Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     “You will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher.”

     Zuko woke up, sweating and stifling a scream as he reached up to feel his face, his skin, his eye. He wanted to reassure himself it had just been a dream, a terrible nightmare, but there were bandages in the way of his searching fingers, blocking his sight and muffling his hearing. He clawed at them, trying to tear them away, but within moments his thirteen-year-old hands were grasped by much larger ones, and he was not strong enough to resist when those hands pulled his down from his face. He didn’t know where he was, didn’t know whose hands held his, and he struggled, afraid and in pain.

     “Nephew, you mustn’t undo Chiryo’s hard work,” admonished a deep but gentle voice, a familiar voice, and one that he inherently trusted.

     Zuko stilled. “...Uncle?” he rasped. He flinched at the strange sound of his own voice, and at the way talking had pulled on the left side of his face, sharpening the pain at the upper edge of his cheek.

     “I’m here. You were hurt very badly, my Nephew, but you’re safe now, and with care and rest you will get better,” Uncle’s voice assured him. “A man needs his rest, after all.”

     Slightly calmer now that he knew a little of what was going on around him, and that he wasn’t alone for it, Zuko allowed his hands to be moved back to the rough sheets that covered him on the bed. “...What… How… Where?” he asked, not sure which question was the right one, and unable to pull his words together enough to articulate the question even if he knew what he needed to ask.

     “We’re on a ship,” replied his Uncle, “and we’re safe for now. We can discuss the rest after you’ve recovered a bit more. Would you drink some tea for me?”

     Zuko was too worn out to protest as Uncle and someone else helped him sit up and drink a cup of some kind of hot leaf juice. Nor could he prevent himself from falling asleep a few minutes later.

—

     He was walking through a forest of some sort, but he had never seen trees quite like this before. The colors and shapes, the textures and sounds, and even the smells all seemed slightly different from what he expected a forest to be like. There wasn't exactly a path in front of him, but he nevertheless felt like he was supposed to be walking in this direction, and the trees in front of him never completely blocked the way, nor did any roots or stones cause him to stumble. He had the sensation of moving forward, but without any notion of what his pace was. It seemed to be day, since he could see so clearly, and yet he couldn’t see or feel the sun, nor for that matter any other light source, and the very fact that this did not seem odd to him was in itself odd. He wandered ever forward for either several minutes or an eternity.

     Suddenly he stepped into a broad, grassy clearing occupied by two old men. They were standing together, apparently deep in conversation, and they were wearing formal red robes and golden hairpieces. He stopped walking, feeling like he'd arrived at whatever his destination was supposed to be. He hoped it wouldn’t turn out like the last meeting of old men that he’d interrupted…

     One of the men turned away from their conversation to look at him. “Prince Zuko! We have been waiting for you,” he said, causing Zuko to panic. He was already being disrespectful without even trying!

     Zuko immediately bowed apologetically, even though he'd never met these men and had been unaware of any appointments. “I–I’m sorry I’m late, s-sirs,” he stammered, hoping he wouldn't get in even worse trouble for using such a generic title. If they were of high enough rank, he shouldn’t be calling them something as lowly as “sir”, he should be calling them general or admiral or lord or advisor or sifu or sensei or–

     “Rise, Prince Zuko," said the old man solemnly, interrupting Zuko’s thoughts. “You are not late, rather much-anticipated. We need your help." 

     Zuko stood up and frowned uncertainly. “...My help?" he repeated doubtfully. “Are you sure you want me? I mess everything up, and there's lots of people who are smarter and stronger than me…" He cringed as he realized he’d said all of that aloud instead of leaving it safely in his thoughts where it belonged. Now he was rambling and questioning his elders in addition to his impertinent and unseemly disrespect!

     The other old man turned to join them. “You are enough," he said confidently, “and you are our first shared descendant. Only someone related to both of us can meet the requirements for this task. We need you, great-grandson." 

     “...Great-grandson?” Zuko repeated. He looked between the two men with confusion. Both were wearing Fire Nation crowns, so presumably the second man was Fire Lord Sozin, father of Fire Lord Azulon and grandfather of Fire Lord Ozai, but who was the first man?

     “...Fire Lord Sozin?" Zuko asked the second man, but it was the first man who nodded in acknowledgement of the name. He wrinkled his brow in confusion. "And… Who?" He was being inexcusably rude and would likely be punished for it, but he was too confused to care about that yet, his desire to understand overriding his ability to fear, at least for the moment.

     “I'm your other great-grandfather, on your mother's side," answered the second man, disregarding Zuko's discourtesy. “I'm Avatar Roku." 

     Zuko shook his head. It had to be a lie. Avatar Roku had been Fire Lord Sozin's enemy, not his friend. He'd been a traitor! Grandfather would never have allowed a traitor’s descendant to marry into the royal family, surely!

     “It's true," confirmed Sozin firmly. "You are our great-grandson, and upon you falls the solemn duty to atone for our mistakes and reverse the wrongs we have committed against the world.”

     “...I don't understand," said Zuko, looking back and forth between his great-grandfathers. “You were enemies! You were a traitor, and you were a hero–how can you both have mistakes that need me to fix?" Even if it were true, it couldn't possibly be something that Azula wouldn't be able to do better, could it? She'd be their descendant too, if these men weren't lying. But… they had to be lying, right?

     “Before we became enemies," answered Roku regretfully, "we were the best of friends. It was only towards the end that we chose different paths and became at enmity with one another. And both of us made grave mistakes with repercussions far beyond our deaths." 

     Sozin nodded in agreement before Zuko had a chance to protest. “I let pride and greed rule my decisions as Fire Lord, and started an unnecessary war," he admitted, much to Zuko's shock.

     "And I allowed my apathy to overcome love and justice, neglecting to guide the world well for balance and peace," added Roku. “I am sorry, my friend, that I did not try harder to help you change.” He bowed slightly to Sozin.

     “And I am sorry I did not listen," replied Sozin, returning the bow.

     Zuko couldn't believe what he was hearing. All of his tutors had taught him of the wisdom and inspiration of Fire Lord Sozin, the shameful betrayal of Avatar Roku, and how through the war they were bringing prosperity and civilization to the rest of the world. They couldn't all have been wrong or lying, not about something so important!

     The two old men shared a look, obviously noticing Zuko's disbelief. “Come, we will show you the true results of our folly,” said Sozin. Both he and Roku took hold of Zuko's hands. The scene around them changed before he could pull away.

     One after another, images of fire and death, carnage and destruction, relentlessly appeared before them, accompanied by the sounds of screams and wailing and the stench of smoke and burnt flesh. Zuko was frozen, unable to turn away or blink, incapable of reacting to the horrors he was witnessing.

     “My spirit was reincarnated as the next Avatar in the cycle upon my death," intoned Roku, still audible despite the chaos they were observing. “My mistakes will be a burden for him to bear." 

     “But my spirit," said Sozin, “is trapped here, unable to move on, until my mistakes are atoned for." The scene before them now focused on rooms full of bones. “I was directly responsible for the unjust annihilation of the Air Nomads, and I and my descendants have done great harm to the other nations, including our own. You must go to the Air Temples. You must put their spirits to rest, and when you have succeeded in making amends to the spirits of the Air Nomads, you will meet the current Avatar. Once you have helped him restore balance in the world, my spirit will be able to move on, and you will be free to meet your destiny with honor." 

     Zuko woke up shaking. It was just a dream, a terrible nightmare. It had to be! There was no way the traitor Avatar was his great-grandfather. It was impossible that everyone had lied to him, and to his entire country. The Air Army hadn't been innocent civilians and children. He was just having very strange and horrible dreams because he was still a bit sick, and fevers made dreams more awful than they otherwise would be. He told himself this, but in the back of his mind a small, scared voice worried that he was just lying to himself now.

—

     The first few weeks aboard the Sabita Ryu, Iroh was very busy. His brother had graciously gifted Zuko a bucket of rust and a small crew of nearly-retired yet undecorated veterans, but had forgotten to fill the post of medic. He also had presumably forgotten to stock the small decommissioned cruiser with anything useful, and his generous quarterly stipend for Zuko wasn't enough to pay the wages of a crew of new recruits or to feed everyone a steady diet of thin jook. Luckily for his brother, Iroh could supplement that with his own income, and he had several more pressing concerns than his anger at the Fire Lord. The most pressing of those concerns was an injured and unconscious child in a sickbay bed, more in need of loving care than of righteous vengeance.

     Iroh sat vigil by his nephew’s side, making arrangements by letter while Nanko used what little experience she had with field medicine to attempt initial treatment of Zuko's serious wound. He hoped both Corporal Chiryo and Lieutenant Jee would not be too resentful at him for calling in favors now, when they’d already safely retired, but they were honorable men, in the true sense of the word. They had served him faithfully before, and even if they didn’t like it they would not turn from the duties that friendship and honor required of them.

