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He’s being dressed for the ceremony when she comes to him. His bodyservants Chiro and Fan mill around, buckling here, fussing there, over the formal robes of the Fire Lord, adjusted for a young man who hasn’t yet reached his full height. His arms are raised and they’re lifting the final layer of armour over his head when he hears laughter and he knows, eyes closed, who it is.
“Lady Katara!” he hears Great Sage Keon exclaim. “You must not see the Fire Lord before you are both dressed; not on the day of your wedding!”
“I’m fully clothed, Keon,” Zuko bites out, because they have been watching his robing for at least twenty minutes: the underclothes, silken socks, breeches, undershirt, boots, gown, over-robe, and three out of four layers of ceremonial padded armour have all been hoisted into place. He couldn’t be more clothed if he tried.
“I don’t know, I think your honour’s showing there, Fire Lord.” Her voice has a warmth and slyness he’s come to know as her teasing – the teasing that had such a biting edge when he’d first come to them to teach, and had realised he had so much still to learn.
He learned so much from her, he thinks. He can feel that the final layer of armour is over his head, so he opens his eyes. She’s leaning against a pillar, far more insouciant than he ever sees her with Aang or Toph or even Sokka.
She’s also wearing his discarded robes, and waving her arms in the too-long sleeves at him in mockery, he assumes, of how ludicrous he looks right now.
The three Fire Sages who are standing vigil – because even getting dressed is a state occasion today – look at her in consternation. Great Sage Keon’s left eye is twitching. Shyu has apparently recovered from his surprise, by the way he smiles.
“Lady Katara,” Keon says, his voice strangled, “you have deliberately eluded the Fire Sages – ”
“They were watching me dress! It was weird!” Katara flares, turning on them, and Keon blinks. Shyu is hiding a smile, though, and Kaja’s face is impressively blank.
Zuko wants to chuckle. No would-be Fire Lady has ever interrupted a royal robing before. Nobody has laughed at it – and nobody has ever questioned its pointfulness.
“To ensure that your virtue is pure before the ceremony!” Keon protests. “Prince Iroh must have advised you of the proper procedures!”
Zuko is quite sure that Katara’s comportment sessions were little more than tea and gossip, but he would never implicate his uncle in such a way. Especially since Iroh agreed to undergo the meditation and fast that would permit him to perform the marriage ceremony himself. Zuko had never quite realised how much his uncle loved him until he agreed without reservation to give up drinking tea for the three days it took to inaugurate him as a Fire Sage.
Fire Sage Kaja adds, hastily, before anyone can comment on the implication that Katara’s virtue is wanting, “It is also to ensure you don’t carry any weapons, and that you are healthy and of sound mind to consent to marriage.”
“It’s ridiculous,” Katara says flatly, and seeing her look annoyed shouldn’t make him feel so warm inside.
He is happy, he realises, because she can and will laugh at him, and laugh with him. She’s so much more relaxed than she manages with their friends, because she mothers them – but she treats him as an equal. It warms him as much as the breath of fire, and it hurts, a little, too, because that equality was born from his power to cause her pain.
He distracts himself from the wistfulness of his mistakes. They’re marrying tonight, and that’s all that matters.
“The opinion of the Water Tribe is valued in this great matter,” he says, dryly, but rolls his eyes as Chiro ducks under his right arm to adjust his waistline, and Fan hovers by his side, fiddling with his largest left-hand shoulder-plate.
She bows, his robe falling away from her, and he glances up, definitely doesn’t see the way her breasts fill the pale shift she’s wearing underneath. “We are most pleased to offer our humble thoughts to his gracious majesty, the Fire Lord,” she says, and her eyes are sparkling, and he remembers why he fell in love with her.
“You are,” he intones with deliberate over-courteousness, “most unready for your rising unto the rank of Fire Lady.” Then he has to close his eyes again because a sash is being lifted over his head.
She pouts. “My costume is stupid.”
He opens his eyes again as he feels Chiro and Fan fussing at his outstretched up. “It’s the traditional dress of Water Tribe princesses, Katara,” he raises his eyebrow. “That, at least, isn’t my fault.”
“It’s not as bad as yours,” she allows, and Great Sage Keon looks like he’s going to ignite at her words, “but I still don’t want to wear it. And anyway, it’s not right.”
He stares at her, panicking that the royal dressmakers might have got something wrong, misinterpreted the beautiful illustrations somehow. “Not right? It took me weeks to find that book about Water Tribe ceremonial dress! And I know for a fact it was the only one to survive the war with all the paintings intact!”
