#fireandwater

Pairing: Zuko x Katara

Word Count: 2,113

Prompt: Crest for Zutara Week 2024 @zutaraweek

Summary: At the crest of the moon, Katara and Zuko share a quiet moment, weighed down by the past yet holding on to a fragile hope for the future they might create together.

Warnings: Violence, battle aftermath, mentions of injuries, emotional vulnerability, themes of redemption, mild romantic tension, mention of past trauma

The air was heavy with the acrid tang of smoke and the fading echoes of Azula’s manic laughter. The sun, just beginning to set, painted the wreckage of the palace courtyard in fiery reds and oranges that mirrored the flames still licking at the distant rooftops. Katara stood at the edge of the courtyard, shoulders heaving, as the last ripple of her waterbending subsided into the cracked earth beneath her feet.

She was drenched, her hair clinging to her face and neck, her hands trembling from exertion. But it was over. Azula was bound, her wild golden eyes still burning with fury as the Dai Li dragged her away. The sound of her restraints clinking echoed through the courtyard like a ghostly reminder of how close they had come to losing everything.

“Katara,” Zuko’s voice broke through the haze, low and edged with something she couldn’t name.

She turned to him, her breath catching at the sight. He looked as battered as she felt, his tunic scorched, soot smudged across the sharp planes of his face. The jagged scar over his eye seemed to deepen in the fading light, a mark of the battles he’d already fought—and the one they’d just survived together.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The courtyard felt vast, a chasm of space and unspoken words stretching between them. Then, slowly, Zuko crossed it, his steps uneven but purposeful.

“You okay?” His voice was hoarse, and the way his gaze swept over her—searching for injuries, for signs of pain—made her stomach twist. 

Katara nodded, though the tightness in her chest said otherwise. “I’m fine,” she said, the words clipped, her voice steadier than she felt. She forced her hands to still, clasping them in front of her as if she could hold herself together through sheer will. “What about you?”

He gave a slight shrug, though the movement made him wince. “I’ve been worse.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, almost a smile. Almost.

“You were incredible,” he added, his tone softer now, reverent. “The way you—” He gestured vaguely to the place where Azula had been defeated, where water and ice had triumphed over fire. “I’ve never seen anyone fight like that.”

Katara looked away, the compliment settling awkwardly on her shoulders. She didn’t feel incredible. She felt hollow, every bone in her body heavy with the weight of what she’d done—and what she’d almost lost. “It wasn’t just me,” she said quietly. “We fought her together.”

Zuko’s expression shifted, something flickering in his eyes that Katara couldn’t quite place. He stepped closer, hesitant until they were barely a foot apart. 

“You led the fight,” he said firmly, his voice like steel wrapped in silk. “And you saved me. Again.”

Her gaze snapped back to his, the intensity in his voice drawing her out of the storm in her mind. His eyes burned like molten gold, but there was no anger there, no defensiveness. Just gratitude. And something else—something warmer, deeper, that made her chest tighten all over again.

“I couldn’t let her—” Katara started, but her voice caught. She swallowed, shaking her head. “I couldn’t let her win.”

Zuko nodded, understanding without her needing to say more. The silence stretched between them again, but this time, it wasn’t empty. It was charged, the air humming with things unsaid.

Zuko lifted a hand, hesitating just for a moment before brushing a strand of damp hair away from her face. His touch was light, barely there, but it sent a ripple through her like the first wave cresting before a storm.

“Katara,” he said her name like it was something precious, something fragile. 

She blinked up at him, her heart pounding in her ears. She wanted to say something—anything—but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she took a half step closer, the space between them shrinking until it was almost nothing.

His fingers lingered by her cheek, warm against the cool dampness of her skin. “I don’t know if I deserve your trust,” he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. “But I’ll do everything I can to earn it. I swear.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, all she could see was the boy who had hunted them, the scarred prince whose name had once been synonymous with danger. But that boy was gone. In his place stood a man who had fought beside her, who had chosen the hard path of redemption and stood willing to burn for it.

“You’ve already started,” she said softly, her voice steady now, sure. “And you don’t have to do it alone.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Zuko smiled. It was small and tentative, but it lit up his face in a way that made her chest ache.

The sunset blazed around them, painting the world in fire and light as the chaos of the battle faded into memory. Together, they stood on the cusp of something new, something fragile but unbreakable. 

And for the first time, Katara thought, they might actually be okay.

The days after the battle passed in a blur of activity, rebuilding, and restless nights. The scars left behind by Azula’s fire raged in the form of blackened walls and charred memories, but amidst the destruction, there was a tentative sense of hope. The palace began to fill with whispers of change, murmurs of a new era poised to crest on the horizon.

Katara found herself drawn to the courtyard again and again. It was quieter now, the once-shattered tiles patched but not yet polished. The water in the fountain rippled softly, reflecting the pale glow of the moon as it hung high above. She stood at the edge of the water, barefoot, letting the coolness seep into her skin. The soft hum of her bending stirred the fountain’s surface, the gentle waves mimicking the rhythm of her thoughts.

“You always come here at night.”

She turned at the sound of Zuko’s voice, her lips curving in a faint smile despite the weariness that clung to her. He stood just outside the shadows, his posture as guarded as ever. His royal robes were gone, replaced with a simple tunic and loose trousers, but the weight on his shoulders hadn’t lessened.

