AN: Okay, so I'm reuploading these chapters because trying to write an AtLA story from one POV is pretty awkward and it can get dull and stilted. Zuko will now have sections of his own, and I may also throw in other characters. Also, thanks to everyone who has favorited and subscribed even though I haven't put up a new chapter in months. I probably would have completely abandoned this otherwise. Hope you like it better this way!

She sat in the dungeon with her back against the wall, the darkness filling her eyes, the silence stopping up her ears, the dust catching in her throat. A dank musty smell filled her nostrils. Barefoot, dressed in the red rags of a war prisoner, she sat shaking lightly. Somehow in this country of sun and warmth, their dungeon was cold. It made little sense to her. Some of the guards were firebenders. Wouldn't they want it to be warm? How long she had been here, she couldn't say. She felt she was becoming a part of the place; the longer she was there, the less life she felt inside her.

A man started to sing, his voice reverberating throughout every cell of the dungeon. "She called me a liar, called me a fool. She-"

"Shut up!" another yelled.

More voices joined in, calling him and the woman he sang of harsh names.

He cleared his throat and fell back into silence.

She looked at the empty bowl, then at the door, which was made mostly of nothing, the rest vertical lines of metal. They brought her food regularly, three times a day, more than she was used to in her normal life. The meals were the same with little variety: rice gruel with portions of fruit or vegetable, a mandarin orange, a clove of garlic, something strange which a guard had told her was a "leak." Her body was unused to this amount of carbohydrates and no meat. In the tundra, her vegetable selection was limited to a handful of roots and seaweed, while the majority of her diet was flesh: fish, bear, and seal. Her stomach contorted in pain with this food, so she spent much of her time huddled against the cold wall, clutching her gut and hoping for the pain to pass. Most of the time she slept to bare it, though she knew she should be focusing on escaping.

Then there was the fruit, which she had barely ever tried before being captured. Her first try was a dried lychee nut when she was still very young, and the taste was something she couldn't remember. Her brother had eaten most of it himself, hiding it from the rest of the family and earning more than a scolding from their father. Here, hungry and homesick, the fruit met her with sweet delight, but ended in torment. The texture of her first mango was soft like butter, but her stomach couldn't handle it. So when the pain hit her, she rushed to the pot they provided her with, hoping it would all end soon.

The water was a bigger problem though. The guards would bring some in a small skin, uncorking it when they were right beside her, allowing only small sips, then they would disappear until the next meal. Which definitely did not help since she had diarrhea. After a few meals with fruit, she decided to give up on it entirely. There was no reason to doubly harm herself.

She thought of food from home, her stomach upset and her heart heavy at the thought. Sea prunes and jerky, a big bowl of seaweed noodles, the green noodles and the bone broth soothing her every sorrow.

A set of steady clicking echoed from outside, faint and far away.

Footsteps. A pair of them. She sat up, the chains around her wrists jingling. Did she really hear that? Was she just imagining it? It was hard to tell in this darkness. Without a window, with only a view of the underground dungeon, there wasn't much to go on. It could've been the middle of winter or the beginning of summer; there was no light, and there was always the same, cold chill in the air. It clung to her feet, stuck in her ears and crawled down her jaw. She was given the pot, her prisoner garb, and a blanket, so she would huddle up in a ball against the corner closest to the center of the dungeon, and sleep without comfort, drifting in and out of scanty drowsing.

It wasn't a meal time. Morning couldn't have come yet. Each day she would hear the door unlock, the guards come in laughing and joking to each other before they took their stations. They rotated every six hours, and although she had been in this cell for two weeks, she'd never met with the same face twice.

Now she scooted herself as far away from the door as possible, willing herself to shrink infinitesimally. The footsteps were coming closer, and a flicker of light played across the walls. Could these people even be guards? What purpose could two guards have for entering the dungeon? They could take one of the prisoners out. Oh, someone was going to be executed. She willed herself smaller and smaller, hoping it wasn't her. Then she remembered what her grandmother had said happened to women in prisons. Alone without rights, looked upon as less than human, surrounded by angry, frustrated men. Her heart beat faster and the air died in her lungs.

A few voices called out as the steps grew closer.

"'S time for breakfast?"

"Kantu smells like shit."

"I'm two cells over!"

Whoever they were, they ignored the comments and continued to walk with the same even, unhurried pace. Click click click click.

Gritting her teeth, she stood slowly, never taking her eyes off the light moving closer. Her breath caught in her throat as the steps grew louder, paused, turned right, and she saw a man before her, just one. Where was the other? Hovering above his hand was a small flame, swaying gently He looked like every other man from the Fire Nation: dressed in black and red, hair like fresh coal and eyes of burning honey. And most likely a murderer.

