A million hugs for TheAdamantDaughter, who basically held my hand through writing (and rewriting) this entire chapter.

And a million kisses for the reviewers! Thank you so much for letting me know what you think - I really appreciate it!

His conversation with his uncle buzzed at the back of his mind for the rest of the day. The next Avatar would most likely be a woman born in the South. He had pretty much given up on his quest for the Avatar, but his uncle had never shared this theory with him, even at the height of his mania.

While he lay in his bunk that night staring at the ceiling, dark voices whispered promises of restored honor if he could bring the Avatar home. Perhaps his uncle didn't believe that particular rumor. Perhaps his uncle never wanted him to find the Avatar. Perhaps his uncle knew that the Southern Water Tribe didn't need to be terrorized by an obsessed princeling.

Months had passed since he had really thought about his banishment or his quest. He avoided any thoughts of it because it made him feel like a fraud. He failed to gather any new information, and the one hundred year cold case frustrated him to no end.

It wasn't like he hadn't tried – visiting all of the air temples, searching for signs that somebody had returned since the Comet. There was no sign aside from the crazy old non-bender at the Eastern Air Temple who ate nothing but onion-banana smoothies. The Guru and Iroh instantly struck a wise-old-man friendship, speaking in riddles and Spirit World allusions while shooting meaningful glances in Zuko's direction. Their metaphors grated on his patience until he threw down his bowl, storming back to the ship and sullenly waiting for Iroh on the deck.

Zuko had regarded the Guru more like an ancient relic than an actual person. The Eastern Air temple was a dead end, but ruins were easier to deal with than people. They never fought back, unlike that disaster at Kyoshi Island.

They had landed at Kyoshi Island, hoping to learn more about the Avatar before Roku, and were greeted by hostile stares and sharpened fans. He marched down the gangplank confidently anyway, demanding information. He was, after all, the Prince of the Fire Nation, banished or not.

The leader of the warrior women greeted him in the full green regalia and white makeup. Her battle armor gleamed in the sunlight, and she ordered the women who surrounded their small landing party with confidence and poise. She stood with her hands on her hips and somehow glared down at him despite their height difference. He thought they meant to impress him, and show him respect. It was only when she laughed at his orders did he realize she was also still a teenager.

She swept his feet out from under him and pinned him to the dock, not even using the fans or sword at her hip. If you don't leave on that ship right now, she threatened as she stepped on his windpipe, lunging closer to his face and grinning, the Unagi will eat well tonight.

Iroh turned white, and hustled them away. Apparently the Unagi were fearsome enough that even his uncle wanted to avoid them. Even after the bruises faded from his throat, her mocking laugh echoed in his mind.

He avoided strangers after that, hopping from port to port, depending on Iroh to strike up conversations, and just praying that some information would land in his lap. His uncle's new revelation could be the key though, and hopes of returning home triumphantly fluttered in his chest. What if the Avatar were hiding somewhere here, at the South Pole?

That voice continued to whisper to him, and he sat up. He put on his slippers and stood up, created a small flame in his palm, and padded out to find a drink of water. The cool air in the hall cleared his mind, and he focused on that other piece of information that was more damming – the new waterbenders the Fire Nation had taken away.

It was just as likely that the Southern Raiders had succeeded in accidentally imprisoning or killing the next Avatar and a new one was growing up somewhere in the vastness of the Earth Kingdom, fermenting revolt against the Fire Nation in favor of a serfdom.

And now he was stuck in the South, desperately in need of a waterbender, and forced to face the aftermath of his nation's deeds. There was no honor in raiding villages that didn't even have warships or warriors. This wasn't a community at peace, like he had originally thought. This was a community struggling to survive.

In his history lessons before his banishment, his tutors only extolled the Fire Nation's military might in the face of the backward-thinking foreigners who refused to share in their generous offer of progress. For the first time, Zuko wasn't sure if he completely bought into that vision.

He shivered in the galley. They didn't heat this part of the ship; the stoves kept it toasty when they were lit. A thin sheet of ice covered the top of the fresh water, and he used the dented iron ladle to break through the crust. He stared into the barrel, extinguishing his flame as he leaned against the edge.

The ice had felt so solid beneath his feet, and he had crashed though it so silently. He hated to think of what would have happened if Katara hadn't jumped in. He breathed heavily and dipped the ladle through the hole in the ice. He didn't understand her. As soon as she knew that he was fine, her concern disappeared and she turned short with him.

He brought the ladle to his mouth and tipped his head back. Refreshed, he shook his head and headed back to bed.

