Clothe Me in Seasons, Dress Me in Snow - Chapter 3

I promised not to complain. I promised not to complain. I promised not to complain.

The café is stifling and loud and he’s pretty sure that the men two tables over are already drunk despite the fact that the sun has not yet set. Across from him Katara’s eyes bounce around the room excitedly, and for a moment her envies her enthusiasm. This was certainly not his idea of fun, but as long as she was distracted perhaps they could at least avoid certain conversations. Like ones about literary preferences.

She hadn’t brought it up yet, and frankly he was a little surprised. It was unlike her to miss an opportunity to make him feel like an idiot. When he woke that morning, he did seriously consider staying in his room all day just to avoid any uncomfortable commentary. And he did, for a while. He slept late, spent some time meditating, organized and reorganized the few items in his closet. But in the end, he relented.  A promise was a promise, and he was a man of honor.

Not that Katara would let him forget, as was evidenced by her banging on his door early that afternoon to remind him that they had a festival to attend. 

He had begrudgingly gotten dressed in what he thought was his most plain and inconspicuous outfit and trudged downstairs where she was waiting in the foyer. Gone were her blue robes, replaced with a long swishing maroon skirt and a matching midriff-baring top that stretched across one shoulder. It looked suspiciously like the outfit she had worn years ago when they had gone to see that stupid play during the war. Except that this time around it looked… better. A lot better. Memories of that night made him think about the Ember Island Players, which of course made him think about Love Amongst the Dragons. Which made him think about those illustrations. And Katara.  He hoped she hadn’t noticed as his feet stuttered ungracefully on the final few stairs. 

She had just smiled and led the way out the front door, though he noticed that she never quite met his eyes. As they stepped out into the sun he noticed a flash of light coming from her shoulder. The pin she had bought for him yesterday winked in the bright light of day, mocking him.

The trip to town had been a mostly silent affair, devoid of the playful banter of the day before and, to his disappointment, any physical contact. By the time they reached the edge of town the smell of festival food was already permeating the air. Inhaling deeply, Katara announced that she was starving, and they walked until they found a small restaurant away from the center of the festivities. Zuko had intentionally seated himself so that his left side faced the wall. He was probably overreacting, but it didn’t hurt to be careful.

The men at the table nearby keep stealing sideways glances at Katara and exchanging hushed comments. Zuko can’t hear what they are saying but he is sure that it is dishonorable at best. When they erupt in raucous laughter he braces himself to confront them, but at that moment their server choses to appear. Katara catches his frown but doesn’t comment. 

Despite her proclamation of hunger, the meal she orders is considerably light. He quirks a brow at her after their server leaves the table. “Are you sure that’s all you want? I brought plenty of money.”

She waves him off. “Don’t be silly. I have my own. Besides, I’m just saving room for festival food!”

His mood brightens incrementally. “You sound like Sokka. Again.”

She smiles wistfully. “I miss him. I haven’t seen him in almost six months.” She toys with the chopsticks on the table. “I wonder what’s taking everyone so long to get here?”

He knows he should tell her about his suspicions, but an irrational voice in his head tells him that if she knew they weren’t coming she would pack up and leave that very night.  And he is finding that he very much does not want her to leave. Instead, he uses the opportunity to probe a little. “Six months? That’s a long time. What about the others?”

She taps her chin with a finger. “Let’s see… I last saw Toph about nine months ago at the grand opening of her second metal bending school. Suki was with Sokka when they last visited the South Pole. And I saw Aang about three months ago. The last I knew he was off to search the areas around the Eastern Air Temple to see if there were any stray herds of sky bison still nesting there.”

Katara’s last statement strikes him as odd; it seemed that Zuko had seen the Avatar more recently than she had, right around the time he had broken up with Mai. Aang had chatted with him briefly after an annual summit meeting, but a quick inventory of Zuko’s memories doesn’t produce anything noteworthy about the conversation. Katara hadn’t accompanied Aang but that didn’t seem unusual at the time; she didn’t always have the opportunity to travel with him. Aang hadn’t said anything about their relationship ending, but then again that wasn’t something that people just came out and announced to distant friends at a political meeting. It’s not like he had said anything about Mai, after all.

