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Fire Lord Ozai had been incredibly specific in his selections of crewmembers aboard the Wani upon exiling Prince Zuko. Each individual received a personal letter by royal messenger hawk ordering them to board the tiny ship and set sail. Of course, with this came a sense of deep responsibility and honor, having been hand-picked by the leader of the Fire Nation to accompany his only son on a long journey. An even deeper sense of confusion followed for most, as they had mediocre military records at best, and were one step short of being dishonorably discharged at worst. It didn’t take long for them to work out that this had been done on purpose, and an uneasy feeling fell across the crew at the realization that they were quite possibly the most ragtag, ill-equipped bunch of idiots in the entire sea.
Thus Bohai found himself as the only medic aboard, despite having barely scraped together enough credentials to even call himself a healer. He felt himself mildly inexperienced in most things on a good day, but once he saw the prince’s wounds, he knew that he was profoundly and purposefully unqualified for this position.
The boy’s uncle—General Iroh, Dragon of the West, entirely capable of killing Bohai without breaking a sweat—simply told him to do his best.
“I’m afraid my best won’t be very good,” he said, not wanting to get anyone’s hopes up.
“I know,” the old man replied, his voice solemn and understanding.
So Bohai set to work on the angry burn smattered across half of the prince’s face. The boy was sweating profusely the whole time, breathing heavily in his unconsciousness and shrinking away every time Bohai reached down to swipe at the wound. He squirmed and groaned and whimpered, but it was nothing compared to when the prince finally awoke.
The screams came from deep within Prince Zuko, tearing through his throat and slicing right through Bohai’s heart. The boy was feverish, delirious, and he eventually had to bring in General Iroh to hold his nephew down, which he hated himself for. The exiled prince asked for the pain to end, pleading through sobs to make it stop, begging to the healer, to his uncle, to his father who wasn’t even there.
Bohai worked as quickly as he could to clean and cover the wound, then made the executive decision, albeit mostly in his own self-interest, to give the prince something that would knock him out cold. He left the uncle and nephew to rest for the night and went to his own quarters. He didn’t sleep, but instead spent the night staring at the ceiling and remembering each blister that punctured under his clumsy touch, hearing the sound of each scream that tore from the boy’s chest every time Bohai drew blood or hit a nerve.
The ship rocked softly in the waves, and Bohai’s hands trembled.
In the morning, he entered the prince’s quarters to find General Iroh sitting at his bedside, most likely having not slept at all himself either. They nodded to each other, and Bohai got to work.
As gently as he could, he removed the wrapping he had applied last night. The bandage caught on damaged flesh, pulling away dead skin and reopening much of the wound. Fortunately, the prince was still deeply unconscious. Bohai worried briefly about the dosage and wondered if he perhaps gave the boy too much, but decided he was just grateful Prince Zuko wasn’t awake for this.
Taking advantage of the stillness of the prince’s body, Bohai took a closer look at the damage. The skin was puckered and red, and he could almost see it throbbing. It had swelled more since the last time he saw it, the eye forced so tightly shut he couldn’t pry it open. He wasn’t sure about the eye itself and whether or not the prince would even be able to see from it any more. He told General Iroh as much.
“And his hearing?” the General asked. Bohai glanced at the left ear, grimacing at its withered, burnt flesh.
“We won’t know until he wakes and can complete a hearing test,” he said. It was a terrible answer, but General Iroh just nodded silently.
“It will scar,” Bohai admitted, though he knew he was stating the obvious.
“Yes,” General Iroh said. “That is the point.”
A wave of shame crashed over Bohai, because the wound didn’t have to scar. At the very least, not as badly as it was going to. A better healer, one with experience and expertise, could certainly minimize the damage to the prince’s skin and tissue. A better healer would be able to manage the prince’s pain without essentially putting him into a coma. A better healer would know what the fuck he was doing.
But, Bohai supposed, like the General said, that was probably the point.
