Chapter Text
The Wani was sailing on the sea beneath a sunny day, moving northwards. Despite the fruitless search ever since the discovery of the Avatar, worsened by the presence of the mysterious Elsa, the crew's mood was better than some weeks ago.
On the bridge, Zuko didn't share the mood of his crew or uncle, focused as he was on his training. The young prince was determined to achieve his destiny and his past encounters with the Avatar and his friends, especially Elsa, made him realize he was out of her league and that he needed to be more powerful, but also smarter, leading him to take further note of his uncle's advices, notably on the importance of breath. The need for training had never been so strong as his wound in the leg had hindered him in his endeavour. And now that the pain was starting to fade away, he wanted to erase the delay it provoked and to reach out as quickly as possible to new levels in his firebending.
As he was preparing himself, his thoughts dwelt again on how he had been able to achieve his mission thanks to the bounty huntress. If it weren't for that snowy freak or the Avatar's companions screwing things, he would have captured his target without Elsa stopping him. Inhaling deeply, he rolled his shoulders, testing the range of motion in his injured leg. The wound still throbbed with each movement, but it was manageable now, no longer the sharp and debilitating pain that had plagued him for days.
He positioned himself in the center of the bridge's observation deck, away from the crew's daily activities below. The rhythmic sound of the ship cutting through the waves provided a steady backdrop as he began his forms, each movement deliberate and controlled despite the lingering stiffness in his leg.
Breathe, he reminded himself, echoing his uncle's countless lessons. Fire comes from the breath.
But as he moved through the familiar patterns, his mind wandered back to that moment in the abbey. To Elsa's face when she'd looked at him, paralyzed and helpless on the ground. There had been no triumph in her expression, no satisfaction at seeing her enemy brought low. Instead, there had been something else entirely.
Concern.
"Ridiculous," he muttered, shifting his weight and wincing as his leg protested. His father's voice echoed in his memory, sharp and unforgiving—Weakness is a disease that must be burned away.
Zuko straightened, pushing the doubt from his mind, and focused on making his moves more precise. He inhaled deeply, feeling the familiar warmth build in his core as he prepared to begin in earnest. Fire needed fuel, and that fuel came from within—from determination, from anger, from the burning need to prove himself worthy.
"Prince Zuko?" Lieutenant Jee's voice carried up from the main deck below. "Everything alright up there?"
The scarred prince glanced down to see his crew going about their duties, but he caught several of them stealing glances in his direction. Ever since the storm, their attitude toward him had shifted. The respect in their eyes was genuine now, earned rather than demanded by his royal blood.
"I'm fine, Lieutenant," Zuko called back, firmly though not as harshly as he used to. "Continue your duties."
Jee nodded and returned to overseeing the deck crew, but Zuko noticed the older man's expression remained thoughtful. His crew knew about his banishment now, understood the weight he carried, and somehow that knowledge had brought them closer rather than driving them apart.
Just like she said it would, a traitorous voice whispered in his mind—Elsa's voice, calm and understanding. "Have you really lost your honor? Or is it something you've had all along, just in a different way than you were taught?"
Zuko's jaw clenched as he moved into the next form, fire erupting from his fists in controlled bursts. Each flame was precise, focused, but beneath the surface, his emotions churned like a storm at sea.
She didn't understand. How could she? She wasn't Fire Nation. She hadn't grown up under the weight of a legacy that demanded perfection, under the scrutiny of a father whose approval seemed forever out of reach. She didn't know what it meant to carry the shame of banishment, to be marked as a failure for all to see.
And yet...
"Is this task truly worth your life?"
The question haunted him more than he cared to admit. Worth his life? Of course it was. This was his destiny, his path to redemption. His father had made that clear when he'd burned half his face and cast him out like a common criminal.
But then why did her words carry such weight? Why did they echo in his mind alongside his father's commands, creating a dissonance that threatened to tear him apart?
Zuko paused mid-form, breathing heavily. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the sea breeze, and his leg throbbed in protest of the sustained movement. He looked out over the endless expanse of water, searching for something—anything—that might give him clarity.
"Nephew?" Iroh's gentle voice carried from the ladder leading up to the observation deck. "May I join you?"
Zuko didn't turn around, but he nodded curtly. "Of course, uncle."
The Dragon of the West moved on the bridge with surprising grace for his age, carrying a steaming cup of tea that somehow hadn't spilled a drop during his ascent. He settled himself on a nearby crate, sipping his tea and watching Zuko with patient eyes.