The server arrives with their food and they both tuck in. He chews slowly, hoping that in the time it takes him to finish this bite he’ll either figure out how to delicately ask her about Aang or that she’ll offer up an explanation. Neither occurs by the time he swallows. He watches her as she surveys the crowd, looking invigorated by the steady stream of people that has trickled in since their arrival. He doesn’t want to ruin her mood, but he can’t contain his curiosity any longer. He clears his throat and forges ahead.

“…So, did Aang just want to go alone, or did you have something else to do, or….”

The mirth fades from her face as she turns her attention back to him. “No. We, uh, sort of broke up.”

“Really?” He hopes his voice contains the appropriate mix of sympathy and curiosity and none of the inappropriate excitement that is curling in his chest.

“Yes.” She looks at her noodles before turning her gaze back on him. “But what about you? I notice that your shadow isn’t here following you around.”

He bristles and grips the edge of the table, leaning in. “Mai wasn’t my shadow, she was my girlfriend!”

She raises one eyebrow. “Was?”

He sits back and takes a breath. “Yes. She broke up with me a few months ago.”

“I see. I’m sorry to hear that, Zuko.” She sounds about as sorry to hear about his relationship status as he is to hear about hers. They regard each other for a long moment and her expression softens. Suddenly he worries that she’s going to launch into some sentimental speech about there being other fish in the sea, but her soft smile transforms into something wicked.

“I guess that explains that scroll.”

Heat shoots to the roots of his hair and he chokes on his noodles. “That wasn’t – “

Their server chooses that moment to appear with their bill. He shuts his mouth and fumes, willing himself to relax. Katara swipes the ticket before he can protest and addresses the server, coins in hand.

The server takes one look at her palm and gives her a sheepish look. “I’m sorry miss, but we don’t accept Water Tribe money here. Do you have anything else?”

Katara looks like she is about to launch into a different kind of speech, one that features words like ‘inequality’ and ‘ethnocentrism.’ Privately, Zuko agrees; this is a tourist hotspot and money should be money. But this is not the direction he wants the day to go, nor is this the kind of publicity he needs for the Fire Nation right now. Thinking fast, he digs into his pocket and produces his own coins.

“Here. Will this be enough?”

He makes the mistake of looking the server in the eyes, and it’s obvious from the way her jaw is hanging open that he’s been caught. The server drops to the floor and bows. “My Lord, it is an honor to receive you.”

He winces at that volume of her voice and chances a glance around the room. This display is quickly drawing attention from the other customers, and even one of the cooks has poked his head out to see what all the commotion is about. Zuko quickly gestures for her to rise and then tries to hand her the coins again.

The server looks as though he is offering her an angry scorpion-wasp instead of a few silver pieces. “Oh no, My Lord, anything that you desire is on the house.”

Most of the patrons are now craning their necks, except for the drunks at the next table who all seem to be studying the grain of their wooden table with great care. Zuko stands and pockets the coins. “We won’t require anything else. Thank you for your hospitality.” He strides toward the door with as much regal bearing as he can muster in his plain clothes and simple hair. Katara follows a beat later and falls into step with him when they reach the street.

As they gain some distance from the restaurant Katara chuckles. “Okay, now I get why you would worry about being recognized. Is it always like that?”

He shrugs. “More or less. Most people just bow or avert their eyes. Some people make a big deal out of it. Some make faces at me when they think I’m not looking.”

“I guess we should be grateful that they just make faces.”

He almost tells her about the regular threats that he receives and the two unsuccessful attempts on his life, but he doesn’t.  She doesn’t need to concern herself with that. “It’s highly unusual for me to leave the palace without an escort. Most people aren’t brave enough to try something when I’m surrounded by the Imperial Firebenders.”

