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It took a few months before members of the crew started piecing together one aspect of their young commanding officer’s behavior. Prince Zuko had a particular personality quirk that a few of them noticed, but no one could quite figure it out. He had the odd habit of entering rooms or coming up on deck, pausing, and quickly retreating, often accompanied by a barely audible squeak. It didn’t happen all the time, but when it did it always left the crew puzzled. It wasn’t until an unfortunate incident one day that the pieces finally clicked.
Lieutenants Shu and Wen were on deck one afternoon practicing firebending. They weren’t doing anything too intense, just sparring lightly as a warm-up. When their muscles were starting to feel loose and sweat had just begun to trickle down their temples, they nodded to each other as an indicator to pick up the pace.
Right at that moment, Prince Zuko came walking around the corner, but didn’t seem to be paying them too much attention.
Shu suddenly felt anxious. No one had seemed to be able to get on the young prince’s good side so far. Most hadn’t even been able to interact with him, and those who had would only mention his short temper and generally sour disposition.
But Shu wanted to be in his good favor. The idea of being the first to have an actually pleasant interaction with the famed—and banished—prince made her clench her fists with determination.
Thinking quickly, Shu resolved to grab his attention with a showy display of firebending, at least to get him to look up. Maybe he’d be impressed by it, or maybe he’d step in and offer some sort of advice he’d gleaned from his years of private, elite firebending lessons. She could suck it up and take criticism from a thirteen year-old if it meant he would respect her more, right?
As the Prince walked by behind Wen, Shu focused on getting a particularly difficult move exactly right, twirling flames around her body in precise forms while flipping through the air. She nailed the landing and sent two streams of intertwining flames at her opponent.
Wen was quick on his feet, though, and dodged the onslaught with ease. He slid out of the way, leaving Shu just enough time to feel her heart drop into her shoes as she watched her flames head straight toward Prince Zuko, who had quickened his pace to pass them.
Shu could only watch, horrified, as the prince turned towards the sudden source of light. He lifted his hands instinctively to maneuver the flames away from his body, but at the same time let out a yelp as he fell backwards. He stayed lying flat on his back, his chest heaving.
Pushing past Wen, Shu approached the form on the ground, apologies already falling out of her mouth.
“Forgive me, Prince Zuko, I didn’t see you,” she rushed out. She held out a hand to help him up, but pulled it back as if it had been burned when she saw how hard the prince flinched. His eyes were wide, his whole frame shaking in fright. He was looking at her with such fear in his eyes she questioned whether or not he was even really seeing her. She glanced at the angry red scar marking the left side of his face and felt her chest tighten.
A quiet whine brought her back to the moment, and it took her a moment to realize it was coming from the prince. He was sliding his body backwards, practically crawling away from her as a low, pitiful moan came from the back of his throat. Shu took pity on him and stepped back. The moment she did, Prince Zuko pushed himself up off the ground and took off, disappearing below decks.
Shu watched him go. Wen walked up beside her and sighed.
“Imagine being trapped on a ship full of firebenders when the sight of fire makes you feel like that,” he muttered. Impossibly, Shu felt her heart break further.
After that, the crew quickly put together that it had been fire all along that caused the young prince to make hasty retreats. One guard mentioned a time when he was lighting a torch one evening and Prince Zuko practically ran into a wall in his haste to leave. Another recounted a time when she was meditating, surrounded by candles, and since her door had been left open she witnessed the boy walk past her room and stumble, falling to the floor with a startled squeak before running off.
All of the stories came down to one thing: Prince Zuko was petrified of fire.
They weren’t quite sure what to do with that information. They couldn’t just stop firebending. The crew did, however, start making more of an effort to keep an eye on where the prince was on the ship. Whenever they could, they’d keep their practicing away from him. They found remote locations to spar, they closed doors when they meditated, and they extinguished flames in an instant if they caught sight of the prince. They weren’t sure if he actually noticed their efforts, but they did find that Prince Zuko had stopped his habit of entering and abruptly leaving a space.
This went on for several weeks, but it was starting to get tiresome. With increased comfort on the ship, the prince was making more and more appearances everywhere. Finding time and space to firebend had become rare and nearly sacred.
One night on deck Shu found herself in the company of the boy’s uncle, General Iroh, after a particularly difficult day of being interrupted twice by the prince. It was definitely the frustration boiling up inside of her that allowed the words to tumble out before she could remember her manners.
“Do you think Prince Zuko will ever get over his fear of fire?” The moment it left her mouth, she felt her cheeks turn red as shame overtook her. “I’m sorry, General, I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s alright,” he assured, cutting her off with a placating gesture. He was quiet a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. “Would you like some tea?”
Not one to turn down an offer from the Dragon of the West, especially after asking a frankly rude question about his traumatized nephew, Shu agreed and followed him into a room where they sat down at a table. She remained silent, watching as he expertly made them tea. Her nerves wound tightly, but the scent of freshly brewed jasmine tea and General Iroh’s composed energy calmed her slightly. She took the cup when he offered it, bringing it to her lips to cool with her breath.