Days passed agonizingly slowly. Bohai and Iroh did not sleep, and Prince Zuko remained unconscious most of the time. When he was awake, it was only long enough for one of the men to feed him soft foods and force water down his throat. He couldn’t remain awake long before becoming confused. He would ramble incoherently and try to leave the bed, crying whenever someone pushed him back down.
His fever grew, and the wound became infected. Bohai cleaned it as well as he could, trying not to wince at the pus seeping through the bandages he removed every few hours.
The prince’s tolerance to the medicine grew as well, and the hours he remained unconscious became fewer and fewer. It was replaced with more screaming and thrashing. In a fit one day, the prince lashed out at Bohai, leaving three long, red gashes down his face.
General Iroh apologized on his nephew’s behalf, but Bohai just shook his head. It was the least of what he deserved for what he was doing to the boy.
On one particularly bad day, Bohai was convinced they would lose the prince. His breathing was labored, almost painful to listen to and even worse to watch as his chest rose and fell unevenly. His skin was sickly pale, and his entire body covered in a slick layer of cold sweat.
Bohai was sure that if the prince died under his care, he would rather jump off the side of the ship than return to the Fire Nation.
A few days later, the fever broke. Prince Zuko was by no means back to healthy, but he was at least no longer on the brink of death. Upon waking, he was weak and confused, but it had more to do with the large dosage of medicine than with an infection-fueled delirium. The worst seemed to be behind them. At least, until about a week later.
For the first time since starting treatment, Prince Zuko seemed wide awake while Bohai cleaned his wound. The boy determinedly did not flinch even once, but Bohai could see the way his jaw clenched so hard he was sure he’d break teeth. Still, he tried his best to apply the healing ointment as gently as humanly possible.
He moved to place a fresh bandage on the area, but a small hand gripped his wrist to stop him.
“I want to see it,” the boy demanded, his tone severe but his voice small. Bohai winced.
“It’s really not healed properly yet, Prince Zuko,” he explained. But really, it was as good as it was going to get. Sure, some of the swelling and redness still needed to go down, but overall, it was finished healing, at least as far as appearance went.
“Let me see it,” Prince Zuko ordered harshly.
Bohai left the bedside and retrieved a small, handheld mirror from across the room. Shame washed over him, seeping down into his bones, as he handed it over to the boy.
Prince Zuko only hesitated for a second before looking into the mirror. He turned his face to the side, taking in the red mark permanently disfiguring half his face. His expression was eerily neutral as his fingers lifted to trace softly at the edge of the scar.
“What did you do to me?” Prince Zuko whispered, and Bohai almost thought he was talking to someone else until the prince trained his harsh gaze right at him. “You mutilated me.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Bohai rushed, bowing his head. “I did the best I could—”
“Your best?” The prince was yelling now, his voice strained. “This was your best? Look at me!” Bohai did, and grimaced, which was certainly the exact wrong thing to do. Prince Zuko rose from the bed, unsteady on his feet but standing through sheer will alone. He looked furious, the scar just adding to the image. “Leave, now.”
“Please, let me apply the bandage,” Bohai said, gesturing to the forgotten gauze on the bed.
“No,” the prince yelled. “You’ve done enough. Get out. Get out!” On the final roar, he threw the mirror, sending it careening towards Bohai, who dodged it. The mirror shattered on the wall behind him, and he hurried out the door.
In a daze, Bohai managed to track down General Iroh and explain in vague terms what had happened, then returned to his own quarters. He locked himself in and collapsed against the door, burying his face in his useless hands.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
He thought about everything he could have done differently that may have changed it, anything that may have reduced the scarring even just a bit. He thought about each and every move he made wrong that added to the pain or the infection or the lasting damage. He thought about how the boy had to go through the rest of his life seeing a blatant reminder of his trauma in every mirror simply because his healer was incompetent. As he curled his legs to his chest and cried, he thought about how, despite everything, he was the best Prince Zuko had.
The ship rocked softly in the waves, and Bohai’s hands trembled.