#firebender

"You know, he's not so bad once you get to know him."

Your sister, Toph, had always proved rather convincing when it came to you---like everyone else, she had you wrapped around her strong little finger from the day she was born and all the days after. Her word was your Bible most times, you both put your trust in each other so completely, and there was rarely ever a doubt in your mind that Toph didn't know exactly what she was doing. But here, you couldn't help rolling your eyes.

She'd felt it somehow, your unimpressed expression, thumping at your shoulder quickly and laughing under her breath when you'd visibly winced.

"And he's attractive, too!"

You gave her a short look, brows raised in question. "Like you'd know, Toffee." She was always saying strange things like that, being able to feel when someone was interesting, or cute, or muscular. And you supposed that's what the Firelord Zuko was as you look around the room and allow your eyes to land on him.

Interesting in the way he spoke gruffly even when he was trying to be kind. The way he dragged men over to the group he was speaking to, just to have them agree with him on whatever he'd been arguing. Interesting in the way he let his hair fall over his scarred eye in public, not ashamed, you'd gathered, but not wanting to entertain the questions that came with it.

Cute in the way a bear was cute, something broad and grizzly, eyes squinting when he laughed and teased the Avatar and the Waterbending Master's brother.

Muscular like a sea of mountains, ripples of them across his body, pushing through the fabric of his formal garments. Muscular in the way his hands flexed out when he'd caught you staring at him, the way—oh, fuck, he'd caught you staring at him.

You swiftly turn back to a grinning Toph, her eyes shining white and mischievous. You thump her shoulder back, feeling the floor rumble beneath your feet, and it's not quite so obvious who's doing it but you think it's best not to find out. There are eyes boring into your side as you try and listen to the babbling woman in front of you—something about the food from tonight, or had she asked what food you wanted for tomorrow? You didn't know and you almost didn't really care, the way you'd spot him in your peripheral still glancing your way, only ever leaving his distraction when someone grabbed his shoulder or asked him something serious.

"I need some fresh air."

"Fresh?" Toph's face scrunches in a strange disgust, arms folding over her chest. Her smirk expands over her face as she stares right through you. "It's humid everywhere, you know. It's the Fire Nation—"

"Yes, yes, thank you for the tidbit."

With a kiss of her warm cheek, you hurry away from her before she can make some crude joke about the burning in your cheeks, and just before you escape into the main corridor, the Firelord catches your eye again.

And he is so disgustingly beautiful.

You scurry through the almost empty hallway, nothing but servants carrying piles of dirty bowls and cups and royal advisors gliding back to the hall to discuss important business with the still fresh lord, his duties seemingly never-ending. You slip and sneak behind one wall, and then another, left and right and left again, the passageways seemingly endless too. Once you let your mind settle, you finally register that you've stopped hearing the bustle that once filtered out of the great hall, met with the silent whirring on wind and dry humidity that made you sweat underneath your silky green dinner gown. All of sudden, you realize you're nowhere near the outdoor garden you were aiming for, and if you hadn't been so stubborn, you would've maybe admitted that you were lost. You make a few turns here and there that you think are leading you back in the direction of the hall, but you're not entirely sure, cursing yourself for being so equally, stubbornly distracted. Too absent-minded, Toph would often tease, never paying attention to your surroundings like you ought to.

You didn't care. You didn't need to pay attention like normal people did.

With a frustrated huff, cursing under your breath in a way that's still attempting to be lady-like, you slip off your nice shoes with a swift hand, letting your cold toes hit the stone floor.

You hum out, closing your eyes and listening for those busy vibrations you and Toph had been so attentive to before in the great hall. You mind wandered and search for her familiar cadence of footsteps against the bare ground—she had a habit of tapping her foot when she wanted to drown out noise, and you loved being the only one to hear it. You stepped carefully towards the tremor sounds in the earth, inching just closer to them to guide yourself back, feeling the jittery drunk conversation bouncing off of some walls in the distance. To your left, you'd concluded, not too many corridors way. You smile when you feel Katara's laugh somewhere far-off, mixing with the low rumble of Toph's chuckle. You wonder if she can hear your heartbeat, but the idea is quickly drowned out by another sound.

You tilt your head to pay attention to both, careful not to lose the guidance of your sister and her friend, but oh-so-curious as to who might be approaching.

Your smile drops and you resist opening your eyes for a moment. You know those heavy footsteps, that soft breathing reverberating in the air and in your ears.

