Chapter One

Her first impression of the South Pole was that it looked very white. From the buildings to the snow, to the landscape, to the icebergs floating in the large gray-colored bay spreading out beneath them, the Southern Water Tribe was overwhelmingly, blindingly, glaringly white.

It hurt Azula's eyes to look at it, but the more she looked the more she realized that the whites were dappled by grays and blues, purples, and pinks and every color of the rainbow as the unrelenting white caught the reflection of everything around it. She blinked, dazzled and impressed despite herself, as the landscape steadily rose up to meet them.

She stood at the airship's carriage window, hands on the cold glass, staring out at this foreign landscape with her heart in her throat. When they bumped into the snowy ground, it jarred the entire carriage, causing her to sway on her feet. She automatically looked over at the sleeping figure stretched out on one of the benches.

Sokka snorted awake with a start and blinked, confused for a moment. Then he groaned and tried to sit up.

"Where are we?" he mumbled as she started over to him, putting a hand on his chest to stop him.

"The South Pole," her Uncle Iroh announced happily as he killed the fire in the balloon's iron belly. "It seems that my sense of direction is still impressively accurate!"

"We got lost twice," Azula mumbled under her breath. Sokka managed a weak grin.

"But we got here," he said wearily, taking her hand. "We weren't followed?"

"I don't think so," she said, glancing at Iroh, who had eyed them and then turned away, busying himself with their packs.

"Good, because I don't know if I'm up for a fight just yet," Sokka said, tossing the blanket draped over him aside as he sat up, swinging his injured leg off of the bench. The wound from Osamu's crossbow stained the white bandages wrapped around his hairy, muscular thigh a deep, alarming red. She was worried that he was more hurt than he was letting on, even though Zuko's ancient crone of a healer had told them that he would recover from the wound.

Still, she wished that she had done more to Osamu for hurting him than just burnt his face off. Especially for what he had done to Ty Lee, who might even now be dead or dying. She felt a sudden surge of resentment about being sent away, and not for the first time since her brother had packed the three of them off into this airship. She felt like Zuko had rejected her, for all that he had had his reasons. Reasons she might have understood, if she hadn't just spent the last year fighting to save his life, only to be tossed out on her ass the moment Zuko didn't need her.

"I can protect you," she said softly to Sokka, looking up into his blue eyes. Sokka's smile was slow, his gaze knowing. A million things sat between them all at once, and she caught her breath as he rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand.

"I know you can," he replied and lifted her hand to his mouth. He kissed the palm of her hand, over an old scar there. She felt tingles go through her, from head to toe. She wanted nothing more than to sink her hand into his shoulder-length hair, to pull him close and get lost in the sensation of his hungry mouth against hers.

Instead, she slowly pulled her hand away, glancing out the window at the small entourage making their way across the snow toward them. The people were wearing blue furs, carrying weapons and a torch that guttered in the wind. Sokka followed her gaze.

"We have company," he said with a grunt, standing and hobbling over to the door. She tried to stop him, but he flung the carriage door open and waved at the men, calling them by name as they got close enough for him to recognize. A biting, bitter wind cleaved through the carriage, making Azula shiver, pulling her arms around her chest.

The chill southern air was certainly different from the heat wave the Fire Nation had been enduring when they'd left. She stoked her chi, and felt heat flush through her body, spreading like alcohol along her extremities and banishing the chill despite her summer-weight clothing.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" one of the men called as they approached the carriage. They were looking at Sokka suspiciously, despite the fact that he'd called them by name.

Sokka laughed a little and pulled his hair back from his face. "It's me, Sokka. You don't recognize me Gongan?"

The man called Gongan did a double-take and looked Sokka up and down. "Sokka? Spirits, you don't look half-dead, do you?"

"I feel even worse," Sokka said heavily. "Could you tell my father I've arrived? And send for a Healer? Or Malina, if she's with Dad."

"I think there's a story here, isn't there?" Gongan said, and then whistled appreciatively as he glanced at Sokka's bandaged, bared leg and at Azula behind Sokka's arm. The man's bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows lifted.

