Work Text:
It started almost immediately upon his coronation, but Zuko had managed to put off any discussions about marriage and procreation for about as long as was humanly possible. It was easy at first, because he could point to much more pressing matters, like the Fire Nation’s occupation of other nations, or the need for peace negotiations, or just about anything else his mind could come up with on short notice. Not to mention the fact that he was still just a teenager, and carrying the weight of his whole nation on his shoulders was stressful enough without having to think about other, more personal affairs.
But then the Fire Nation removed itself from the occupied land, and harmony began to spread between the four nations. His job became less about putting out fires—ironic—and more about simply keeping the peace. Now he was twenty-seven, and coming up with excuses for his bachelor’s lifestyle was becoming more and more difficult.
It was at a dinner party celebrating the passage of a piece of legislation that Zuko realized the issue had become out of hand. The first diplomat to introduce his daughter to Zuko went mostly unnoticed to him, as he had been introduced to countless people that night. She was quiet and blushing, but that wasn’t entirely unusual when someone was meeting the Fire Lord. He brushed it off and politely excused himself to continue mingling.
The second diplomat, an ambassador from the Earth Kingdom, approached him soon after and thrust a young girl in front of him. She smiled shyly, and Zuko felt a hint of suspicion raise in his mind. Still, he remained polite and made conversation for long enough that it wasn’t rude when he made his exit.
He got about five steps before another women appeared.
Okay, something was definitely going on.
Zuko spent the entire evening excusing himself from conversations with the daughters of various nobles and councilmen and representatives. It became harder to remain courteous as the night dragged on, especially when a few of the young women became handsy, but he clenched his jaw and did his best. He went to his quarters that night alone and mildly annoyed, but by morning he had mostly calmed down and forgotten the issue.
He was reminded of it, however, when he got to an afternoon meeting with his advisors to discuss the next week’s schedule.
“How was the celebration, Your Majesty?” Jinghua, an older member of his council, asked. She leaned towards him excitedly.
“It was nice,” he supplied, shuffling some scrolls in front of him. “I think everyone had a good time, so I’d say it was successful.”
“Did you have a good time?”
“Um… yes, I suppose so,” Zuko said, opening a scroll and readying himself to start the meeting. He opened his mouth to begin, but was interrupted by Jinghua, who was suddenly the picture of innocence.
“Did you meet anyone interesting?”
Zuko paused and stared at her, piecing together her words and their meaning. He squinted.
“Why do you ask?”
Jinghua shrugged, looking around at the others, but none of them seemed willing to help her out. Suddenly, the tabletop was incredibly interesting, a few of them poking at the marble like they’d never seen anything so fascinating in their lives. Zuko set his scrolls down and sighed.
“What did you do?”
Jinghua started to respond, but the young woman beside her, Ruolan, quieted her with a touch to the shoulder. She leaned closer to Zuko instead, a placating expression on her face.
“My Lord, it’s no secret that you seem to have some difficulty with meeting people,” Zuko huffed at that, his cheeks growing warm, “so we thought that perhaps if women were introduced to you—”
“Excuse me,” Zuko interrupted, “‘we?’ This was all of your doing?” He looked around at his advisors, and most of them continued to look anywhere but at their Fire Lord. The few who did meet his eye at least had the decency to look ashamed.
“We were only trying to help,” Ruolan said, though now she, too, looked rather guilty.
Zuko stood and allowed himself all of two seconds to gather his thoughts and attempt to take a calming breath. “You will stop this immediately. I am not going to act the part of the four nations’ most eligible bachelor while you all play matchmaker like this is some kind of game. My private affairs are none of your business.”
“Respectfully, sir,” a gentleman at the end of the table, Zhu, countered, “this is our business. This concerns the future of the Fire Nation. We have allowed this to continue for too long already.”
“Allowed what, exactly, to continue?” Zuko spat, his anger spilling into his words.