"Uncle," he said a few mornings later as they watched the sun rise through the small window in the tearoom. "Do you think Zhao will find us here?"

Iroh sipped his tea. "That would be most unfortunate," he responded.

Zuko held his teacup in both hands and looked down the amber liquid. Unfortunate seemed like an understatement. "Any progress on fixing that leak?"

His uncle shook his head. "I believe we will need more assistance from the Water Tribe, but they might not be as willing to help us now." Zuko went back to studying the color of his tea and the warmth that leaked into his palms from the cup. He still felt Iroh's speculative glance from the corner of his eye. "You should probably apologize to the lady."

Zuko felt the blood rushing in his face. "Apologize for what, uncle? I'm not the one who stormed out like a… like a…"

"If I remember correctly, there was some stomping and door slamming," Iroh said. "You may not have initiated it, but you did act like a petulant child."

Zuko finished his tea and set his cup down. He stood and crossed his arms, watching the sun crest the horizon. "I'll apologize later," he said, and retreated from the room.

Zuko tried to avoid both the shore and thoughts of the water tribe girl for the next few days. He bailed water out of the hold and concentrated on bending. He watched the snow fall on the deck and shoveled it off.

The large flakes caressed his face, swirling around him like long brown hair in glacial water. The smaller icy pellets stung at his face and back like biting words and unpleasant truths. When the sky cleared during the few hours of daylight, it was the same shade as a certain pair of eyes.

And on one such clear-skied morning, a blue dress was delivered with the rest of his laundered clothes, and he finally conceded to his uncle's advice.

He killed time by playing with his hair. Pulled up in a tidy topknot, he looked too much like his father. It was too long to leave loose. He tried forgoing tradition and pulled it back halfway, and then inspected his reflection. He didn't look like his father, but he also didn't look like a prince. Not like that matters much here, he thought, deciding to leave it. He rubbed at his scar, absently playing his old game where it would magically smooth back down into unmarred creamy skin. He sighed, put his mirror back in its drawer, and wrapped the dress in plain brown paper to avoid awkward questions or accusations.

With no other excuses, he walked down the ramp and toward the village. Five or six of the younger children played in the field between the village and the dock, piling the snow into a dozen mounds no taller than his knee. They reminded him of playing in the sand with Azula and Lu Ten on Ember Island.

The women and other children stopped their work as he trudged by. They didn't run inside or hide, but watched him wearily. Someone sniggered when his boot slipped on the ice and he slid a few inches before regaining his balance. His heart thudded heavily in his chest, and he stepped with more caution.

When he reached the ice hut, Zuko took a deep breath, knocked on the narrow door, and waited. There was no response or noise from within, so he rapped his knuckles more assertively.

This time, a voice came from behind the hut. "I'm around back," Kanna called.

Zuko ducked under a blanket hanging on a line strung between their hut and the neighbors' a dozen feet away. Kanna stood at a worktable with a knife in her hand, a dozen or so whole fish piled on the left edge of the table, and a stack of fillets on her right. One eyebrow arched at him, and like the last time they met she did not smile.

"Zuko," she stated simply, placing the entrails in a bucket at her feet. "What a pleasant surprise." Her tone was neutral, so he couldn't tell if she was sincere or just polite.

"Thank you," he replied. He swallowed and cleared his throat. "Is Katara here?" He clutched the brown package with both hands, crinkling the heavy paper.

Kanna grabbed another fish, cutting in behind the head. "No, she's burying the Hakarl with Sokka. They should be home soon though." She pushed a strand of hair out of her face with her forearm. "You are more than welcome to wait here." This came out more as a demand than a request, and after a moment of hesitation, he acquiesced.

"Thank you," he said again. Zuko placed the bundle on a bench that sat against the back of the hut. He stood by the table, awkwardly watching Kanna's knife slice down the fish's spine, the meat sliding away from the rest of the fish effortlessly.

"Don't just stand there," Kanna's voice sharpened. "Make yourself useful." She motioned toward a large shallow wooden box and a bag across from her on the table. "Pour the salt in that box and pack the fillets in."

Zuko stepped up to the table before he even considered disobeying her. She barked out orders, and he asked questions to make sure he was packing the fish correctly. He realized quickly that he was overthinking his task, and instead allowed the repetitive motion of her knife hypnotize him. For a few minutes, neither said anything. The laughter and shouts of the children filtered through the village. Kanna's knife silently flicked bones away from flesh, and salt crunched softly as Zuko poured it over the fillets.

"I've heard a great deal about you from my granddaughter," Kanna broke the silence. "And our… differing perspectives on history."