“Maybe I just like the view,” she teased lightly, though her voice carried a softness that didn’t quite match the words.

Zuko stepped closer, his boots whispering against the stone. “It’s a little… ruined, don’t you think?”

Katara shook her head. “Not ruined. Just… changing.” She looked back at the fountain, the water glowing faintly in the moonlight. “Water can shape stone over time, no matter how stubborn it is. This place will heal, just like everything else.”

Zuko paused beside her, his gaze tracing the same ripples she had created. “I don’t know if everything can heal,” he murmured, his voice so quiet it was almost lost to the night.

Katara tilted her head to look at him. The moonlight softened his sharp features, but it couldn’t erase the shadows in his eyes. She wanted to reach out, to touch his hand, but the weight of their shared history held her back. Instead, she let the silence between them settle, waiting for him to fill it.

“When I was a kid,” Zuko began, his voice hesitant, “I used to dream about being Fire Lord. I thought it would mean power, honor… respect.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “But now, standing on the edge of it, I’m not sure I’m ready. The Fire Nation’s done so much damage. How do I undo that? How do I prove I can be… better?”

Katara watched him carefully, her heart aching at the vulnerability in his words. “You don’t have to do it all at once,” she said gently. “Change doesn’t come with a single wave, Zuko. It comes with a crest, a moment when things start to shift. And you’ve already started that.”

Zuko’s gaze snapped to hers, surprise flickering across his face. “You really think I can do this?”

Katara’s gaze drifted upward to where the moon hung high and bright, its edges perfectly curved like a crest ready to break over an unseen shore. The silver light spilled across the courtyard, softening the jagged edges of destruction, casting the fountain and its rippling waters in an otherworldly glow. It felt like the universe was holding its breath, watching, waiting for them to take the next step.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the sky.

Zuko followed her gaze, his expression thoughtful. “The moon?”

She nodded, her fingers absently trailing the water at her feet. “It’s always been a guide, you know? For sailors, for travelers… even for waterbenders. It’s constant, even when everything else feels impossible. It reminds me that there’s always another tide, another chance.”

Zuko’s brow furrowed slightly, his eyes narrowing in contemplation. “I’ve always thought of the sun,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “It’s the center of everything for the Fire Nation—bright, powerful, unrelenting. But the moon… it’s softer, calmer. And it changes, doesn’t it? Growing and shrinking, but always returning.”

Katara turned to him, surprised at the insight in his words. “Exactly. It’s a reminder that nothing stays the same forever. Even in the darkest moments, the light always comes back.”

For a moment, Zuko said nothing, his gaze fixed on the moon’s crest as if seeing it for the first time. When he spoke again, his voice was low, steady. “Maybe that’s what I have to be. Not just the sun—something constant and unyielding—but something that can change. That can adapt, like the moon.”

Katara smiled, the warmth in her chest growing. “You already are,” she said softly. “The Fire Nation doesn’t need someone who can shine the brightest. It needs someone who can rise and fall with the people, who can weather the storms and still guide them forward.”

His eyes met hers, and for a moment, they held there, caught between the crest of the moon above and the future stretching out before them.

“The crest of the future,” Zuko said suddenly, his voice distant as if the words had slipped out unbidden. He gave a small, almost self-deprecating chuckle. “That’s what this feels like. Like we’re right on the edge of something. It’s terrifying.”

“And exciting,” Katara added, her voice barely above a whisper. She grabbed his hand, “You want to know if I think you can do this?” 

Zuko nodded, his fingers tightening around hers. Katara smiled, the kind of smile that reached her eyes and softened the tension in her shoulders. “You’ve already done more than you realize. You chose to stand with us. You chose to fight for what’s right, even when it wasn’t easy. That’s the kind of leader the world needs. It’s not just the end of the war, Zuko. It’s the start of something better. Something we get to shape. Together.”

For a moment, Zuko said nothing. His jaw tightened, his gaze distant, but then he looked at her, his golden eyes catching the moonlight in a way that made her breath hitch.

“Do you think…” He hesitated, his voice faltering before he pushed on. “Do you think you’ll stay? After this is over, I mean.”

Katara’s lips parted, but the words didn’t come immediately. She had thought about it—what life would look like after the war, where she would go, what she would do. The thought of leaving him behind had lingered at the edges of her mind, sharp and unwelcome.

“I don’t know,” she admitted softly, her voice almost swallowed by the night. “But I know I want to see what kind of Fire Lord you’ll become.”

His lips quirked into a small, almost shy smile, and for the first time in days, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. “No pressure, right?”

Katara laughed, the sound light and free, like a breeze rippling across the water. “None at all.”

They stood there for a while longer, side by side, as the moon climbed higher and the world around them grew quiet. The faint rustle of wind carried with it a promise—of change, of hope, of something new.

As the first light of dawn began to crest over the horizon, bathing the courtyard in soft golds and pinks, Katara looked at Zuko and felt the stirrings of something she couldn’t quite name. Something fragile but unyielding, like water meeting fire. 

It would have to wait. Tomorrow, Zuko would take the throne, and everything would change. But for now, they stood together, balanced on the edge of the future, waiting for the tide to carry them forward.

Itachi: