Chapter Text
Present day, 139 ASC
Even after three months, there were days when Zuko woke up, found Aang next to him, and still had trouble believing his good fortune. There was something magical about turning over in bed and finding the other man so close. The ease with which he could simply reach over and hold him was miraculous in its own right.
As Zuko coped with his personal disbelief, the kingdom struggled with the notion of the Fire Lord and the Avatar together as more than legendary friends. Although Zuko and Aang had initially tried to keep their relationship from the public, little that went on in the palace was impervious to fueling the far-reaching grapevines of royal gossip. Of course, how they had come to be together was shrouded in mystery. Most of the rumors floating around were ridiculous and based on pure speculation and conspiracy theories. Zuko was relieved that at least that part of their affair was not going to be discussed in the street market or go down in the history books.
His advisors had either come to terms with the new developments or given up on trying to convince him that it was political folly. Zuko was almost glad for it until they put away that particular concern to bring up an old one — the question of Zuko’s heir, or lack thereof.
There had been a time in his youth when he had assumed that he would marry Mai, who would then bear the children who would inherit his throne. At the time, he had loved and cherished her deeply. It had been the immature, inexperienced love of children, but it had been real in its own way. When he had switched sides in the war, it had pained him to think that they would be fighting on opposite sides of the battlefield. But he had put aside those feelings for the sake of saving the world and devoted little thought to what could have been. Yet in the end, Mai had betrayed Azula to save him. He would never forget that.
They had remained together for four years after the coronation, until Mai had found out about the desperate meetings with his father. He didn’t realize until much later that it hadn’t been his visits with Ozai that had sparked her rare demonstration of fury — it was that he had been more willing to confide in his imprisoned father and look to him for advice than speak to his own girlfriend about his troubles.
“You love your secrets more than you love me,” she had said, ignoring his pleas for her to stay. She had once threatened him never to leave her again, but this time, she had left by her own choice.
He had not taken the loss well, throwing himself into the politics of the Harmony Restoration Movement and its inevitable collapse. His rage and frustration had almost led to the resurrection of war and the nightmarish prospect of fighting opposite Aang once more. Luckily, that disaster had been averted and their friendship strengthened. Neither of them had been ready for the brutality of politics, and after they confronted each other, they had realized they were stronger if they supported each other without letting pride get in the way. Throughout the years, they had let the friendship between Zuko and Aang rust, leaving behind only a tense alliance between the Fire Lord and the Avatar. There would be no more of that, Aang had declared. They were friends first and political powerhouses second.
Not long after that, Zuko fell hard and fast for Aang. It had felt like destiny, developing feelings for the person who he had been so obsessed with for so long. But when Aang had rejected him on the night of his eighteenth birthday, Zuko retreated into himself to mourn and to lick his wounds. It had stung to lose his faith in love and relationships. Twice. Still, Zuko forced himself to be strong and to come to terms with the prospect of being alone for the rest of his life.
Then, at Aang’s wedding, he had lost it. All the progress he had made in his recovery had slipped the moment he saw Katara and Aang standing together at the altar, looking so happy and perfect together. He had ended the evening miserably inebriated and weeping in the lavatory, something he could only vaguely remember. Sokka of all people had found him and walked him back to his room, promising not to tell a soul what he had witnessed.
A fortnight later, when Mai had come to him requesting a second chance, he had latched onto the opportunity for companionship. She wasn’t Aang, but she was dear to him, and he had begun to think that being alone was detrimental to his health. But after three years of tension, heated arguments, and rare, lackluster sex, that had fallen apart, too. Once again, Mai left him, this time with the declaration that she had given up on him and was leaving for Republic City with Ty Lee, who would make a far better partner and lover than he had. Zuko had been outraged, but Mai had stood her ground and accused him of wasting his life away pining for Aang. In his shock, he had let her go.
“It’s obvious to anyone who knows you, Zuko,” she had said when he had fallen into a startled silence. “But I also know you never would have told me. That’s what hurts the most.”
She had been right, of course, but the betrayal still cut deeply.
That was the last time there had been any prospect of heirs. It was a quandary he tried to avoid thinking about. Aang was unlikely to produce any heirs for him, and Zuko couldn't bear the thought of entering a political marriage solely for the purpose of impregnating some noblewoman to satisfy his advisors. Yet, as he grew older, inheritance became more and more of a real, urgent problem. If he couldn't produce an heir, then generations of his family’s reign would come to an end. Part of him believed that would be a good thing given his predecessors' penchant for conquering lands and starting wars, but another part had been spent most of his life leading postwar restoration efforts and pushing for changes in the Fire Nation's beliefs and way of life; to not be able to pass that down to someone he trusted would be a huge loss.
“Stop thinking so hard.”
Removing his face from his hands, Zuko glanced over at the plush red chaise beside his desk. Aang had been dozing off there, but he was now sitting up and leaning against the arm, looking expectantly at Zuko.