The General took a sip of his own tea before sighing. “I wasn’t aware anyone had noticed my nephew’s… anxiety,” he admitted. Shu just sipped at her tea, unsure if she should admit just how many knew about Prince Zuko’s predicament. Nearly everyone on the ship had at least heard the stories, if not witnessed it themselves. General Iroh continued. “For the prince, fire has never come easy, and it has not always been kind to him in turn.”
Shu hummed softly, picturing a man with a flaming hand cast onto the boy’s face. “I’ve seen the way he reacts. It’s understandable, but…” she trailed off, setting down her cup. “What will he do?” Certainly he couldn’t live the rest of his life like this, in constant fear, tucking tail and retreating at every flicker of a candle.
“He will learn to cope,” the General said. He smiled calmly, sympathetically. “He is a thirteen year-old boy who has been badly hurt, and not just by fire. He is frightened, certainly, but my nephew has so much anguish inside of him, and it is causing him so much pain.” He closed his eyes, pausing a moment as if to collect himself. “Someday, Prince Zuko will begin the process of healing. Once he begins to do that, I have no doubt that he will see wondrous growth and begin his journey to becoming something so much more than the frightened young boy everyone sees when they look at him. All we can do is help him along his path.”
Shu finished her tea and bid the General good night, letting his words settle in as she went to sleep. She dreamt of a young child with turmoil deep within his bone, wreaking havoc on his small frame and threatening to set him alight in a blazing pyre.
The crew continued to be mindful of the prince’s whereabouts in regards to their firebending, becoming increasingly convinced that this would just have to be how things were from now on.
Their conviction only grew as officers were able to catch glimpses of General Iroh training his nephew from time to time. They ran through basic forms, katas that the youngest of children could get through. There was no fire involved, but the prince was still more often than not driven to outbursts and fits by the end of the lessons.
Months passed, and the crew occasionally updated one another, with a sad sort of gentleness in their voices, that there was very little progress taking place.
One early evening, Shu made her way to a corner of the upper deck that she knew was generally a safe bet for practicing. When she got close, she could hear the telltale shuffling that said someone had gotten there first. She was about to turn back when a small grunt caught her attention. The sound was small, clearly coming from someone young.
With the lightest feet she could manage, Shu creeped along the wall and peered around. Prince Zuko was alone and running through a set of simple katas. His face revealed intense concentration, and the sweat dripping down his temple, along with the slight tremble in his limbs, revealed that he had probably been at this for quite some time. With another grunt, he ran through the forms and stumbled, sprawling onto the floor gracelessly. Shu fought the impulse to jump in and help him back up.
Instead, she silently urged him on. Prince Zuko returned to his feet and tried again. Once again, he fell to the floor. He slammed his fist onto the metal plating before pushing himself back up. Over and over, he repeated the failure, falling to the ground and getting back up time and time again. After several minutes of this, and of Shu repeatedly holding herself back from helping him, the boy stayed down. He buried his face in his hands and let out an angry, muted yell.
Shu watched his shoulders rise and fall with heavy breaths, but right as she was about to give up and leave him to be alone, the prince readjusted his posture. He sat cross-legged and straightened his back, cupping his hands in his lap. For a few minutes, all he did was sit there and steady his breathing. Shu found herself matching his breaths, and gradually the tension in her own muscles fell away.
Prince Zuko eventually stood back up, seeming to ground himself before he dropped into the proper stance. This time, his forms were more deliberate, the movements measured and slow, and ultimately more accurate. He got through it once, then returned to the start, grounding himself with a few steady breaths before doing it again. The third time through, his movements were more confident, the power behind them building until, on the final punch, a small flame burst from his knuckles.
Shu tensed up, waiting for the familiar whine to unfurl from inside the prince’s chest, waiting for him to fall back in a blind panic, waiting for anything, really.
But nothing happened.
Instead, Prince Zuko paused only for a moment before dropping his arms and relaxing his stance. He stood still, staring out into the space where the fire had been. At his sides, his fingers drummed against his legs, then clenched suddenly. With a sigh, the prince sat back down again, crossing his legs and cupping his hands in his lap. He began to breathe again, slowly and steadily.
Shu left him then, hurrying off as quickly and quietly as she could manage. Excitement swelled in her chest, practically bursting from every fiber of her being. As she found her friends amongst the crew, recounting what happened in a hushed tone, General Iroh’s words from long ago echoed in her mind.
Someday, Prince Zuko will begin the process of healing. Once he begins to do that, I have no doubt that he will see wondrous growth and begin his journey to becoming something so much more than the frightened young boy everyone sees when they look at him. All we can do is help him along his path.
She could tell by the proud glint in the crew’s eyes that they were all more than ready and willing to help the prince along, in whatever way they could.