Chapter Text
You hid yourself on one of the palace balconies.
It wasn’t what an adult (and very brave, thank you very much) firebender should do. Especially not a firebender who was engaged to the Fire Lord. Wife, a tiny voice corrected you. Now you were the Fire Lord’s wife. No longer a fiancée.
And yet, there you were, dressed in the red of the Fire Nation, your hair beautifully styled in a sophisticated arrangement. Your makeup was flawless, and the fabrics covering you were delicate, soft… strange. That was definitely not you.
The full moon night seemed auspicious above you. An arranged marriage wasn’t the end of the world—you knew that. Your sisters, all older, had told you that many times. Some found comfort in their marriages, others even found interesting partners. But not love. No, love was something reserved for foolish women. And the women in your family were not foolish—they were warriors. They did what had to be done. And that was why you were there, adorned like a decorative doll. Spectacular and radiant on the night of your own wedding… and confused and, to be honest, a little bitter.
You had exchanged a few letters with the Fire Lord, of course. You were close in age (only a year apart), and you knew who he was—who he had been. You knew he sought a new path for the Fire Nation and longed for times of peace and prosperity. You also knew about the boy he had been, but only in scattered stories—angry and hurt by his own father. Without honor, family, or home.
You played with the long sleeve of your wedding dress. Well. If you looked at it that way, you were very much like the former Fire Lord. The bitterness inside you deepened at that thought. In any case, you had written to him and received a long reply. After that, when you answered, you got only… silence. It had been a bit brutal to your ego. You hadn’t expected to find the love of your life, but perhaps someone you could talk to… That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?
Apparently, it was. Zuko, the Fire Lord, did not reply to any of the letters sent after the first. You wrote the second one shorter, a bit more… formal. Insecure, even. Silence was all you received. In the third letter, you tried just four lines. He was a busy man, after all. Total silence.
In the fourth, you were hurt and became sarcastic and harsh. In the fifth, you apologized and asked if everything was alright. In the fourteenth, you wrote a long stream of thoughts and several disconnected questions, as if it were a diary page. In the eighteenth, you thought about being honest. You wrote a long letter, several pages, but never sent it. Nor the nineteenth, for that matter. The twentieth letter was brief: see you at our wedding.
And the silence was yours, after that.
No one could accuse you of not trying.
So, yes, forgive you if you wore a carefully neutral and placid expression throughout the entire wedding ceremony; throughout the entire speech; throughout the entire banquet; and if you slipped away from the party, it was because the mask you were wearing to hide your true emotions had finally begun to crack.
Seeing your now-husband so happy with his oldest friends (the Avatar and his closest allies), you realized you couldn’t hide your scowl any longer. Maybe not so brave after all. A cowardly rabbit, hiding in the first hole it found.
The music suddenly swelled, and you turned toward the balcony door that had been opened… and closed. There was a brief moment when your eyes met your new husband’s, but you looked away before you could start crying out of frustration right there. You were a grown girl, but certainly a very emotional one.
“May I leave you alone, if you wish?” his voice was gentle, and you turned your face to the sky. Your throat was tight, and no response came in time. Silence fell between you.
“I imagine it has been as exhausting a day for you as it has been for me,” he cleared his throat and stepped closer. Not too close, but there. Orbiting you. An arm’s length away, perhaps. His words settled, and you felt a tightness in your chest.
“I’m sorry to hear that your wedding day was exhausting, my lord.” It was stronger than you. The words came out rough, low, raw. Hurt, even.
“I didn’t…” he faltered, noticing your tone. “I didn’t mean… I…”
He fell silent, and you turned your face toward him, curious.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound… I expressed myself poorly. My apologies.”
You studied his golden eyes with some uncertainty.
“There’s nothing to apologize for. It’s alright.”
“I truly didn’t mean that…”
“Of course. It’s… a lot of emotions. I understand. I’m sorry as well, I wasn’t trying to sound rude.”
Silence again. Great. You were sure breakfast would be absolutely wonderful after this brilliant moment.
“I’m sorry. If I’ve done anything to offend you now or even before… it was never my intention. I know this marriage was not chosen for… love. But for duty. I understand that. But I would like you to know that I will be here, if you need me. As a friend. A confidant.” He paused briefly. “We can make this work. I believe we can.”
You relaxed your shoulders. Friends. Of course. Well. He might have looked at you and decided it wouldn’t work as anything more than… friendship. You could accept that. You didn’t hate him, but you were upset about being ignored before. Still, it made sense—a busy man like him wouldn’t have time for a fiancée who was part of a political agreement. You had been selfish and petty and disappointed yourself.
“Friends,” you repeated aloud. “Of course, my lord. I suppose it’s possible… for us to be friends.”