She snorts. “Like you need all that. You’re a powerful bender.” Her hand shoots to her mouth and for some reason she looks alarmed. “I mean, your skills should be deterrent enough.”

He eyes her carefully. “…Thanks. But it’s for show as much as it is for protection.” He scrunches up his face. “It’s actually pretty annoying. I can’t even go across the street without someone insisting that I take a palanquin.”

She lays a hand on his shoulder and his nerves sing at the touch. But the look she gives him is dripping in false sympathy. “Life must be so hard for you.”

He shrugs her hand away. “I didn’t say it was hard, I said it was annoying. Even when I want to, I can’t just blend in with everyone else. Besides, I’m sure you can relate. You’re a war hero, and you travel – travelled - with the Avatar. Don’t tell me you haven’t experienced your own share of hero worship or derision.”

She seems to consider it. “Maybe.”  Her face clouds over. “But the way people treat me is just because of the things that I’ve done, not because of who I am. People make up all kinds of fictions about who they think I am or who they want me to be.”

He eyes her curiously. “That’s something we have in common.”

She gives him a sad smile. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

The crowd thickens as they approach the center square. The sky above has turned violet with the dusk and paper lanterns begin to wink into life along the streets, casting multi-hued spheres of light across passersby. Already he is sensing eyes on him; more than once someone quickly averts their gaze when he turns his head. He sighs.

“Look, I should probably go back to the house. I’m not just another tourist. This is my country and people know me here. It will just ruin your time.” He glances into the shifting shadows of a nearby alley. “Or it could be dangerous.”

She stops so suddenly that he almost bumps into her back. She spins to face him, one hand on her hip and another wagging in his face.  “Oh no you don’t. You promised me we would go to this festival, and you promised you wouldn’t complain. Even you said you don’t ever get to go out and have a good time, and this is the perfect opportunity. Besides, didn’t I say I’d protect you?”

“Katara, it’s more complicated than that – “

“No it isn’t. You don’t need to go home, you just need a good disguise.”

He gives her a flat look. “A disguise?” He itches to point out that a change of clothes won’t eradicate the blaring scar on his face, but he holds his tongue.

She taps her finger against her chin and appraises him. The scrutiny makes him shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Suddenly her eyes light up. “I know just the thing!” She grabs his hand and drags him forward through the crowds, past the center square and in the direction of the market stalls that they had visited the day before.

They stop in front of a vendor displaying a variety of colorful festival-themed items, including noisemakers and colorful bits of string attached to small slips of parchment. Hanging on a display behind the merchant is a collection of masks. He spots them and immediately knows her plan.

“You can’t be serious.”

“What? It’s not like you haven’t worn a mask before, Blue – “ He claps a hand over her mouth and gives her a look. He has worked hard over the years to quell those rumors and he didn’t need them to be reignited. He releases her and takes a step back. She waves a disgruntled arm in the direction of the street. “It’s not like you would be the only one.”

He looks around and sees that she is right. As the sky darkens more and more festival goers appear in their celebratory ensembles, masks included. He turns back to tell her that this is all really more trouble than it’s worth, but Katara is already pointing to ones that strike her fancy and the vendor is pulling them off of their hangers. She holds each one up to his eyes, making a variety of faces in response. It is obvious that some meet her instant disapproval while others remain worthy contenders. He stands with his arms crossed, waiting as patiently as he can while she sifts through what seems like half of the vendor’s stock. Finally a satisfied look graces her features. “This one’s perfect.”

She settles it over his face and adjusts the ties. He wrinkles his nose. “It itches.”

She smacks his arm lightly. “No complaining. There! See for yourself!”

The merchant provides a hand mirror and he turns his head this way and that to examine the mask. It’s a simple design made of dyed black leather and red trim that wraps around the upper half of his face. Gold studs decorate the edges near the eyeholes. It does a passing job; one would have to look closely to notice the mismatched eyes beneath. But it doesn’t quite solve the problem at hand; the edges of his scar that trail down his cheek and stretch across his forehead remain visible.