"Your forms are improving," Iroh observed after a moment. "More controlled than before. You're learning to channel your emotions rather than simply unleashing them."
"I have to be better," Zuko replied, not meeting his uncle's gaze. "Stronger. Smarter. The Avatar's companions are more formidable than I anticipated, and she..." He trailed off, unwilling to voice the thoughts that plagued him.
"Ah, Lady Elsa," Iroh said as if reading his nephew's mind. "She still troubles you, doesn't she?"
Zuko's hands clenched into fists, small flames dancing around his knuckles. "She's an obstacle. Nothing more."
"Is she?" Iroh's voice remained maddeningly calm. "Or is she perhaps something else entirely? A mirror, perhaps, reflecting truths you're not yet ready to see?"
"Don't." The word came out as a growl, and Zuko finally turned to face his uncle, golden eyes blazing with frustration. "Don't turn this into one of your philosophical lessons, Uncle. She's protecting the Avatar. She's standing in the way of my destiny. That makes her my enemy."
Iroh stroked his beard thoughtfully. "And yet, she could have killed you when you were helpless. She could have left you trapped in that place where you were in a predicament. Instead, she chose mercy. I think that she would have shared tea with you in other circumstances."
"Uncle! This is no time for your jests," Zuko retorted, flushing red, both embarrassed and irritated.
"Ah! But there is always time for good tea and for good jest," the old man replied calmly and a smile. "And our lady friend isn't like any of the people our Nation faced. Why do you think that is?"
The question hit too close to home, stirring up the very doubts Zuko was trying to suppress. He turned away, resuming his forms with more aggression than before, fire erupting from his movements in sharp, angry bursts.
"Because she's weak," he said, but the words felt hollow even to his own ears. "She doesn't understand what it means to do what's necessary."
"Or," Iroh suggested gently, "because she understands something about strength that you have yet to learn."
Zuko spun around, fury written across his scarred features. "What could she possibly understand about strength? About sacrifice? She's lived a privileged life, Uncle. She doesn't know what it's like to—"
He stopped abruptly, realizing how much his voice had risen. Below, several crew members had paused in their work to glance up at the bridge, though they quickly averted their eyes when they saw their prince's expression.
"I know what it's like to be afraid of your own power," Elsa's voice echoed in his memory, soft but haunted. "To hurt people you care about despite your best intentions."
The memory struck him like a physical blow, and suddenly he could see her face again—not the confident, controlled mask she wore in battle, but the vulnerability she'd shown in those brief moments when her guard was down. There had been pain there, deep and familiar. The kind of pain that came from carrying burdens too heavy for one person to bear.
Just like me, he thought and immediately hated himself for the comparison.
"She's nothing like me," he said aloud, but the words lacked conviction.
Iroh’s brows furrowed in intrigue at his nephew’s reaction. He set down his teacup and rose slowly, approaching his nephew with careful steps. "Prince Zuko, may I ask you something?"
Zuko didn't respond, but he didn't walk away either, which Iroh took as permission to continue.
"When you look at Lady Elsa, what do you see?"
The question was simple, but the answer was anything but. Zuko found himself thinking of ice and fire, of graceful movements that reminded him of his mother's gentle demeanor, and of power wielded with a control that would have made Azula jealous. He thought of blue eyes that saw too much, of questions that cut straight to the heart of his deepest fears.
"I see..." He paused, struggling to find the words. "I see someone who doesn't belong in this war. Someone who's too..." Compassionate. Understanding. Like Mother. "Too naive to understand what's at stake."
Iroh nodded slowly. "And yet, she chooses to fight. Not for conquest or glory, but to protect those she cares about. Tell me, nephew—is that not a form of honor worth respecting?"
The question hung in the air between them, weighted with implications that Zuko wasn't ready to examine. Instead, he turned back to his forms, moving through the familiar patterns with mechanical precision.
Your honor is not lost, Elsa's voice whispered in his mind. It's simply different from what you were taught to expect.
But his father's voice was there too, harsh and unforgiving. You are a prince of the Fire Nation. Act like one. Capture the Avatar and restore your honor, or remain forever shamed.
The two voices warred in his head, creating a cacophony of doubt and determination that threatened to tear him apart. Zuko pushed harder, his forms becoming more aggressive, fire erupting from his fists in wild, uncontrolled bursts.
