Chapter Text
Chapter One
The Fire Lord
‘My Lord!’ The sound of shoes scuffing on pebbles carried throughout the courtyard as the advisor struggled to maintain a graceful pace. There was a fumbling. It sounded like maybe he had tripped over his robes. A huff and then more scuffing of shoes. ‘You can’t just leave.’
Zuko let out a sharp breath, refusing to break his stride. ‘I can. And I am. I need to.’
They rounded the corner of a hedged fence and opened into a larger courtyard with a pond in the centre. Sun glinted off the still water as turtle ducks dipped beneath the surface, webbed feet splayed to the sky.
‘What about the counsel meeting tomorrow? You have a representative coming all the way from Ba Sing Se to put forward a trading deal with their agricultural minister. It’s a big step in mending the bridge between our nations. I urge you to at least stay until then.’
‘I’m aware of the importance, advisor Azoro, however it will have to wait. You can reschedule for when I’m back. Offer my sincerest apologies for the change and ensure that the representative is comfortable in their lodgings until then. I shouldn’t be gone for more than a week.’
There was a spluttering sound from just beyond his shoulder. ‘A week? That’s too long! What are they supposed to do until then? Sit in their room and twiddle their thumbs?’
A flicker of something sharp sparked in Zuko’s chest, smoking into his throat with a burn. He caught the feeling quickly and tamped it down. Finally, he came to a stop. Azoro stumbled to a halt behind as Zuko turned to face him. ‘I’m sure you will take good care of them until I return, advisor. I don’t have another option.’
The man before him was short. He wore traditional fire nation attire with the red and gold colours of the royal palace, black hair tied up and back in a simple neat topknot. A thick line of hair ran from his sideburns all the way to meet at the tip of his chin. It was a rather unflattering look, for a rather unflattering man. He wasn’t the worst advisor Zuko had experienced, however neither was he the best. He sat somewhere happily in the middle. Azoro did his job to satisfaction, but never attempted to reach beyond that.
‘I need to have an ostrich horse saddled for me to ride as soon as possible,’ Zuko continued calmly. ‘A couple days worth of supplies as well.’
Azoro, though already pale in complexion, somehow managed to blanch at the Fire Lord’s words. ‘Sir, that is extremely ill-advised. Travelling on your own is incredibly dangerous – especially with the recent rise in activity with the anti-monarchists – you’re asking to be caught in a tricky situation. You’re far too recognizable.’
Zuko tried not to flinch. Azoro had meant only one thing by that. The scar that took up the left side of his face. Recognisable, or unforgettable?
‘I can take care of myself, Azoro. I will be careful.’
The advisor wet his lips, panicked. ‘At least take members of the guard with you. Some form of back-up should you get into a sticky situation.’
Zuko shook his head. ‘Too conspicuous. If I go alone, I’ll be safer. The less attention drawn to me, the better. If I go out there in a carriage with a team of royal guards, I’ll be a sitting turtle duck. Best I take off by myself, keep my head down and travel light.’
‘B-but –’
Zuko raised a flat hand in the air between them. ‘I’ve made my decision, advisor. Please, trust that I know what I’m doing.’
Doggedly, the advisor shut his mouth, lips flattening into a line. He gave a short nod, a polite dismissal of himself, and turned back towards the palace.
Watching as the man shuffled off out of the gardens, Zuko let out a weary sigh. His head was beginning to hurt, right at the temple – a needling sporadic thing. He’d been getting headaches more and more regularly. They’d started shortly after their fight with Tagah. It hadn’t been so bad in the beginning, just a mild throb every couple of weeks, an annoyance he could ignore if needed. He’d drink some tea his uncle had procured for him (something medicinal that tasted like off cabbage) and the pain would subside. Now they came more often than not and with a lot more punch. The palace healer said they were stress induced. Something to do with suppressing emotions, blah, blah, blah. Not the kind of stuff he wanted to hear, nor had the time to deal with. So, instead he powered through and hoped the pains would eventually go away.
He leant back against the trunk of the juniper tree that overlooked the pond and he thought about the letter lying on the desk of his office. The familiar handwriting was branded to the backs of his eyelids. He may not survive the night. The words circled his mind in a flurry of panic over and over like some morbid mantra.
He didn’t usually read his own letters, though he started to make an exception for his friends’. Especially after Aang’s mortifying nickname had come to light; being called flameo hot man in front of the entire court hadn’t felt particularly dignified. Having his missives read aloud had become a habit around the palace. Shortly after Zuko’s coronation as Fire Lord, people began to realise something was up. The job involved a lot more reading than he’d expected and squinting soon became a thing of second nature. He’d misread words, or skip over them entirely. It got to the point where Zuko would shirk the court messengers at all costs. He began to feel like a child avoiding a chore. It wasn’t until his chamberlain cornered him one morning, demanding to know what was wrong, that Zuko finally vocalised the thing he’d been so afraid to admit; he couldn’t see properly. Lord Ozai’s act of fatherly devotion hadn’t just left a scar, it had taken some of Zuko’s vision, too. After that, the court staff began delivering his missives aloud to him. An unspoken agreement that happened overnight. He’d been grateful for the discretion. But he was glad he’d decided to read this one alone. It was just unfortunate that Azoro had caught him rushing down the halls of the palace shortly after.