"What?" she spat.

He blinked in boredom, raised an eyebrow. "You're to meet with the Fire Lord."

She took a step back, chains barely ringing. Her face grew hard again. "Why?"

"Since you can only ask one word questions, I'll give you a one word answer: because. Now get out," he said, sliding the door open.

Her lip twitched as she made her way out of her cell, defying the urge to knock him to the ground and bust her way out. Not that she could-they'd blindfolded her and snuck her in through the prisoners' tunnel-but she wanted to see how far she could get. Although, since the Fire Lord expected her, this would probably be the worst time to try it.

Another man grabbed her by the chains connected to her wrists. The first guard, Master Grouchy, unlocked her cuffs, then the next brought her arms behind her back, and the first guard restrained her again, tighter than before. Somehow she had the ability to roll her eyes instead of snapping at them.

"Come on," said the first guard. He lead the two through the dungeon, the tall guard holding her chains behind her.

Some of the prisoners hooted.

"Fire Lord looking for something more exotic?"

"She's too skinny to entice anyone."

"He's gonna kill her, you morons."

She met eyes with a man. Northerner, she thought instantly, her heart soaring while sinking. He wasn't someone she knew, but he was her people. Wrinkles etched into his forehead and his lips turned down, then he opened his mouth, and out came the mourning song of their tribe. "The moon smiled down upon my lands, the ocean washed my weary hands. I know they won't send me adrift, Tui and La give me my last gift..." A few others joined in, quietly, but loud enough to echo through the hall and make her wish she could abandon her body.

Her eyelids scrunched shut, hoping to block everything out. Death was coming. She'd barely lived her life, but then there were babies that died in the womb. At least they were with their mother, at home, she thought.

They made their way up the stairs, the cold biting the soles of her feet, but emptying her limbs with every step she took. Warmth wasn't something she'd felt since they tossed her on the ship, surrounded by too many bodies, none of them from her home. When they'd reached the Fire Nation, bags were placed over their heads, their hands cuffed behind their backs, and they were led up a gangplank, into a cold tunnel underground. The cold became worse when they entered the dungeon, the bricks like ice. Her animal skins were gone, no fires burned but from the palms of benders to light their way.

The first guard opened the rightmost door and vanished through it as she followed quickly behind. This tunnel was more of a hallway, with doors on either side. At the very end on the right, the guard unlocked the door, led them in, then unlocked two more doors.

She blinked hard at the light in her eyes. After a few moments, a man behind a desk came into view. He was sitting down, leaning over a paper while he scribbled. She and her guards stayed silent, and when she looked between the two, impatiently, the one holding her chains pulled them hard. A scowl plastered across her face, she stood fuming.

Finally the man set his pen down and looked up, clearing his throat. "Southern Water Tribe?"

"Yes, sir," answered the shorter guard.

"Captured during the raid six months ago?"

"Yes, sir."

The raid was six months ago. The voyage wasn't that long. She should have marked the time on the walls with something. Disdain filled her as she remembered-she wasn't allowed any utensils, not even wooden chopsticks.

"Water bender?"

"Yes, sir."

He leaned back in his seat. "Well, then. What is your name?"

She stared at him defiantly, her lips unmoving.

An eyebrow raised. "This will be better for the both of us if you cooperate. Less punishment from the Fire Lord, you know."

Where was the Fire Lord? Did they know who she was? She didn't want to hear them butcher her name as well as her family. "Kanna," she said at length. They wouldn't notice that it was a Northern name. As long as there was a "k" they would believe her.

"Good," he said, scribbling again. "Age?"

"Seventeen."

"Family?"

"Gee, I don't anymore considering-ugh!"

The tall guard pulled her chains again. "Answer the question, prisoner."

"A brother and a father, maybe a grandmother."

"What kind of work can you do?"

Spirits, what was the point of this? "Catch, gut, and cook fish, sew, clean, row a boat for an hour, sing children to sleep, ride penguins, dehydrate sea prunes-"

"We don't have quite the same, uh, provisions, but we'll see how well you sew and clean." He wrote on the paper again.

"Will I be working for the Fire Lord?" she asked, caught between being done with this entire situation and terrified enough to break through the window behind the man at the table.

He closed his eyes, then opened them, as if he couldn't believe what she'd just said. She stifled the urge to roll her eyes. It seemed blinking was a way to demean intelligence in the Fire Nation. "No, Kanna. We'll see which you decide better and then decide where to put you. Either in the kitchen or with the seamstress."

