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Summary
Sokka's expression is caught somewhere between determined and pissed off when he says, “I know you think this is your responsibility. But you’re not going to be alone in this. This is why we’re building you a council.”
“I know,” Zuko says.
“And the only way you’re going to die having done nothing but sit in meetings is if you let yourself do that. You’re not a bad leader if you take a break now and then.”
Zuko scowls. “What, so people can then say at least my father wasn’t lazy?”
Sokka tilts his head. “Don’t you think there’s a difference between laziness and, I don’t know, choosing life and happiness in spite of a terrible dad who tried to take both from you?”
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Zuko is sixteen years old when he’s handed a crown, a throne, and a hundred-year ancestral legacy of colonial imperialism. He’s not scared of the work; he’s scared of being consumed by the responsibilities and burdens he’s claimed. What Zuko doesn’t quite realize, yet, is that he’s not alone in this.