"Full of thrilling heroics and stunning acts of derring-do, I assure you," Sokka grunted as Gongan laughed and then gestured to his men, who went to work securing the balloon down by its dangling stakes. Gongan took off without another word, heading back toward the white buildings that seemed to have sprung up out of the snow like giant white teeth.

Sokka said something to the men securing the balloon down, and then turned to face her, a small smile on his lips. When he saw the nervous expression on her face, he paused and peered at her for a moment. "It's okay, you'll like my dad. He's really nice."

A nice father? She didn't even know what that might mean. She hadn't seen her own father in years, and had no intention of it, and yet here Sokka was, eager to see his after months away. She couldn't imagine the feeling.

Iroh came up then, lugging all three packs behind him, and beaming widely, despite the tightness around his eyes. "I have not seen Hakoda since his last visit to Ba Sing Se several years ago. It will be good to meet with old friends in such dire circumstances."

She knew that Iroh had been putting on a brave face the entire flight from the Fire Nation to the South Pole, to keep up Sokka's spirits, or perhaps hers. She knew that her uncle was worried sick over Zuko, and didn't like that Zuko had sent them away when there were so many unknown dangers and enemies in the palace out to kill him.

She knew how he felt.

It wasn't long before the man called Gongan came back, leading a small procession to the airship. She thought the man at the front of the pack looked familiar, as his blue gaze swept over the airship and then centered on Sokka, now standing in the door of the carriage again. She knew him as Sokka's father; she had seen him before, back during the war. But even if she hadn't, she would have known him instantly; the resemblance between father and son was uncanny. They had the same bright, sharp gaze and dusky skin. Even the way he held himself reminded her of Sokka. This man was not only a warrior, but there was authority in his bearing, and good humor behind his serious expression.

Hakoda surveyed them and then put his hands on his hips.

"I knew your sister was lying," he said with some amusement, shaking his head. "What kind of trouble are in you in, son?"

"Oh, you know me, old man," Sokka said easily, hobbling out into the snow and clasping his father's forearm. "If I'm not causing trouble, then what's the point?"

"Damn good to see you, Sokka. I've been worried sick and your sister's letters have been aggravatingly vague," Hakoda said gruffly and then pulled Sokka in for a tight, one arm hug that Sokka returned with interest. Something in Sokka's body changed. He sagged a little, as if letting out a sigh of relief. Or maybe he just suddenly felt safe, in a way that he hadn't for months.

He was home.

Azula turned away from the sight of Sokka's homecoming, turning to Iroh, who was watching the two men with a strange expression on his face. When she took one of the packs from his hand, Iroh met her gaze for the first time since they started their journey.

"Zuko's going to be okay," she found herself saying. "I know he will."

Iroh looked surprised at that, but just nodded. "I know." She turned away again, but Iroh caught her elbow. "I think we should talk, Princess Azula."

She felt her stomach plummet at that, but nodded anyway. She couldn't imagine what she and her uncle could talk about. The last time they had seen one another seemed to sit between them like a stone. It wasn't a happy memory.

She had been sick—mentally, physically, emotionally—and so desperate and lost that she had found herself at his doorstep before she'd even realized that her feet had led her straight to his home in Ba Sing Se. He had let her in, welcomed her, in fact, and she had repaid his kindness by sleeping for three days straight, barely speaking, eating, and refusing to answer his questions about where she had been, and what was wrong with her.

She hadn't been able to find the words, to tell him what had happened to her in the forest months before, about the abortion, the infection that had nearly killed her on the road to Ba Sing Se, what the healers had told her, about any of it. So she had said nothing, and he had cared for her.

The moment she had felt strong enough, she had left, without a thank you, without a backward glance. He had let her go. She had always been so sure that Iroh had been relieved to see the back of her. She had never had plans to see him again, and now here he was, looking at her with understanding in his eyes.

She didn't know how to feel.

"Not right now, okay?" she said, looking away from his kind and caring eyes—eyes she had never seen turned on her with anything but wariness and disapproval. She turned back to Sokka, just as he and Hakoda broke apart, still clasping each other's hands. Hakoda's grin was genuine as he turned it on first her, and then Iroh.

"General Iroh! It's been too long," Hakoda said, as Iroh bowed to him. Hakoda returned the bow as Iroh's dark expression flitted away into one of congenial delight again.