You let your eyes flutter, a deep sigh leaving your lips without your permission.

And he smiles as he comes closer, something simple and boyish. "Good evening." He bows his head to you politely, and you return the favor, keeping your head down as he speaks. "Sorry to disturb you." You lift your head up when he takes a step closer, your hand reaching out instinctively. He stands still, as if at attention like a solider. "I'm Zuko."

You laugh and you can practically hear his heart flutter. "What are you doing, we know each other."

"Yes, I thought perhaps you'd forgotten." He adjusts his posture, his back and shoulders broadening. He's quick with his words, tumbling out of his lips like they've betrayed him. Still, he stands firm, head held high. "Since you'd failed to say hello."

Your breath hitched at that accusatory tone and you looked away to save face, knuckles crackling. "Yes, they sat us a way's away—"

"You failed to say hello the whole night."

He takes a careful step closer once again and this time you know well enough to step back, to keep this distance between you. And still, with your feet against the warm floor, you can feel his heartbeat quicken despite its normally calm pace. His hand looks like it might reach out for you but he knows well enough too.

"You know perfectly well why it seemed inappropriate."

Now, what's the story on you and the gruff Firelord?

Perhaps it starts when Toph had first introduced you to the jumbled and unlikely Avatar group a year ago, another hot summer that you can only remember when you dream.

Scorching days at Ember Island with your sister’s traumatized buddies from the war, sweat dripping from your body in vulgar sorts of ways when one distinct friend eyed you for longer than necessary. He had this way about him, something gorgeous and mesmerizing in a way that was unfair. When the summer heat got almost entirely unbearable, you'd all spent your time in the Water Tribe, basking in whatever cool air you could find. Your room had been just next to his, in a far wing of the palace, and you'd sneak away together when sleep refused to take you, or bundled up on the floor of your visiting chambers and tell stories upon stories. His voice like honey in your ears.

So, perhaps the starts instead during that same summer, in a now humid bedroom, with his hand up your skirt, and his lips against your jaw, and your name being mumbled repeatedly from his soft lips like a prayer. It's not quite so clear how you'd gotten to this point—whether it had been the drinks he'd snuck into room to rid you of the nighttime boredom, or the way your eyes couldn't stop flickering to his slender fingers brushing against yours—but sooner or later, you're on his lap, another hand in is your hair, and all decorum has been tossed right out of the window.

And the story ends that same evening, when there's a creak in the floorboard behind the bedroom door, and a quick glance between the two of you that says this can't possibly happen again. Sure, you hadn't been caught this time, but there was something messy about mixing things up with your baby sister's friends, something filthy about meeting in secret with the new Firelord in all his broken honor and his faltering prestige. He'd been worshiping you on that bedroom floor, but it could never happen twice, you two had reputations to uphold, kingdoms and communities to lead.

So, Zuko should know why you didn't speak to him at this party, why you hadn't spoken to him in almost exactly a year (of course, you both had been counting), and why you'd really only agreed to come in the first place because of Toph. Because she'd begged like she knew why you wouldn't want to, and you knew that seeing him from a safe distance was better than not seeing him at all.

But, you see, that's why he'd invited you too. It wouldn't be suspicious, because the whole group would come, and you both could speak because the whole group would be speaking, and he would promise not to let his hand drift towards your thigh like he wanted, he'd promise. And instead, you stayed on the complete other side of the hall the whole time, laughing at what other people were saying to entertain you, talking to everyone except for him, waltzing around in that dress and that color that drove him absolutely insane. He'd been so hopeful when he finally caught your eye across the table. When you'd left almost immediately after, avoiding his gaze—he had been almost absolutely sure that it was an invitation.

However, the way you were looking at him now said differently.

You looked around carefully. No one close by, no one peeking. Still, you wouldn't relax your shoulders just yet, lest the two of you grow too comfortable. You lowered your voice and stripped that unlikeable tone out of it. "You should get back to the hall and I can follow behind. Surely people are awaiting you—“

"I can excuse myself in my home."

"You can also speak to your guests properly in—”

“Is that what you are—a guest?”

“As opposed to what?” There’s a heaviness in your breath that hadn’t been there before, and you suddenly realize how close you’ve let him come, how near his breath and heart rest sound against the arch of your feet. “My lord.” Your scowl deepens as you flick your wrist and quicker than you’d meant it to happen, Zuko stumbles back with a hand on his chest. Your lips almost fix themselves to ask it he’s okay, but you’d hate to give him fuel.