“I’m not,” Zuko protested half-heartedly, staring resentfully at the enormous stacks of paperwork that had taken over his desk. “How was your nap?”
“I was just meditating,” Aang replied, to which Zuko chuckled.
“Right,” he teased. “Do you always snore when you meditate?”
Aang’s indignantly appalled look was priceless. Zuko loved that he wielded the power to dissolve his stoic exterior and get at the bit of fun-loving innocence that hadn’t been corroded by years of war and diplomacy efforts. He used it every turn he got. “I do not snore!”
“I think I would know better than you, sweetheart,” Zuko said, smirking. Aang, who had raised a pillow presumably to throw at him, softened at the endearment. Zuko would never get tired of that, either.
Aang opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by a large yawn. Zuko burst out laughing. Aang shot a glare at him, but that only made Zuko laugh harder, especially when Aang was clearly trying to suppress a wide grin.
The moment was interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Zuko called, sitting up straighter in his stiff chair and composing himself.
“Your majesty,” the attendant said with a bouncy bow when he had entered the room. “There are visitors from the United Republic requesting your immediate presence in the throne room.”
Aang glanced at Zuko, who nodded, looking puzzled.
“Thank you, Min,” he said. “Let them know I'll be right there.”
The man bowed low and left the room.
Curiously, Aang asked, “Losing track of your appointments?”
“No,” Zuko said, standing up and glancing into the mirror on the wall briefly. “This is unexpected. It's not often someone from the United Republic needs to meet with the Fire Nation without an appointment. Come with me?”
Aang heaved a sigh. “Must I? Your royal duties can be awfully tedious.”
“Don’t act as if you have anything better to do,” Zuko said.
Indignant, Aang said, “Sure I do. I have books to read and letters to answer.”
Zuko rolled his eyes, but the smile on the edge of his lips betrayed his amusement. “You just spent the past forty minutes dozing off. Come with me, and we’ll take afternoon tea by the pond afterward.”
Aang hopped to his feet. “Bit cold for being outdoors,” he remarked.
Zuko strode over to Aang and pressed a chaste kiss to his mouth. He loved that he was allowed these casual gestures. He was never going to tire of it. “I’ll keep you warm. Hurry, now. It won’t do to keep my visitors waiting.”
They made their way to the throne room. Over the years, Zuko had made significant renovations to the grand room, replacing his father’s intimidating decor with deep reds and luminous golds that suggested not the dangerous, murderous aspect of fire but rather its lifegiving ability to emit warmth and light. Of course, the wall of fire before the throne had been the first to go. Tall pillars still lined the room, but they were now grandiose structures carved with dragons, flowers, and curlicues. The dazzling room’s tapestries and high ceilings were embroidered and painted with the same imagery in an attempt to distance himself from Ozai’s methods of intimidation.
Zuko took his seat on the throne. Aang stood beside him, hands tucked behind his back. Zuko recognized the serene but serious expression that graced his handsome face as the one he wore in diplomatic meetings. It was the face of the Avatar, endlessly powerful yet peaceful symbol of unity.
“Let them in,” Zuko said.
Two guards escorted the visitors in — they appeared to be two tall, slender women and a smaller one. As they made their way down the long, red carpet that led to the throne, Aang gasped. Zuko stood immediately as recognition struck him as well.
He would know the woman in the center anywhere. Her dark hair, peppered with strands of gray, was wound up in a severe bun at the back of her head, and she wore a familiar grim expression. Her garb was simple, green-gray with hints of maroon and gold, draped over her gangly limbs.
“Hello, Zuko,” Mai said pleasantly, with the hint of a wry smile. The crinkles at the corners of her eyes curled in sardonic mirth as she and her companions knelt before the throne. “It’s been a long time.”
“Mai,” Zuko said, unable to tamper down his obvious surprise. He realized that the woman to her right was none other than Ty Lee, who wore a long green coat, loose pants, and tall boots, as was bizarrely fashionable in Republic City nowadays. Her long hair was neatly plaited and trailed down her back. Mai wore her age with a dignified grace, but Ty Lee looked barely over forty. “What are you doing here?”
“I hear you have need of an heir, your majesty,” she responded evenly as she rose to her feet.
“And how is that any of your business?” he replied, completely mystified. “Surely you don't think there's any chance of reviving our relationship?”
“No,” Mai said. “I'm not interested in stealing you from the Avatar. Congratulations at last, by the way.”
Zuko reeled back in surprise. While he had known on a logical level that news must have traveled across national borders by now, it was uncomfortable to know that his personal business was being aired even across seas. He couldn’t help glancing at Aang, whose face remained impassive, though his fists were clenched.
“I have no patience for your subterfuge,” Zuko declared. “State your intentions or stop wasting my time.”
Mai rolled her eyes, insolent. “Perhaps the Avatar hasn't done you as much good as I would have hoped. Fine, Zuko. We are here to present your heir.”