     Between writing letters and watching over his unconscious nephew, Iroh gave instructions to Helmsman Sodate on where to rendezvous with the new captain and medic. He ingratiated himself with the crew by means of frequent allotments of shore leave for acquiring the missing supplies (and permission to pick up a few of their own favorite treats at his expense certainly did not hurt their developing relationships). He acquired several messenger eagle-hawks and a few komodo rhinos both because they would become necessary if Zuko accepted his father’s ridiculous quest and because he knew Zuko would probably benefit from having a few animals around; his nephew usually calmed down easier with animals than with people, he’d noticed. He brewed dozens of pots of tea, none of them quite up to his usual high standards. He fell asleep in his chair, forehead leaning against his nephew’s hand clasped within his, several times, before Jee and Chiryo finally boarded and forced him to lie down on the other sickbay bed.

     It was at the end of the first week that his nephew finally awoke enough for coherent conversation, however brief. It was at the end of the second week that Chiryo quietly informed him that, not only would Zuko likely survive, but they probably had managed to save his eye as well, as long as they avoided a recurrence of serious infection. It was in the middle of the third week that things started to become… challenging.

     Iroh had been dreading the day when he could no longer reasonably postpone informing his nephew of the fact of his banishment and the terms thereof. He was not certain whether Zuko would blame himself for what his father had done and wholeheartedly accept the terms for rescinding the banishment as a critical mission, or whether he would realize that his father did not love him and choose to reject both his family and his nation, or perhaps something between the two extremes. However he reacted to the news, he would undoubtedly be hurt, and he had already endured far too much pain for someone so young. Iroh vowed to himself that he would do what he could to support his nephew’s recovery from the blow, although he felt he was inadequate for such a daunting task. Nevertheless, it would be necessary, and he was the only one available to even attempt it. He just wished it wouldn’t have to be so soon.

—

     Zuko kept weaving back and forth between a series of nightmares, each more terrible than the last, and the nightmare his waking life had become. He couldn’t decide whether he dreaded sleeping or being awake more. Each had its own set of pains and terrors, and neither was much relief from the other. When he slept, he endured starkly vivid memories of his failures and their consequences or ominously horrifying interactions with spirits who claimed to be his ancestors. When he woke, he was manhandled by Cpl. Chiryo and Uncle into drinking a variety of disgusting things, along with having to suffer through painful bandage changes, ointment applications, debridements, and whatever other tortures they felt like doing that day. He blamed these distractions for his shameful inattention to his unusual environment.

     It wasn't until they'd switched from bandaging the entire top half of his head to a less restrictive arrangement leaving his right eye and ear uncovered that he noticed he wasn't in the Palace’s infirmary, that part of what he'd imagined Uncle saying in his dreams was perhaps real, and that at least a little of the dizziness and queasiness he was totally not experiencing probably came from the motions of the ship they apparently were on. He waited three whole days for someone to voluntarily give him information about why they were on a boat instead of in Caldera where they belonged before getting frustrated and yelling at Uncle for keeping secrets from him. He wasn’t sure if he was more relieved or confused that Uncle just let him yell like that without punishing or scolding him for his unprincely behavior, simply waiting for him to calm down before handing him a cup of tea and trying to talk to him.

     “I apologize, Nephew,” said Uncle, calmly but with a look of sadness that Zuko couldn’t quite fathom. “It is true that there are things we must discuss, although I fear they are rather unpleasant.” He sighed and withdrew a scroll from a drawer next to the medicinal herbs cabinet. “This proclamation was sent forth the morning after your… Agni Kai.” He unrolled it so Zuko could see it. “The Fire Lord has banished you from the Fire Nation and all its territories, until such time that you bring the Avatar to him in Caldera. I was granted permission to accompany you in your banishment.”

     Zuko stared uncomprehendingly at the fine calligraphy on the scroll, waiting for it to start making sense. His heartbeat pounding in his forehead was almost as loud as the high-pitched chime that he'd learned was just in his own head. He shoved past the impending headache and tried to think, to understand. Father had already punished him for his impertinence… and he was now punishing him again by sending him away? What had he done wrong since then? The delicate characters on the proclamation gave no reasons, no explanations. Was it because he’d disobeyed and hadn't attacked his own Father? But attacking the Fire Lord was treason, the worst kind of treason, and punishable by death! And besides, how could he be expected to try to hurt his own Father, his own family, even if they all knew his firebending was weak and pathetic and wouldn't actually hurt them, unlike Azula’s. And while Azula never seemed to have any qualms about hurting him, he couldn't imagine her attacking Father, either. He hoped she was okay, and that Father hadn't given her that impossible test as well… He had a vague memory of Azula laughing while he burned, but Azula's outward expressions rarely matched her real feelings, so while he had no idea what she'd actually felt, he was fairly certain it hadn't been glee. He hoped she wasn't afraid. He hoped she didn't have a reason to be afraid. There was nothing about Azula on the scroll in front of him, so maybe she still had Father's favor, like she always had, like he never had.

     He read the scroll again. He was banished, but not without a way back. Father loved him enough to give him a chance to prove himself. It wasn't an easy task, but Father had never allowed him to take the easy way so it made sense that it would be difficult. He still didn't understand what exactly he'd done wrong this time, but maybe he'd figure it out over the course of completing his mission? If he didn't, well, it wouldn't be the first time he was too stupid to figure out what he'd done wrong, and it probably wouldn't be the last, either. 

     He didn't understand why Uncle had chosen to share in his banishment, but Uncle usually didn't make much sense so he didn't think about it too hard. Uncle was looking at him with that weird sad look again and he didn't like it, so he clunked his mostly-full teacup on the end table and swung his feet over the side of the bed. He didn't need Uncle's pity, not when there was a clear way to fix everything! He needed to get started right away… as soon as he could make his body stay upright. He growled with frustration as he stumbled and fell sideways onto the bed, but he gritted his teeth and tried again. He couldn't be this weak and pathetic if he was going to find the Avatar and earn Father's love! Uncle was saying something but he was busy so he didn't pay attention. Then Uncle's hand was on his shoulder and Zuko flinched so hard he tripped and fell on the floor.

     “I’m fine! I don't need help!” he growled as Uncle started to fuss around him some more. He pushed himself to his feet and leaned against the bed, turning to glare at Uncle for treating him like a weak baby. 

     “Where are you going, and in such haste, Prince Zuko?” asked Uncle.

     Zuko glared harder. “It's treason to call me that right now,” he protested. “Until we go back I'm not a prince.”

     Uncle shook his head. “As long as you care for your people, you will always be their prince, whatever my brother thinks about the matter,” he said solemnly.

     “Dad's the Fire Lord! You can't say stuff like that!” scolded Zuko. He couldn't lose his Uncle because of treason, too!

     “Even a Fire Lord can be wrong,” said Uncle, looking Zuko in the eye… or maybe at the bandage over the left side of his face–it was a bit difficult for Zuko to judge angles with only one eye uncovered.

     Zuko grasped the sides of his head, attempting to cover his ears. If he couldn't hear the treason, he could at least pretend it wasn't happening. If he heard it and didn't report it, then he'd be complicit, and then he'd lose his chance at redemption. He couldn't waste the opportunity Dad had given him!

     Thankfully, Uncle seemed to get the hint and stopped saying such treasonous things. He did not, however, get the hint to stop talking altogether. “Nephew, where were you going? You need to rest so you can recover.”

     Zuko almost shook his head but remembered in time that doing so would make him dizzy. He settled for glaring. “I need to get stronger, not lie around being lazy! Taking a nap won’t help me find the Avatar.”

     Uncle frowned but didn’t immediately reply. Zuko pushed himself upright again, and Uncle followed without trying to stop him. Zuko made it three steps into the passageway outside the sickbay before he was too exhausted to even pretend to keep trying to walk. He grumpily allowed Uncle to help him back to bed, where he glared at the ceiling until he fell asleep for an unwanted nap.

—

     Iroh woke up in darkness, listening for a clue to what had caused him to wake up. Ah, his nephew seemed to be having yet another nightmare. Chiryo had strongly advised against waking Zuko up from these, as troubled rest was still better than no rest, and waking firebenders suddenly was asking for trouble, but it was hard to witness him suffering like this without doing something about it. Perhaps, just this once? He wouldn’t make a habit of it, of course, but… But his nephew looked so afraid, so in pain, this way, and he wasn’t a strong enough man to ignore it tonight, not after the shock and struggle Zuko had gone through that afternoon. He could handle some stray sparks or flames if Zuko lashed out as Chiryo had warned.

     He pushed with his chi to ignite a flame in his hand, and went over to his nephew’s bedside to wake him. “Zuko, wake up, it’s only a dream,” he said as he gently shook the boy’s shoulder.

     Zuko’s unbandaged eye snapped open, still unfocused with the remnants of sleep. Just as clarity seemed to appear, the eye widened in fear and Zuko pressed himself back into the cot. “No, no, please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it!” he cried out in a panicked voice, his unblinking gaze tracking the flame in Iroh’s palm.

     Iroh hastily snuffed out the flame in his hand, chastising himself internally as he tried to soothe the traumatized child. Of course he will be afraid of fire after what Ozai did to him, and that is not something that will heal quickly or easily. I should have been more careful. After a great many hugs and assurances and a soothing cup of jasmine tea, he managed to get Zuko settled again, but he himself was up a while longer, making plans for how to heal Zuko from his emotional hurts, now that his physical injury was on the mend.