She sighs. “We don’t have princesses in the South, Zuko,” she says, in a sing-song voice that suggests he’s missed the point. “So we don’t have a special costume.”
He foregoes his comeback because he’s enjoying the appalled expressions on the Fire Sages’ faces too much. Fan bows and steps back, and Zuko breathes a sigh of relief: his ordeal is nearly over. Just the final sash of yellow silk to go. “You’re marrying me in an hour, and then you’ll be a princess, and from the Water Tribe,” he says. “You don’t get to wear the Fire Lady robes until you’re crowned, so technically, until you are Fire Lady, the costume will be correct.” He doesn’t bother to reign in his smugness.
She looks amused – and piqued that she’s lost this round. “Surely that will make me a Princess of the Fire Nation?” He loves how much she enjoys these little games.
Zuko opens his mouth, and doesn’t know what to say. He suspects that he sees a smile on Chiro’s face as his servant tightens another hidden knot. He tries another tack: “Well, you’re the Ambassador for both the Northern and Southern Tribes, so you represent all of the Water Tribe customs.” He makes a note to have it added to her official list of titles on the scroll he will read out tomorrow morning, on the balcony overlooking the city. He wants to win this argument, and is willing to play dirty to do so. “Besides, if Arnook’s daughter was a princess, you should be, too.”
Katara can’t argue that one. She smiles at him, warmly, and he sees the mischievous twist that means she’s going to tease him. “You called me a peasant once. I’m not sure you’re allowed to marry a peasant.”
He loves her persistence. “You threatened to kill me. I’m glad we both changed our minds.”
Katara throws back her head and laughs.
Chiro coughs, politely, and bows very low. “The Fire Lord is ready,” he says, and steps back beside Fan.
“That looks heavy,” she says, sympathetically, stepping forwards. “And like a giant stag beetle.”
He rolls his eyes. “I suffer to look this beautiful.” And he moves towards her.
“Fire Lord,” Great Sage Keon interrupts. “It is improper for you to touch your bride when she is not fully clothed. There could be rumour of consummation prior to the ceremony, and questions asked about the legitimacy of any heirs.”
Zuko flushes. “There are five people watching us. We’re not going to do anything… marital.” He wants to bite his tongue when Katara snickers.
“Even so. There were two people watching Lady Katara, and yet, she is here. How did you elude Fire Sages Yian and Xhou?” he adds, and his tone is disapproving. She might be destined to be Fire Lady, but technically speaking, she doesn’t outrank him... yet.
She looks at the Great Sage like he’s stupid. “I’m a waterbending master who hid from the Fire Nation for three months... in Fire Nation Territory.”
Keon blinks, but continues smoothly, “My point is proven, nonetheless. It is necessary for us to stand vigil and attest that everything was done properly before the ceremony. So if Lady Katara would return and finish the robing...”
Zuko looks at Katara, expecting to see her looking annoyed with the courtly customs of his people, but instead, the glint in her sapphire eyes is downright wicked. “I’m sure Fire Lord Zuko can wait to see me in my silks until after we’re married… though I expect he’d prefer if I wore them for the wedding instead.” And she pulls off his old robes and dumps them back onto the floor.
By all the spirits, yes, he would rather she just wore the silk. He’d seen it in fittings: a close sheath of white that clung to her skin, with patterns of silver embroidery along the sleeves and at the deep, narrow neckline. The skirt fades through shades of blue, a masterwork of the dyer’s art, until the hem that brushes her toes is the cerulean of the ocean on a bright day.
She’s wearing it now, albeit with her old blue dress thrown on top of it. Even with the mismatch of shapes and materials the promise of that shift makes his mouth go dry. “Go and get dressed so we can get married,” he rasps, and she grins at him. He wasn’t supposed to have seen those fittings, and yet she’d invited him anyway. Incredible stealth skills have many uses – and now his mind is afire with what she’ll look like later, by candlelight, wearing nothing but a thin slip of silk.
“Since you asked so nicely…” she bows to him again, and this time he does look at her breasts, and doesn’t care that there are people watching. She looks up, as if a thought has struck her. “Hey, are you going to make me change mid-ceremony? I mean, there will only be ten minutes or so while I’m your wife and a princess, but not yet crowned as Fire Lady. That’s enough time to pull on something red.” She frowns. “I’m definitely not changing after the ceremony. I’m not taking off three rounds of silk and a fur-lined cloak to put on a get-up like yours for the sake of some obscure royal ritual.”