“My what?”
At Mai’s nod, the third woman stepped forward. She was tall, with long, jet-black hair that hung loosely around her frowning face. Her high cheekbones, porcelain-pale skin, and golden eyes were uncannily familiar. Wearing boots much more egalitarian than Ty Lee's, she was dressed in a high-collared tunic and slim black trousers. She had to be at least twenty-five, maybe thirty.
“This is Liang,” Mai said, gesturing toward the woman. “Our daughter.”
*
After possibly the most awkward dinner in which he had ever participated, Zuko had an attendant escort Mai, Ty Lee, and Liang to the suite he'd had prepared for them. Aang and Zuko wished them a good night and retired to their own chamber in silence, though Aang looped his arm through Zuko’s as soon as they departed.
“I never got my afternoon tea by the pond,” Aang said sadly as he climbed into bed after getting ready for sleep. Zuko laughed as he finished putting on his sleeping robes and put out the lamps.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, getting under the thick winter covers. Aang tugged him closer, and Zuko complied, throwing an arm around his waist and squeezing him close.
“What a day,” Aang said just as Zuko was falling asleep. “Tell me the truth. Did you know?”
“Hmm?”
“About Liang. She has to be at least Kya’s age,” Aang speculated. “And you and Mai broke up in 110, so…”
Zuko was surprised Aang knew that, but he didn’t comment on it. “No, I had no idea,” he said. “Honestly, I’m still shocked. Things were…not good between us toward the end. We were rarely in the same room together, much less a bed.”
He could feel Aang scowling against his shoulder. Shaking off his drowsiness, Zuko leaned back so he could see Aang’s face in the moonlight peeking through the curtains. He reached up to smooth the creases in his forehead.
“What is it?”
Aang shrugged and buried his face in Zuko’s shoulder again. “It’s nothing,” he said. “I just… It's been a long time since I was jealous of Mai. It feels like slipping on an old scratchy cloak.”
Alarmed, Zuko tugged at Aang’s bare shoulder so that he could look him in the eye. “Jealous? Aang, surely you don’t think…”
“No, Zuko,” Aang said gently. “I know, logically, that you're faithful. It’s just strange to see the evidence of you and Mai…” Shame crept into his voice. “Well, I didn't expect Liang. That’s all.”
The confession soured Zuko’s mood greatly. “Now you know how I felt for the past twenty-five years,” he bit out.
“Zuko,” Aang tried. “I didn’t mean…”
“Yes, Aang, you did,” Zuko said tiredly, but this was fatigue of a different kind — deeper, harsher, and achingly familiar in the worst way. “You just admitted that you used to be jealous of Mai, and that your jealousy has reignited due to being confronted with evidence of our sex life. Well, let me assure you that there is nothing to be jealous of. Clearly Mai did not trust me enough to even tell me about Liang until now, and I likely wouldn't have trusted her either.”
“It’s not that,” said Aang, sounding like he was trying to tamp down his annoyance. “I’m just sad we can’t have that — a child who is the living evidence of our love.”
Trying to calm his own temper, Zuko turned his back to Aang and scooted away. He spoke into his pillow: “Trust me, I know the feeling.”
Aang reached for him. “I didn’t mean to upset you. You asked, and I told you the truth.”
Zuko snorted and wriggled away from his touch. “You should know by now that I am not much a fan of the truth.” With a sigh, he added, “Let's just sleep. I imagine explaining everything to the council tomorrow will be a complete nightmare.”
He felt Aang sigh and curl up into the blankets on the other side of the bed.
Aang just didn’t get it, and Zuko was beginning to despair that he ever would. Aang spoke of jealousy like it was an irritant, like it was new. As if he had the right to be angry that Mai had been with Zuko once! As if his fractured relationships with Mai were even the slightest bit comparable to Aang’s lifelong commitment to Katara. Sad? Ha! Zuko had burned with jealousy for so many years that he had learned to live with it, grown into it, helplessly let its bitter claws sink into his heart; he had become one with his envy. What did Aang know about that kind of hurt? What did Aang know about that kind of pain?
It certainly wasn’t their first dispute since they had decided to be together, but it was the one that hurt the most. And it would be the first time they had gone to sleep without having resolved their anger and frustration.
*
Liang was twenty-eight years old and like a newly forged dagger with glinting edges. Her posture was proud, with a regal presence, and she always made direct eye contact when she spoke, every word carefully selected. She preferred milk in her tea and seemed to have little care for formal etiquette, for which Mai scolded her at frequent intervals. Though she was humorlessly authoritative, she seemed to lack the entitled haughtiness bred into royalty and nobility.
