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Zuko was in an almost constant state of terror after being banished by his father from the Fire Nation. He had nothing to his name but an archaic ship, a tiny crew, and a painful reminder splashed across his face for everyone to see. He had his Uncle, too, he supposed.
And perhaps it was his Uncle that really saved Zuko, because he wasn’t sure he would have survived this had he been alone. He spent his days endlessly poring over maps and plans, ordering his crew around with a type of hostility he had grown to believe was a sign of good leadership. How else would he get them to listen to the exiled, shameful princess?
At night he tossed and turned restlessly in his sheets, holding back tears, until his Uncle would knock softly at his door and come in to make him tea as if it wasn’t the middle of the night. As if they shouldn’t both be asleep in their respective beds back at the palace. As if it wasn’t Zuko’s fault they were here.
It was during one of these nightly tea sessions that Zuko had a white-knuckled grip on his cup as he stared deeply into its contents, searching for the words to explain something he didn’t know how to say.
He supposed he had felt this way for almost his entire life, but he’d never had the chance to really think about it—not that his father would have ever let him entertain the idea for a second even if Zuko had wanted to. On this ship, though, out in the middle of the ocean where no one was yelling at him to straighten up, to practice harder, to stop being such a failure, Zuko had time to think.
He wished there was more than just the quiet groan of his metal ship twisting in the waves to drown out his thoughts.
“I know my niece well enough to know when something is on her mind,” his Uncle said after a long bout of silence. It was innocuous, but it was still enough to shatter Zuko’s resolve into a thousand pieces.
Without thinking, he snapped back, “Don’t call me that.”
And just like that, he found the words to tell his Uncle everything. He fumbled over his thoughts, creating circles in his explanations, but his Uncle just nodded like he was making all the sense in the world. Zuko managed to say he wanted a new name, a new title, a new everything.
By the time he was finished, Zuko realized he hadn’t had any of his tea, and he grimaced at the cold beverage and set it down. In response, his Uncle reached over and cupped his hands around it, heating it back up again. The steam rose softly and caressed Zuko’s cheeks.
“My dear nephew,” his Uncle started, and Zuko felt his heart skip a beat. “You will always have me by your side, no matter what.”
Things seemed to move very quickly after that for Zuko—that was the name he chose, though it still felt clunky and foreign on his tongue.
“Prince Zuko.” It slipped out easily from his Uncle’s mouth each time, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Zuko wondered—feared—if the name would always feel like someone else’s. He wondered why it seemed so easy for his Uncle when he himself struggled.
The crew was less… accommodating. Zuko knew he wouldn’t be able to tell them himself, so he meekly asked his Uncle to spread the message across the ship. It was embarrassing and childish, he knew, but telling his Uncle had been hard enough. He barely knew these people, and his already-weak control would crumble the instant they saw him trembling and stumbling over his words. He had to keep a strong image, especially now.
So his Uncle delivered the news one day while Zuko stayed in his quarters fretting, and when he returned he said everyone was aware now and if there were any problems Zuko should come to him immediately.
“Problems?” Zuko asked, shrinking into himself. “What kind of problems?”
“None, if they know what’s good for them,” his Uncle said humorously, though Zuko could tell there was a hint of something darker beneath it.
Zuko found out soon enough what kind of problems his Uncle was referring to.
It started with trivial things, and Zuko was so accustomed to being addressed a certain way that he didn’t even notice half the time. Despite his banishment, members of his crew addressed him as Princess multiple times. It took several hours before Zuko remembered that he wasn’t even the crown princess anymore, in title or gender.
His cheeks burned, but he didn’t tell his Uncle. Perhaps they had simply forgotten.
After he became aware of it, though, it was hard for Zuko to focus on anything else. Everywhere he went, a name that wasn’t his own anymore greeted him, and several members of his crew spoke about him to each other with pointed she and hers.
He didn’t know what to do, so he did nothing. Zuko tried his best to keep the embarrassment off his face long enough to bark a few orders before he stormed off. His rage built throughout the day, and he knew he was being short with everyone who had the poor misfortune of being in his way, even if they hadn’t said anything to him.
His face has morphed into a permanent scowl by dinnertime, and he sat alone at a table. He was one of the first to arrive, so he picked quietly at his food while others shuffled into the mess hall around him.
A shadow fell over his tray, and Zuko felt his heart drop into his stomach. He looked up slowly to find a woman smiling down at him.
“Is anyone sitting with you?” she asked.
“Obviously not,” Zuko snapped, pointedly looking at the empty chairs at his table.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked, her voice not wavering from its friendly tone. Zuko grimaced slightly, aware that he was being unnecessarily rude.
“Sure,” he muttered.
“Thank you, sir,” she replied, sitting across from him. It took a moment for Zuko to realize what she said, and when he did finally register that she called him sir he blushed, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest. Zuko watched the woman dig into her meal. Shaofeng, he thought idly, remembering her name. She was well-loved among the crew.