Zhu looked to his colleagues for assistance, but when none was offered he grunted and stood, planting his hands firmly on the table. “You. You have been putting this off since you were crowned, and it is frankly irresponsible to carry on the way you have been. You need to grow up and find someone to settle down with. This naïve and coy act of yours is growing old.”
If Zuko was even a fraction as dramatic as he used to be—and on his bad days, he still often was—he would have breathed fire from his nose, shouted until his throat was raw, and perhaps even jumped onto the table for easier access to the man’s oh-so-punchable face. Instead, he clasped his hands together in his sleeves to hide the trembling and met Zhu’s eyes directly.
“You are out of line,” he whispered, afraid that if he raised his voice any more, the vitriol running through his veins would seep into his words and literally poison the entire room. “Get out.”
“What? You can’t—”
“Get. Out.” Zuko hissed, watching as Zhu tensed like he wanted to keep arguing. Thinking better of it, the man stormed out, leaving the room cold and still in his absence. Zuko looked around at the remaining people at his table, trying and probably failing to keep his expression neutral.
“Despite what Zhu, or any of you, might believe, there is no ‘act’ I am putting on. These matters may be… difficult for me,” Zuko said, his voice still barely above a whisper. He felt his cheeks turn red, but he soldiered on. “But your interference is not helping. You will stop attempting to introduce women to me, and that is an order. Do I make myself clear?” He waited for everyone to nod in acknowledgment, but paused when he saw Jinghua staring at him. She still hadn’t agreed, but was just looking at him with a furrowed brow. Suddenly, her face relaxed.
“Oh,” she muttered. “Oh.” She bowed her head slightly. “Yes, Your Majesty. Of course.”
“Good.” Zuko sat back down and gathered his scrolls, taking deep breaths to calm the rage still swirling in his chest. “Now let’s begin the meeting…”
His advisors appeared to have taken his order to heart, as Zuko had not been bothered about the matter in the following few days. Things were only as awkward as they ever were around him, so he considered it a win.
The issue was that he knew they were, to some degree, correct. The problem was larger than him, he knew that. The future of the Fire Nation depended on him. If he was to die, who would be there to take his place? Azula would be next in line, technically, and while she was getting the help she needed to recover, she was certainly in no position to lead a nation yet. His Uncle could also take the throne, but he was getting older and enjoying a retirement Zuko was in no hurry to end for him. That left Ozai to be reinstated, which… No, absolutely not.
Lost in his worrisome thoughts, Zuko wasn’t paying attention as he turned a corner and ran forcefully into another person.
“Ow, Agni,” he muttered, covering his mouth and running his tongue over his front teeth to ensure they hadn’t been chipped. He thought he tasted copper, so he dabbed his fingers on his lips and checked for blood. When there appeared to be none, he looked up and promptly felt a rush of guilt.
“Is it bad?” The man in front of him grimaced as a thick trail of blood traveled down the length of his nose from a decently deep cut above his eyebrow. The blood pooled near his cheek before dripping down onto the floor.
“Uh… No, it’s not bad,” Zuko said, the pitch in his voice clearly not comforting the other man.
“So it’s fatal, then,” he said solemnly, with a hint of humor. Zuko might’ve laughed if the wound wasn’t just short of gushing blood onto the palace floor.
“Here, come with me,” he said, gesturing to be followed. They were nearby his chambers, so Zuko brought the man there and had him sit on a bench near the window while he gathered supplies from the washroom. He returned and sat beside the stranger, setting to work cleaning the wound. He swiped the blood away as gently as he could, applied ointment, and patched it up. For good measure—and mostly out of guilt—he also cleaned the rest of his face, wiping away the blood carefully from his nose, cheek, and chin.
“So,” the man said once Zuko was finished, “do you accidentally injure people often?” He gestured to the supplies, a smile playing on his lips. Zuko frowned despite the humor.
“No, I use swords. I’m good, but that doesn’t mean I don’t slip every once in a while. It’s easier to take care of it myself rather than worry the nurses all the time.”
“Ah, the secrets of a Fire Lord,” he mused. There was a long moment of silence, and Zuko played with the edges of his sleeves while he searched his mind for what to do next. He wasn’t quite sure what the protocol was here.