Zuko was at a loss for how to feel or act towards her. She was, without a doubt, his child (those golden eyes were too familiar to deny), but he was her father in name only. Hollowness threatened to swallow him as they stared silently at each other across the small table Zuko had had set up on the balcony of his office that overlooked the mountain range to the east of the capital. Wisps of fog danced around the mountaintops in the distance, and the crisp air was chilly but smelled like fresh winter. A tea set sat on the table between them, stalwartly trying to bridge the great chasm formed from all the time they hadn't known each other.
“Mother says you loved the Avatar long before you were with him,” Liang said. Her voice was carefully devoid of accusation, but to Zuko’s ears it sounded barely restrained. He bowed his head, staring at the elegant glass tabletop.
“I've loved him for a long time,” was all that Zuko was comfortable admitting.
“It's obvious,” she said. “When you look at him, you seem relieved and disbelieving rather than familiarly affectionate. You fought long to win him over.”
“He loves his wife very much,” Zuko said quietly, shame fluttering across his face as he heard the bitterness in his voice.
“Katara of the South Water Tribe,” Liang recited. “We learned it in history lessons, Father.”
Zuko nodded. The thought was strange — even stranger than his love life being the topic of overseas gossip. But maybe not as strange as being called father.
“They have children together,” Liang said. She seemed to have a habit of speaking in not-quite-questions, as if declaring that she was certain of her inferences and assumptions to the point that she didn't need to ask.
“Yes,” Zuko said softly, remembering the last time Aang had visited with his children. “Kya, Bumi, and Tenzin.” He found Kya and Bumi's boisterous, rowdy natures frustrating, but Tenzin was quiet and always respectful. Zuko was quite fond of him. He really hoped Tenzin wouldn’t hold it against Zuko that his father had left his mother for him.
Liang smiled wryly. Zuko realized that he had yet to see a true smile grace her face. She was Mai’s, all right. “Then they are my stepsiblings of a sort.”
Zuko wrinkled his nose. “I suppose so, technically. You must understand that I never expected any of this to happen.”
Lian huffed in amusement at his obvious discomfort. “What do they do?” she asked.
“Uh…” Zuko said, trying to remember. “Tenzin studies at Republic City University. Bumi is in the United Forces — a commander, I believe — and Kya is a gifted healer.”
“I always wished for siblings,” Liang admitted. “I don't make friends easily, and Mother refused to have another, though if Ma had her way, we would probably be a family of ten.”
That made sense: Ty Lee came from a large family and would have expected to have one herself. But Zuko could hardly imagine Mai raising one child; the thought of her raising multiple was so nightmarishly hilarious that he had to suppress his laugh with a cough. He nodded again, awkwardly.
“So what do you do? For a living?” He suddenly realized that he had no idea how Mai or Ty Lee made their living, either.
“I'm an attorney,” she said proudly, sitting up straighter in her seat. “I prosecute on behalf of people who suffer at the hands of greedy industrialists.”
Zuko felt a strange surge of pride at that pronouncement. She had a passion for legal matters as well as a knack for defending the helpless, then. A Fire Lord in the making. Mai certainly knew what she was doing. For a brief moment, Zuko wondered if she had raised Liang with the intention of usurping his throne. But no, Mai had never been power hungry or swayed toward revenge. It would require her to put too much effort into caring.
“It sounds like you've done well for yourself,” he said, and added, “and that you have a strong foundation for a potential ruler.” She bowed her head graciously. “Would you be interested in inheriting the throne?”
“I would be honored to help you in any way I can, Father,” she said. “But you must understand that I haven't come here looking to usurp your authority.”
Zuko just observed her for a moment. Her eyes blazed with sincerity and determination, her expression fixed in steadfast conviction. For a moment, Zuko thought of Azula, but Liang bore no malice or condescension in her expression.
“Ordinarily, the heir apparent would already possess knowledge about court from living in the palace. There is much you will have to catch up on. Are you prepared to dedicate yourself to learning the ways of the court and the ways of the kingdom?”
Liang bowed her head. “Yes, Father. I'm prepared.”
“Very well,” Zuko said. “You will accompany me to the council meeting after lunch.”
*
To Zuko’s pleasant surprise, Liang was a natural. She spent two days in council meetings silent and still as a statue, only her sharp eyes showing any indication that she was following the conversations. On the third day, she spoke up, reciting the three biggest corporations to the west, their executives, and their assets. On the fourth, she proposed a clever solution to satisfying the leaders of two warring villages in the south. On the sixth, she argued with Jozon, Zuko’s most cantankerous councilor, and called him an out-of-touch curmudgeon whose refusal to lower the kingdom’s taxes on those who could barely feed themselves would doom the Fire Nation and Zuko’s rule. To be fair, Jozon had challenged her ability and knowledge of the workings of the kingdom, as well as accused her of being a United Republic sympathizer.
Zuko was impressed and very proud that Liang was not only intelligent but clearly a force to be reckoned with. He gave her a stack of books and documents to study so that she could prove her worth to anyone who dared challenge her. She accepted them with a solemn bow, and though he hadn't declared any expectations, she said quietly, “I will not disappoint you, Father.”