"Easy, nephew," Iroh warned, stepping back as a particularly large flame singed the air near his beard. "Remember—fire is controlled, guided, not simply unleashed."
Zuko forced himself to slow down, to breathe, to center his thoughts on the task at hand. But even as his forms became more controlled, the turmoil in his mind continued to rage.
The exiled prince straightened his spine, rolling his shoulders back as he found his center. The familiar weight of discipline settled over him like armor, and for the first time since beginning his practice, his movements flowed with true precision. His flames danced in controlled arcs, each strike deliberate and measured.
"Better," Iroh observed, nodding approvingly as he watched his nephew move through the ancient forms. "See how much more powerful your strikes become when you channel your emotions instead of being consumed by them?"
Zuko completed a particularly complex sequence, ending in a stance that would have made his old masters proud. Sweat dripped from his brow, but his breathing was steady and controlled. "I can feel the difference," he admitted, surprised by his own composure. "It's like... like the fire wants to cooperate instead of fighting me."
"Precisely!" Iroh's eyes crinkled with genuine pleasure. "Fire is not a tool to dominate, nephew. It is your partner in this dance. But perhaps," he added, glancing meaningfully at Zuko's still-favoring leg, "you should take a rest before training with your men this afternoon. Your body needs time to heal properly."
Zuko's jaw tightened instinctively at the suggestion of weakness, but he caught himself before the familiar surge of anger could take hold. The past few days had taught him painful lessons about the cost of pushing too hard, too fast. "The crew needs to see their prince is strong," he said, though without the usual venom in his voice. "If I show weakness—"
"The crew respects strength, yes," Iroh interrupted gently, "but they also respect wisdom. And wisdom knows when to rest and when to fight. Besides," he added with a slight smile, "Lieutenant Jee has been managing the training rotations quite well in your absence. Your men trust you—all of them."
That gave Zuko pause. Since the storm, something had shifted in the way his crew looked at him. Gone were the barely concealed sneers and muttered complaints. Instead, he saw something he'd never expected to find among these hardened soldiers: respect. Real respect, earned not through fear or birthright, but through his actions when it mattered most.
"How is the leg feeling, truly?" Iroh asked, his tone shifting to one of genuine concern. "I know you've been trying to hide the pain, but I can see it in the way you move."
Zuko glanced down at his injured leg, flexing it experimentally. The sharp, stabbing pain had dulled to a persistent ache, and the stiffness was gradually improving. "Better," he admitted. "Still tender, but I can put my full weight on it without wanting to collapse."
"Good, good." Iroh's relief was evident, and he clasped his hands together with satisfaction. "Your body is healing as it should. Give it a few more days, and you'll be—"
A harsh screech cut through the afternoon air, sharp and piercing enough to make both men look up in alarm. Across the deck, crew members paused in their duties, hands shading their eyes against the sun as they searched the sky above.
"There," Iroh pointed toward the horizon, where a dark speck was growing larger by the second. "Messenger hawk."
Zuko's stomach clenched with sudden tension. Messenger hawks meant communication from the Fire Nation, something that had never happened since his banishment. He watched the bird's approach with growing unease, noting the powerful wingbeats that spoke of a long journey and urgent purpose.
The hawk circled once before diving down toward the ship, its talons extended as it aimed directly for Zuko. The prince held out his arm instinctively, wincing slightly as the bird's claws found purchase on his forearm guard. Up close, he could see the exhaustion in the creature's dark eyes, the way its feathers were ruffled from a long flight.
"Easy," Zuko murmured to the hawk as it settled on his arm, noting the red ribbon attached to the message canister on its back. Red meant high priority—possibly even direct from the Fire Lord himself. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for the canister, a mixture of hope and dread churning in his stomach.
Iroh stepped closer, his expression carefully neutral but with concern flickering in his golden eyes. "What news brings such urgency, I wonder?"
Lieutenant Jee's boots rang against the metal deck as he approached from the lower levels, drawn by the commotion. The older officer's weathered face showed curiosity mixed with the wariness that came from years of military service. "Prince Zuko? Is everything alright?"
The exiled prince looked between his uncle and his lieutenant, both waiting patiently for him to act. The canister felt heavier than it should in his hands, weighted with possibilities both terrible and wonderful. "I..." He hesitated, then straightened his shoulders with resolve. "I should read this."
"Of course," Iroh said softly, though his eyes never left his nephew's face. "Take your time."