“Well—” he started to say at the same time the man stood, but the stranger winced and touched his brow softly, sending another wave of guilt through Zuko. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked, though he wasn’t quite sure what he could actually offer, short of bringing him to the medical wing.
The man thought for a second before shrugging. “I am kind of hungry, and it’s getting late. Have dinner with me?”
Zuko paused, because that wasn’t at all what he expected. Medicine, doctors, even financial compensation had crossed his mind. But not… dinner.
“I still have a lot of work to do tonight,” Zuko admitted. “There are a few proposals I need to go over.”
“Why not have someone to talk them over with? We could discuss them over a meal. My parents are both diplomats, so maybe I could help.”
It wasn’t a bad idea. It did often help to have somebody to bounce his thoughts off of, Zuko had to admit. Not to mention the fact that he’d smashed his teeth into the man’s forehead and left a sizeable hole, so he kind of felt like he owed him.
Zuko agreed, so they moved to the adjoining study and he ordered a meal to be sent to them. They ate and talked and debated, and as it turned out, Yaozu—he finally introduced himself after a while—was pretty knowledgeable about national affairs. He had plenty of opinions to offer, many of which helped Zuko figure out things he had been conflicted on.
Soon enough, they had finished going through Zuko’s work for the night, and instead turned more of their attention on the veritable feast the kitchen had provided them. Zuko thought it slightly odd they had provided so much, as he’d only asked for a small meal, but shrugged it off and picked at the rest of his rice. The conversation had dwindled after the work was done, and a mildly uncomfortable silence filled the room. More than anything, he just wanted to call it a night and go to sleep, but Yaozu was still happily eating away at his noodles and didn’t look in a hurry to leave.
“So, Yaozu,” Zuko finally said. “Which department do you work for?”
“I don’t work in politics,” he answered.
“Oh, sorry,” he mumbled. “I just assumed…” He had been so passionate about helping him get through his proposals.
“That’s alright,” Yaozu assured, flashing a bright smile. “I’m actually an artist.” He set his empty bowl aside and turned his attention to Zuko.
Zuko, for his part, probably spent a bit too long staring at the empty bowl. He was tired, and they both seemed to be finished eating, so he wasn’t sure what they were still doing. Yaozu had asked for dinner in return for cracking a hole in his head, and Zuko had provided it. He hadn’t agreed to pleasantries, too.
Yaozu seemed to take his silence as an invitation to keep talking.
“I did a large mural recently, but mostly I do portraits,” he explained. He was quiet for a second, and Zuko looked back over at him to find Yaozu carefully considering his face. “I wouldn’t mind doing your portrait some time.”
“Oh?” Zuko wracked his mind, trying to remember the name of the artist who usually painted the royal portraits.
“Yeah,” Yaozu continued. He scooted closer, and one hand reached up to cup the side of Zuko’s face. Zuko ignored it and kept trying to remember the name. “You have great bone structure,” Yaozu explained, running a thumb across his cheekbone, “and beautiful eyes,” he gazed deeply into them, as if searching for something, “and soft lips.”
Before Zuko realized what was happening, Yaozu was inches from his face, then just a hair’s width away, and then suddenly his lips were on his own and Zuko’s brain was short-circuiting and he wasn’t sure what was going on or what to do about it.
Huang. That was the man who did the royal portraits.
Zuko pulled away from the kiss, perhaps a little too violently, and stood. He took a few steps backwards for good measure. His fingers raised to his lips, rubbing against them as if he could erase the feeling of someone else on his mouth.
“I’m sorry!” Yaozu jumped up as well, but made no move to come closer. Zuko was grateful. “I must have misread the situation.”
“Yes,” Zuko said carefully, “you did.” He opened and closed his mouth several times, fumbling over his words. “What did I—How do—Why?”
“Please accept my apologies, My Lord,” Yaozu said, dropping to the floor into a deep bow. Zuko recognized panic in his expression when he looked back up. “My mother seemed to think you would be interested, but I should have—”
“Your mother?”