Through it all, Zuko was shamefully aware that he was grabbing at straws trying to see himself in Liang. He hadn't raised her, as he felt a father should (as his own father had never bothered), and that filled him with profound regret.
He could see the roots of Mai in her — her stoic nature, the serious slant of her shoulders, and the way her smiles seemed to barely graze the surface of her skin. He could see Azula and Ozai in her — ferocity in the way she stared down her opponents and in the confident upward tilt of her chin. And she seemed to have inherited Sozin and Azulon’s knack for strategy, as well as Ursa's pragmatism; Zuko was happy she could apply them to peace rather than war. Even Ty Lee had passed a strong sense of loyalty to her.
Yet he strained to see himself in her. She had his golden eyes but so much composure. Zuko wasn’t sure he had ever been as level-headed as her, and he was nearly twice her age. His councilors knew very well that his temper was short and his patience fleeting at best.
“I may be Liang's biological father, but I see so little of myself in her,” Zuko confessed to Aang as they practiced kata in the western courtyard while morning dew still glistened on the shrubs around them. “Ty Lee is her other parent, not me.”
Aang gave him an amused, exasperated look. “Really, Zuko? She’s intelligent, iron-willed, fair, and compassionate behind all that bluster. When I speak to her, I feel like I’m speaking to a younger incarnation of you.”
Zuko gaped at him. “You’ve spoken to Liang? Alone?” He had been so caught up in everything that he hadn’t even thought about Aang and his daughter talking. He wondered if they had spoken of him, and if so, what had been said. It wasn’t like they had much else in common, after all.
“Well, yes,” Aang said. “Did you think I was just going to ignore her?”
“No,” Zuko said defensively, though he hadn’t really considered it at all.
“Good, because I’m not,” Aang said. “She’s interesting. Much more serious than my children. Perhaps she and Tenzin would get along.”
Zuko frowned. “I thought you were upset at her.”
Aang paused in the middle of a move and stood up ramrod straight. “I’m not upset at her, Zuko,” he said, irritation creeping into his voice. “It’s hardly her fault that you and Mai were together.”
“Oh, so you’re upset at me, then,” Zuko said sulkily.
Aang sighed. “No, I’m upset at the…situation,” he concluded lamely, shaking his head as if trying to physically knock the emotion out of his mind. “But I’ll deal with it.”
Zuko laid a hand on Aang’s shoulder, tightening his grip briefly. He couldn’t help the harsh tone his words took when he said: “I don’t want you to just deal with it, Aang. We've both done too much of that in this life.”
Aang shrugged and looked away, though he lifted his hand to cover Zuko’s gently. “It’ll be okay," he said. "This was never going to be easy, right?”
“Yes, but I hate that this is coming between us,” Zuko admitted, “and that there's nothing I can do about it. I know you’re not happy about all of this, but I need an heir, Aang. You must understand that.”
“I understand it perfectly, Zuko,” Aang responded grumpily, and then he added more hesitantly, “and it’s not coming between us,” although he sounded like he was trying to convince himself of the fact. “She’s your daughter, Zuko. I’m not going to begrudge you the chance at having a family, especially not on the behalf of petty jealousy regarding relationships long past.”
Zuko bowed his head and entwined his fingers with Aang’s. It was strange thinking of Liang as family. He had felt more connected to Azula even at the peak of her insanity, though he certainly liked Liang better. And he realized that he wanted desperately for her to like him as well.
“Do you think she likes me?” he voiced quietly. It shamed him, admitting such insecurity, but he remembered a time when he didn’t have Aang here with him all the time, offering a kind ear. If he didn’t trust Aang with such wild thoughts, then who could he trust?
Aang smiled, his thumb caressing the smooth, pale skin of Zuko’s hand reassuringly. “Just because you didn’t have a hand in raising her doesn’t mean she hasn’t been influenced by you. You know what she told me the other day? She spoke of destiny and honor and of ruling with a fair and just hand. She quoted from your speeches — speeches you gave decades ago. And Ty Lee told me that when she was a child, Liang used to eat up any and all books and documents about you and your actions in the war. She wrote her university thesis on you. You’ve been her hero all her life, Zuko. I don’t think you have to worry about her liking you.”
“All the more to live up to,” Zuko said, although he was humbled by the glimpse of what Liang really thought of him. Aang was likely exaggerating, but the sentiment made warmth bloom in his heart. He thought about the way his life had, in his youth, hinged on his father’s approval and made a silent promise to himself to never begrudge Liang the love and attention she deserved, or to pressure her with unrealistic expectations and throw her failures cruelly in her face (especially not literally).
Then Zuko blinked as he processed the rest of what Aang had just said. “You talked to Ty Lee, too?”
The amused expression resurfaced. “Zuko, do you think the only person I talk to here is you? Ty Lee and I do have some uncomfortable feelings in common right now, you realize. And that is her child you're putting on the throne.”