He points to the left side of his face. “What do you suggest that we do about this?”

Her face falls, but then she reaches for his head. Gently she tugs at the hair around his forehead, pulling long strands free from his topknot so that they hang freely on either side of his face. She examines her work and nods. “That should do it. Actually, that’s not a bad look for you.”

He is suddenly grateful for the mask as it hopefully conceals the color heating his cheeks. “Um, thanks. Are you going to pick one out for yourself?”

She beams. “Yep! I had actually seen these yesterday and thought they were pretty but had no reason to get one. But I guess it’s my destiny to have one after all!” She frowns at the selection. “I had wanted a blue one, but it wouldn’t really match my outfit…”

He turns around and watches the crowd while she makes up her mind. People seem to pass by without giving him a second look, and he begrudgingly admits that Katara may have been right after all. After trying on a dozen different variations, she settles on a design similar to his but with a more feminine flair. The edges by her eyes curl upward slightly and there is a smattering of tiny gold studs that spark in the light like stars. Her large blue eyes peer out at him in striking contrast. “What do you think?”

He swallows. “It’s great. Are we ready?”

But she has turned her attention back to the wares on display. She picks up one of the blank pieces of parchment and holds it up by its string. “What are these for?”

The merchant speaks up. “They are part of the festival tradition, my lady. People write wishes on them and attach them to the bamboo stalks along the streets. At midnight they are burned so that the messages can reach the spirits in the sky.”

“Oh!” She picks up two. “Come on, Zuko, we have to do it! It’s tradition!”

The vendor’s eyes flash at the use of his name. He isn’t sure if it’s out of recognition or because of the familiarity by which she addresses him.  Zuko reaches to pinch the bridge of his nose but his fingers touch leather instead of his own skin. “Fine.” She smiles and pockets the slips.

He digs in his pocket to complete their purchase so that they can be on their way, but the vendor shies away and averts his eyes. “I couldn’t possibly accept payment, my Lord.”

Zuko resists the urge to stomp his foot. He lays the coins on the table. “For your discretion, then. Come on, Katara, let’s go.”

He grabs her wrist and drags her back toward the center of town where the majority of the festivities are taking place. In the center square an ornamental firebender is performing on a raised platform to the delight of audiences, manipulating the flames into dragons that spiral into the night sky. They settle onto a nearby bench and watch the performance. Despite the spectacle unfolding in front of him, Zuko finds that he is watching Katara more than the display of bending. Something warm and pleasant settles over him as he observes her open delight, the way she clasps her hands to her chest in anticipation and claps for each trick. He isn’t used to being with someone who is so… excitable. But he finds that he likes it; her enthusiasm is contagious and he allows himself to enjoy the performance. For the first time that day he’s glad he left his bedroom.

His stomach growls, reminding him of their cringe-worthy premature exit from the café earlier. He leaves her side for just a moment to visit a nearby food vendor. He is pleased that the merchant actually accepts his money without protestation; perhaps Katara’s idea wasn’t so bad after all. It felt good to move freely in the crowds. When he returns he offers her a skewer loaded with grilled pig-chicken and roasted vegetables.

“Here. You had a light lunch.”

She thanks him and takes a bite, her eyes rolling closed as she chews. “Mmm. I love festival food. This is so much better than the fire flakes we had last time.”

“Last time?”

She gestures at the performer on stage. “Back when we were trying to make it to the North Pole we attended a Fire Days festival. There was a guy doing stunts just like this.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. It… didn’t turn out so well though.”  Before he can ask what she means she pushes on. “Can you do anything like that?”

He watches as the performer splits a stream of fire into two, creating human forms. The shapes twist and dance with one another and the audience applauds. Zuko is impressed, but he just shrugs in response. “Not really. I can make some simple shapes, but most of my training was combat related.”

She smiles. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

Sometime? The casual way she says it implies that they have all the time in the world, but in that moment he realizes that they don’t. It wouldn’t be long before she would return to the South Pole and he would return to the palace, back to days filled with paperwork and meetings and empty dining halls. The thought of it sends a winter breeze across his heart. “…Sure, I’ll do that.”