“Yes,” Yaozu said quietly. “Jinghua? She’s one of your advisors. I thought you knew.”
Zuko felt a part of himself split open, and he froze in the hopes that if he didn’t move a muscle, he would be fine. But Yaozu was still afraid, still crouching beneath him on the floor.
“Please leave.” His voice was barely above a whisper, and he fought to keep any anger out of it. It wasn’t Yaozu’s fault, and he had been helpful and kind all night up until that point. He didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of this.
Yaozu rose quickly from the floor and backed away. It looked like he might’ve said something further, but one more intense look from the Fire Lord sent the man skittering away.
Finally alone, Zuko wasn’t actually sure what to do with himself. A deep frustration boiled in his stomach, churning away, and he thought for a moment he might actually throw up. Swallowing down the nausea, he started to pace the room. The anger filled him with momentum, but he didn’t think it was the kind that firebending could solve. It didn’t feel like a ball of energy inside of him waiting to be blasted out from his fists. It was more than that.
His body was vibrating and his heart was thrumming hard in his chest and his breath was coming too fast and suddenly there was a knot in his throat and Zuko was choking back a sob. He covered his mouth to stifle the noise, but nothing could stop the tears from falling down his cheeks.
Why couldn’t they just leave him alone?
He knew what he was supposed to do. He knew what the whole nation expected of him. It was simple, and every Fire Lord before him had no trouble with it. So why was it so hard for him? Why did it feel like trying to climb a mountain without any limbs? Zuko hugged himself around the middle and wished he had someone who understood.
Then he realize that, even if no one could understand, he did know someone who would listen without judgement.
Zuko sat down at his desk and pulled out a clean sheet of paper. His hand was trembling so much he had to start the letter a few times over just so it was legible.
He wrote about all of the pressure his advisors had been putting on him, especially in the past few weeks. He wrote about all of his attempts to avoid it, but couldn’t quite find the words to articulate why he was doing so. He tried anyway, writing about how the thought of being with someone, romantically or otherwise, was overwhelming in a way he didn’t think he’d ever want to pursue. He wrote about how he knew he needed an heir, and confessed that he truly did want one. He wanted the opportunity to right the wrongs his own father put in place, and Zuko felt like he was ready for that. In some strange way, everything that had happened to him as a child set him up to know exactly how he would and wouldn’t parent his own. But the process of getting there, of settling down into a relationship, made him feel ill. He thought he must certainly be the most selfish, irresponsible Fire Lord in the Nation’s history.
He wrote and wrote and wrote, pouring all his thoughts onto the paper. At a few different parts his frustration got to be too much and his hand pressed too hard, leaving large inkblots in the middle of the page. He ignored it and continued on until he had cried himself out and had written everything he wanted to say.
With a sore throat and empty chest, Zuko rolled up the letter, addressed it, and sent it out. Exhausted, he crawled into bed and fell into a restless sleep.
Zuko felt absolutely miserable in the interim of waiting for the return letter. He avoided pretty much everyone he possibly could, rescheduling meetings in favor of tiptoeing around in the shadows of the palace or sitting huddled, by himself, at the turtleduck pond.
Here, fingers dipped just slightly in the warm water, he felt incredibly alone.
As if sensing his distress, a trio of turtleducklings swam up to him and circled his hand.
“No snacks today, sorry,” he muttered. He hadn’t wanted to risk trying to sneak into the kitchen. Still, the small creatures poked at his hand lightly, and they allowed him to scratch each of their fuzzy heads before swimming away.
His heart felt a little lighter as he returned to his room. He found a satchel of scrolls waiting for him on his desk, and he opened it to find proposals, invitations, and drafts. But there, at the bottom of the bag, sat a scroll different from the rest, carefully tied together with a ribbon. He grabbed it and abandoned the rest of the pile, heading straight for his bed.
Zuko sat on the edge and bit his lip, suddenly nervous.
But no, he knew there would be no judgement. He knew that for certain.