"And a pleasure it is to see you as well, Chief Hakoda," her uncle said. "But I wish it were under better circumstances."

Hakoda's smile froze as he glanced from Sokka to Iroh, and then settled on Azula. Sokka followed his gaze and started.

"Oh! Dad, this is Princess Azula of the Fire Nation. Azula, this is my father, Chief Hakoda," Sokka said stiffly, glancing nervously from her to his father and back again.

Hakoda blinked at the sound of her name and something in his jaw tightened. "I see. Well...welcome to the Southern Water Tribe, Princess Azula."

There was something cold in Hakoda's voice, and it was unmistakable. Sokka's brows drew down low and he opened his mouth to say something, but the Healer, a woman with short reddish hair, stepped up to Sokka and bent to look at his leg.

"Stitched?" she said by way of greeting, as Sokka looked down at her.

"Yeah. Zuko's healers are pretty good, but well, they're not Waterbenders. Think you can give me a little hit of that sweet, sweet magic water, Malina?"

"I'll need to look at it first," the woman named Malina—Azula remembered that Sokka had mentioned he had a stepmother named that—stood up and gestured to the two men who had followed she and Hakoda to the airship. One of the men was holding a stretcher made of leather stretched over a metal frame.

"I can walk, I don't need to be on a stretcher," Sokka said gruffly, but something in Malina's eyes brooked no argument.

"And if you rip those stitches it'll take twice as long for me to heal you, so shut up," the woman said, her hands on her hips. Sokka looked between her and Hakoda and then sheepishly glanced at Azula, his cheeks burning in the cold.

"Fine, but only because I'm lazy and like to be carried around," Sokka said with a flourish of his hands. Something of his good cheer was coming back, surrounded by his family and friends. It was the hints of his good humor and goofy nature that had drawn Azula to him in the first place. Though they had been through hell together, Sokka had made it bearable for the both of them, just by being himself.

Spirits, I'm that far gone, Azula mused as she watched the two men load up Sokka and carry him toward the town. She followed behind them as Iroh and Hakoda fell into step, speaking as old friends. She felt out of place all of a sudden, in her fire red clothing that marked her as an outsider to everyone who peered out of their frosted up windows at them.

She hefted her pack higher, wincing as the half-healed cut across her back came alive all of a sudden. Perhaps it was the cold, reawakening the old wound. Whatever the case, it soured what little good mood she'd had—not that she'd had much to begin with—and it put her on edge because it made her think of Rinchaka Falls, and the explosion that had ripped the air apart that day. She had gotten the wound from debris during the explosion.

Even now, as her boots crunched through the gritty, glittering snow, following in her Uncle's heavy footsteps, she could hear the faintest screams in her ears. She thought she smelled smoke, charred flesh, blood...and burning pine... Her breath steamed before her and she shivered, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment.

It's not real, she told herself, putting her hand over her heart so that she could feel it beating beneath her palm like a drum. It's not real, and I'm here. This is real and the screaming is just a memory... That's all it is... It can't hurt me... It's in my stupid head...

The beating of her heart steadied her, gave her something to focus on as her feet crunched through the snow. She took a deep breath, the sounds and smells fading back into the aether, leaving behind only the smell of oil smoke, snow, and leather. It was a series of scents she associated with Sokka, and she breathed it in deeply, letting it wrap around her.

It didn't take long for them to reach a stretch of domed homes set on the outskirts of the village. The snow here was well-trampled, with yellow lights burning in the little windows and smoke rising from the chimneys. She realized the houses were made of massive blocks of snow, and not just covered in the stuff. It was beautiful and completely foreign to her eyes. She couldn't imagine living in one of these homes would be warm.

What did the people of the Southern Water Tribe do to keep warm all day, she wondered? But when a large pack of laughing, giggling children came chasing after a penguin at the end of the shoveled street, honking at it and sliding on their stomachs, she was pretty sure she had her answer, and it wasn't penguin sledding.

Amused, she realized that they were heading toward a darkened home, the front path drifted over, unlike the others nearby. Hakoda opened the front door and the little party walked inside. Azula followed, wondering whose home this was, but when she walked in, the question fled her mind completely.