“Have you spoken to Mai, too?” Zuko asked because he couldn’t resist. He ignored Aang’s subtle jab and felt a pang of guilty satisfaction when Aang shrunk into himself a little and looked ashamed.
“No,” he said. “I don’t know what we would say to one another.”
Zuko sighed, remembering all the years of painfully awkward, stilted conversations with Katara when Aang’s family visited the Fire Nation. They had gone from being enemies to saving each other's lives and becoming friends to something more like distant relatives, knowing all about each other through Aang but having nothing to say to each other in person. In the later years, they had simply given up on trying to maintain the façade of friendship. It had been difficult enough when Katara didn’t trust him back during the war, but after Aang came between them, geting along was just too difficult. Too much bitterness had been sowed in their relationship, and they were both too stubborn for their own good. Zuko had always suspected that Aang had told Katara about the night they spent together as well as the kiss years later, because the way Katara looked at him was much more intense than simple suspicion. He wondered how much she must hate him now for breaking up their family.
He wanted to feel bad, but to his shame, he couldn’t muster up the emotion. He tried his best to be fair, but being good was always a struggle.
“No, I suppose there isn’t really anything to say,” Zuko agreed.
After all, Mai had won, in a way, just as Katara had. She had mothered his child, raised his child, and though Zuko was too old and tired to think about raising children — that was something that Aang would never be able to give him.
Zuko could not help but think back to those all those lonely years and wonder how different things could have been if he had been a father rather than a sovereign growing bitter with loneliness and rejection. Then again, the way he and Mai were toward the end of their relationship — it would have done a child no good to be raised by parents who were barely civil to each other. Not for the first time in his life, Zuko felt a lingering jealousy curl in his belly at the thought of Aang and how he and Katara had been afforded the chance to see three children grow into themselves. But, as he was accustomed to doing, Zuko pushed the feeling away. It would do him no good now. He had Aang, and now Liang was here. He would make the most of what had been given to him and dwell no more.
*
Zuko tried to delay it for as long as he could, but seeing as he had given Mai and Ty Lee a home in his palace for as long as they wished to stay, encountering Mai alone and being forced to make niceties was rather inevitable.
They took tea on the same balcony where Zuko had first met with Liang, and the stillness was no less awkward than it had been then, though the storied history added a heavy burden to it. Zuko refused to buckle under the pressure, but it was no easy feat given how Mai was staring impassively at him, face unreadable.
“Are you angry with me for not telling you?” Mai said after a long, painful silence fraught with decades-old tension.
Zuko didn’t ask what she was referring to. There could be nothing else. “The time has passed for anger. I only regret being deprived of the chance to raise my child.” He glanced at Mai, who raised an eyebrow. “Our child.”
“Ty Lee and I raised her well,” Mai said haughtily. Zuko had never seen such pride displayed so prominently on her face before. Mai had always been too proud to actually show her pride.
“I don't doubt it,” Zuko replied. “I just wish I had been able to have some hand in it. She's a stranger to me, Mai. My own daughter is a stranger to me. She sees me as Fire Lord, not a father, and I don’t know how to speak to her to make her think otherwise.”
Mai didn’t reply for a long time. “She grew up worshipping you, Zuko,” she said, and again Zuko was surprised to hear bitterness in her voice. Ty Lee must have done wonders in the years since they had left the Fire Nation, tearing down Mai’s carefully guarded walls and persistent apathy. “While the other children played in the streets, Liang spent her time in the library, memorizing your speeches. As a child, all she spoke of was you. I fled this land to be rid of you, but there was no escape.”
“You could have kept my identity from her,” Zuko pointed out. “Why didn’t you?”
Mai narrowed his eyes at him. “Don't mistake my departure for shame, Zuko,” she said. “I loved you dearly. But our life together was only going to lead to ruin.” Here, her voice grew quieter. “And a bitter, angry king is no king at all.”
Zuko digested this in silence, drumming his fingers against the warm porcelain of his teacup. For all their discord, Mai would have made a fine queen. She was intelligent, willful when she wanted to be, and possibly the most dignified person Zuko had ever known.
“I wanted her to know who her father was,” Mai said. “So that she would know her lineage and could be proud of it, and to set a precedent for her behavior. You would do well to appreciate that, Zuko.”
“I appreciate it plenty, thank you,” Zuko said, trying not to be annoyed.
“It’s not good enough,” Mai objected. You treat her as an heir, not a daughter, and you don't see her for her hopes and desires.”
“I know what I’ve seen,” Zuko said. “She's mine in flesh and blood but not in character. Honestly, I see more of Azula in her than I do of myself.”
Mai stood up and drew herself to her full height, furious. “Don't ever compare my daughter to that woman!” she snapped, and Zuko really had forgotten how terrifying it was to witness the rare occasions when she raised her voice. He could nearly see the wild fire in her eyes. He lowered his head apologetically and wrapped his fingers around his cup as he gazed at his faint reflection in the amber-colored liquid.