The firebender on stage bows off to enthusiastic applause and an announcer takes his place. His voice carries across the crowds. “Thank you ladies and gentlemen! In just a few moments time, we will present the traditional tale of Orihime and Hikoboshi! Please take a moment to visit the refreshment stands and join us for this tale of love and tragedy performed by our very own world-renowned Ember Island Players!”

Zuko shoots to his feet. “Okay, time to go.” He’s had enough reminders of that particular acting troupe to last a lifetime.

Katara tugs his sleeve and pulls him back down to the bench. “Zuko! Don’t you want to watch the play?”

He gestures at the stage. “Didn’t you hear the announcer? The Ember Island Players will be performing. Was The Boy in the Iceberg not enough for you?”

She gives him a hopeful look. “Maybe they’ve improved? And anyway, the story sounds intriguing.”

He quirks an eyebrow at her, but realizes she probably can’t see it underneath his mask. “You don’t know the story?”

“I didn’t exactly grow up here.”

“Oh. I just thought that since you wanted to come to the Star Festival that you knew the legend associated with it.” He reviews the story in his head and winces at the idea of watching the drama performed by those imbeciles. “I don’t suppose you’d just let me summarize it for you?”

That mischievous look is back, the one that curls the corners of her mouth rather deliciously. “Only if you promise to do a good job! No skipping over any details.”

“Fine.”

“And you have to tell it in your best Uncle Iroh voice.”

His hand slices the air between them. “Forget it.”

She shrugs and turns her attention back to the stage. “Okay then, I guess we’ll just have to stay…”

He casts a nervous glance to the platform and sees the performers start to assemble. The gaudy costumes speak volumes about the torture he will endure if he remains here. He grunts in frustration. “Fine. Have it your way. Let’s just get out of here before they start, okay?”

She nods and he grabs her hand, pulling her in the opposite direction of the crowd. Just to make sure he doesn’t lose her in the throngs of people, he tells himself. Not because he wants an excuse to lace his fingers with hers. They make it to the edge of town where fishing boats bob in the water along the docks. The crowds are thinner here and the breeze coming off of the sea feels refreshing. They find a bench and Katara settles next to him, angling her body toward him and tucking one leg beneath her. She crosses her arms and watches him expectantly.

“Alright Fire Lord, you’re on. Story time.”

“Okay.” He feels faintly ridiculous. This had to be better than watching the play though, right? “Once upon a time – ”

“You aren’t doing the voice!”

He frowns. “You were serious about that? I’m really not very good at impressions.” She just levels her gaze. An exasperated sigh escapes from his lips. His voice scratches along the edges of his throat as he tries to do his best imitation of Uncle.

“Once upon a time there was a princess of the stars named Orihime – “

“Wow, you really are bad at impressions.”

He scowls at her. “I just said that! Can I stop now?”

She just shakes her head and continues to watch him, amusement touching her lips. He rolls his eyes and continues. “Princess Orihime spent her days along the heavenly river weaving beautiful cloth. Her father, the Sky King, loved the cloth that she produced and so she did her best to weave designs that would please him. Though she wanted to make her father proud, she also felt sad because she had no time to meet anyone and fall in love. Seeing this, her father arranged for her to meet Hikoboshi, the Cow Herder Star.”

Her tone is thoughtful. “He arranged for the princess to meet a cow herder? He didn’t think to match her with someone more… prestigious?”

Zuko hadn’t really thought about it before; the story was so familiar in the Fire Nation that he just took it at face value. “No, I guess not. Anyway, the two quickly fell in love and were married not long afterward.”

“Aren’t there any details of their meeting? Their torrid romance? You aren’t holding out on me are you?”

“No! I’m just telling you what I know! Are you going to let me tell the story or not?”

She folds her hands into a mocking salute. “My apologies, Story Lord. Continue.”