With a deep breath, he untied the ribbon and opened the letter.
Dearest Nephew,
This will not come as a surprise, but I believe you could benefit from a nice, warm cup of tea. I know the palace is well-stocked and capable, but I have still sent a shipment of my own blend of jasmine tea which should arrive sometime in the next few weeks. I hope you still remember how to prepare it the way I taught you—please brew yourself a cup and think of me, will you?
It seems that you are filled with a kind of turmoil I haven’t known you to feel since you were a young boy. You have grown so much over the years, and it saddens me to know you are feeling so alone and burdened. As I was with you all those years ago when you struggled, I am here with you now. I always will be. You are not alone, and you never will be so long as I am with you, in this plane or the next.
I know you do not remember her, because she passed long before you were born and I unfortunately neglected too often the task of sharing our stories, but I once had a wife. Describing what it felt like to love her seems like an impossible task. Perhaps I struggle with it as much as you seem to struggle finding the words to describe your own feelings. So often, words fail to paint the perfect picture. That doesn’t mean what we are feeling isn’t real, though.
If you recall, for much of his life I raised Lu Ten on my own. I am sure his mother was there, in some respect, watching over us and guiding us, but as far as the physical world is concerned it was just the two of us. It was not always easy, but I believe that we got along just fine. And of course there is you, who I did not father, but consider my own. Family comes in many forms.
I implore you to remember everything you have done for your Nation since taking the throne. There is not a single life you have not touched and changed for the better. I see people of every nation in my tea shop, and there are more smiles and joyful stories than I can count. None of this would have happened without you. I know your heart, Zuko. You are not selfish. Your feelings are not irresponsible.
Someday, you will be a wonderful father. There is no doubt in my mind that you will love any child with your whole heart, and that child will grow up knowing they have the support of their father—and their great uncle.
With love,
Uncle Iroh
Zuko pored over the words again and again, analyzing each sentence like his life depended on it. With each read-through his heart grew lighter, like there was a weight lifting from his chest.
He remembered, as a child, not even thinking twice about his Uncle and Lu Ten. There hadn’t been a mother in the picture that he knew of, but it had never occurred to him to think it was strange. If anything, Zuko envied his cousin for having a father like Iroh. He was more than enough, even compared to Ozai and Ursa.
Zuko hoped that maybe he, too, would be enough for his child.
Things happened rather quickly after that. Zuko first set to work studying the law to ensure what he wanted to do was even technically legal. He was prepared to fight for it, to change the law if need be, but that didn’t seem to be necessary. Nowhere in any legal texts did it stipulate that the Fire Lord had to marry. All he could find were documents specifying lines of succession, including, first and foremost, a blood heir.
That was where it became a little tricky, but Zuko was determined to make it work.
He made his proposal to his advisors, and as he expected, most of them were baffled and staunchly against the idea. The Fire Lord was supposed to be the symbol of the Nation, a picture-perfect version of its strength and dignity, and to take this path would be foolish.
“Are you saying,” Zuko replied, his voice even and authoritative, “there is no dignity in fatherhood? No strength in choosing an unconventional path?” He raised from his seat now and stared at each member of his council, conviction running through his veins. “Not too long ago I stood up against an authoritarian power that controlled our Nation for over a century, breaking tradition and changing the Fire Nation for the better.” He clasped his hands behind his back and looked around. “Are you saying that was a foolish decision?”
After that, he began his search for someone to carry his child. It was awkward and uncomfortable and the more he thought about it the more Zuko was overcome with embarrassment, but it was a necessary part of the process. He only briefly considered people he knew closely before deciding that was absolutely off the table, though not before word had quickly spread amongst royal families and he received an offer from Lady Toph Beifong herself offering to do it for a humble 500 million yuans and the right to name the child Rocky. He politely declined.
It would need to be a stranger, but someone trustworthy. He had the means to compensate whoever it was thoroughly, but had to ensure the money would be well-spent—that this person wouldn’t flake out or seek anything further.