He lets out a huff of a laugh, arms lunging to grab your hands. He’s trapped you, walking you back further and further away from the party, from Toph’s clever tone, from the clinking of lingering drinks and glasses—it alls starts to fade as you struggle against him.

“You’re not supposed to be able to control the human body,” he notes breathlessly, gaze traveling and skittering all over you, like he was imagining you use those same skills for all the wrong reasons, for nefarious purposes. “What was it you said, the calcium and phosphorus in my bones?”

“Who cares what I said, we shouldn’t be here—!”

Thump, thump, thumping upon the stone floor and your sister’s voice is whispering to you three halls down, asking where you’ve run off to. But she knows exactly where you are, exactly who you’re with, she’s always been so much better at that seismic sensing than you.

You find yourself wondering why she really begged you to come to this party, why she’d insisted on mentioning Zuko in every single conversation since you’d arrived.

Toph rarely played stupid, but when she did?

Something was up her sleeve.

You rip one arm from Zuko’s slowly loosening grip and slap your hand against his lips, and you swear you hear him groan against you, leaning closer into your touch. But you know silencing him won’t matter. Toph knows. You can practically feel her smile spreading across her lips like butter. And then you hear her laugh—that evil one she does, when she’s mocked you for just long enough, when she’s won in some game, when all goes her way in the easiest way possible. She’s laughing, but she stops walking—abruptly, so it seems, and—

The ground rumbles.

“Shit.”

“Hmm?”

Before you know it, you’re dragging Zuko away from Toph’s line of fire—she’s clumsy when she’s giggling—and just then, the ground cracks before you both, the dirt and rock from beneath emerging from the opening and creating a blockage between you and every other living being in the palace.

You and Zuko. Alone.

Toph would be dead by morning, you’d make sure of it.

“Aw,” Zuko coos against your palm before you slip it away. “You trapped us together, how sweet.”

You shove at his chest with no real weight, allowing him to drift just slightly closer. “Don’t get your hopes up, it was that brat—this is your home, you know, you’ll have to clean this all up.”

“No, I owe Toph, I think this’ll do.” His hand crept closer to your face, thumb running over your jaw as soft as kisses, as light as feathers, and you burned with the feeling. But you let him. Not just let him, you wanted him to, you'd hoped he'd touch you, just like this, the whole night, knowing that you shouldn't. He smiles sweetly, dipping his head to nose the crook of your neck, the bridge running just behind your ear and down so he could take in the scent he'd been waiting for---a whole year he'd been waiting. "Please. Tell me you've thought of me."

You let in a sharp breath, straightening your figure at even the thought of your answer. How were you supposed to lie?

"Even once would be enough."

His other hand dips to your waist, pulling your hips closer to his own in this new comfortable silence, smiling gently against your skin.

"I can show you how enough it would be."

guys I'm working on part two THIS VERY SECOND I SWEAR please don't hurt me

hope you guys enjoy and let it be nourishing to our bodies

love, your pretty princess!

When he had taken control of the nation and released those imprisoned for defiance to Lord Ozai, you had fled the country’s capital without a shred of hesitance. You can only remember the hurt in his eyes as you swore to never return, and that ever since, you’ve noticed a royal messenger present at your performances; even despite his best efforts to remain hidden within the crowds. There’s not much you could imagine is worth him sending along but far be it from you to call into question the Fire Lord’s motives. Returning today was nothing but obligation. You would attend, perform, and watch as your first love chose a bride for the Fire Nation. All the more reason to wash your hands of the guilt you felt for abandoning him as soon as your chains were undone.

You’ve come to a stop outside of the door to the banquet hall. The court ladies surrounding you fuss with their hair and gowns and whisper nervously to each other. A handful of them ask you if they look alright, and you nod and smile: adjusting hairpins and murmuring reassurance that each one of them looks like the embodiment of sunlight.

And you mean it, every woman called to court possesses beauty worthy of royalty. Even those who are rejected by Fire Lord Zuko are sure to find themselves approached by the soldiers and nobles in attendance. It would be surprising for any in your group to leave the palace tonight without a marriage proposal. Even if it is only a consolation prize when compared to being made wife of the Fire Lord, it guarantees a lifetime of ease to be wed to a noble. Finally, the rustle of silks and whispers of the girls fade back to silence, and the doors of the hall are pulled open.