Sokka.

Everywhere she looked, there were touches of Sokka's personality. From the thick white furs on the floor, to the comfortable but solid furniture, the soft blues and browns, the weapons on the walls, the rich, masculine textures, and the warmth... Sokka's warmth filled the room like firelight, despite the fact that the place had clearly been closed up for some time.

She shut the thick wooden door, and turned back to face the room, a small smile playing on her lips as the others helped Sokka down onto a dark blue sofa. He propped his leg up with a groan as Hakoda piled wood into the fireplace. Iroh lit the fire, and light bounced around the room, warm and soft.

Azula stared at the wooden walls and ceiling. She had expected the inside to be made of blocks of snow as well, but the blocks were merely the outer shell of the whole thing, braced on this wooden structure beneath. She studied the room as Sokka's stepmother peeled off Sokka's bandages, examining the wound from Osamu's crossbow bolt.

"It's already healing, but this should help," she said, and a blue glow under-lit her face as she pulled water from a drinking horn at her waist and set it over the wound. Sokka's sigh of relief was audible.

"Thanks," he said and relaxed.

The other men said their goodbyes and left through the front door, leaving Sokka, Iroh, Hakoda, Malina and Azula alone. Hakoda had perched on the edge of a carved chair with brown leather cushions, and Iroh was sitting in a dark blue chair with his feet outstretched toward the fire. He looked perfectly at ease, his fingers woven together over his expansive belly.

"So are you going to tell me what happened, or do I have to drag the truth out of you?" Hakoda asked after a long pause, the dry wood popping into the silence as the fire grew. "Where have you been? I must have asked your sister a million times, but she only said you were doing something important, and that she couldn't talk about it—not even to me. I've been out of my mind with worry ever since."

"It's a long story, Dad, and I'm kind of not up for talking about it right now. I'm exhausted. Can it wait until tomorrow?"

Hakoda glanced at Azula and then back at his son. "Of course, but I do want answers eventually. Especially about this new look of yours."

Sokka's hands drifted to his hair and the stubble on his jaw. His red sleeves hid the fake tattoos on his skin, but Azula knew how different he looked. She had gotten used to his Tazeo disguise, but it was jarring to the people who knew him. She'd seen that first hand with Zuko and Suki. Even Mai had done a double-take, and yet none of them had seen him truly step into his Tazeo identity.

They didn't know how different he could be, how cold and crude and ruthless. It made shivers run down her spine to remember those moments. There had been moments when the seam between the two men had been so blurred that it had confused her.

And that had put Sokka's life in danger.

"I promise, I'll tell you everything. Just...not tonight."

"Okay, Sokka."

Azula turned away from the four of them and let her eyes wander around the room again, landing on a shelf that was piled high with books and scrolls. She walked over and examined it. Books on mathematics, science, history, religion, mechanics, geology, astronomy... Maps and law books and poetry and art. She grabbed a scroll and unrolled it, studying the schematic inside. She had no idea what she was looking at; some kind of a machine, obviously, but she knew the hand in which it had been drawn, and the messy scrawl of Sokka's lettering in the margins.

He had made this, whatever this was. Invented it, perhaps. Or perfected it. She felt something swell in her chest. He was brilliant. She had always known that—and resented it, once upon a time.

She remembered all too well her first encounters with the Avatar and his band of do-gooders, back when she had done everything in her power to please her father, to prove herself worthy. She had conquered cities and armadas...she had been fearless and confident. But not where Sokka of the Water Tribe had been concerned. She had seen him as a threat from the start. A non-Bender, with the mind of a tactician, an inventor, a born leader. He was wholly unpredictable.

Sokka had been a threat to her in a way even the Avatar hadn't been and she had known that even back then.

Or maybe it was just because I thought he was hot, she chided herself, putting the scroll back on the shelf. Her gaze followed the curve of the wall, past a small kitchen area with a black iron cook stove, a water pump and a small copper boiler, cabinets full of crockery, and a table and chairs. There was another door in the wall, covered over by thick furs.

She glanced around and realized it must have led to the bedroom. When she looked around, she met Sokka's gaze. He had been watching her examining his things. A little smile played on his lips.