He clears his throat again. “Orihime and Hikoboshi were married and they began to spend all of their time together. They were very happy, but as a result they began to neglect their duties. Orihime no longer weaved cloth by the side of the river, and Hikoboshi’s cows strayed all over the sky. The Sky King was furious, so he separated them, keeping them on opposite sides of the river.”

Katara crosses her arms. “That was stupid of him. Doesn’t he know that forbidden love always finds a way?”

He doesn’t know why, but something warm and light flutters in his chest. “Uh, right. Well, Orihime was devastated and begged her father to allow her to see him. Her father was merciful and agreed to let them meet once a year on the seventh day of the seventh month, provided that they remained diligent in their duties.”

Katara scrunches up her face. “Once a year? That’s all they got?”

“Yes. And the first time they tried to meet, they could not cross the river because there was no bridge. Orihime was heartbroken and collapsed along the side of the river in tears. Seeing her despair, a flock of magpies came to her and offered to make a bridge out of their wings so that she could cross. She happily agreed, and the lovers were allowed to meet once more. We hold this festival every year to celebrate their reunion. However, it is said that if it rains on that day the magpies cannot fly and the couple must wait for another year to be together.”

He catches her glancing upward and follows her gaze; the stars twinkle brightly against the cloudless night sky. She smiles back at him. “Looks like they’ll be able to meet tonight.” She sighs softly and leans back on her hands to gaze at the stars, exposing the long stretch of skin from her collarbone to her jaw.

Zuko licks his lips. “Yeah, I guess they will.” He startles as he realizes that he is staring and tears his eyes away, focusing on the small ships sprinkling the docks.  He rubs his own throat, which is scratchy from his pitiful Iroh impression. The silence stretches out and he starts to lose himself in his own thoughts when she suddenly speaks.

“So, do you know any other stories?”

“You want me to tell you another story?”

She nods. “Why not? I’ve always loved folklore, but I don’t know many Fire Nation stories.”

He sighs. He has no idea why he’s indulging her; he’s been more than generous in catering to her whims over the past two days. But then she flashes him another smile and scoots closer and suddenly he feels a lot more giving. He rubs the back of his neck and recalls the stories he had read in the courtyard before she had arrived. “Well, I know The Badger-Fox and the Eel-Hound, the tale of Druk the Dragon King, The Painted Lady of Jang Hui –

She cuts him off and leans closer, gripping his knee. “You know the legend of the Painted Lady?”

He can’t help but smile at her. “Would you like me to tell it?”

She nods enthusiastically and scoots even closer until her hip brushes against his. He tries not to react as she makes herself comfortable, despite the riot in his blood. Tentatively, he drapes an arm across the back of the bench, close enough so that it just brushes her shoulders.  She responds by snuggling closer. His smile turns into a grin that she can’t see.

“I’m not using the Iroh voice this time.”

Her laughter vibrates against his ribs. “That’s probably for the best.”

He snorts and squeezes her shoulder for just an instant. “Well, once there was a strong, charitable woman who lived along the Jang Hui River…”

They spend the hour this way, trading tales. She tells him of the leopard-seal and the Sea God, and he tells her of the spirits that forged the volcanos. She recites the ballad of Tui and La and he tells her the tale of the three-eyed dragon hawk that tricked the first Earth King into walking the streets of Ba Sing Se without his clothes. The last one has her falling into his lap with laughter, wiping tears from her eyes. Maybe it’s the anonymity that the mask provides, maybe it’s the nostalgia associated with the stories, maybe it’s the excitement of coaxing just one more laugh or captivated look out of the woman nestled under the crook of his arm, but he finds himself getting into the tales, gesturing grandly and varying the inflection in his voice. Either way, this is ten times better than reading stuffy old scrolls alone at the beach house. He can’t remember the last time he felt this enthusiastic about anything, but he has the strangest feeling that if his mother could see him she would be pleased. Another breeze catches the scent of her hair and he breathes it in, feeling happier than he had been in a long time.

After a while, the sound of muffled music reaches them over the sounds of the sea. Katara perks up, and he tries not to mourn the loss of contact. “Do you hear that?”

“I guess the play must be over. They must’ve brought out the musicians so that people can dance.”

She looks confused. “I thought dancing wasn’t allowed in the Fire Nation.”

“It wasn’t exactly illegal, but it was frowned upon among the populace. Aang convinced me to make some changes on that front. Something about the children of the Fire Nation needing to express themselves bodily for reasons other than patriotism… I don’t know, it was all sort of convoluted and I may have acquiesced just to make him stop trying to explain it.”

She bumps her shoulder into his. “You’re such a pushover.”

He thinks of Aang’s lengthy monologue about the importance of allowing people to ‘write poetry with their bodies’ and shudders. “Only if it serves my best interest in the end.”

“Oh? Is that the only reason you’d do something you didn’t like?”

Behind the mask her eyes spark and he is caught off balance by the intensity of her stare. It’s clear she’s no longer talking about policy changes. He mentally begins to tick off the number of concessions he has made on her behalf without any obvious benefit to himself and loses count. He might have convinced himself that the only reason he followed through with this escapade was because he wanted to keep his word, but the truth is he never would have promised any of that to begin with if he hadn’t wanted to please her. He liked to think that he was growing to be a just and honorable man, a leader who was open to sensible compromise and cooperation when the situation dictated. But the bottom line was that he was the Fire Lord: if he was truly opposed to something he could be as unmovable and explosive as the chain of volcanoes that formed his homeland. And yet he had allowed himself to be prodded and cajoled by this woman from the minute she arrived.  What was it about her? The only other person who might get away with such brazen behavior was his Uncle. Though to be fair his Uncle didn’t have pretty blue eyes the color of the southern sea…

As she waits for his response the answer slams into him. It was her eyes. Not just that they were undeniably beautiful, but the fact that she looked at him at all. She didn’t avert her eyes; she wasn’t intimidated or repulsed.  She didn’t treat him delicately or reverently. She knew exactly what he was capable of and still her eyes sparked with challenge. She looked past everything else - the prestige and the wealth and even their tumultuous shared history – and saw him. The realization made him feel both vulnerable and powerful at once.

He doesn’t answer her directly. Instead, he holds his hand out to her. “Would you like to dance with me?”

Her lips part in surprise but she quickly covers it with a smile. Her hand finds his, and when her fingers curl around his it feels like a different type of promise. “I would like that very much.”

They stroll back toward the center of town. As they approach the square the volume of the music increases and the crowds thicken. Colorful lanterns illuminate the plaza and cast a soft glow over the streets. People of all ages and nations have gathered around the stage where a collection of musicians are joyfully strumming their instruments and pounding drums. Women in colorful skirts and glittering masks spin about their counterparts to the rhythm while small children stomp their feet haphazardly along the sidelines. The atmosphere is loud and hectic and intoxicating. As they get closer the song ends and another begins. He recognizes it from the days he spent on his ship: Four Seasons, Four Loves.

He leads her into the throng of dancers and turns so that he is facing her. He lets go of her hand only briefly so that he can bow to her in the traditional fashion. She mimics the gesture; something in him is delighted that the depth of her bow is equal to his even though she is probably completely unaware of the faux pas of court etiquette. When they rise he holds his hand out again and as soon as she takes it he spins her once; her laughter rings over the sound of the music as her skirt blooms around her ankles. A gentle tug on her wrist pulls her close and he lightly places his free hand against the curve of her waist.  He tries to control the twitch of his fingertips as they make contact with her exposed skin and takes a deep breath. She settles a hesitant hand on his shoulder as though she is not quite sure where to put it. And then they are moving.

He tries to lead her through the a few measures, but she stumbles a little over the steps and keeps glancing down at her feet. After the third time she treads on his toes Katara looks at him sheepishly.

“Sorry. I don’t really know how to dance.”

He can’t hide his surprise. “You don’t?”

“No. Not like this anyway. There was this one time during the war…” She shakes her head.  “But that was different. It wasn’t real dancing.”