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The banquet hall is overflowing with members of the court, bustling with movement and conversation that hushes as the candidates enter.  The crowd of officials from all four nations part to allow you all to pass and approach the Dais to present yourselves to the Fire Lord. The wait in line feels agonizing, you want this whole event to be over.

The air feels heavy with whispers of guests as you step up to the dais and kneel, the silk of your gown settling across your lap as you sink into your most reverent bow.

“My Lord, I’m most grateful to have been deemed worthy of even a moment of your attention.”

 “You have my gratitude for attending. Please, stand.”

 Your pulse hammers in your ears so loudly you nearly miss his instruction, his voice achingly familiar and gentle. As you stand, you finally take a moment to take in the man seated on the throne ahead of you.

Zuko’s build and demeanor are a drastic change from the awkward prince who had returned from exile mere years ago; despite wearing his heavy formal robes, the very way he moves speaks to the powerful corded muscles concealed beneath the layers of silk. He lounges comfortably on the throne and for a moment you are reminded of a crueler man who once occupied this space, but his eyes lack any shadow of his father’s malice, they are kind and concerned as he seems to take in every detail of you standing before him. You feel a wave of relief wash over you as you realize there is none of the anguish or resentment you feared would have lingered with Zuko, and your relief must be present on your face, because the Fire Lord’s lips quirk up the slightest bit into an awkward smile.

Perhaps he hasn’t changed quite as much as you thought.

You have some time to mingle, to eat and drink and prepare before the candidates are given the floor for their skills showcase. You find a quiet corner away from the chaos of the noblemen, all balancing precariously on the verge of drunkenness, and try to get your breathing under control as you stretch. When you turn back towards the dais as a guard calls attention to the center of the room and announces the beginning of the skill showcase, you’re startled to see the Fire Lord’s eyes on you, his beautiful features pulled into a sad smile.

 “Would you care to start?” His voice carries across the hall, and it’s not as if you can really decline. You plaster a smile on your face and make your way towards the dais once more, Zuko’s eyes never stray from you as you approach.

“It would be my pleasure, Lord Zuko.” His cheeks tint pink at the use of his name.

You take a moment to speak with the musicians at the base of the dais and approach the padded mat that had been set out for the girls to perform on. You breathe as slowly as you can in an attempt to quiet the roar of blood rushing in your ears.

And then music fills the hall.

Your body sheds the tension you’ve felt the entire evening as you step through a basic fire-bending combination, the warmth of the flame familiar and comforting as you wield it like a silk ribbon. Flame Dance isn’t unlike the kind of fire-bending taught for combat, and the skill is certainly not uncommon for court ladies who can bend.

Before Zuko’s banishment, when Ozai had still hosted events in the palace, you had been a favorite performer of the royal family. Flame Dance was supposed to be a testament to the elegance and power of fire-bending; and though Azula had always sneered at you with your flowing silks and feminine flames, Zuko had always been your biggest fan. As children he would tear you away from the festivities and into the courtyard, begging you to teach him to fire-bend like you did. When he struggled to match the style of the dance he would pout endlessly, until his uncle Iroh would come wrangle the two of you back into the halls of the palace.

But after his banishment the event became suffocating. Talk of foreign policy you couldn’t understand began to sink in, the hatred brewed into every mention of the other nations tainting the only expression you had ever had.

Your art was supposed to be about showcasing what made fire-bending unique, not superior. Your style warped and became harsh as it took the shape of your anger, your distrust of the message that the Fire Nation was above all others. That’s what prompted you to develop the style that led you to be imprisoned for defiance, the style you’ve returned to for tonight.

You shift your stance, close your fists, and blunt your sharp movements so that you launch the flames as if they were solid earth. You’ve traded the technique of fire for the strength of earth-bending. The crowd of officials begin to murmur, but you focus on the rhythm of the music and again morph the flames into a new style.

This time you loosen your limbs, draw the fire around your body as if it’s become a liquid, recreating the gentle flow of water-benders. The whispers tick upwards in volume again. You can’t seem to slow your heart rate as you finish another verse of dance and exchange styles one final time.

This is what had warranted imprisonment under Ozai’s rule, technique mimicked from stolen scrolls hidden away in the palace archives. A scrap of an art he wanted erased from the world. You step lightly, twirl as your flames surround you and mix in your vision with the blended colors of robes from every nation, and finally the whispers silence as you adopt the movements of an air-bender.