"How did you get hurt?" Malina asked, looking up from her healing of his wound.

"Crossbow bolt. Again, long story. Have you heard any news out of the Fire Nation?"

Hakoda shook his head. "The last news I heard was some bit of fluff about the Fire Lord having some sort of ball or a dance or something to find a wife," Hakoda said and then licked his lips, glancing at Sokka's face nervously. "There...uh...have been other rumors, as well."

Sokka groaned and leaned his head back on the pillows, one hand covering his eyes. "I'm about sick of hearing those rumors."

"So that's all they are?" Hakoda asked tightly.

"Uh..." Sokka lowered his hand and glanced at Azula. "Well, sort of. And sort of not. I don't really want to get into that right now, Dad."

"Uh-huh," Hakoda said, his gaze drifting to Azula and back to his son, his lips pressing into a scowl that was nearly identical to the one Sokka made when he was about to call someone out on their bullshit. It was pretty uncanny, actually. "Well, it seems you've been on quite the adventure."

"You can say that again. I promise, tomorrow I'll tell you everything. Right now, I just want some food, a bath and a warm mattress. Can Iroh stay with you? I don't have the room here."

"Unless it's inconvenient-" Iroh started, but Hakoda waved him off.

"Of course. It would be my pleasure. And uh... Princess Azula...we'd be honored to have you as a guest as well. Sokka doesn't have a lot of room at his place. Unless you're sleeping on the couch?"

"She's not sleeping on the couch, Dad," Sokka said pointedly, while Azula's face flamed.

Hakoda's scowl deepened at that and she saw her Uncle's knuckles whiten. "I thought not. It seems you really do have a story to tell me, son."

"Tomorrow," Sokka insisted, rubbing at his temple.

"Of course," Hakoda said easily, but she could see the gears working in the man's lined blue eyes. She had the distinct impression that Sokka's father did not approve.

"So am I going to lose this leg or what?" Sokka joked, trying to break the tension, but there was a tightness in his eyes that told Azula he was worried about that very thing. His stepmother bent the water back into the horn at her belt and then studied the wound for a moment.

"No, it'll heal fine. A few days rest and you'll be as good as new, with a fancy new scar to brag about," Malina said, wiping her hands on her thick blue pants. She eyed the scar along Sokka's hairline and leaned up, brushing her thumb against it. "That's new, too."

"Yeah, a coal mine fell on me," he said and then met Azula's gaze. "I could have died, but Azula saved my life."

"Did she now?" Hakoda said, peering at her and not with warmth. Sokka's father sighed through his nose and then stood. "I think Malina and I will go rustle up something to eat for the three of you. I'm sure you're hungry after your journey. Iroh, we'll show you to one of our guest rooms."

"That sounds wonderful, thank you," Iroh said, climbing to his feet and grabbing his pack. But it was Azula that Sokka's father was looking at. His look of narrow-eyed suspicion was hard to miss.

"Princess, you could stay in Katara's room if-"

"Azula's staying with me," Sokka said easily, before she could answer. Or even begin to answer.

Hakoda appraised his son, but his look was inscrutable. At least to Azula it was.

"You're an adult. It's none of my business. There have just been a lot of rumors lately, that's all," he said as he gestured toward the door. Malina and Iroh followed him toward it.

"Don't I know it," Sokka intoned. "We'll talk about this stuff later. After I eat and sleep for a week."

"I'll send something over," Hakoda said and glanced at Azula once more. "We'll talk tomorrow."

Sokka shot his father a weary gesture of acknowledgment, rubbing at his eyes. The three of them left then, Iroh catching her eye and nodding before ducking out into the cold, whipping wind.

The door closed behind them, leaving them alone for the first time in days. They hadn't been alone since they'd been down in Zuko's dungeon.

And he had kissed her and told her he loved her then.

That moment had been playing in her mind the whole journey across the skies to the South Pole. Had he really meant it? Or did he just think he meant it?

She found she couldn't be sure. Or maybe she just couldn't bring herself to believe that he did, that he could love her. Because if he loved her...truly loved her...the way that she loved him...

Then she wasn't just confused. She was terrified.