     He began immediately the next morning, insisting despite an abundance of protests that Zuko join him for sunrise meditation. He guided Zuko to focus on the sunlight’s effects on his inner flame, this time. It might take weeks, or months, maybe even years, but he hoped that by gradually switching to meditating with candles, and then to flames in his palms, they’d be able to build back up to firebending. It was dangerous for a firebender to be afraid of his own element, and beyond the matter of safety was the hope that Zuko might one day find joy in his bending again, as he had six years ago, when he was still new to firebending.

     Zuko fidgeted at first, unused to long periods of sitting still it seemed, but he gradually settled into an even breathing pattern, and even seemed to almost relax by the time Iroh declared it to be time for breakfast. Yes, perhaps they would overcome these fears and find joy again, after all.

—

     Step. Pivot. Kick.

     Flames. Flinch. Fall.

     Repeat. Repeat again. And again. And again. And again and again and again.

     Zuko shouted wordlessly in frustration. He couldn’t even complete the first sequence of the first kata in the beginner set! How could he possibly expect to catch the Avatar, Master of All Four Elements, when he himself was too weak and pathetic to even wield one? (Or, if his nightmares were real, how could he hope to be strong enough for that other impossible task?) He had to get this right. Everything depended on him not being a pathetic, cowardly weakling, so he would do whatever it took to stop being one.

     He pushed himself to his feet and tried again. Failed again. Tried and failed again and again and again. He gritted his teeth and kept trying.

     After his fiftieth failed attempt, Zuko took a moment to reevaluate his strategy. Nothing was changing, so he needed to change how he was practicing. Was it the fire that was the problem, or something in his technique? He started to run through the kata “cold”, without attempting to make any flames. This time, he got about halfway through before he fell. If he couldn’t do the movements correctly, there probably was no point in trying to add fire yet–even without the flinching he would be bound to fail. 

     He started another cold run, more slowly this time. He finished the first kata without falling, but he could feel the imperfections that would have led to corrective action, if he’d been at home. He tried again, adjusting his stance and his movements, again and again until he got it right. Then he repeated it another fifty times to be sure it hadn’t been a fluke. The fifty-first time, he tried adding fire again… and failed just as badly as before. 

     After failing another twenty times, Zuko growled angrily at himself and began doing a cold run of the second beginner kata. He practiced until he could do it perfectly fifty times in a row, and then tried, and failed, to add in the flames. Maybe if he did the forms of all sixty katas of the beginner set flawlessly, he’d be more successful with the fire, he lied to himself. 

     He was halfway through fixing the fifth sequence of the third kata when he could no longer ignore the tightness in his chest, the pounding of his heart, the dark spots that were accumulating around the edges of his vision. When he fell, he had to actually sit and breathe for a moment before he could attempt to get up and continue.

     “Prince Zuko, come try this new blend of jasmine,” coaxed Uncle from his camp chair on the sideline of the deck’s training area. Unlike the previous twenty-three times Uncle had tried to trick him into abandoning his training this morning, Zuko decided not to ignore him this time.

     “I don’t need tea, Uncle,” he groused. “I need to get this right.” He went over to sit down on the seat next to his Uncle anyway, and when he was handed a cup of hot leaf juice, he took a sip and pretended he didn’t like it as much as he did. He could never let on that it was his favorite–if he let anyone know that he liked something too much, it would inevitably be taken from him, or used against him. Father wasn’t here. Azula wasn’t here. But the only person he really knew here was Uncle, and Uncle never chose to see what Father and Azula did, so if one of the crew tried something, Zuko couldn’t unquestionably depend on Uncle for more than some kind words over a cup of tea, and perhaps a hug. Uncle loved him, he knew, but sometimes love just wasn’t enough.

     Uncle was watching him through the steam rising from his cup. “A seed unwatered cannot sprout,” he said slowly after a few minutes, “and a jacaranda-plum will not bloom before its proper season.” 

     Zuko stared at his Uncle, brow furrowed. “...We don’t have trees on a ship,” he said shortly. “And the only seeds here are food.” He hated it when Uncle used words that didn’t mean what they meant. He could never figure out what their other meanings were, just like he could never see through Azula’s lies or follow all the way to the end of the implications of Father’s hints. Words were a weapon that everyone else seemed to know how to wield, well, everyone except him. Azula would say it was because he was a Dumdum, and maybe he was, but he sometimes wondered whether it could also be something like how most people couldn’t just pick up a sword and fend off a hundred enemy soldiers. If words were like weapons, there might be some kind of training he just had never received, mightn’t there? Not that anyone would ever let him know how to train in it. And if he couldn’t figure it out on his own…

     Uncle was talking again, some long, rambling, meaningless story about a conversation he’d had decades ago with a gardener whom Zuko had never met and probably never would, especially if he failed in his mission like he always failed in everything and was never allowed to return home . He had no idea what most of the plants in the story were, or even if all of the words he didn’t recognize actually were plants. Even if he knew, he wouldn’t want to listen to the story. Mom had had a garden, Mom had known all about plants and would have liked to listen about them, and Mom was gone. Just like everything and everyone else. He gulped down the rest of his tea so he would no longer have a reason to be forced to stay and listen and remember. Then he slammed down the cup and stomped off to go “meditate” at the prow, ignoring everyone who tried to talk to him along the way. Once he settled down into the meditation pose, he’d be allowed to think undisturbed, he’d discovered. People wouldn’t bother him if they thought he was already in the middle of doing something important for his chi. And if they didn’t realize he only spent part of his time meditating, it didn’t really hurt anyone, and it wasn’t even really a lie because he did spend at least some of the time doing what he said he was.

     “You will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher.”  

     The cold voice crawled up his spine and sent phantom tingles of remembered flames across his face as he tried to clear his thoughts and focus on his inner fire. In the distance, the island of the Western Air Temple loomed: a dark smudge hovering above the horizon. 

     Zuko closed his eyes. He didn't want to think about what he would find there. Suffering. Death, if his dream was right. …Of course his dream was right. With his luck, it could never be something as safe and simple as just a dream.

     He was “lucky to be born”, a walking disaster who was slow to learn, and he was following the only path he knew that could possibly lead him back home, if he didn’t give up along the way.

      I will learn, Zuko promised himself in the safety of his mind. I must. Failure is not an option.

Chapter Text

     Zuko reached out to the rocky wall on his right side, steadying himself as scree skittered across the worn steps underfoot. They’d been picking their way down the precariously narrow path along the cliff face for only a quarter of an hour or so, but sweat from the exertion was already trickling from his hairline (or what was left of it) into the bandages on the left side of his face. 

     He resisted the urge to scratch at the resulting irritation. He had more important things to worry about than mere discomfort; he was grown up enough for an important mission, and he was going to see it through without distractions, no matter what ridiculous proverbs Uncle spouted in a vain attempt to slow him down. 

     A hand suddenly appeared in the air near his left shoulder. Startled, he twisted away before shoving it angrily aside. He could manage a few measly stairs on his own; there was no need for Uncle to continue babying him like a weak child!

     He picked up the pace for a few seconds before he was forced to slow down again by the unevenness of their path. He wasn’t weak, but he also wasn’t stupid, and if he fell here he’d never find the Avatar because he’d be a splat at the bottom of the ravine, wherever that bottom was–he couldn’t actually see it, and he wasn’t certain whether that was from the bandages obscuring half of his vision or because it really was just that deep.

     Zuko wasn’t afraid of heights–he quite enjoyed them, honestly–but he also wasn’t keen on measuring them by means of uncontrolled and involuntary application of gravity. He reasserted his grip on the rough stones of the cliff face and turned the next corner of the switchbacking slope. He could almost make out the edge of the top level of their destination.

     He reached out his left hand until it brushed against the stones that now lined the side of the path that hovered along the edge of his (temporarily) blind side. When he was confident of his position in relation to the theoretically safer side of their route, he continued his downward trek. Any minute now, they’d arrive. He’d prove his nightmares to be nothing more than the fanciful results of pain and illness, and he’d start making progress in the quest that would allow him to regain his honor and return home.

     He was understandably relieved when, a few minutes later, they stepped onto the topmost platform and saw nothing but dust. He could just search for clues about the Avatar, then, instead of atoning for events that had nothing to do with him and probably hadn't even happened. He didn't have to change his entire worldview or listen to spirits that didn't exist.

     Zuko turned to go inside and froze in his tracks. Scattered throughout the corridor and the several rooms he could see into were skeletons. Dozens of unarmored skeletons of various sizes, and not a single weapon in sight. Just like he'd seen it, night after night, for the previous weeks. Just like Sozin and Roku had said it would be. It was all true, then, if this much was accurate. His great-grandfathers really had made those mistakes. His nation really was full of liars hurting the world. He really did have a mission to make amends to the murdered Air Nomads and help the Avatar bring balance to the world. It was all true.

     He collapsed onto his knees with a strangled sob. It was all true, and it was horrible and wrong. Everything he'd believed was a lie. His “glorious" ancestors had done evil things, and he had been given the heavy burden of fixing it all, by himself until the Avatar joined him. The Avatar whom his father had sent him to hunt. The Avatar who had been missing for over ninety years.

     He couldn't see through his tears. He couldn't hear through the buzzing and ringing in his ears. He couldn't think through the heaviness of his thoughts and feelings. He couldn't breathe through the dust of the innocent.

     He didn't know how long he knelt there like that. After what felt like a long time, he could feel his lungs starting to work better. He could feel arms around his shoulders, and the ringing and buzzing in his ears had lessened enough for him to hear his Uncle coaxing him to breathe more deeply. His face was saturated with tears, and the smooth stone was warm under his fists and knees.

     Zuko tried to follow his Uncle's instructions, until his breaths became even and his eye stopped leaking so much. He was exhausted, and he couldn't stop himself from leaning into the comfort of his Uncle’s embrace.

     “It wasn't a dream," he murmured. He felt Uncle's arms tighten slightly.

     “What wasn't a dream, Nephew?" Uncle's voice was calm and even, but in the way it sounded when he wasn't actually calm.

     Zuko hesitated before answering. “...My great-grandfathers showed me this," he said quietly. “They want me to fix it." 

     “Your great-grandfathers," repeated Uncle, just as quietly. “...Fire Lord Sozin?" 

     Zuko nodded. “And Avatar Roku," he whispered. “I’m the first descendant of both of them, so I have to be the one to fix their mistakes and help the current Avatar fix the world. It was all true. It wasn't a dream.”

     He could feel himself shaking, and he couldn't tell if he was crying again, or if his Uncle had joined him in his tears. He closed his eye.

     When he opened it again he was in his bedroll under the stars. His Uncle and the crew were in bedrolls around him, asleep except for Lieutenant Jee, whose back was toward them while he kept watch. Zuko rolled over and fell back asleep.

—

     The next morning dawned bright and warm, and Zuko rose with the sun. Once he had finished taking care of his bandaged eye, he joined Uncle in morning meditation without complaint, for once. He ran through his katas–still without flames–and added in his sword forms for the first time since he'd become Crown Prince. 

     After a simple breakfast and an unappetizing cup of tea, Zuko dared to voice the question that had been on his mind all morning. “Uncle, how do I do it?"

     "...If a sailor does not carefully plot a course to his destination, he arrives at the wrong shore,” quoted Uncle thoughtfully.

     Zuko scowled. Why couldn't Uncle ever just say what he meant? “...We're already at the destination, Uncle!” he said exasperatedly. 

     “Ah, but every ending is the next beginning, Nephew," replied Uncle in the same infuriatingly calm tone. “What is it the beginning of? What will you have done before the next ending?" 

     Zuko bit his lip and thought about it, now that Uncle had said something at least somewhat comprehensible. After several minutes, he shook his head. He was still getting nowhere.

     Uncle sighed.”You need to decide what your goals are before you can work on accomplishing them," he clarified. “This is your mission, a mission from the Spirits. I can help and support you while you work on it, and I can give you general guidance about other things in your life, but I cannot tell you what to do for your mission without a great risk of angering more Spirits. Only an Avatar can safely intervene in issues involving both humans and Spirits.”

     “...Fire Lord Sozin said I will meet the Avatar after I've made amends to the spirits of the Air Nomads," said Zuko. "So… after that?" 

     “So it would appear," said Uncle, sounding more like a diplomat than usual. “...The Avatar is the bridge between humans and Spirits. Without consulting him, I cannot be any more certain than you are about your mission, and since the Spirits chose you, I am considerably less likely than you to accurately decide what they intended.”

     “...I need to make amends to the Air Nomads first, before I worry about any of the rest of it," decided Zuko. "...In general, ” he carefully stressed the words, "how are Spirits …uh, amended?" 

     “Ah, that depends greatly on the type of Spirit," said Uncle, switching to his instructive lecture intonation. “There are ten main types of Spirits, each with its own sets of requirements for appeasement.” Zuko frowned in annoyance when he realized Uncle was going to lecture him about all of the types and not just the ones he needed to know about, but either Uncle didn’t notice or he was blatantly ignoring his irritation. If he were to bet, he wouldn’t be hasty to assume the former, since he knew the latter had happened a great many times before. He resigned himself to receiving much more information about the Spirits than he could ever possibly need.

     “The first type of spirit,” began Uncle, “and the most powerful and well-known, are the Great Spirits. They are the patron spirits of each of the nations and the creators of the first benders, and through those first benders they give us mortals many gifts, especially those of bending and of the elemental aspects of nature.” He proceeded to describe, in excruciating detail, the known characteristics and desires of each Great Spirit, and told fantastical (and occasionally contradictory) stories about how humans had learned bending from each of the original benders. The stories were interesting enough, Zuko supposed, but he started fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve as he started having trouble paying attention to Uncle’s lengthy enumeration of the rituals done by each nation’s sages and shamans to ensure their peoples aligned themselves with their patron’s goals and requirements.

     From there, Uncle got sidetracked by a dissertation on several well-known Lesser Patron Spirits, who were connected with particular geographical features in the mortal realm. He talked about a few from the Fire Nation, but most of them were from the Earth Kingdom and Northern Water Tribe. Zuko tried to listen, really he did, but all he got out of the lecture was that he should be really really careful not to destroy nature without being willing to risk the wrath of angry spirits who would drag you into the Spirit World if they happened to come around before you somehow fixed their special rock or tree or whatever.

     Uncle must have noticed Zuko’s difficulty concentrating, because he insisted on having a break for lunch then, and Zuko was not complaining about having a break, for once. He even helped with washing the dishes afterwards, just to have something physical to do for a bit. When he finished, he sought out his Uncle. It might be tedious, but he needed this information if he was going to complete his task. Uncle was, of course, wasting time playing Pai Sho with Lt. Jee, but he agreed to tell Zuko about the third set of spirits, the Ancient Ones, as he continued to move those stupid tiles around on the board.

     “The Ancient Ones are mainly found solely in the Spirit World,” Uncle explained as he watched Lt. Jee place his next tile with careful deliberation. “Each of them has their own particular set of personal rules and desires, so how you interact with them and what you offer to them will vary considerably.” Zuko sat down on the ground to the side of the board and listened as Uncle blathered on (for the entire duration of the game!) about the Ancient Ones he’d apparently met personally when he was away on his Spirit Journey. Zuko was starting to get the anecdotes about them rather mixed up by the time Lt. Jee conceded defeat. To his great dismay, he was then roped into sitting across the board from Uncle for his own game as the lecture continued.

     “The Bridge, or Raava, is technically an Ancient One,” said Uncle as he placed his chrysanthemum tile in the eastern quadrant of the board, “with the distinction of always being united with a human spirit. Each reincarnation therefore has a unique identity and personality.” He described the different goals, preferences, and famous exploits of several of the incarnations while they took turns placing and moving tiles. It took Zuko a shamefully long time to realize this Bridge was the Avatar Spirit, and he hid his embarrassment by concentrating on spectacularly losing the Pai Sho game even worse than he usually did. 

     During the course of their play, Uncle had moved on to a discussion of the Seneschal Spirits that served the previous four types of spirits. Zuko wasn’t really paying much attention anymore, but he decided it didn’t matter since all it apparently took to please this type was to appease whichever Spirit they happened to be pledged to; all the rest of what Uncle was saying about them was probably just extra details he wouldn’t need.

     “...Uncle, can we finish this later?” asked Zuko, once it was clear that Uncle recognized his control over the entire board and the game was as over as it was ever going to be. “...I think today’s my turn to exercise Bara, Yuri, and Sumire…”

     “Of course, Nephew,” said Uncle, beaming proudly. “Serving those who can do nothing in repayment is in itself a great reward.”

    “Yeah, sure, Uncle,” said Zuko, rolling his eyes. He just wanted to escape from all the talking for a while, and he knew the komodo rhinos wouldn’t try to talk his ear off, whether he needed it or not. He ran off to give them a walk and a rubdown before Uncle could try to say anything else.

     It wasn’t until after dinner that Zuko felt he was recovered enough to hear more about the spirits (Had they really spent over five hours discussing the first five types? Yes, yes they had…), and he made sure he had a whole pile of boots and armor to polish so he wouldn’t be stuck sitting motionless the whole time.

     Uncle began by telling quite an annoying variety of personal anecdotes about Spirit Creatures, which seemed to be the sentient flora and fauna of the Spirit World and apparently didn’t generally need appeasing. The story about Uncle being guided through some mountains by a shishi spirit after giving it offerings wasn’t as interesting as he seemed to think it was, and Zuko was glad he had something to do with his hands while he listened.

     Zuko was fairly certain Uncle was just making things up when when he described how to appease Spirit Objects, the spirits created when an object had been in continuous use for at least a hundred years or was somehow involved in events with high concentrations of spiritual energy; a spirit appeased merely by taking care of one’s belongings sounded like the kind of thing adults made up to get children to play nicely with their toys and keep their rooms clean. The other option, giving offerings related to the type of object the spirit had come from, sounded a bit less fake but not really very interesting.