The back of Zuko's neck itched, and he focused on rubbing the salt-and-herb mixture over the fish and packing them in the wooden box. Kanna wiped the blade on her heavy apron and continued when he said nothing. Her chin lifted and eyes narrowed as she inspected him. "You wonder why we greeted you with tea instead of spears and why we let you stay here."

He thought of narrowed eyes tracking him through the village and of blue-clad arms pulling him from icy depths. Kanna verbalized the question that had stewed at the back of his mind for the past week, but the answer would probably force him to question everything he knew even more. He shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about," he muttered.

"I have seen many other Fire Nation ships land here," she started, her voice soft and melodic. "It always began the same, but the terrors were different. Black snow fell a day before from the coal-powered engines, giving us time to prepare to fight; time to pray to Tui and La; time to hold our loved ones close before the impending fight. When the black ships arrived it was the same, no matter what we did. The bows rammed the dock and the boarding planks gouged deeply into the ice."

Zuko bent his knees slightly to keep from cramping up, ignoring the salt as it burned his hands. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I am answering your question, young firebender," Kanna's gaze sharpened before her attention returned to the knife in her hand and the fish on the table. She continued as if she were recounting an epic saga or poem instead of cataloging the horrors of his countrymen. "The masked soldiers marched down those planks shoulder-to-shoulder, the beat echoing across the ice plain. They took the lives they required with such cold calculation you might think they were the ones from the icy ends of the earth: trapping the waterbenders in the prison holds until all of the iron cells were full, threatening healers away from the warriors the left bleeding out on the ice, and simply burning others beyond recognition."

Zuko's scar stiffened as his eyes widened, and he shivered. Grey clouds loomed ominously further inland, rolling toward them.

"I watched my dearest friend taken away; I sat by my husband's side while he died on the ice; I was the one who had to teach my granddaughter how to stitch a funeral shroud."

Zuko remembered Katara saying something similar at tea about funeral rites, and wondered if he should ask more. His countrymen had killed someone very close to her. His jaw clenched tighter, but he forced himself to meet Kanna's eye.

"It is not the natural order for old women to outlive the young," she said. "When your ship came into port with that white flag raised, it was different. That is why I sent Sokka and Katara to greet you. You made requests instead of demands. You did not send your men out into the village; they stayed on the ships."

"You trusted us because of that white sheet?" Zuko asked. "What if it had been a trick?"

"I never said I trusted you," Kanna's mouth puckered. "But even from shore we could see how your ship listed." She exhaled heavily through her nose, shoulders jerking up reflexively. Zuko thought her puckered lips might from suppressing a smile or a laugh. She recovered and stared at him across the table. "We knew that you wouldn't make it back out of our harbor in that state."

Zuko's face went warm, stinging more as a brisk wind whipped up. His back stiffened; he understood her challenge. He had done nothing to earn their trust. They would regard him with suspicion until the day his ship finally chugged away and left them to sigh in relief. For some reason, that irked him.

They're nothing but peasants, that dark voice argued. Don't concern yourself with what they think of you. He ignored it. He wanted their trust, even if he didn't know why.

The incoming clouds smelled like snow, but he maintained eye contact with Kanna, not sure what to say.

Her hands stilled, and she looked him steadily in the eye. "You came peacefully, you requested help, and to deny that request would be dishonorable. No matter your nationality, we will not send you back out to sink at sea."

"Thank you," he said, nodding his head respectfully.

With a curt nod, Kanna finished filleting the last fish and dipped the knife in a bucket of water, wiping it dry on a clean cloth. She put it back in a leather sheath, slipped it into her pocket, and then walked around the table to stand at his elbow to oversee his work. If she had been tall enough, he suspected she would have peered over his shoulder, but the top of her head barely came to his bicep. She nodded once in approval and returned to clean the fish entrails off the table.

When all of the fish was packed in the box and the rest of the salt poured over it, he placed the lid on it tightly. The wind howled across the plain now, whipping his hair up and around.

Kanna took two leather straps to keep the lid in place, motioned for him to pick up the box, and led the way to a food cellar below their ice hut. He placed it on a low shelf, admiring the other meats, braided vegetables, and strange jars in the dim light.

He ducked to avoid hitting his head in the low staircase, and emerged to find the wind had died down. The weather front had finished moving in, and flakes drifted down quietly. Kanna stared at the snow with an empty gaze and a tightly clenched jaw. He held out his pale chapped hand, and his heart sank when he realized that the snow collecting there was a dark grey.