"Why not just kill me?" she asked, reckless, not thinking about the possibility that he might listen to her. Maybe hearing the Northerner sing her to the other side had some strange effect on her. "I'm a bender, I'm more trouble than I'm worth."

He scratched something out on the paper. "You'll be working with the seamstress."

"You really need more slaves? What's the-guh!"

"The Fire Lord has decided that you will work to earn your keep here. You'd do well to listen to and respect Jee Sang." The tall guard never looked at her.

Jee Sang cleared his throat again. "Yes, thank you, Setun. Now," he said absentmindedly, "Take her to Iza. She'll need to help with all the preparations."

Before she could think about what they could possibly be preparing for that required extra help for the seamstress, Setun and Master Grouchy led her out the series of locked rooms and through another confusing set. Then they marched her up three flights of stairs, into a narrow hallway, and opened a small door. The room was filled with piles and stacks of half sewn clothes and brand-new yards of fabric in different shades of red and black. A large window looked out on some sort of garden, the morning sun rising over the horizon, casting orange light across the expanse of red flowers.

A woman came stumbling into the room, squat and smiling. "Oh, are you helping me? I'm Iza, dear, I really appreciate your help."

Stunned, she stared at the woman. Maybe the women were friendlier than the men; she'd only met with men before: soldiers, guards, diplomats. She coughed, remembering her name. "Yes, of course. I'm Kanna."

Iza bowed to Kanna, startling she and her guards. She returned the bow hastily, unsure of why this woman would bow to a foreign girl in rags and chains. "Well, Kanna," she said, "It's only you and me, so I hope we can get through all this work. The royal family needs new formal clothing for welcoming home the prince." She glared at the guards, asking them to release her so she could get to work.

As they removed her chains and cuffs, they explained to Iza that she was a dangerous captive, the last water bender of the Southern Water Tribe. Iza simply scoffed, telling Kanna that she looked like a strong and sweet young woman. She stood listening to them bicker in the way of the court: no real jabs, just underhanded remarks.

"We will stay here for your protection," Master Grouchy said to Iza.

She replied with, "No need. I'm sure you have more important work to tend to."

Setun began to argue, but closed his mouth. They bowed and left Kanna with the seamstress.

She looked at the older woman. Hair the color of coal, pulled back in a high bun, yellow eyes like a cat, far apart, broken only by a small, upturned nose. Below were thin lips, lines creasing into the skin around them.

Iza sighed. "Now that that's over with, let's get started. All I want you to work on is hemming what's in this pile, alright?"

"Yes, Iza." She moved to the clothing she indicated and sat down, threading her needle and starting in. Iza had already pinned them, so all she had to do was sew a straight line that would hold. She sat there for a time, working her way through tediously. By the time six pieces were done, her stomach let out a loud growl. She blushed as she said, "Excuse me, Iza."

"Have you not eaten?" she asked in a shrill tone.

Kanna shook her head. "They took me before the regular guards came in."

The woman set down a burgundy shirt with a roll of her eyes. "Men forget about feeding others when they've been fed themselves. Come on, I'll get you something." She stood from her stool and disappeared behind a rough sheet in a doorway.

Following cautiously, she found Iza in a small, cramped pantry. There was a store of fruit and vegetables along with some flatbread on the two shelves the room held. Kanna looked down at the floor, but found no strange breaks in it, nor in the ceiling when she looked to the higher shelf. Iza placed a piece of bread and fruit in the girl's hand.

"Thank you, but I-" she faltered. "My body doesn't do well with fruit." Another blush crossed her face.

"Really? You must not have eaten much of it before you came here." She took the fruit and replaced it with a carrot.

She thanked her again and sat at a table void of cloth, next to the window. Her breakfast was quiet, though it was probably more the time when one would have a snack. A slight wind pushed at the flowers, sending them swaying south. Her heart ached at the thought of something as simple as a direction.

If she could make it to the coast, she could bend herself home. Though what would be left of it, she was unsure. Brother and father gone to war, grandmother lost in the raid, and her mother. She bit angrily at the bread, hoping to get rid of the memory. She'd been in the arms of soldiers by then, kicking and bending as best she could-which was pretty bad, considering she'd taught herself everything she knew.

Kanna bit hard into the carrot. She finished her breakfast quickly and got back to work, hemming clothes where they were pinned. The thought that royalty would wear these clothes broke her concentration, not in awe, but anger. Her family was destroyed, her home far away, and now they had her doing menial labor for them.

She wondered if fire benders could burn themselves. She'd heard that the entire royal family could bend. Maybe they would set themselves on fire for this stupid homecoming. Then she could break out and go home. "When is the party?" she asked Iza, not looking up from her work.