There was a change in his expression. A complete relaxation, you noticed. He had been tense. And understandably so. Your marriage had been arranged to maintain political alliances and allow the new Fire Lord to rule with fewer obstacles and more support from the nobles. A married Fire Lord was a Fire Lord with the possibility of producing heirs. Goodness.
You needed to stop thinking about that, or you’d combust right there. When smoke began to rise, you both looked down at your palms, which had scorched the balcony. You had been so lost in your own feelings that you hadn’t even noticed your bending slipping out of control.
“Damn,” you waved your hands, dispersing the smoke.
“You’re nervous,” he observed. You rolled your eyes, taking advantage of the fact that he couldn’t clearly see your face.
“Of course, my lord. It’s not every day a girl…” You cut yourself off, the words dying. You had been about to joke that it’s not every day a girl marries the great and powerful Fire Lord, but… what if he found it in poor taste? Especially on your wedding night.
Your husband seemed to notice your pause.
“A girl…?” He insisted, but you gave him a false smile.
“My lord, perhaps we should return to our wedding celebration. I’m sure they’ve noticed our absence.”
You turned your back without waiting for a response. You knew you were being rude, but it was either that or jumping off that balcony. Better to embrace the first option and let Zuko understand that you had no interest in this marriage, just like him. Or at least that’s what you forced yourself to keep telling yourself.
“I’m not worried about that,” he caught the sleeve of your dress, and both of you froze at the contact. For a long moment, the air left your lungs. “I’d like to talk a little longer with you… as friends.” He tried to smile, and your heart completely failed to defend itself against that. Heavy artillery, huh? Fine. He was handsome, and you knew it. Long black hair tied in a topknot, the Fire Lord’s ornament, royal wedding robes. A sight to behold.
Your new… friend… smiled wider when he realized you had given in, stepping closer to him again.
Talk. Now he wanted to talk. You needed to work on how you handled anger and resentment, but everything suggested that day would not be today.
“Very well,” you picked an invisible thread from your dress, just to avoid looking at him. “What, my lord, would you like to discuss on this warm spring night?”
Your tone was inevitable. It slipped out. But this time, you looked into his eyes to gauge his reaction. His smile widened even more, and you realized that perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to make the Fire Lord smile.
As friends.
“Would it be very strange to ask what you thought of the wedding?”
“It was very beautiful, I think.”
“You think?”
“Pleasant, I would say. I liked the flowers. They’re not my favorites, but…”
“What are your favorites?”
“Well, I used to receive a lot of lilies.”
“Oh.” Something darkened in his eyes at your words.
“Um, yes. Well. I like to think it’s not a cliché choice, but… I would have chosen white lilies.”
He tightened his jaw, and you wondered if you had said something wrong. Maybe it was better not to mention that you always received flowers from your sisters when they visited. It was so… childish. The sweet little sister who hadn’t married yet. Your sisters handed you their babies, and you received flowers—and talking about that now felt silly and distant.
“I see.” That was his only response.
“It wasn’t a complaint,” you quickly added. “Everything was… beautiful.”
His eyes fixed on your face.
“Yes,” he murmured. “Everything was beautiful.”
You sighed. At least he had the good taste to recognize that.
“But any observations?”
“Ah.” You lifted a hand to your hair, thoughtful. “I’ll say something silly, but… even though I loved my hair like this, I’m counting the minutes until I can take it down.”
Zuko swallowed. Audibly.
Then it hit you—that would happen when you were in the same room, the same bed, consummating your marriage. Your face heated instantly, and you turned away in shock.
“I’m not looking forward to that.” You hid your face in your hands. “Spirits, forget I just said that.”
“It’s alright,” he cleared his throat several times. “I would love to take your hair down later. If you want.”
You squeezed your eyes shut, anxiety burning through every cell in your body.
“Of course, my lord.” Your mind searched for the right words. All of them felt misplaced, confused, foolish. “It would be… an honor for me.”
“Honor,” he repeated, his voice low, his eyes drifting to your hands. You noticed your nails digging into your palms, deep crescent marks in the soft skin. “Perhaps you’re right. We should return to our celebration.”
He smiled again, and you wondered what had changed. What you had said that transformed him in seconds. You opened your mouth to ask, almost automatically. That was how you understood the world and your relationships with the people you loved and cared about. But he wasn’t one of those people, was he?
Your husband—handsome, splendid, important—saw you only as a necessary political transaction. A means to an end.
Right. You nodded, agreeing with him. It was time to return to that damned party. But pride is a double-edged blade, and when you saw Zuko’s outstretched hand waiting for you to take it, to escort you back, you ignored it. It was a message.
Boundaries had been set.
That night, when the music had died and the party ended, you were in the large room alone, undoing your wedding hairstyle by yourself.