The process was complicated and exhausting, and he grew tired of listening to Jinghua list off potential women for him to copulate with, regardless of how professional they tried to keep it. Eventually, he insisted the task be done by himself, and only himself. He stole away to his room with a satchel of scrolls and set them in a corner, not having any intention of reading one more name on the long list of possible mothers.
Something about this felt wrong—something besides having to go through the process of actually impregnating a stranger.
Zuko glanced at his bedside table. In the top drawer sat the letter his Uncle had sent him that set this all in motion. He had the whole thing memorized.
And of course there is you, who I did not father, but consider my own.
Sure, they were related, but he wasn’t a direct descendant. Zuko still loved his Uncle like a father, and his Uncle loved him like a son. It didn’t matter that Iroh hadn’t produced Zuko.
So why should that sort of thing matter now?
Feeling perhaps a bit impulsive, Zuko grabbed a cloak from his wardrobe and snuck out a side door from his chambers. A guard caught him trying to slip away in the shadows, so he agreed to let her accompany him so long as it was only her. They left the palace, Zuko with his hood pulled up to cover his face and the guard trailing behind him at a distance to not draw attention.
The Caldera orphanage was a small building on the outskirts of the city, tucked away from the rest of the population. He remembered visiting once, when he first took the throne, to familiarize himself with all aspects of his Nation.
Zuko knocked, and when a woman answered the door he lowered his hood. He was positive he’d never seen so many emotions pass over a person’s face in such a short time. Shock, fear, confusion, suspicion, and, finally, delight.
“My Lord,” she greeted, inviting him inside. “We are honored by your visit.”
She gave him a tour of the facilities, and as they roamed around the building he slowly recalled his visit all those years ago. It didn’t seem as if anything had changed. His foot caught on a cracked tile and he stumbled a bit. The woman apologized profusely for the disarray, but he assured her it was fine. Glancing around, he noticed that the building did look more run-down than he remembered, with chipped paint on the walls and areas of the ceiling crumbling away. He set the thought aside as they continued.
Children seemed to appear out of nowhere, but most of them shyly ducked away behind doors when they noticed a stranger roaming around. Several poked and pulled at his cloak, and when he looked down at them they stared back with wide eyes and open mouths. So they knew who their Fire Lord was, then.
He tried to give his friendliest smile to each of them, but could feel it was awkward, maybe even scary. One particularly young boy started crying, running off to another room.
“Don’t mind him,” the woman soothed, shaking her head. “He’s like that with everyone.”
Zuko wasn’t so sure. Maybe he wasn’t actually cut out for this. He had been so confident in his abilities to be a father simply because he wouldn’t treat a child the way Ozai had. But how would he treat his child? Why did he feel so awkward?
Just then, a young woman came into the room, looking dead on her feet. She held a small, fussy bundle in her arms, rocking it gently.
“Daiyu, please, will you take her?”
The woman who had been giving Zuko a tour—Daiyu— looked at him apologetically, then turned her attention to the young woman.
“I am in the middle of showing the Fire Lord around, Bao.” Her tone was polite, but there was an underlying tension that made even Zuko feel reprimanded.
Bao looked at Zuko, and with her this close to him he could see dark circles under her eyes and frizzy bits of hair coming out of her bun. She looked exhausted, and it took her a moment to process Daiyu’s words and the man standing in front of her.
“Oh,” she mumbled, then her eyes widened suddenly. “Oh!” At the outburst, the baby in her arms cried out, wiggling around. “I am so sorry, Your Majesty,” she exclaimed, looking close to tears.
“That’s alright,” he said, a bit aloofly. His attention was turned to the infant in Bao’s arms. She was small and pale, her voice quiet as she cried out. “Is she alright?” He stepped forward to get a closer look.
“She’s…” Bao trailed off.
“She was born too early,” Daiyu continued. “She’s just very weak.”
“May I?” Zuko asked before even thinking about it. Bao looked surprised, but seemed happy to hand over the bundle. She helped him adjust his arms so he was holding her comfortably.
