![]() It turned out she had passed away ,a year or so before, to an unknown illness in a small village just outside the fire nation colonies. Most notably when he finally found his mother after interrogating his father and searching for her for over 6 months. Especially since he had been through a lot this year and he could've used some of Katara's wise words and support. Still, it hurt for her to not even bother reading his letters. It was like she wasn't even reading them.Īt first Zuko brushed it off as her being busy, he had recently seen some advertisements to become a monk at the temple during a visit to the eastern colonies, signalling they completed their cleaning process and were now ready to truly reinstate the airbending culture to it’s former glory. He noticed that her recent letters did not mention or respond to anything he had been saying in his letters. It was almost therapeutic to him, she was the only person he felt truly comfortable talking about anything with. He had continued to send her weekly letters, even if she didn't respond. Now he was lucky to even hear from her once every 2 months and then even when she did write, she seemed different sadder maybe. Unfortunately, after a few weeks, her letters became less frequent: one every week, then every other week, then every other month. He looked forward to hearing about her mundane strifes of clearing up the temple after a long day of meetings and revision of laws: Aang being dumb and not helping her enough, discovering new areas of the temple, restoring old paintings and statues. The first few weeks after leaving the fire nation, Katara wrote him letters daily and he responded daily- it barely seemed like she had left at all. Plus, he had mostly lost all contact with his friends who had left for the southern air temple: Aang and Katara.Īang had been open about hating writing and reading letters from the start so at first Zuko’s only updates about him came from his correspondence with Katara. They had, of course, kept in touch- Zuko wrote a letter to each of his friends weekly and most of them did the same, but the scale of their chaotic lives couldn't be expressed through a couple of sheets of paper. He couldn't wait to see his friends, to update them on his life and to hear about theirs. Zuko had been anticipating the invite for weeks. Luckily, he had recently received a letter from Sokka, currently positioned back in the southern water tribe, inviting him, as well as the rest of the gaang, to their annual Festival of the lights. Zuko hadn’t had much time to notice their absence, his role of firelord of a nation in desperate need of reconstruction, taking up most of his freetime, but it was around the anniversary of his father’s defeat that he started to miss them. It had been one year, or somewhere around that, since the gaang had seen eachother last.
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