"Oh, just a week away. We'll get through everything we can and have the fittings a few days before. The prince really has grown up. He was still a child when he left."

She didn't care how old the prince was when he left. He was probably just as terrible as she imagined he would be. Uptight and angry, always ready to set something on fire. With a high opinion of himself and the perfect appearance of one who had never wanted for anything: food, clothes, his family. Really she wanted to freeze him to the highest ceiling in the palace and watch as he melted himself and fell to the ground.

"He's only a year or so older than you, I'd guess. He's..." She paused, counting. "Nineteen? Yes, because you look about the same age as Princess Azula. You're sixteen, seventeen?"

"Yes," she replied, wishing it were possible to never have anything in common with the royal family. Just existing at the same time was bad enough. Now she was in their home, sewing their clothes as their prisoner, and unfortunately the same age as the princess. And her brother, if he was still alive, would be the same age as the prince. The spirits must have a dark sense of humor, she thought.

Prince Zuko sat across from his uncle, failing to focus on his tea. He was staring out the window, looking at the sun rising over the horizon. The deep orange glow carried across the rippling sea, glinting in his eyes and leaving marks when he looked away. It was happening. After all these years, the scorn, the humiliation, it was at an end. Here it was: the true dawn of his life, one in which he would be respected by his equals, even her.

In all actuality, he should have received more deference. He was older, the Crown Prince, the future Fire Lord. But his personality, even as a young child, was not what his father expected. Born of fire, he was supposed to burn and engulf, not warm and nuture. As time passed, he learned to hide that side of himself, but on that fateful day, he was unable to hold his tongue.

But it's over, he reminded himself. The prince picked up the white cup, feeling the warmth spread through his fingers, the palms of his hands.

"Prince Zuko," said the other man.

He turned his face from the sea to his Uncle. "Yes, Uncle?"

The old man cleared his throat, played with his white beard. "It has been some time since we left, and I'm sure a lot has changed, the people especially."

It wasn't something he wanted to think about. He knew people changed, but he doubted she had, doubted his father had. As for Mai, she'd stopped writing letters a long time ago; he wasn't expecting anything. The best he could hope for was that respect. Not admiration, not friendship, not love. Respect and power would be the key.

"I know, Uncle."

He nodded. "You have changed. And I am proud of the man you've become."

Zuko propped his elbow on the table and hid his cheek in his hand. It still made him uncomfortable when his uncle talked like this, praising him on being a somewhat decent human being. Happy, but uncomfortable. "Well, you basically raised me, so good job."

His face softened with a smile. "I just want you to remember all you've learned. Keep a level head in tough situations, don't let your anger get to you."

He took a sip of tea, watching the old man. It was with great restraint that he kept from rolling his eyes. "I will if she doesn't act like a spoiled child."

"That's exactly what she is, and we both know it."

Zuko raised his brows.

"It doesn't matter how she acts. It matters how you react. The more you react, the more she wants to...bother you."

"That's putting it lightly, and we both know it."

Sighing, he said, "Yes, I know." He took a sip of tea and looked out at the ocean. "But you will be the Fire Lord one day, and when that day comes, you must be ready. You will be in charge of the lives of all your people, the soldiers, the farmers, the shop workers. The decisions you make will affect them all." He turned back to the prince. "You must be ready to sacrifice for them, even if it means renewed scorn from your sister."

Zuko didn't have to fight to keep his eyes from rolling. Renewed scorn? he thought.

He hadn't heard from her since the last time she had sent a letter, three years ago, bragging that she had surpassed all the other fire benders, that she could produce lightning with ease while the others' faces turned purple with effort. Lightning wasn't something he was fond of, but still something his Uncle Iroh had taught him to redirect as soon as he saw the letter. He still had long, thin scars across his chest and arms where the lightning had become stuck. With a snort, he thought, I'm mostly scar tissue at this point.

"It's no laughing matter, Prince Zuko," said Iroh sternly.

He blinked and shook his head, looking down in at the tea in his hands. "That wasn't what I was thinking about. I was just…"

Sighing, he sat back and looked out at the sea once more. It was no longer rippled orange. The sun was now yellow in the sky, the water a deep navy.

Zuko turned Iroh, avoiding meeting his eyes. "I don't know how I'm expected to act. What other Crown Prince has been banished, and then allowed to return home?"

"None! You're the first! Isn't that a fortunate end to this chapter of your life?" Iroh smiled widely.

"Uncle, you know there are no chapters in life. Everything bleeds into the next moment."

He sighed. "Yes, but that doesn't mean we can't look back at the past moments and rejoice."

"That they happened?" Zuko asked, incredulous.

Iroh shrugged his shoulders. "Or that they've ended."