With fingers that only barely shook, Zuko unscrewed the canister and withdrew the scroll within. The Fire Nation seal was unmistakable, pressed deep into red wax, and below it...
His father's personal seal.
Zuko's breath caught in his throat. Direct communication from Fire Lord Ozai had been unthinkable ever since his banishment. He couldn’t believe it. Full of apprehension and longing, He broke the seal with reverential care and unrolled the parchment, his eyes scanning the formal script with growing intensity.
As he read, his expression shifted from hope to confusion to something far more complex. The blood drained from his face, then rushed back in a wave of conflicted emotion. His grip on the scroll tightened until his knuckles went white.
A waterbender of extraordinary and singular power now walks beside the Avatar.
The words seemed to burn themselves into his vision. His father knew about Elsa. Somehow, he had finally learned of her existence and her capabilities. And he wanted intelligence—detailed intelligence—about her abilities and limitations.
Though exile yet marks your name, you are bound by blood to the Fire Nation.
The familiar mixture of shame and desperate hope crashed over him like a wave. His father was acknowledging him, speaking to him directly for the first time in three years.
See this as another rare opportunity to redeem yourselves in the eyes of your people—and in mine.
Zuko's hands began to shake in earnest now, the scroll trembling in his grip. This was it—the chance he'd been waiting for. Not just to capture the Avatar, but to provide valuable intelligence that could help the Fire Nation win the war. His father would have to acknowledge his worth, his loyalty, and his value as a son and a prince.
But Elsa's face flashed in his mind—not the composed witch who had faced him in battle with grace and strength, but the vulnerable young woman who had spoken of fear and understanding. The one who had shown him mercy when she could have killed him, who had spoken of honor as something more complex than simple obedience.
Do not disappoint me.
The final line hit him like a physical blow, carrying with it the weight of every failure, every harsh word, every disappointed look from the man whose approval he craved more than anything in the world.
His thoughts spiraled into chaos, hope, and duty warring with something deeper—something that felt dangerously like doubt.
Iroh watched his nephew's face cycle through emotions like flames in a windstorm. The older man's expression grew increasingly concerned as he witnessed the familiar pattern of hope and desperation that always crossed his nephew's mind when it concerned his father. Lieutenant Jee stepped closer, his weathered features creased with worry.
"Prince Zuko?" Jee's voice carried the careful respect that had replaced his former skepticism. "What news from the Fire Nation?"
Zuko looked up sharply as if suddenly remembering where he was. His golden eyes were wide, almost frantic, and he clutched the scroll against his chest like a lifeline. "I... it's..." His voice cracked slightly, full of emotion, hope and uncertainty. He swallowed hard before trying again. "My father has written to me."
The effect of those words was immediate. Jee's eyebrows shot up in surprise, while a complex mix of emotions flickered across Iroh's face—intrigue predominating, but tinged with what might have been resignation or even concern.
"The Fire Lord himself?" Jee's tone held barely concealed amazement.
"Yes," Zuko whispered, his voice small and torn between hope and hesitation.
Iroh stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on his nephew's shoulder. The touch seemed to ground Zuko somewhat, though his breathing remained shallow and quick.
"Nephew," he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of years and hard-won wisdom, "perhaps we should discuss this matter privately."
Zuko looked between his uncle and lieutenant, aware of the crew members who had begun to gather at a respectful distance, their duties temporarily forgotten in the face of such unprecedented news. The messenger hawk shifted restlessly on his arm, its dark eyes reflecting exhaustion that Zuko felt echoing in his own bones.
"Lieutenant Jee," Iroh said as he turned to look at the officer, "perhaps you could see to the crew? Ensure they resume their duties while the Prince and I discuss this matter privately."
Jee's eyes darted between the scroll in Zuko's white-knuckled grip and Iroh's calm but commanding presence. Years of military discipline warred with curiosity in his expression, but ultimately, respect won out. "Of course, General," he said, offering a sharp bow. "Prince Zuko, if... if there's anything the crew should know..."
"You'll be informed if necessary," the young prince managed, his voice tight with the effort of maintaining control. The lieutenant's concern was genuine, he realized—not born of fear or obligation, but of actual care for his prince's wellbeing. The revelation was both warming and overwhelming and a reminder of the shift that had occurred since the storm.
Jee nodded once more, then turned toward the crew members who had gathered nearby. "You heard the General and our Prince," he called out, his voice carrying the authority of command. "Back to your duties. Be ready for training rotation."
