and she knows she has found what she was looking for.
In her youth she felt like a silly girl for keeping it, as an adult she had forgotten that she had it for a time, and in her old age she had rationalized that there was nothing wrong with preserving a memento from her days fighting in the war. But now, as she holds it out in front of her, she is grateful that she could never bring herself to throw it away.
The black silk robe is wrinkled and crushed, but besides that it is in perfect condition, except for a single tear in one sleeve, which had been stitched with care and black thread.
With a sense of reverence, she smooths the wrinkles to the best of her ability and refolds the robe so that it will lie flat. When she is finished she carries it back to the bed with her and gently places it inside the box. Looking at them together brings her a sense of bittersweet satisfaction. As soon as the lock clicks into place with the turn of the key, she suddenly feels very, very tired.
That night she dreams that she is back in the Earth Kingdom. She walks barefoot along the Outer Wall, and when she reaches out to run her fingers along the stones she is surprised to see that her hands are young and smooth. At her touch the stones fall away, crumbling to dust and leaving glimpses of the city beyond. She is tempted to touch them all, to bring down the whole wall, but a voice inside tells her to break apart only enough to see inside; the structural integrity must remain intact. Through the opening she has created she sees homes with open widows and curtains that dance in the breeze. People walk causally along cobblestone roads while in the distance children play in an open field. She watches with curiosity at the lives that go on without her, the lives that will never be hers on the other side of the wall. She leaves them behind and keeps walking.
She senses water nearby and as she continues she sees a lake up ahead. The surface of the water is calm and sparkles in the sunlight. When she reaches the shore, she tests the water with her toe and finds that it is warm. There is something that beckons her to step further into the water, something hidden beneath the surface that begs to be found. Without hesitation she wades further and further in until the lake swallows her whole.
She sinks to the bottom, her hair floating about her face. She expects to struggle for breath but she finds that she doesn't need air, not here. Light filters in from the surface high above and illuminates the depths. Scanning the area she sees nothing but clear water; no fish or rocks or plant life. The emptiness should scare her but it doesn't. Her feet sink into the soft floor of the lake as she walks.
At the center of the lake she sees a disruption in the flat surface of the sand. Instinctively she moves toward it. Reaching down, she touches the object that projects from the ground. After an instant's hesitation, she wraps her fingers around it and tugs. It pulls free in her hand, sending up a cloud of sand and dirt in its wake. The cloud expands and blocks out the light coming from above, and suddenly she feels choked by the debris. She kicks her feet and swims for the surface, gasping when she reaches it, cold air filling her lungs.
She drags herself to the shore with the object still in hand. She flops onto the sand and takes a closer look at the thing that has caused her so much trouble. A grinning mask stares back at her with empty eye sockets. Though flakes of white and blue paint cling to the grain of the wood in places, most of the surface of the mask has been laid bare by the gentle erosion of water and time. She thinks it may have been magnificent, once.
She puzzles over what to do with it. She can't wear it, the deterioration is too great. She could restore it, but she isn't sure if she has the talent to do so. Besides, she has plenty of her own masks that require her attention. And yet she cannot throw it away. She feels connected to it somehow. She taps into that feeling, and instinctively she closes her eyes and holds the mask to her chest. It radiates warmth and the closer it is the more she feels full and complete. She feels ashamed that she has let reason unbalance her heart for so long, but she vows that the next time, she will not make the same mistake again. Her decision is made. With the mask in hand, she makes her way toward the setting sun.
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That's it folks! We've reached the end! Now it's time for….
Lengthy Author's Notes to go with a lengthy story:
First and foremost, thanks to everyone for reading! If you liked it (or didn't for that matter) I'd love to hear what you think!
As mentioned before, this was a gift for jesterry for the Zutara Secret Santa exchange. The prompts I was given were:
-PaintedBlue
-Promise (a song by Within Temptation)
-Protect Me From What I Want (a song by Placebo)
-"We could have had it all" (Old!ZK meet again. Angst)
-Zuko afraid of his reflection in the mirror (which represents Ozai).
These were kickass prompts. I couldn't possibly pick just one. My biggest dilemma was… jesterry didn't want any canon pairings. This put me in a difficult position, because how can one write Old!ZK angst without them? So I tried my best to keep them to a minimum and pay them basic respect (despite my shared aversion for them). Hope you aren't disappointed, jesterry!
I couldn't quite incorporate the Within Temptation song, but there are plenty of other "promises" in this story. On a tangential note, Placebo is one of my favorite bands and I was so excited to see a song from them as a prompt. I'm showing my age here, but I've been a fan since they released "Without You I'm Nothing." For those unfamiliar with them, I highly recommend you check them out.
Note about this being canon-compliant(ish): I tried to stay as true to the animated canon as possible. I am FAR more familiar with AtLA than Korra, so hopefully the later details made enough sense. The one major deviation is that Zuko retires 10 years earlier in this story than he's supposed to. That was actually an accident. I had spent two straight days writing the last three chapters (that would be about 10,000 words), and it was only after I was finished that I realized that Bryke didn't let Zuko retire until he was like 85. I spent another day shaking my fists at the sky and considered scrapping the whole ending and starting over to make it canon-compliant, but in the end I decided I kind of liked it this way. I mean I know Zuko is a workaholic and everything, but let's give the guy (and me!) a break, shall we? Also, I haven't paid much attention to the comics. I haven't read The Search, but I know they found Ursa and all that. Obviously I didn't incorporate comic canon at all.
And I had to riff on Dante voicing both Zuko and General Iroh. Sorry not sorry.
And finally, I'm sorry jesterry. I really, really wanted to write you a dirty sex scene. I really did. But I chickened out in the end. I hope softcore in a bathtub is satisfactory.
Anyway, when I planned this it was supposed to be around 5,000 words, max. Just little fragments. But I sort of lost all control, the power of Zutara compelled me to go on. Thanks again for sticking with me through the emotional roller coaster that is Zutara, and stop by and let me know what you think!