     Uncle then explained that not only objects, but people as well could attain great spiritual strength and acquire sufficient spiritual energy to become spirits. These Ancestral Spirits acted as guiding spirits for a clan, for a city, or for an ideology, and generally were appeased by acts of loyalty. He told several riveting stories about people who had become such spirits; his retelling of an old legend about star-crossed lovers in the Earth Kingdom becoming the Ancestral Spirits for Omashu might even have made a good plot for a theater scroll, Zuko thought.

     Zuko had run out of things to polish and was drooping in his chair as the evening deepened into night. “...Perhaps we had best continue this tomorrow,” Uncle said, noting how his nephew’s energy waned. He refused to say any more on the subject of spirits, thereby forcing Zuko to rest.

     In the morning, when Zuko had finished his meditation and exercises, Cpl. Chiryo inspected the scar that was forming over his eye and ear and gave him more ointment. Then, after breakfast, during which Nanko and Sodate had an argument about half the crew missing random parts of their armor, Zuko sat down with his Uncle and asked about the last two types of spirits. 

     Uncle blithely began to summarize everything he had said about the other eight types of spirits the day before, which might have been helpful if Zuko actually needed to know about more than one of them. He probably didn’t even really need to know that much about the Avatar Spirit, at least not anytime soon. He remembered the punishments his tutors used to give him for interruptions and inattention a bit too vividly to protest, however, so he let his Uncle keep talking as he saw fit. Finally, an hour later, Uncle began explaining the ninth type of spirit.

     Spirits of the Dead were… probably what Zuko really needed to be learning about, since they were the spirits of any human who had died and not yet been reincarnated, either due to spiritual punishment or because of irregularities in their deaths. They needed certain requirements to be fulfilled, in the case of spiritual punishment, or, in the case of irregularity in death, they needed appropriate funeral rites. Apparently each country had different funeral rites, and it would be an insult to knowingly do the wrong ones for the wrong people. Uncle only really knew about the rites for the various parts of the Fire Nation and some regions of the northern half of the Earth Kingdom, though, which wasn’t particularly helpful.

     Zuko was thinking about how to figure out the correct funeral rites for the Air Nomads, so he didn’t really pay attention to what Uncle said about Dark Spirits. He probably wouldn’t need to know about them, anyway. 

     By the time Uncle finally stopped talking so they could eat lunch, Zuko’s ears were starting to buzz and his skin itched under the bandages. He decided not to ask any more questions about Spirits, ever.

—

     Zuko sneezed. The room, like most of the rooms here, was bright with natural light from the windows and a collection of cleverly placed shafts to the cliff face, but even with the ventilation provided by those openings, it was still dusty from nearly a hundred years of neglect, and from the piles of charred ashes on some of the shelves. There was only one skeleton in this room, thankfully, but it was unfortunately positioned across the doorway, so passing in and out was an exercise in balance and dexterity. Once inside, though, he was free to search the dozen or so bookcases without having to mind his feet so much. From his first cursory passage through the room, it seemed like the contents of all of the shelves that would be at the eye level of an adult were completely burned, while the ones above and below that were also significantly fire-damaged. The topmost and bottommost shelves of most of the bookcases seemed okay, though, at least at first glance.

       …If I were a scroll about funeral rites, where would my place be? …Hopefully not the middle shelves, although those were probably the books most often used, right? Unless they were numbered or alphabetized… Please, Agni, let it not be burned!

     He decided to skip the partially burned books and scrolls, since he wouldn’t be able to read them without destroying them, anyway. Instead, he started with the scrolls and books that were easiest for him to reach, the ones on the lower shelves. The bottommost shelf mostly contained books bound with thin slats of wood or panels of thick cloth, which when he opened them revealed stories written in large characters accompanied by brightly painted illustrations. As he removed books from the shelf, he stirred up more dust and sneezed, scattering a few sparks which he hastily extinguished with a deep exhale and a downward press of his hand. The pages were a bit stiff with age, but not actually brittle. He hoped that if he was careful he wouldn’t break them, or worse, set them alight with more sneezes. About half of these children’s books were written in what Zuko assumed was another language, since he couldn’t even begin to decipher the symbols on the pages. Sometimes the books in the other language had the same illustrations as the books in normal writing, and he wondered whether they told the same stories or were just illustrated by the same artist. He didn’t have time to learn a basically-dead language just to figure that out, though, so he put the books back on the shelf and continued his search. 

     After confirming that all of the bookcases had only children’s books on the lowest shelves, Zuko considered the organization of the books again. It seemed likely that the book or scroll he’d need would only be consulted as a necessity, and by an adult. Perhaps the top shelf would contain seldom-needed reference documents, works not meant to be consulted on a frequent basis? He really hoped so. Surely the Spirits wouldn’t give him a task that was impossible, right? (His father had, but even as the Representative of Agni in the Mortal Realm, he still was entirely human, and not a spirit.) What if the book he needed existed, but in an entirely different location? …He was being pessimistic now, and that would not help him in his search, so he needed to stop that train of thought immediately and resume his search here and now.

     He couldn’t find a stool or ladder to get to the top shelves–the only furniture in the room was the bookcases themselves. They probably used airbending to reach what they needed and brought the books with them elsewhere to read. Zuko didn’t have airbending, and even when he was not terrified of comfortable with fire he had never been strong enough to use fire jets to lift himself up. Fire jets would be stupid to use in a library, Dumdum. Maybe he could use the shelves themselves as a kind of ladder? He thought the bookcases looked sturdy enough, despite the fire damage. Careful not to hurt the books and scrolls, and the remnants thereof, he pulled himself up, balancing on the singed edges of the shelves. 

     The top shelf was almost entirely scrolls, which made things a bit more challenging, since he couldn’t open them to check their contents with only one hand, and the shelf he was perched upon wasn’t quite stable enough to let him keep his balance with just his feet. He slid his left elbow onto the top shelf and loosely held a scroll with his left hand while he gently unfurled it with his right hand, slowly so as not to risk tearing it. He read the title column and put the scroll back when he saw that it was a translation dictionary for that language he didn’t need to know. He pulled out the next scroll, and found it was a medical encyclopedia. He continued pulling out and returning scrolls until he couldn’t reach them, and then carefully slid along the shelf until he could reach again. He repeated the process each time he ran out of scrolls within his reach, and while he found reference works for quite a variety of topics, the lack of results was starting to get disheartening and his arms and legs were getting a bit sore from the awkward position and the effort needed to balance on such narrow surfaces.

     He was almost to the end of the shelf when he finally found a title that seemed promising: Rites of Release for the Sanctification of the Spirit: A Complete Compendium. He wasn’t entirely sure what that last word meant, but the rest of it sounded like it might be similar to amending spirits, so it was worth a more in-depth investigation. He rolled the scroll back up and started climbing down with it clutched protectively between his right hand and his chest. 

     “Prince Zuko? Are you in here?” Ensign Nanko peeked around the edge of the door frame just as Zuko was stepping down to a somewhat more singed shelf. Not having expected the interruption, he placed his foot wrong and slipped off the edge, which left him dangling from the top shelf by just a few fingertips. He scrambled to find a secure foothold but was unable to do more than delay the inevitable. He landed on his left side in an inelegant heap. 

     “Your Highness! Are you injured?” cried Ens. Nanko as she picked her way around the skeleton and made her way to his side.

     “I’m not a prince anymore, just say Zuko,” grouched Zuko for the million and a halfth time, not that any of the crew would listen to him. His left wrist was sore, but he was more concerned about the state of the scroll he’d been holding. 

     “Hold this, please.” He held the scroll out to her, and thankfully she took it so he could get himself up with the help of his right hand on the lower shelves. Then he took it back from her and ignored the pain in his wrist while he checked the scroll for tears. “...No damage,” he said, relieved, after a minute inspection. 

     Ens. Nanko was staring at him. “...What?” he asked.

     “...Are you undamaged, Sir?” she asked, looking at his hands.

     “...Maybe yes?” tried Zuko. Apparently he wasn’t convincing enough, because the next thing he knew, Ens. Nanko was dragging him to Cpl. Chiryo by his right elbow.

     Fifteen minutes later, his sprained wrist splinted and wrapped, Zuko sat at a table with the scroll. He wasn’t allowed to do anything interesting for two days, so he may as well get some of this reading done. He carefully unfurled the scroll, scanning the headings for a relevant section. He started reading one that seemed right, and was delighted that it actually did describe, in detail, how to conduct an Air Nomad funeral, from death to the final release of the spirit. He was much less delighted to discover that all of the prayers were written in another language. It seemed he would need that translation dictionary after all…

Chapter Text

     “Well, Prince Zuko, it appears you might be ready,” said Corporal Chiryo as he finished his inspection of Zuko’s wrist and face.

      Don’t call me that was on the tip of Zuko’s tongue when his mind caught up with the rest of the medic’s words. “...Ready for what?” he asked, anxiously hopeful.

     “Ready to be free from all of these bandages,” Cpl. Chiryo said, smiling.

