Grassfire (гет)

"We're going to be alcoholics by the time we're thirty," Sokka sighed.
"You think we'll live to be thirty?" Zuko asked, honestly thrilled. Sokka had pretty good instincts. Perhaps Zuko should reevaluate his long term goals. He could start by having long term goals.
A more likely alternative was that Sokka was just a hopeless optimist. It just went to show, you never truly saw another man until you stood shoulder to shoulder against a fleet of war balloons intent on raining death upon the city you loved.
 
Zuko was just a normal guy with normal interests. He liked theatre, burglary, crotchety ostrich horses, watching the Blind Bandit crush her opponents in a glorious display of skill and violence... just your standard banished prince things. It wasn't his fault he kept stumbling into rebellions and uncovering long-buried secrets. Fine, maybe freeing the prisoners was on him, but he was completely innocent of all other treason. Zuko was his father's loyal son. He'd never betray his nation.
 
Or:
Uncle Iroh took a more creative approach to fostering Zuko's appreciation of other cultures. Now it's everyone's Problem.