As the crew dispersed with the efficient movements of well-trained soldiers, Zuko watched them go with a mixture of gratitude and anxiety. These men, who had once barely tolerated his presence, now looked to him with something approaching loyalty. The responsibility of that trust felt heavier than the scroll in his hands.
"Come," Iroh said softly, his hand still resting on Zuko's shoulder. "Let us speak inside, away from curious ears."
For a moment, Zuko didn't respond, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the horizon. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Yes... yes, we should." His voice was thick with an emotion he couldn't quite name—fear, hope, desperation, all tangled together.
Iroh guided him toward the command tower, noting how his nephew's injured leg seemed forgotten in his current state of distress. The older man had seen this pattern before—the way any contact with Ozai could reduce his strong, capable nephew to the scared, desperate boy he'd once been.
They climbed the stairs to the bridge in silence, Zuko's movements mechanical and distant. The familiar space—with its panoramic windows and simple navigation equipment—had always been a place of relative calm for him. But now it felt suffocating as if the walls were closing in around his conflicted thoughts.
Once inside, Iroh carefully closed the door behind them, sealing them away from the crew's prying eyes and ears. He turned to find Zuko standing in the center of the room, still clutching the scroll, his golden eyes staring at nothing.
"Nephew," Iroh said gently, settling into one of the chairs near the navigation table. "May I read the message? Perhaps a fresh perspective might help clarify whatever has troubled you so deeply."
Zuko's head snapped up, his expression cycling rapidly between protective possessiveness and desperate need for guidance. The scroll remained pressed against his chest as if it were precious treasure—or a weapon that might turn on him.
For a short moment, the exiled prince hesitated. The he tended the scroll to Iroh who took it and unfolded to read it. He watched with expectancy and tension his uncle's eyes scan the formal script, noting every flicker of emotion that crossed the older man's weathered features.
Iroh read in silence, his expression growing increasingly troubled with each line. When he reached the end, he was quiet for a long moment, his fingers steepled before him as he absorbed the full implications of Ozai's words.
"An unexpected development," the old general commented. He then looked at Zuko. "Tell me, nephew—what do you see when you read these words?"
Zuko stared at his uncle, confusion mixing with the desperate hope that had been building in his chest. " Uncle, this is what we've been waiting for! Father is giving me another chance to prove myself, to show that I'm worthy of coming home. If I can provide information about Elsa's abilities, her weaknesses..."
He trailed off as he saw the expression on Iroh's face—patient, sad, and somehow disappointed. It was the same look his uncle wore when Zuko missed the deeper meaning of one of his lessons, but this felt far more serious than discussions of tea or strategy.
"You've told me countless times that Father loves me," Zuko continued, his voice rising with a mixture of desperation and accusation. "That he's proud of me, that he wants me to come home. Well, here's proof! He's reaching out to me, asking for my help—"
"Is he?" Iroh interrupted gently, his voice carrying a weight that made Zuko pause mid-sentence. The older man leaned forward, his amber eyes serious. "Nephew, read the message again. But this time, listen not to what you hope to hear, but to what is actually written."
Zuko's jaw tightened, and he grabbed the scroll, his golden eyes scanning the formal script once more. As he read, his father's voice seemed to echo in his mind, cold and commanding: Though exile yet marks your names... such bonds carry not only weight but obligation... the last remnants of honor left to reclaim.
"He's giving me a chance to redeem myself," the young prince insisted, but his voice had lost some of its earlier conviction. His fingers gripped the edges of the scroll until his knuckles turned white.
Iroh sighed deeply, rising from his chair and moving to stand beside his nephew. He placed a weathered hand on Zuko's shoulder, feeling the tension thrumming through the young man's frame.
"Nephew," he said softly, "I understand you hope for your Father to show care and attention to you. And while that may be true, he reaches out because he needs something from you." Iroh's voice grew even gentler as if delivering difficult news to a child. "Notice how he phrases it—'recent developments have brought to light a threat.' This is not the letter of a father concerned for his son's well-being. This is the command of a Fire Lord who has discovered a problem he cannot solve without you."
Zuko jerked away from his uncle's touch, spinning to face him with wild eyes. "But he could have asked Zhao or any of his other commanders! Instead, he chose me—his son!"
"He chose you," Iroh agreed, his voice heavy with sorrow, "because you are the only one who has encountered this young woman enough time due to her proximity to the Avatar. And he knows you would tell him everything out of love and duty, contrary to Zhao and his other generals, ."