     “Really?” asked Zuko. It felt like he’d been wearing bandages on his head forever, even though it had only been about two months, and being restricted in how to use his wrist (even if it was just his left one, which he wasn’t really supposed to use very much anyway) had made the past few days restlessly boring.

     “Really,” affirmed Cpl. Chiryo. “During the day, at least. I’d like you to still wrap the scar at night, just in case you touch it in your sleep. And, just like before, if anything feels uncomfortable or painful you need to come to me right away so I can check it over. You’ve healed remarkably well, but it’s still possible for it to get infected and lose that progress.”

     Zuko grimaced but nodded in acknowledgement. He didn’t enjoy getting checked by the medic, but it was better than failing at recuperating and getting worse than he already had been.

     “There are a few things I need to teach you about self-care, now that you’re on the mend and can start being more independent about it,” said Cpl. Chiryo. Zuko straightened his spine and nodded to show he was paying attention. 

     The medic laid out a few jars and vials on the table beside them. He picked up a vial and handed it to Zuko. “This is a kind of clean salt water,” he said. “The part of your left eye that makes tears isn’t making as many as it should, and now that your eye isn’t going to be closed all the time, it might not be enough to keep your eye moist anymore. That can make your eye itchy or swollen, and make your vision blurry. Put a couple of drops of this in your eye whenever it starts to feel dry or itchy. When you run out, I’ll give you another vial. Go ahead and give it a try now.” Zuko opened the vial and inspected the glass tube inside of it. After some experimentation didn’t lead to results, Cpl. Chiryo showed Zuko how to cover the end of the tube with a fingertip and lift up a few drops’ worth of liquid. He tried again and managed to get most of the salt water into his eye, only a bit trickling down his face. He was worried it wasn’t good enough, but a surreptitious glance at the medic revealed that he seemed pleased enough. Zuko twisted the cap back onto the vial. “What else?” he wondered.

     “Scars, especially burn scars, are more susceptible to adverse effects from extreme temperatures and direct sunlight,” said Cpl. Chiryo as he reached for a jar. “Firebenders don’t burn easily, but unfortunately your scar won’t react the same as the rest of you. Keep it covered if you’re going to be out in the sun for a long time, and if that’s not possible, apply this sunburn prevention ointment at least once per two hours.” Zuko frowned. It seemed like he had an awful lot more weaknesses now, and it didn’t sound like he had much chance of overcoming them either. Still, he took the jar and put it into his bag with the vial. If he followed directions carefully, maybe nobody would recognize these weaknesses enough to take advantage of them.

     “Your scar is also likely to get dry and irritated when the weather isn’t ideal, or if you’re not hydrated enough,” continued Cpl. Chiryo. “Try to always drink enough water or lighter teas, and apply this lotion if your scar feels dry or flaky.” He handed Zuko the second vial. “And if the skin cracks or swells, apply this ointment to keep it from becoming more than a mild infection.” This last jar joined the rest in Zuko’s bag. “Do you have any questions?” Zuko shook his head. When he was able to recite all of the directions perfectly, Cpl. Chiryo smiled and shooed him off for his morning exercises.

—

     Zuko blinked, and reveled in the sensation of being able to do so with both eyes at the same time. It had only been half a day since he’d been freed from the bandages, and he was enjoying the way the air didn’t hurt his face anymore, among other things. It was surprising how many things got so much easier when he was was allowed to do them with two eyes and two ears instead of just one of each. He could see how far away things were without constantly twitching his head to adjust the angle, so he no longer ran into furniture or bulkheads or people (at least not without it being at least partially on purpose), and he no longer felt like he was slightly off-balance when he did his katas. He still had a bit of ringing in his ears sometimes, but overall his situation was a lot less disorienting now.

       There were downsides, too. He couldn’t open his left eye quite as widely as before, so his peripheral vision was a bit blurred and squashed on that side. His hearing wasn’t as good as it was before, either; he couldn’t always tell what direction sounds were coming from, and when people stood to his left he couldn’t understand what they said unless they stopped mumbling like idiots spoke clearly. But the worst part, in Zuko’s opinion, was that the scar was never going to heal all the way. It was ugly and took up so much of his face, and no matter what emotion he was actually feeling his expression looked, as he overheard one of the deckhands say, permanently pissed off. Trying to make other expressions pulled at his scar uncomfortably, though, and didn’t really improve how he looked, so it wasn’t worth the effort most of the time.

     Now that he was no longer hindered by bandages on his head and wrist, Zuko was ready to fully immerse himself in his mission. He’d already copied out the information about the funeral rites that were written in normal writing, so all he had to do was figure out the meanings and pronunciations of those prayers, and he’d be able to start appeasing some spirits. He gathered up the scroll of rites, the dictionary scroll, and some writing materials and brought them all out to a table in a sunny part of the balcony they were all camping on. A couple of hours of work and he’d be finished, no problem!

—

     This language didn’t make any sense! None of the symbols meant anything on their own, and putting a bunch of them together made the shapes of some of them change to look like other symbols, and the way they changed wasn’t consistent. Sometimes the symbols were put together vertically in the middle of an otherwise horizontal row, but other times those same symbols were strung out horizontally. Occasionally, tiny lines or spirals were added above or below some of the symbols, and there were punctuation marks all over the place. Surely this language didn’t have that many one- and two-word sentences! 

     Zuko continued his task of copying the chart at the beginning of the dictionary. A hundred and twenty symbols, and they all only represented sounds; if he understood the pronunciation guide correctly, almost all of those sounds had an A at the end, which seemed like an excessive ratio for a particular sound to be used. The little lines and spirals were the exceptions to that pattern, apparently, but they meant different things if they were above the symbols from what they meant below the symbols. He was very glad that most of the world had adopted similar variations of the ancient Ba Sing Se writing system; it had many times more symbols, but at least each symbol clearly meant exactly one thing without all of these fussy sound rules. Not to mention that some of these symbols had sounds he’d never encountered before, and there was no one alive left to check whether he got them right. Learning how to say these prayers correctly was going to be quite the challenge, but he was used to challenges while learning. At least this time there wasn’t a tutor hovering over his shoulder waiting to punish him for a wrong answer or for solving it more slowly than Azula; nobody would hit or burn him for fidgeting a little while he sat and studied, either, so he did so freely after he caught himself tapping his foot and twisting the end of his belt for the dozenth time.

     After he finished copying the pronunciation chart, Zuko got a fresh piece of paper and painstakingly copied out the first line of the first prayer, stroke by stroke, at the top of the page: ༆རླུང་གི་གསང་བ་སྦྱང་བར་སོང་། He then started searching through the chart for the first symbol… and was stymied by its absence. He double-checked the original copies of both documents, then triple- and quadruple-checked them. Frustrated, he may or may not have thrown his writing brush across the balcony. (Nobody was there to confirm or deny it happening, at least.) 

     After a few minutes of pouting thinking, he collected himself (and his brush, which either was or wasn’t at the other side of the balcony in a small splash of ink) and moved on to the second symbol. He couldn’t find that one either, at first, until he realized that part of it was one of those sound-changing spirals. So the second symbol was RLA but with the A changed to U… How the heck was he supposed to pronounce those sounds together all at once? Maybe this language required actual airbending to speak correctly? He tried saying it aloud a few times, but the best he could manage ended up sounding more like RILU than like RLU, even to his own untrained ears. He hoped it was close enough to count. 

     The next symbol was easier to find, a simple-to-discern but harder to say NGA. And then there was one of those superfluous punctuation marks. Maybe they separated words instead of sentences in this language? In that case, the first word would be RLUNGA… After a bit of searching, he found the entry in the dictionary: རླུང་ 風. The first word (excepting that mysterious first symbol) was wind. It made sense for that word to be in an Air Nomad prayer, so it seemed he was at least getting something right with his efforts. He tried to ignore the fact that he was also getting a headache, and pushed on through the next three words (GI, GASANGA, BA, or 之秘密, if he hadn’t made a mistake), giving him the phrase “wind of secret”, or maybe it was “secret of wind”. Or maybe both were wrong and he’d find out when he finished the sentence that it meant something else entirely.

      Zuko groaned when he saw how complex the next symbol was. He didn’t want to go through that entire list one by one again! After the first thirty or so entries in the list, it was really hard to see all the tiny differences from one symbol to the next, and squinting at them didn’t really help as much as he wanted it to. As much as he disliked it, however, he knew he couldn’t give up. It was his responsibility to release the trapped spirits of the Air Nomads, and he wasn’t going to let stupid things like headaches or ink blobs prevent him from fulfilling his destiny. Besides, he already knew how to interpret the character after this one, and it appeared again at the end of another word in the line. With his workload thus reduced, he had no excuse to slack off now!

     Squinting despite how much it didn’t actually help, he forced himself to look at each symbol in the chart until he found the one that matched: SBYA. It was followed by that NGA character, making the next word SBYANGA. He decided to decode the rest of the line before searching through the dictionary for the meanings, mostly because it was easier more practical. After several minutes, he had the last two words, BARA and SONGA, and then some punctuation marks. Perhaps that longer punctuation mark was the end of a sentence? He grit his teeth and started searching for the definitions, eventually finding the meanings “learn”, “to”, and “go!”. So all together, minus the first character which he still couldn’t find, the first line was “wind of secret learn to go!”, which made just about as much sense as the decoded untranslated version.