Great Sage Keon’s intake of breath sounds painful. Zuko smiles. “No. It’s one ceremony, one robing, one vigil. After all, we’ll be married once it’s done... and I hear the Fire Sages are keen for me to produce strong heirs.”
He doesn’t look at them. He doesn’t look at anything except her eyes, which are shining. “Good,” Katara says. And then, she swallows, and blushes, folding her arms under her breasts, and he wishes he couldn’t see how they’re straining the clothes she’s wearing.
“Great Sage! Great Sage!”
There’s a cry from outside and a frantic knocking at the door. Chiro opens it, and is nearly knocked down by Fire Sages Yian and Xhou, who sprint into the room, babbling, “Lady Katara – the future Fire Lady – she – ”
They catch sight of her, and freeze.
“All is well,” Keon says dryly. “We have found our wandering lion-turtle.”
Zuko coughs as the Fire Sages bow, looking confused. It would be unseemly of him to howl with laughter now.
As if nothing at all has happened, Katara continues, “In the Water Tribe… in the South… the men surround the igloo early in the morning, after the wedding, and try to break in, to catch the couple while they are... occupied.” Her voice is roundabout, and he wonders exactly what she’s asking. “What happens here? I mean… they’re watching us dress.” Her nose wrinkles, adorably, and Zuko sees the groups of Fire Sages exchanging looks. “Do they watch us undress, as well?”
Zuko coughs. “No! No,” he says, and glares from Keon to Xhou and Yian, who have the grace to look abashed. “After the ceremony, and the meal, we will be escorted to my chambers. They’ll leave us there. Surely Uncle told you that.”
Katara blushes. “Your uncle wanted to talk about baby names that day.”
“Allow me to explain our noble duty, my lady?” Shyu’s voice is soft, and his eyes are on Katara. “From the moment of the blessing this morning, to the time we take you from the feast this evening, the focus of our vigil is ensuring that nobody can contest the validity of the marriage ceremony. We do not even eat: the breath of fire sustains us until our task is done. At sunset, we bring you from the banquet hall and take you to the Fire Lord’s chambers. We will assist you with any difficult fastenings on your outer layers, and then we leave you. And lock the door.” He shoots his colleagues a look at that.
Zuko watches her face soften as the youngest Fire Sage chooses his words, and wonders about the day they met, when Aang first connected with Avatar Roku. Now, years later, Shyu’s continued humility is speaking to Katara where Keon’s pride only put her back up.
It crosses Zuko’s mind that she’s going to eat his court alive, and he can’t stop himself from smiling at the thought.
“Thank you, Fire Sage,” Katara is saying, quite formally. “I understand now. I wouldn’t wish for anyone to cast doubt on the validity of our marriage. Or,” she adds tartly, throwing a look at Keon, “on the respect that the Water Tribe has for the customs of the Fire Nation.” Keon looks mollified.
Zuko can’t help but ask, “Even when they’re stupid?” He’s childishly pleased to see the Great Fire Sage close his eyes.
“Even when they’re stupid,” Katara confirms, and her smile warms his veins the way the tug of the rising sun wakes his firebending every morning. “I mean, I agreed to marry you, didn’t I?”
In that moment, he wishes for nothing more than to have her in his arms; for the lengthy ceremony to have been and gone, for the feasting and the toasting to be over. To be alone with her, to unveil her layer by layer until there’s just the two of them and their love.
He swallows, glad of the elaborate vestments for the first time. Currently, they’re shielding him from anybody spotting the rise of his desire.
Anyone, that is, except his waterbending wife-to-be, whose talent for healing means she can feel the beat of his heart and pinpoint the pulse of his blood. She smiles at him, knowingly, and moves towards the door. “I should go.” She casts a look over her shoulder. “Fire Lord Zuko... I think you’ll enjoy watching me leave.”
She pulls off her old blue robe and throws it over her shoulder as, all unashamed, she swishes her way to the door.
“Yian, Xhou,” Keon says, crisply, and they spring into action, following her out – blocking his view.
Zuko hopes like hell that his face isn’t as hot as it feels, because that silk, all the shades of the ocean, really does outline every single curve. He closes his eyes as he hears the door click shut.
“The blessings,” Keon commands, and he hears Kaja begin the soft, rhythmic recitation. Even with his eyes closed, he can feel the fire in their hands rising and falling in time with their breaths.
“Only four hours until sunset, Fire Lord,” Shyu says, gently, before his voice joins his colleagues’ in the chant.
Zuko takes a breath, and opens his eyes. He’s never been very good at being patient.