 It could never truly compare, not without a teacher or example to learn from outside of static illustrations worn by time, but it’s the sincerest attempt you can make. With one final flourish, you let your fire dissipate and go still in the absence of the music. When you finally bring your eyes to the man sitting on the throne your heart skips at the expression on Zuko’s face. He’s beaming like he’s the same little boy from the performances of your childhood, eyes full of excitement.

“Beautiful.” He speaks softly, with such fondness in his voice that it causes your heart to ache. You can’t even form a response and opt to simply bow to the Fire Lord before you escape to the edges of the hall.

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You step out into the courtyard and swallow a few lung-fills of the cool night air. The air inside the palace doesn’t scorch your lungs as horribly as it used to, the decorative flames in the gathering spaces toned down from the heights they had once burned, but you need a moment away from the confines of the place regardless.

The guards hadn’t been too keen on letting you exit into the garden at first, but something had prompted them to step aside and release you into the night air. Perhaps it had been the panic on your face when they barred your exit, or perhaps it had been a stern look from royalty.

You tilt your face up towards the moon, reveling in the silence of the night. The constant buzz of conversation in the hall had begun to weigh on you. That, and the constant feeling of Zuko’s eyes on you had become too much to bear. Every lull in conversation you couldn’t help but steal glances at the dais, and throughout the entire night each stolen peak resulted in you catching the Fire Lord observing you. It looked like it almost pained him; to sit and watch showcase after showcase as you mingled with his court.

At one point a young man from the military officers approached you to express his admiration as a longtime fan of your art, and you could’ve sworn the flames in the hall had burned hotter for a moment; right before the man turned white as linen and hurried away from you like you had caught fire.

To be away from the eyes of the Fire Lord for a moment was what you needed to shake the longing from your heart, to remind yourself that you simply needed to survive him selecting a bride so you could flee the capital one final time. But your peace is short-lived; footsteps approach from the doorway as the guards shift once more to let someone pass.

“You dance even more beautifully now than when we were teenagers.”

Speak of the devil.

You glance over your shoulder to see none other then the Fire Lord himself standing a few paces away from you, his long hair swaying gently in the cool breeze. Your heart aches as you smile at him and bow politely.

“Thank you, I’ve not had such an honorable audience in a long time.” Zuko returns your smile, taking a step closer.

 “Could you make one final attempt at teaching me to bend so gracefully?” The word final hangs between the two of you, bitter and unpleasant, but you nod.

As you walk him through the movements of your routine, it becomes even more apparent that this is not the prince you knew before; Zuko’s movements are precise and elegant, despite the bulk of his frame he is as nimble as you. When he finishes his practice, he places his hands on his hips and flashes that beautiful smile at you.

“It only took me 23 years to pull it off.” He laughs.

 “You’re a far more graceful man than you were in your youth, My Lord.”

At the sound of his title from your lips the comfortable smile disappears from Zuko’s face. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.” His tone is mournful, and he casts his gaze away from you.

“I’ve missed you, you know?”

You open your mouth to respond, but choke on the words as they form. “I’m sorry.” Is all you can manage. Sorry for not leaving with him when he was banished, sorry for fleeing the second he undid the shackles Ozai had condemned you to, sorry for returning.

“I understand why you left. I trust you’ll believe me when I say this palace is as haunting to me as it is to you.” There’s a sadness in his voice that causes your heart to ache; you long to reach out to him and comfort him.

“I would imagine it is even more so my lord.” You feel selfish for having made your discomfort so apparent knowing that this is his home, that he’s been made responsible for cleansing it of the cruelty steeped into it by the generations before him.

“I can’t undo the things that have happened here. I’m ashamed to have once believed my father’s ruthlessness to be a true love of his people.” Zuko’s voice is barely audible, and he scratches uncomfortably at the base of his skull, eyes cast downward to avoid your gaze. “It pains me to request you stay here knowing how desperately you fled from the capital.” He takes a deep breath and finally meets your eyes.

 “But know that I would rebuild the palace, the Fire Nation, the entire world to make it a place kind enough to be worthy of your presence in it.”

Your breath catches in your throat and Zuko’s cheeks burn scarlet as silence hangs between you. “I’m not fit to stand at your side, Majesty. I don’t have the skills to lead that the rest of your candidates do.” Speaking the words feels like swallowing white hot embers, but they’re true enough. You have no grasp of foreign affairs, or diplomacy and trade. Zuko shakes his head and steps towards you, his hands reaching for you.