     He looked at the original document again. This prayer had three more lines, two of which were significantly longer than the first line. The first line had taken him well over two hours to translate, he hadn’t quite translated all of it, the translation didn’t mean anything, and he couldn’t even begin to pronounce two of the words. After this prayer there were two more he needed to translate and learn before he could start doing the funeral rites. He covered his face with his hands and tried to rein in the despair and distress he felt when facing the remainder of the translation work. 

     If Father or my tutors were here, they’d already have punished me for my indolence and stupidity. All the tools I need for this task are right here, practically handed to me! It’s not even dangerous! Why can’t I ever get anything right? Why am I so slow and stupid?

—

     Iroh peeked out onto the balcony where his nephew had gone for “a few hours of quiet work, and don’t you dare come out and bother me in the middle of it!” Unlike the previous seven times he’d peeked, Zuko was not studiously peering at the documents in front of him, but rather sitting in his distressed pouting pose. It was probably time for an intervention of some sort, he thought. He went to fetch his favorite teapot and what he’d deduced, through weeks of diligent and thorough experimentation, was likely to be Zuko’s favorite blend of jasmine tea. Having prepared it to perfection, he set the teapot and two cups on a tray and carried it all out to the balcony.

     “Nephew!” he called as he approached, not wanting to startle Zuko since he was, by necessity, approaching from his scarred side, and he wasn’t yet certain how much remained of his senses on that side. Despite this caution, Zuko jolted in his seat and looked up guiltily at Iroh. “You have been working hard! Would you permit me to share some delightful jasmine tea with you?” Despite grumbling and grousing in apparent refusal, his nephew began straightening his papers to clear a spot on the side of the table for the tea tray. 

     A few minutes later, they were both cradling a cup of steaming tea in their hands. “How goes the translation?” asked Iroh, hoping that through casual discussion Zuko would be inspired to confide in him about what was bothering him. 

     Zuko wrinkled his nose in adorable irritation, although Iroh of course could never tell him how cute he was when he made faces like that. “...I’ve got most of one line done, but I can’t find the first symbol anywhere in the dictionary,” he said, frustration evident in his voice.

     Iroh hummed thoughtfully. “Most of a line, you say?” Zuko flinched as if he expected to be reprimanded about his progress, so he didn’t hesitate to explain his true feelings. “That is rather impressive, for a single afternoon’s work, to go from never having seen a writing system before to wrestling with the meaning of a line of text. I am certain I have never done such a thing in so short a time.”

     Zuko mumbled something that sounded like “Bet you’ve never done it at all.” Iroh grinned. “On the contrary! I learned the writing system of the Fire Sages, many years ago, but I had much longer than a day to get used to the symbols before I needed to actually use them.”

     “The Fire Sages have a different writing system?” asked Zuko, his eyes shining with curiosity.

     “Indeed they do,” replied Iroh, pausing to take a sip of his tea. “It uses symbols for sounds instead of for words, so that it is clear how to pronounce the ancient prayers in the old Fire Tongue. Just before I retired, the Fire Army was starting to use it for coded messages, so it was lucky I already knew it!”

     “Coded messages?” repeated Zuko eagerly. “Can you teach it to me?”

     “Certainly,” replied Iroh. “I will be happy to teach you whenever you think you are ready for it.” He wasn’t sure now was a very good time for learning another language, when Zuko was in the middle of learning a new and clearly difficult language already, but if Zuko thought he could handle it, he wouldn’t argue with him. Curiosity and a willingness to learn were always good traits to find and nurture, and if he could simultaneously make his nephew happy, it was nothing to complain about.

     Before Zuko could beg to immediately be taught the Ancient Fire Tongue Phonetic Syllabary, Iroh returned to the previous topic, wanting to resolve whatever had been troubling his nephew first. “May I see what you have been working on so diligently all afternoon?”

     Zuko’s face fell, and he slid over a paper filled with both Ancient Air Nomad letters and Modern Fire Nation characters. “Here,” he said sullenly. He pointed to various marks as he mentioned them, and Iroh nodded while listening attentively. “The dots mean a break between words, and the line means the end of the sentence, I think. And I’ve figured out these words mean wind, of, secret, learn, to, and go, but I’m not certain which order they’re supposed to be in, in our language. The pronunciation is something like… ‘rilunga gi gasanga ba…’ uhh… ‘sibyanga… bara songa’, …probably …maybe. And this symbol here isn’t in the pronunciation guide, and it doesn’t have an entry in the list of translations.” He scowled, and Iroh had to make an effort not to show his amusement at the expression.

     “Excellent work, my Nephew! You have been diligent and thorough, and I have no doubt you will soon succeed with the rest of the translation,” Iroh praised. He did not fail to notice that Zuko looked shocked and a little confused upon receiving genuine compliments for his work. He did not know which methods had been used in his nephew’s instruction, nor how well he had performed academically. It seemed, however, that Ozai had chosen Zuko’s tutors poorly if exceptional accomplishments were not lauded, but rather, judging by his nephew’s expression, perhaps even criticized or punished. He decided that he would be sure to give Zuko frequent and genuine feedback, positively when applicable, whenever it fell upon him to instruct or teach him.

     “Now, as for that symbol you could not translate,” continued Iroh, moving the scroll of Air Nomad rites between them so they could both see it at the same time, “I believe we have time to work on that together, before dinner. First, let’s check: is there any pattern in how it is used in other parts of the document?”

     He watched his nephew search through the scroll and trace the symbol each time he found it. Interestingly, it was always the first symbol of the passage, and even more interestingly, it was only at the beginning of the passage, and never more than once per passage. He began to develop a theory as to its meaning and purpose, but he allowed his nephew the time to figure it out for himself. They still had plenty of time before Cook Shikyong would announce the evening meal, and it would be good for Zuko to feel successful at the end of the day’s work. 

     Sure enough, after several more minutes, Zuko’s expression brightened from one of stressed concentration to a hesitantly curious one. “...Uncle, I think… I think I found something,” he said, looking up with eyes full of hopeful excitement. “That symbol is only at the beginning of the prayers, and it’s at the beginning of every single one! And at the end of each prayer there’s a double line instead of a single line.”

     “So there is!” exclaimed Iroh encouragingly. He hadn’t noticed the second part, so his astonished approval was not even exaggerated for the sake of his nephew’s self-esteem, but entirely genuine. “Do you have any theories as to why that might be?”

     Bolstered by Iroh’s response, Zuko replied more confidently this time. “I think they probably show the beginning and ending of each section,” he said. “So I don’t have to figure out how to say them!”

     “Well done, Nephew!” praised Iroh. “I think that is indeed the purpose of the marks. You have accomplished a great deal of clever work this afternoon!” Zuko smiled bashfully at the acknowledgment of his correct answer, and Iroh beamed proudly back at him. 

     They finished their tea in contented silence–until Zuko’s stomach grumbled hungrily. “Shall I help you put away your study materials before we prepare for dinner?” Iroh offered, smiling with what he hoped his nephew would interpret as loving-kindness rather than amusement at his expense. Unfortunately, Zuko’s scowl hinted that he had noticed the amusement. He grunted in response, but started stacking papers neatly together, so perhaps he was not quite as irritated as he appeared. Iroh took the writing brushes and inkstone away with the tea tray so that he could clean them before returning them to their places in his nephew’s pack. His nephew had made impressive progress with his translation project, but he himself felt rather successful in his attempts today at helping his nephew’s mind and connecting with his heart. 

—

     Midshipman Ren hefted another bale of hay as he tended to the komodo rhinos. He didn’t understand why they were staying here so long, but he wasn’t complaining. The animals were a lot easier to manage in their makeshift pen on the shore than they were belowdecks on their rust-bucket of a ship. Whoever named it had had quite the sense of humor, he thought. Rusty Dragon, indeed. He glanced over at Ensign Nanko to make sure she was handling the eagle-hawks okay–she wasn’t too bad at it, for a beginner. He might let her start feeding them unsupervised, soon, if she kept up the good work. The young prince had taken to caring for the animals like a turtleduck to water, and already had permission to do any of the necessary tasks without a babysitter. He currently was polishing Yuri’s horns and muttering some nonsense syllables at her over and over. If there was a pattern or meaning to it, it wasn’t any of Ren’s business. The young prince usually came by the animals when he wanted privacy, and Ren wasn’t about to ruin that for him. He finished moving the hay and grabbed a bucket for hauling water. There was plenty of work to do without bothering the kid, after all.

—

     Shikyong grunted as Sodate passed him a crate a bit too enthusiastically. They’d already been in one place long enough to need a supply run to the nearest settlement, which surprised him. He’d assumed they’d be endlessly steaming along from port to port, based on the mission they’d apparently been assigned of searching for a myth. Meh, he was just the lowly cook. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d misunderstood what they were supposed to be doing, but as long as he kept everyone fed it wouldn’t make any difference to him or anyone else. One more crate unloaded, and Sodate would stow the tender and it’d be back to the galley for him. 