Zuko had seen actual, real-life dragons breathe rainbow-colored flames into a brilliant spiral around himself and the Avatar, but he knew with absolute certainty that this baby was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life.
He stroked a thumb across her cheek and furrowed his brow at how cold her skin was. With the most care he could possibly manage, he gently heated her blanket, calling on the control his Uncle had taught him while showing him how to make tea. Almost immediately, the baby in his arms stopped whining, instead letting out a soft, contented sigh.
Bao huffed out an incredulous laugh. “Would you look at that?”
Zuko smiled, trying very hard to ignore the knot forming in his throat. He swallowed it down. “Does she belong to anyone?” His voice was quiet, hopeful.
“No,” Daiyu answered just as softly. “Her mother died during birth.”
Zuko let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I’d like to take her,” he said. “If you’ll allow it.”
The room was silent for a moment as Bao and Daiyu shared a look. Finally, Daiyu stepped forward, a careful smile on her face. “Are you sure, My Lord? I don’t mean to be blunt, but she is very sick. Her chances are… slim.”
Zuko ran his fingers through the thick shock of hair on the infant’s head, noting how much softer it was than he expected. She was so small in his arms, and when he pressed a finger to her hand she gripped back feebly. She was weak and tiny and fragile. Lucky to be born at all.
Yes, he was sure.
Zuko left with the baby, instructing the women to just send any necessary paperwork to the palace. He knew he wasn’t supposed to just take her like that, but also knew they weren’t going to tell their Fire Lord not to. He was taking advantage, but every time he glanced at the bundle in his arms, he couldn’t bring himself to care.
In any case, a few days later he gladly sent the paperwork back to the orphanage, along with a sizeable donation and a heap of gratitude.
As it turned out, the women had been correct. Izumi—he named her within an hour of bringing her home—was incredibly sick. She needed constant care, so he called in the royal physicians and instructed them to do anything that was necessary to keep her alive and healthy.
For several days he was in and out of her designated room of the medical wing, leaving only when the doctors pleaded with him to wait outside. While he waited, Zuko sent letters to everyone he could think of, explaining the news and trying his best to keep his worry from littering the pages. He wished this could be the exciting announcement he wanted it to be, but the fear of losing his little girl right after he got her was overwhelming.
His advisors were furious. They had spent so long searching for a perfect mother, and he had gone behind their back and adopted a random orphan of unknown lineage.
“An heir must have royal blood! Who knows where that thing even came from?”
And… okay. Zuko was sleep-deprived and stressed and very much not in control of his own emotions. What followed was probably a tad extreme. He responded with unadulterated rage, screaming at the top of his lungs and threatening jobs and livelihoods, even throwing in a fair amount of self-indulgent name-calling. But he felt that his fury was justified. That was his daughter.
Besides, his bloodline hadn’t been blessed for generations, and in fact had been recently filled with so much hatred and immorality that he thought it about time for new blood to have a chance at righting some of the Nation’s wrongs. He told them as much, and asserted that anyone who disagreed was welcome to challenge him to an Agni Kai, during which he promised not to hold back.
He banned all of his advisors from visiting the medical wing of the palace until further notice, making sure to remain there so that they didn’t have access to him. Perhaps it was irresponsible, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was making sure Izumi was okay.
For two weeks straight, Zuko felt like he was living on a precipice. For two weeks, he remained by Izumi’s side as doctors passively worked around him. They avoided his gaze more often than not, which he thought wasn’t very promising. Izumi didn’t seem to be getting any better, and he feared that any moment could be his last moment as a father.
Aang and Katara were the first to arrive. He hadn’t even invited them, but he was eternally grateful that they had shown up. He had been feeling so alone and helpless, and seeing some familiar faces raised his spirits despite the occasion.
He filled them in and the couple took in the sight of little Izumi from a respectful distance. Aang congratulated him, hugging him so hard Zuko wanted to cry.
He actually did start crying when Katara took his hands and offered to help.