“Would you have kept her existence a secret from me forever if you hadn't heard I lacked an heir?” he wondered aloud.
“Yes,” Mai said without hesitation. Her robes fluttered around her as she reclaimed her seat. “The Fire Nation will always be my home, and you have been a good Fire Lord, Zuko — a fair and just one who has led our people to prosperity. I came to ensure that your line would continue. I owe you nothing more.”
Zuko looked up and met her squarely in the eyes. “It’s not about what you owe me, Mai,” he said. “It’s about what you owe her.”
“I would give my life for Liang,” Mai said with conviction, indignation written clear on her face. “I love her more than anything in the world.”
“I know you would give her your life,” Zuko said softly. “But would you give her her father?”
Mai didn’t say anything, staring at the table as if trying to divine its secrets. A muscle in her jaw twitched, but still she remained silent.
“Do you think I’m going to steal her away from you?” he continued, annoyed when she showed no sign of responding. “She’s twenty-eight, Mai; she can make decisions for herself. She can and will judge me for herself. What the hell do you think you are protecting her from?”
“You know nothing about being a father,” she said finally.
“Correct,” he agreed. “Because you've never given me a chance to learn. Will you now?”
“I don’t know,” Mai said. “I just don’t know.”
*
Then, one afternoon, Zuko stumbled upon Aang and Liang bending together.
He hadn't even thought to question his daughter’s bending ability; he had simply expected it. The blood of the some of the greatest firebenders in history ran through her, after all. But it was clear that though Liang seemed to have the firepower, she was untrained and lacked control over the flames that burst out of her hands. She moved with the swift sharpness of practiced hand-to-hand combat, and Zuko remembered belatedly that neither Mai nor Ty Lee were benders — and that things were different in the United Republic.
He sat on the stone steps of the courtyard and watched them silently, doing his best not to alert them of his presence. Aang, always hyperaware of his surroundings, met his eyes and gave him a small smile without pausing his movements.
Nostalgia and the familiar old pang of jealousy made his chest tight as he watched Aang show Liang the Dancing Dragon and how to incorporate it into her combat style. He spoke to her not only as a pupil but as if she were his child, demonstrating the gestures and correcting her posture in a paradoxically stern but patient manner. Just from the way he spoke to her, it was obvious that he was a good father — an experienced father. Zuko’s clumsy attempts at serving as a respectable role model seemed absurdly feeble and almost embarrassing in comparison. Not for the first time in his life, he wished that he had been given a chance to raise his own children.
There was a sudden flare of heat, and Zuko looked up as Liang leapt and flung a mighty fireball that just barely avoided singing Aang’s eyebrows off. With a smooth and effortless motion, Aang put out the fire just before it struck a tree in the distance.
Zuko rose to his feet, clapping.
“Father!” Liang said in surprise, whirling around to stare at him in horror. “How long have you been there?”
Aang’s eyes twinkled as Zuko smiled gently, hoping to alleviate her anxiety. “Long enough to see that you will make a fine warrior, Liang.”
Looking down at her feet, she said quietly, “I have much to learn. I wish I'd been schooled in firebending at a younger age, but in the city, bending is more a hobby than a way of life, and I have never had anyone with whom to practice.”
Zuko wondered at that and remembered Liang had said that she did not make friends easily. Perhaps it was the curse of all his ancestors and descendants. At least Zuko had always been able to comfort himself with the thought that princes and Fire Lords didn’t have friends — they had advisors, and servants, and subjects. And, well. He had Aang. And Liang had her parents. All of them.
“Be patient,” Zuko said. “You have plenty of people to practice with now, and with training and conviction, you will learn. I have faith that you will defend the Fire Nation honorably if the time ever comes.”
Liang lifted her chin and stood up straighter. “I only wish to be worthy, Father,” she said. “To make you proud.”
Zuko laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “Dear child,” he said, the words so strange yet rolling off his tongue so easily, “you have already made me proud.”
*
That night at dinner, Mai kept glancing between Liang and Zuko and smiling fondly at him, her thin features lighting up in a way that he remembered from a very, very long time ago.
“Thank you,” she mouthed across the table toward the end of the meal, most of which Zuko had spent asking Liang about the cases she had taken on in her impressive career and praising her for all the ones in which she had been victorious. Zuko accepted Mai’s admission with a curt nod as relief flooded him from head to toe. Perhaps he wouldn’t make such a terrible father after all. Perhaps there was still hope.
*
Zuko’s heart raced in his chest, panic gripping him as he watched Aang move around their room.
“What are you doing?” Zuko demanded, eyes darting from the traveling bag on their bed to the armful of clothing Aang was gathering from the closet. Aang gave him a unreadable look.
“I’m going to visit my family,” Aang said, as if he were discussing the weather.
“What? In the United Republic? Why?”