    “Can I help?” Shikyong glanced down at the raspy sound of the voice of the Fire Prince and raised an eyebrow in question. “...If I’m not busy, Uncle’s gonna try to make me play Pai Sho again.” The playful disgust on the prince’s face was a bit amusing, so Shikyong shrugged and passed him the lightest of the crates before taking a heavier one for himself.

     A few hours later, the new supplies were stowed in their places in the hold and in the galley, and the kid was gesturing animatedly with the knife he was supposed to be using on the tomato-carrots while he explained some nuance of the plot of Love Amongst the Dragons to a bemused and very much entertained ‘lowly cook’.

—

     “Rilunga danga gachiga gyura byosa. Rilunga baduna gyi rinama shesa danga manyama du makkaa dabyingasa su zhabasa biro akkiraba. Rilunga litara ranga dabanga. Zhi bade yonga.”

     “Ya can say that again, kid,” said Engineer Jishi as she performed routine maintenance on the boiler in the belly of the Sabita Ryu. Most other ships needed this maintenance once a season, or once a year if the equipment wasn’t abused too much, but she had found it necessary to repeat these tasks on a weekly basis in this scrap heap masquerading as a cruiser. “And pass me that ravencrowfoot wrench. No, that’s a basic crescent wrench, kid. The one next to that… other direction. Yeah, that one.” She accepted the wrench and tightened a bolt that really shouldn’t have gotten loose so quickly after her last time working on this boiler. She was not at all surprised when the overly-literal prince started reciting his nonsense words again to her while she worked. It was the fifth or sixth time he’d ‘helped’ her work, and he’d followed every direction exactly even when she was making an effort to be noticeable in her sarcasm. It was kind of cute, in a lost puppy-kitten kind of way. Her kid sister had had a puppy-kitten, once, back before they’d both gotten old enough to get drafted. This prince kid had some of the same adorable tendencies, not that she’d ever admit to having feelings or liking cute things. She had a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate the comparison much anyway. He was at that age where boys wanted to be seen as independent and strong men, even if they were endearingly clumsy instead. 

     “What’s all that mean, anyway?” she asked as she passed the wrench back to him and wiped off her greasy hands with a rag.

     The prince-kid straightened up like he had been called on to recite in school or something, and said, “Be one with the wind. Dance in the air with the spirits of the seven winds. Be as free as the wind. Be at peace.”

     “Huh. Poetic.”

     “It’s a funeral poem.” The prince-kid looked down at his feet. “For the Air Nomads.”

     “Huh. Makes sense.” Jishi picked up her toolbox. “Wanna help me with the ventilation system filter next?” The prince-kid nodded with what appeared to be a grateful expression at the change in topic.

—

      It was night. He stood at the edge of a veritable sea of tents, looking out into the woods. All was quiet, for now. It was his first campaign. He was excited, but nervous. They were really close to dirt-eater territory, and Sergeant Sanso was their highest-ranking officer, with only three years of service under his belt. If something went wrong, they’d be in the thick of things without much guidance. But all was quiet, for now.

     Footsteps came from behind him, from within the camp. “Anything to report, Private Haizi?” He turned to salute his superior officer. “All’s quiet, Sarge,” he said. Sgt. Sanso nodded and continued on his way towards the next lookout. 

     He’d only made it a few paces before the sounds of shouting could be heard from the opposite side of the camp. They glanced at each other before turning to look towards the sounds. Before they could figure out what was going on, however, there was a loud crash as a boulder crushed the tent beside them, and whatever unfortunate recruits were now trapped beneath it. 

     What followed was a confusing blur of flying rocks and streaks of flames. Everywhere he looked, there were half-buried tents, half-awake teenagers, and half-dressed corpses. The air was filled with shouts and screams, and the stench of blood and dirt. He tried to find those damned dirt-eaters so he could do something, anything, with his spear. 

     By the time he saw them, however, it was too late. His feet were sucked into a hole in the ground that hadn’t been there before, and a rock crushed his ribs with a horrific crunch. He collapsed onto his side, and watched the blood trickle out of his own mouth and into a small puddle in front of his face. He couldn’t breathe, and through the darkness clouding the edges of his vision he could see flashes of flames in the distance. The darkness grew faster than the flames, and he felt the cold encroaching on his extremities. The last thing he saw before the darkness overtook him was Sgt. Sanso collapsing in front of him. 

     All was quiet, now.

—

     Zuko did not show up to their customary sunrise meditation. Nor did he appear on deck to practice his katas. It wasn’t until he’d completely missed breakfast that Iroh allowed himself to become worried. After consulting with Chiryo, Jee, and Ren, none of whom had seen the boy, he headed to his nephew’s quarters, expecting to find him sleeping in for once. 

     He knocked on the door, and heard a grunt in response which he chose to interpret as permission to enter. He was surprised to find his nephew, not in bed as he supposed, but in front of his room’s altar with the candles and incense lit. Tears streamed down his face, and Iroh could not tell if they were from grief or from his lingering fear of the flames. Whatever the case, he clearly needed comforting. Attempting to exude an air of calm, he knelt beside Zuko in front of the altar.

     “What is the matter, Prince Zuko?” he asked, forgetting for a moment his nephew’s preferred title in light of his distress. Rather than berating him for the lapse, his nephew reached out and clung to him, sobbing. Painstakingly, a phrase or two at a time, he managed to understand the gist of his nephew’s graphically realistic nightmare, and his certainty that the events had actually happened, somewhere, sometime, to somebody. Somebody with a name. Someone whose death Zuko had apparently experienced in all too vivid a manner. 

     Murmuring words of comfort, and reminders that here and now Zuko was safe, Iroh hugged his nephew. After a while, Zuko calmed somewhat. Together, they recited the traditional Fire Nation prayers for the absent dead, which Iroh was surprised not to need to teach him despite the ancient obscurity of the words. 

     By noon, Zuko was ready to come out for lunch, looking subdued but no longer distraught. “Nephew, would you like to learn how to read the words those prayers are written in?” Iroh offered. “I can show you after lunch, if you would like.”

      “Do you mean the one the Fire Army uses as a code, now?” asked Zuko, perking up a little. When it was confirmed, he eagerly agreed.

     A few hours later, Zuko was carefully copying the curving symbols, his traumatic nightmare but a distant memory.

—

     Zuko leaned against the gunwale, sketchbook in hand, as he tried to get the curve of the beach just right on the page. He’d finished memorizing the prayers and the steps of the funeral rites, and after he’d transcribed them into Ancient Fire Tongue, his Uncle had helped quiz him to make sure he really did know them correctly. Tomorrow, they’d return to the Air Temple to begin the rites. For now, he had free time and felt actually good enough to try working on something fun and purposeless like drawing. It was a bit harder to get the angles right with the perspective skewed in his left eye, but not impossibly so. For the first time in a very long time, he felt relaxed. He felt safe. He felt free.

     He brushed a stray tuft of hair out of his face. His hair was starting to grow back from where it had been cut after his injury, but it wasn’t yet long enough to tie back into a proper phoenix tail, and it kept getting into his face at inconvenient moments. The slight breeze over the water didn’t help much. He was grateful, though, that he still had hair. Many Agni Kai losers were forced to shave their heads, or cut their topknots, or otherwise defile their heads with their shame. Father hadn’t ordered it, though. Probably because my face makes it obvious enough already…

     An eagle-hawk alighted nearby. Zuko frowned and closed his sketchbook to take a look at it. It wasn’t one of theirs, he knew. It shuffled closer and turned its back to him, revealing the carrying case on its back. Apparently, somebody had sent him a message. The gold trim against the red leather, and the flame embossed on the cap, revealed the sender to be someone with access to the Royal Aviary. Nervous, Zuko reached for the case. The bird allowed him to open it, so he must be the intended recipient. He pulled out a single tightly-rolled scroll, tied with a black ribbon. “Come get some food, then,” he told the bird, guiding it to the ship’s hawker, Midshipman Ren. Something told him that he didn’t want to open this scroll, so he distracted himself by caring for the bird with the hawker for as long as he could justifiably get away with it.

     Uncle came by after a few minutes, though, with an offer of tea, as usual. Zuko followed him back on deck, and picked at the ribbon. Unable to put it off any further, he slowly untied the ribbon and unfurled the scroll.

     There was no salutation, no message. Just a list. Names, inscribed in red ink, filled the page in neat columns. Private Jiro of Hira’a. Private Lei of Ember Island. Private Haizi of Caldera. Sergeant Sanso of Fire Fountain City. Specialist Li of Shu Jin. The list went on and on, hundreds of names in red ink, no, thousands. The highest rank was sergeant, and the majority were privates. Zuko stared at the list in confusion for a minute, before remembering the only reason names were ever written in red ink: for death announcements and funerals. Someone in the Fire Nation capital had sent him a list of names of deceased young soldiers. 

     The 41st Division was dead, and Fire Lord Ozai wanted to make sure he knew it.