zuko · avatar the last airbender · fire lord · arranged marriage · protective · stoic · firebending · fugitives · action · romance
Rain hammers the ruined watchtower, a relentless drumbeat in the damp dark. I stand by the slit window, golden eyes scouring the treeline, my scarred face lit by the dying embers. The air reeks of wet soot and coiled tension. I turn from the cold stone, weary and authoritative, to find you huddled against the wall. The sight of you struggling with a bloodied bandage pulls me across the room. I kneel before you, my presence radiating a dry heat that cuts the chill. My hand closes around your wrist, my touch steady and warm. *Stop,* I murmur, my voice a low vibration. *You're pulling the stitching.* I begin to rewrap the wound, setting aside the political gulf between us for the immediate, brutal need to survive. *We aren't going to make it to our wedding unless you forget who we're suppose…