Without intending to, Zuko found himself sliding down the bark of the tree to sit on the moss beneath. A turtle duck to his right squawked at the movement and hurried off to join its friends in the pond. He automatically murmured an apology to the animal, watching as it scored ripples through the water’s surface.
An image came unwelcome to his mind; his friend lying hurt and unmoving somewhere in the streets of Republic City. A wave of nausea swept through him as he then thought of the others. Katara, whose handwriting still burned fresh in his mind; Toph, who would be in the middle of organising a citywide search for the attacker – probably stoic and unreadable as always. Sokka, last he heard, was back in the Southern Water Tribe working with Chief Hakoda. Zuko wondered if he’d even received news yet.
There was movement and he looked up, surprised to see someone standing beside him. It didn’t help that she’d caught him on his left side. Her white and red facepaint was stark against the sun.
‘Wow,’ she drawled. ‘I wasn’t even trying to be sneaky. I could’ve killed you just now, y’know?’
Zuko scowled, hunching over his knees. ‘That’s not funny, Suki.’ Not in light of the information they’d just received, though, really, he knew that’s why she’d made the joke. She was right. He’d let his guard down when tensions were at an all time high.
Suki merely huffed and looked out at the pond. ‘A certain blubbering advisor just cornered me in the hallway. Said something along the lines of, “The Fire Lord’s lost his mind and has a death wish”. Begged me to talk some sense into you. Though I might hit some sense into you if it’s necessary.’
Clocking his chin upon folded arms, Zuko shook his head. ‘I need to go. I need to be there for him.’
‘And get yourself killed in the process? Tui’s gills, Zuko. Going off on your own like this I would’ve expected from you ten years ago, but now? Come on, it’s idiotic to say the least.’
He cast her a side-long glance. ‘You know I’m still the Fire Lord, you can’t speak to me like that,’ he grumbled.
Suki rolled her eyes and flicked out a fan. She whacked him gently on the top of the head. ‘That’s cute.’
Zuko turned away, digging his chin in deeper. ‘I don’t know what else to do. It’s instinct, to want to drop everything and go be with them. Agni, Katara… she must be so worried.’
There was a pause as Suki came to sit beside him, nudging him over so she could lean against the tree too. Her tone turned soft and he could feel her eyes on him. It felt like pity. He tried not to let it sting.
‘You can still go be with them, Zuko. Just… try to do it with a bit more restraint. Running head first into the fire – excuse the expression – isn’t going to help them, or yourself. Odds are, it’ll just cause more problems. You don’t have to do this on your own. Asking for help won’t kill you, though refusing it just might. Let me come with you. Ty-Lee, too. We’ll keep our heads down – we won’t even dress in our armor. It’ll be like going incognito. At least then you won’t be alone if something were to happen to you.’
Zuko remained quiet for a moment. A mother turtle duck was gathering her babies out of the pond. There was one left, struggling to get over the lip of the pool. It squealed, slipping back into the water with a faint splosh.
‘Fine,’ he eventually said. He refused to look at her, but he could imagine the smug smile on her painted face.
‘Good. I’ll let Ty Lee know. We can leave in the morning.’ Suki stood, smoothing out the kinks in her dress.
‘The morning? Why not now?’
Suki crossed her arms over her chest. ‘I understand the urge to leave immediately, but it’s not that simple. We have jobs to do. Ty Lee and I have a whole guard to coordinate before we leave. And you, my Lord, need your beauty sleep. We’ve a long trip ahead of us, best we do it with a good night’s rest under our belts. Getting there half a day later isn’t going to make any difference to his recovery, as much as I wish it would.’
He desperately wanted to find a reason to disagree with her, however she made a good point. Instead, he let out a pent up breath and nodded.
‘Good. So, no running off?’
‘No running off,’ he confirmed softly.
Suki smiled and then bowed rather gratuitously. ‘Please don’t sit here and mope too much longer. It’s not going to make you feel any better.’
She left, though not without first whispering something to the guards at the far entrance to the garden. They seemed a lot more alert after that, their gazes sizzling holes into Zuko’s back.
He didn’t sit there for much longer. Suki’s leaving remark had left him feeling awkward and unable to relax. Those guards watching from afar didn’t help either. He thought he’d gotten past the moping gloominess he so easily embraced as a young boy. But perhaps he still had a bit of work to do in that department. He thought of Iroh, as he often did when it came to his past. The old man’s temper had always been well curbed and the more Zuko aged, the more he aspired towards that same quality.