“Do I really need to explain why I would miss my family?”
The repeated use of the word stung, though Zuko knew it was petty. “No, but you should explain why you would decide this all of a sudden without notifying me in advance.”
Aang gave him another veiled look, this one with a hint of anger. “You're not my keeper, Zuko. I will go where I please, when I please.”
“Yes, but,” Zuko trailed off, unable to argue with that logic. He certainly had no wish to keep Aang where he didn’t want to be. But the awful thought of Aang leaving made him sick to his stomach with fear. What if he didn’t come back? What if he decided that he had made the wrong decision after all? What if Zuko had to go back to that lonely, desolate existence after knowing how wonderful it felt to be really, truly loved?
Oblivious to his inner conflict, Aang sighed and shoved his clothing unceremoniously into the bag. “What is it, Zuko,” he said, and for the first time in the past two weeks Zuko heard the exhaustion in his voice.
“It’s just… I thought this was where you wanted to be.”
Aang scrubbed at his face. How had Zuko not noticed the bags under his eyes before? Guilt gnawed at him now that he couldn’t stop seeing them; he had been so caught up in his own tumult that he hadn’t been paying attention to the stress all this upheaval was taking on Aang. He was getting himself so worked up that he almost missed Aang’s reply.
“It is,” Aang said. “Of course it is.”
“But?” Zuko prompted, taking advantage of Aang’s distraction by retrieving the half-packed bag and clenching it tightly. Aang looked like he would rather be anywhere than having this conversation with him, and the thought of his reluctance to talk about something so important upset Zuko more than he would ever admit.
“I saw how she looked at you,” Aang said finally, yanking the bag from Zuko. “Like you were some wonderful gift to mankind.”
“Aren’t I, though?” Zuko joked, trying desperately to lighten the mood even though he felt like he was on the verge of throwing up. He had never been very good at being funny. Aang didn’t even crack a smile. “Who, though? Who was looking at me like that?”
Aang gave him an incredulous look.
“Are you talking about Mai?”
“Yes, Zuko, I’m talking about your ex-girlfriend,” Aang said, rolling his eyes. Zuko hated that. Aang was never cruel like that. It was uncalled for and completely unfair.
“That was years ago!” Zuko retorted, unable to stop himself from shouting. “Decades, even! What is your problem?”
Glaring, Aang poked him in the center of his chest, hard. “My problem is that the mother of your child is hanging out in your palace, making snarky comments about our relationship and suddenly looking at you as if the spirits had personally sent you down from the heaven — while the mother of my children is suffering because I abandoned her to be here, with you!”
“You can take your little guilt trip and shove it, Aang,” Zuko hissed. “I didn’t know it was such a hardship, being here with me. It’s not as if I forced you to leave Katara.”
“It’s not as if I had a choice!”
“You were the only one with a choice!” Zuko roared in outrage. “Katara and me — we were the one without choices! You think being around Mai is so hard? How do you think I felt all those summers when you brought your whole damn family here? How do you think I felt then, watching you and Katara kiss and hug and love each other so fucking openly and knowing I would never have a chance? Seeing your children grow year by year and wishing I was the one raising them with you?”
“This isn’t about that,” Aang growled. “Don’t make this something it’s not, Zuko. You can’t begrudge me jealousy, you can’t! You think I want to feel this awful every time I watch you interact with Mai or Liang calls you ‘Father’?”
“You have no right to be jealous! After everything I’ve been through for you, you have no right.”
“You’re being ridiculously childish,” Aang shot back. “You seem to be deluded that because I was with Katara, your jealousy is somehow more legitimate! You fancy yourself some kind of twisted martyr just because you loved me through my marriage. I didn’t ask you to stay in love with me, Zuko! But you couldn’t help it, just as I couldn’t help being in love with you despite everything. And you couldn’t help being jealous, just as I can’t help being jealous now! But your jealousy doesn’t nullify my jealousy! This isn’t something you can be righteous about!”
“Damn it, Aang,” Zuko swore. Damn him for seeing right through Zuko, and damn him for not being afraid to tell him like it was. Damn him for always being right, and damn him for making Zuko feel contrite.
“I just need time,” Aang said, taking advantage of his speechlessness. “All this has happened so fast, and things were going so smoothly, and I just… I need to sort things out in my head. I’m tired, Zuko, and I don’t want to fight with you like this. I don’t want to fight with you at all.”
Zuko didn’t dignify him with an answer, still wounded and furious.
“I just need to get away for a little while. Will you wait for me?” asked Aang. And in that moment, Zuko hated that he knew Aang well enough to hear the fear and trepidation in his voice. This would be so much easier if Aang weren’t…Aang.
Everything hurt, and Zuko could practically feel his energy drain out of him. So he just gathered up the last dregs of his ire and said viciously, “I’ve only ever waited for you like a complete idiot nearly my entire life. Why ever would I stop now?” before whirling out of the room.