“You have a love for the people in our nation. And respect for those outside our borders. You were willing to be imprisoned, to be executed, for learning the styles of benders my father saw as sub-human.” His hands find yours, strong and warm, and you blush terribly and drop your gaze. But he won’t allow you to avoid him, releasing one hand to lift your chin and bring your eyes back to his pleading expression. “You can be taught to participate in the affairs of the nation; you will always have my support as you learn to lead. I don’t want a diplomat as my wife, I want you. I want your kindness and your warmth to remind me that fire can be nurturing instead of destructive. I need you by my side to keep our people from returning to cruelty.”

Your heart is thundering in your ears as you stare at the man before you. Zuko’s face is flushed and you can feel the heat of his body radiating from him in the chilled evening air. His eyes are desperate and searching your face for a clue to what you’re thinking, and you can’t help but reach out and touch his face. Your fingers skim his cheekbone on the scarred side of his face, and he leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut.

“I won’t force you to stay, I could never bring myself to cage you here.”

But you haven’t felt more at ease this entire night than you have here with him. Perhaps the cage was never the palace itself, only the man within it; because Zuko feels like home in a place you thought could never be hospitable.

When he opens his eyes again you take another step towards him, closing the gap between you. For a moment he’s still as you press yourself into him, leeching from him his warmth, and then he wraps his arms around you. His touch is gentle and unsure as he holds you.

“It would be too torturous to leave you behind a second time.” You whisper, and you can hear his heart thud louder against the solid muscles of his chest.

 “Tell me to stay. Ask me outright to be your wife.”

You need to hear it again, that he would choose you to stand by his side as he faces ruling the Fire Nation, because you can’t quite grasp it. Zuko wraps you tighter in his arms, and when he speaks his voice seems to hum through you.

 “Please. Stay with me.”

 He releases you for a moment and sinks to his knee before you, his hands on your hips as he looks up at you.

“Take me as your husband and know I will never let harm come to you again. Help me be the ruler our people deserve.”

You reach out to touch him again, running your fingers through the untied part of his hair. “I accept your proposal, my lord.”

The smile that breaks across his face is dazzling. Zuko stands and pulls you to him, pressing his lips to yours and clutching at your waist like you might disappear if he lets go of you. When you pull away for air, he buries his face into the place your neck meets your shoulder. “My queen has no need to use my formal titles.” He says against your skin.

“Call me by my name, my love.”

 Before you can respond, he sweeps you up into his arms.

“Zuko!”  you throw your arms around his neck, startled by his strength as he lifts you up as if you weigh no more than a feather.

“That’s much better.” His smile lingers as he strides towards the palace, the guards at the entrance to the hall parting as he approaches. “Zuko, I can walk. If you waltz through the banquet carrying me people will talk.”

“Let them talk, they were going to anyway.”

He crosses the threshold of the hall and is immediately approached by guests, all staring incredulously at the two of you. Fathers of candidates begin to request awkwardly if he would spare a moment to speak with their daughters. Court ladies ask with skepticism if something has happened to you that prompted his chivalry.

It is rather improper to have reentered a court festivity with one of the candidates cradled in your arms, blushing with embarrassment. But Zuko hardly slows his pace as the people crowd around him, striding past and towards the main entrance.

“I’ve made my selection.” His voice rings out over the chatter of the room.

“Stay and celebrate, or feel free to leave for home. I’ll be retiring for the evening with my partner.”

At the word partner some of the candidates begin to fuss and weep, you feel a pang of sorrow for the girls. You had come here with every intention of uplifting and supporting the other candidates, setting them up with worthy nobles if the Fire Lord rejected them. From within the crowd you hear Uncle Iroh consoling some of them.

“Now don’t look so sorrowful, we’ll find you a wonderful husband among the nobility in attendance tonight. Rejection is simply the spirits guidance towards destiny.”

 As he reaches the door Zuko lowers you to your feet, hand lingering on the small of your back as he turns to address the stunned crowd, speaking one last time to the dejected candidates.

“As my Uncle has said, feel free to connect with the bachelors of the court. You are free from your obligation to devote your attention to me. I’m afraid I’ve wasted your time, and for that I need to apologize. I knew my choice from the moment she stepped into the palace.”

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