The words hit Zuko like a physical blow. He staggered backward, one hand instinctively reaching for the navigation table to steady himself. His injured leg, forgotten in his emotional turmoil, suddenly reminded him of its presence with a sharp twinge of pain.
"No," he retorted, shaking his head violently. "No, you're wrong. He... he calls me his son in the letter. He acknowledges our blood bond—"
"He acknowledges it, sure, but is it love or obligation," Iroh corrected gently but firmly. The old general moved closer again, his expression infinitely sad.
Zuko's mouth opened and closed soundlessly, his mind racing through years of memories, searching desperately for even one instance of paternal care. The silence stretched between them like a chasm.
"Uncle," he finally broke silence, "Zhao knew about her too. He was obsessed with her, kept information about her abilities secret. We can’t be like him. If Father needs to know about Elsa's powers to protect the Fire Nation, then keeping that information from him would be..." He paused, swallowing hard. "It would be treason."
Iroh nodded slowly, understanding the web of conflicting loyalties that ensnared his nephew. "That is true. And yet, what information would we send? What does he know of her or not? What do we truly know of her capabilities that would seem relevant to him?"
Zuko turned back to face his uncle, his expression haunted. "We know she's not a waterbender. We know her powers are unlike anything we've seen before. We know she can freeze an entire prison in moments, create ice that doesn't melt even in volcanic heat, and that she..." He struggled with the words. "That she chose to spare me when she could have killed me."
"And do we tell your father that last detail?" Iroh asked quietly. "Do we inform him that this dangerous enemy showed mercy to his son? That she spoke to you with compassion rather than hatred?"
The color drained from Zuko's face. Those moments on Crescent Island, when Elsa had looked at him with something approaching understanding when she'd asked why he was chasing the Avatar with genuine curiosity rather than disdain—those moments had shaken something fundamental in his worldview.
"I can't think about that," he whispered, his hands clenching into fists. "I can't let her words... Father would see it as a weakness. As betrayal."
"Would he?" Iroh moved to pour himself tea from the small kettle he kept in the bridge, his movements deliberate and calming. "Or would he see it as an opportunity? A weakness he could exploit?"
The implications of that question hit Zuko like a physical blow. His legs gave out slightly, and he sank into the chair across from where his uncle had been sitting, staring at the scroll with new horror.
He then asserted himself and looked straight at his uncle, trying to be as firm as he could.
“I have to report,” he said. “This is another chance given to me.”
Iroh frowned but resignedly nodded to his nephew. “As you wish, nephew. But think wisely about what you'll do. The path you take from this moment will determine not just your fate, but the fate of many others."
Zuko glared at his uncle but didn’t speak out. As much as it sounded treasonous, the old man was right. They lied to the warden of the late prison rig of the Mo Ce Sea because they didn’t want to attract even more Zhao’s attention. Revealing how much they knew about Elsa would raise questions and his father being disappointed in his son for not having informed more quickly of the threat.
A part of the young prince also felt uneasy about revealing anything about Elsa, though he wasn’t sure why. Was it because it would be dishonorable to do so when she had shown him mercy in many occurrences? Was it because she reminded him a bit of his mother?
He inhaled deeply, trying to chase away the turmoil. He couldn’t afford to show weakness, not when his father required him to do his duty and when it could give him a chance to come closer to earning his love back.
“Uncle, can you leave? I need to meditate and to think what to reply to Father.”
Iroh looked at his nephew with some concern, before acquiescing. “Of course, nephew. Just know that regardless of your decision, I’ll be always by your side.”
Zuko looked at the old man and titled his head, unsure of how to respond him, even if deep inside, he appreciated the support and the fact his uncle would help him and wouldn’t hinder his choices or the Fire Nation, even if the thought sounded alien to him.
As the Dragon of the West took his leave, Zuko looked back at the scroll, thinking on how to respond his father. He couldn’t tell him about the fact he knew her for a while or the fact her powers were so extraordinary he wasn’t sure his father would believe him.
Inhaling once again, the exiled prince closed his eyes, trying to focus and ponder on what he could write back to his father, hoping he would do the right thing. But which right thing? And to who?
After a long moment of meditating, the exiled prince opened his eyes. He knew what he would write to his Father. Hopefully, he would honor his Father's request without revealing too much about Elsa or the treacherous thoughts that have thrived in his mind ever since the first encounter on Kyoshi Island.