Saved by some... some earth kingdom girl?

- - - - - -

This was bad. Really, really bad.

Zuko had no idea where he was, where the Avatar had escaped to, where his crew had gone, or why he was still sitting across from the earthbender girl who dragged him out of the river. Everything was a mess. He’d been hot on Team Avatar’s trail before their boat capsized—thanks to Katara and her infuriating waterbending—and his uncle, his soldiers, and all of his supplies had been swept away before he out. It was maddening how he always got so close to capturing Aang, sometimes even having him within reach, the taste of restored honor right there on his tongue... only for the Avatar to slip away again. Every escape was another blow to his pride, another reminder of how far he’d fallen.

Nobody else had as much to lose as Zuko. Zhao wasn’t banished. Zhao hadn’t been humiliated in front of the Fire Nation. Zhao hadn’t had his honor ripped away after one mistake. Yet he still strutted around like a peacock, sabotaging Zuko’s plans and rubbing every failure in his face. Meanwhile, Zuko’s entire life—his home, his title, his father’s approval—hung just out of reach. All he had to do was capture the Avatar. But no. Aang got away. And now Zuko was stranded on the side of some mountain with a random girl.

And for someone from a ruined Earth Kingdom village—someone whose people had suffered under Fire Nation occupation—you were being... surprisingly kind. Too kind. You’d pulled him from the river, given him a blanket, even built a fire for him to warm up by. It made no sense. Zuko had been nothing but rude since he woke up, coughing and sputtering like a half‐drowned turtleduck, yet you still smiled at him. Still helped him. Still treated him like he wasn’t the enemy.

A part of him hated it. You shouldn’t be kind to him. You didn’t know who he was. And he wouldn’t have saved himself if he were you.

“You’re stupid to help me. I’m not someone you want to be friendly to,” Zuko muttered, reluctantly inching closer to the fire at your feet. His soaked clothes clung to him, and he trembled despite his best efforts to hide it. He’d been mumbling weak threats and snarky remarks ever since he washed up on your shore, unsure what else he was supposed to say. Was he supposed to ask what you did for fun? Comment on the weather? Absolutely not. He was heir to the throne. He didn’t make small talk with peasant girls.

“Don’t underestimate me,” he added stiffly. “And don’t think I won’t kill you if you try anything. Because I will.”

Empty words. He didn’t even sound convincing.

With no crew, no uncle, and no idea where he was, Zuko had little choice but to sit by the river and wait for backup. He didn’t know which direction led home. He didn’t know how long he’d be stuck here. So for now—against every instinct, every ounce of pride—he had to trust you.

Dammit.