He feels guilty for suggesting it in the first place. “Look, we don’t have to – “

“No, we don’t have to. I want to dance with you, Zuko.  I just hope you’ll forgive me for stepping on your feet.”

“I don’t mind.” And strangely, he doesn’t. In this moment, with her bright eyes trained on his and the electricity that seems to tingle down his limbs from the places where their bodies touch, she could grind his toes into dust and he would take it with a smile.

She keeps trying, and he can see her glancing around at the other couples to take note of the way they move. She may be a bending prodigy, and she may be doing decently for her first try, but her movements lack their usual grace and he can sense her frustration. Her palm starts to sweat in his. He almost opens his mouth to offer some reassurance, but she speaks first.

“Maybe if I just…” She seems to be reconsidering their position, figuring out a way to simplify the dance.  She stands back a step and grips his upper arms; he has no choice but to put both hands on her waist. They try this for a few beats, holding each other at arm’s length, but she seems to feel as awkward about it as he does. She shakes her head and steps closer once again.

Her body bumps into his and it seems as though she is always either a step ahead or behind.  She was terrible at following him. It dawns on him and he almost laughs – that was exactly the problem.  Of course she would never just assume he was in control. He leans in and whispers into her hair. “You’re supposed to let me lead.”

She jerks her head back to look at him. “Really? Why, because you’re a man?”

He is taken aback. “Well, that’s not what I meant, but – “

She clicks her tongue. “That’s completely sexist. Dancing should be a cooperative effort.”

He is about to defend himself against this accusation but before he can she edges closer to him and hooks her arms around his neck. For an instant he is thrown off guard; was she hugging him? But she continues to rock her body back and forth to the slow rhythm of the song, and after a beat he wraps his arms around her waist. She is right; now they move together, sharing the task.

She tilts her chin up to look him in the eyes and her face is so close that he finds he has to fight the sudden urge to lean in. Her eyes sparkle in the dim light of the plaza, and she offers him a soft smile. “There. Isn’t that better?”

His voice comes out as a whisper. “Yes.”

She pulls closer to him and they sway on the dance floor. To an outside observer it would look less like dancing and more like two people holding each other, gently moving to the music. Katara looks away from him and closes her eyes, laying her head on his chest. He hopes that she cannot detect the hammering of his heart as she snuggles closer. Or maybe he hopes that she does. If she doesn’t already know the effect she has on him, he’s beginning to think that he wants her to. He takes a deep breath and inhales the sweet scent of her hair. His own eyes fall closed and his arms tighten around her just a bit.

The spell breaks as the song comes to an end. The people in the plaza clap politely as the band pauses to retune their instruments. When they start up again the tempo is lively and unfamiliar. Zuko realizes that he and Katara remain still in a sea of movement and that she still hasn’t removed her arms from around his neck.

She lifts her head from his chest and blinks slowly up at the fat moon that hangs above them. “It’s getting late. Do you think it’s time we went to bed?”

He knows that she could not possibly have meant it that way, but her choice of words conjures images of that Agni-forsaken scroll and he can feel his face start to heat. She seems to catch on and jumps back from him a step. “I meant that we should get some rest! After all, we still have a long walk back to the beach house...”

“Right! Of course. It’s getting very late. What else would you have meant?” He laughs a little too forcefully.

“Exactly! And I know that you rise with the sun and all that, so you must be getting tired.”

“Yes. Very tired. It’s way past my bedtime. Not that I have a bedtime. I’m the Fire Lord. I can stay up as late as I want. In fact, if you want to stay, we can – “

“Nope! I think I’m ready to go. Let’s head back.” She rubs the back of her neck. “Is that okay?”

“Whatever you want.” It comes out deeper than he meant it and the discomfort of the situation only increases. But she only catches his eyes and there’s the slightest hint of that mischievous smile playing over her lips. He hesitantly offers his arm, not sure if she’ll want to take it. He feels relieved when she does.

Together, they start off toward home.