*
Dinner tasted bland. The chef had made one of Zuko’s favourite dishes from the Earth Kingdom – not that they had done so knowingly. A coincidence that it would be the same meal he had eaten with Aang and their friends the last time they had all been together. Fish and leek dumplings served in hot vegetable broth. He ate in silence, alone. The dumplings were steaming and perfectly seasoned, though they melted on his tongue like ash. He drank down the scalding broth until the dish was empty. Dessert followed: egg custard tart. It sat untouched on the plate. Zuko stared at it, lost in a cacophony of thoughts. By the time someone came to clear away the plates, he’d thought himself into a spiral. His stomach churned, the dumplings sloshing around unhappily. There was a lump in his throat, like a piece of coal, stuck despite how hard he swallowed. He forced himself up and made his way down the quiet halls of the palace to his quarters.
The four poster bed in the centre of the room had been turned down – as it was done every day. The smell of agarwood from the incense left to burn in the corner of the room filled his nostrils. It made Zuko feel ill rather than comforted. The room had been lit for him, casting the furniture in a dull orange glow. Everything was neat. Painstakingly tidy. It was as if no one lived there at all. As if he hadn’t spent most of his life dreaming in that bed, or waking to the sunrise from the window across the room. A shadow settled heavily over him. And it was then that he realised just how achingly lonely he was. Suki was on watch duty that night – one of the only people at the palace he truly felt at ease with – but even so, he had the feeling that if she had been there with him the emptiness in his chest would remain.
Undressing felt like shedding a second skin. He sighed when his mantle guard slipped over his head, robes unravelling and dropping from his shoulders. Dark hair fell down around his face as he removed the golden headpiece. A groan left Zuko’s lips as he unconsciously lifted a hand to massage the stiffness from his scalp. It felt like removing a costume sometimes. All the formality and tradition and roles he’d learned to play. He could escape from it once the facade was off. At least for just a bit. Until he had to wear it all again the next day. The mirror beside him showed a very different man to the one he projected to the world. This one was small and marred and tired. A ghost of Fire Lord Zuko – the nation’s bright, fearsome leader. Standing there, examining himself, he realised the only true similarity both sides of him held. Everything else was embellished, refined, or, even in some cases, concealed. The mark he’d received from his sister on the day of Sozin’s comet, a white starburst of skin, hidden in swaths of red and black. His hair, pinned within an inch of its life to serve a crown of gold. His posture, his skin, his nails. All meticulously tended to by professionals dedicated to making him look like he knew what he was doing. Except for one thing. Zuko stepped closer to the mirror, dusting his fingertips along the waxy skin around his eye. The brand that had marked him dishonoured – a failure to the throne he now sat at. The thing that most defined him. He hated it. And that hatred, it gnawed at him. Spreading like a caustic infection. Sometimes, like that night, he looked in the mirror and that scar was all he saw.
Silk sheets slid across his skin. The muscles in his body began to unravel from the day and sleep tugged hungrily at him, however his mind would not settle enough to satiate it. Instead, he lay awake and stared at the shapes in the dark above him, thinking of his friends. Of Katara and little Bumi. He wondered if sleep eluded them too. Would Toph be out in the city this late? Scouring the streets for some morsel of justice. Though maybe vengeance was a better word for it. And Sokka. Sokka, who he had not seen in months and thought about more than he should’ve. Who he allowed himself to dream about whenever the loneliness became too much to bear. He hoped the dragon hawk had successfully brought news of the situation to the Southern Water Tribe. He decided then and there that if Sokka hadn’t arrived before him, he’d find a way to let him know personally. Katara didn’t need another thing added to her plate.
Finally, after avoiding it for long enough, he thought of Aang. The person he had spent years following; who he’d dedicated his life to. Through the good and the bad, Aang had consistently remained honorable. He’d chosen to allow Zuko into his world, even when every reasonable person would have turned him away. He’d forgiven a list of wrong-doings longer than The Great Divide. A list that Zuko himself would spend the rest of his life attempting to atone for. He was a great man. One that stood at the precipice of immense change. A leader of the people; a peacemaker. He’d proven time and time again where his loyalties lay. And yet someone, somewhere, had decided that it wasn’t enough. That the avatar had to be stopped. They’d been cowards for it. Driven by their fear of the unknown.
To face your fears with violence was to reject the nature of yourself.
Something Iroh had told him a long time ago. Zuko hadn’t quite understood it then, but now he did. Fear and uncertainty, it turned people away from themselves. It warped their view of the world into something narrow and bleak. The people who had done this were driven by that fear. A thing that was ephemeral and ineffable and could not be fought with. An inevitable part of existence. Aang had always been good at accepting that. He’d taught Zuko a lot about breathing through the fear instead of fighting it. Or going with the flow, as uncle would put it. However, he knew he still had a long way to go. He wondered if Aang was breathing through the fear now? If he had it in him to accept the path laid out before him. Would he give in to his nature and forgive? Or would he seek violence and revenge? Zuko knew what his answer would be if it were him. He already had a hundred different ideas on how he could make these people pay for what they had done to his friend. His friend who, as Zuko lay sleepless in his palace of silk and incense, was fighting perhaps the hardest battle he’d ever have to face; a one of life and death.