Izumi started getting better after that. Zuko wasn’t sure what Katara did, and he watched her bend glowing water over his baby with intense anxiety, but whatever she did seemed to work. He watched his daughter as color finally appeared on her cheeks, and when her eyes opened and she looked at him with vigor, Zuko grinned from ear to ear and thanked Agni.
Sokka showed up a couple days later, full of bright smiles and enthusiastic humor. He thought the adoption story was hilarious, and refused to refer to it as anything but “when Zuko just waltzed into an orphanage and stole a baby.” He also kept asking at what age it would be appropriate for the baby to start learning how to throw a boomerang, to which Zuko replied every time with a definite and resounding “Never.”
Later that night Sokka pulled him aside and gave him a box wrapped in a glossy ribbon. Zuko opened it to find a tiny, fur-lined parka.
“I know it’s too hot for her to wear here,” Sokka explained, “but she can wear it when you two visit me at the South Pole.”
Zuko nodded, walking the box over to a free table to set it down. Mostly, he was using that as an excuse to turn away from Sokka and wipe tears from his eyes. He composed himself and walked back to the Water Tribesman, but Sokka was looking at him in a way that said he understood. They embraced each other tightly, Zuko letting out a soft sigh.
Toph was next to appear, barging in and going straight for Zuko. She punched him in the arm, definitely leaving a bruise, and grumbled about how unfortunate it was that he turned down her offer. “Our baby would have been unstoppable, Sparky,” she stated. Behind her, Aang choked out a surprised squawk.
She told Zuko that Izumi was the prettiest baby she had ever seen, and he almost fell for it. Still, he caught her standing by the baby when no one else was paying attention. She reached out with a hesitant hand and Izumi grabbed her, squeezing tightly. A smile played at the edge of Toph’s lips, so subtle it would have been missed by anyone else. But Zuko saw it.
Izumi was finally well enough to leave the medical wing, much to everyone’s relief. They migrated to Zuko’s bedroom, and Toph and Sokka immediately fell asleep sprawled across his giant bed. Aang and Katara stayed awake longer, but after a while they sat on the edge of the bed beside Zuko, and before they knew it they were lying down and passed out.
Zuko couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the peacefully sleeping bundle in his arms, afraid that if he looked away for even a second she might vanish. It felt unreal, somehow. He was a father. He was a father. He had a daughter snuggled in his arms, and he had absolutely no idea what he was doing.
A soft knock at his door pulled his attention away, and Zuko wasn’t in control of himself enough to keep from grinning like an idiot.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” his Uncle whispered, coming into the room with purposeful, quiet steps.
“Of course not,” Zuko breathed. He proudly tilted his arms to show off his daughter, searching his Uncle’s eyes for approval. He found that, and so much more.
“Oh, she is perfect,” his Uncle murmured. Zuko could only nod in response, a familiar burn growing behind his eyes. Agni, he was crying so much lately. As if sensing his impending emotional outburst, Iroh reached an arm around Zuko and pulled him close.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Zuko mumbled, resting his head on his Uncle’s shoulder.
“I told you,” he replied, “I will always be here for you.” A long minute of silence filled the room, and Zuko had nearly drifted off when his Uncle’s voice pulled him back to the present. “You know, Nephew, you kept saying you felt so alone. It appears that you have more people who love you than you know.”
Zuko lifted his head and looked behind him at the array of friends passed out on his bed, exhausted from keeping him company as his daughter recovered. He looked at the man beside him, who raised him like a father should have. He looked at the baby in his arms, who he knew he’d do anything for.
Family comes in many forms.
“Yeah,” Zuko choked out. “I guess I do.”
“Here, let me take her. You need to rest,” Iroh offered, taking Izumi from his arms before waiting for an answer. He felt weird without her weight in his arms, but he yawned without meaning to and knew he needed to sleep. Besides, if there was anyone in the world he trusted to keep his daughter safe, it was his Uncle.
Zuko nodded and sluggishly crawled over on the bed to curl up in the free space between his friends—his family. He drifted off, feeling calm, fortunate, and less alone than he had in a very long time.