After a moment, Shaofeng sat up and waved someone else over, and a man joined them a second later.
“Yun, you will not believe what I saw over the side of the ship today,” Shaofeng began, and Zuko zoned out while the two spoke. He poked at his food, mind still replaying the sound of the word sir, his heart swelling every time.
Laughter bubbled out of the two people at his table, but that wasn’t what brought Zuko out of his reverie. Yun had groaned, shook his head, and leaned over the table towards him. “Zuko, tell her she didn’t see a two-headed squidshark. This is ridiculous.”
Zuko stared at Yun wide-eyed, unsure if he had heard him right. The name had fallen from his mouth the same way it fell from his Uncle’s, as if it had always been Zuko’s name and there was nothing out of the ordinary about it.
“I bet he saw it, too,” Shaofeng interjected, shoving her friend playfully. They continued to argue while Zuko sat, dazed, watching them. It was a strange feeling in his stomach, but he didn’t think it was a bad one. He felt like he might be sick, but… in a good way? He kind of wanted to find his Uncle and tell him what had happened, to gush to someone who wouldn’t judge him or think he was childish.
“The real question is,” another voice joined in, “how many arms did it have?” A woman chuckled as she sat down in-between Shaofeng and Zuko.
“It had a normal amount of arms, Ling,” Shaofeng said, exasperated. Beside her, Yun rolled his eyes.
The argument died down a bit after that while each of them focused more on their food. Shaofeng made a small comment about the squidshark again at some point, and Zuko found a giggle coming out of his mouth before he could think better of it.
“You have such a cute laugh,” Ling mused, looking down at him. Zuko pressed his lips together and looked away awkwardly. “A really pretty smile, too,” she continued.
“Ling,” Shaofeng hissed, shooting her a questioning look. She tried to bring the conversation back to the squidshark, but Ling turned away from her and focused her attention on Zuko. He felt like trapped prey, backed into a corner with nowhere to go.
“You know, you have beautiful hair,” she said nonchalantly, reaching a hand up to run her fingers over his hair. She tucked a strand of it behind his ear, and he fought to urge to flinch away. “I met Lady Ursa once, years ago. She had beautiful hair, too.” Ling smiled then, sending a chill down Zuko’s spine. “When you smile, you look just like her.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Yun nearly yelled, smacking his hands down on the table. Zuko jumped at the sound, but so did Ling. She pulled her hand back to her lap, blessedly away from Zuko.
“What’s wrong with me?” Ling shot back, looking offended.
“Zuko, you don’t look like your mother,” Yun assured, pointedly looking away from Ling. His expression was furious despite his comforting tone.
“Yeah,” Shaofeng agreed. “You look more like your father.” Zuko must’ve looked horrified—and so did Yun beside her—because Shaofeng’s eyes grew wide and she shook her head wildly. “I mean—no! You look like… your uncle?”
Grimacing, Zuko stood from his seat. Suddenly his appetite was gone.
As he left the mess hall, Zuko heard Shaofeng call out an apology. Ling said something else, but Yun drowned her out as he started yelling. He could feel the eyes of other crewmembers on him, and he fought to keep down the tears that burned behind his eyes. He made it all the way to his quarters before the tears began to fall.
Zuko lit candles at his desk and set up a small mirror in front of himself. He definitely didn’t look like his Uncle, but out of all of them he felt that Ling was the most accurate. It had been years since Zuko saw his mother last, but if he turned his head to the side, tilted his head up just so, he thought he saw a hint of her. He hesitated, unsure if he really wanted to know, but after a moment Zuko smiled slightly.
Yes. There she was.
She looked sad.
Zuko usually wore his hair up, with strands falling down in the front to frame his face. He tucked the strands away to see if that helped, and as he appraised himself in the mirror he thought that it did, if just a little. But Shaofeng’s words echoed in his mind. One shaky hand came up to cover the left side of his face. Instead of smiling, Zuko took a deep breath and scowled a bit.
Yes. There he was.
Alarmed by who he saw in the mirror, Zuko snuffed out the candles. His heart beat rapidly in his chest, and he felt ridiculous for having to remind himself that his father wasn’t actually there, couldn’t actually hurt him.
He knew, though, that something had so be done about his appearance.
Zuko didn’t have a chance to do anything for a few weeks. He had, more than once, nearly given into temptation and simply taken one of his dao from the wall to chop off his hair with one dramatic swipe. It would have gotten the job done, but he wanted it done properly.
At the next port they stopped at for supplies, Zuko made sure his Uncle was well into a game of pai sho before he snuck off the ship on his own and headed into a nearby marketplace. Dozens of Earth Kingdom citizens bustled around him. Zuko pulled the hood of his cloak tighter as he ducked through the crowd.
Eventually, he came across a stand that he thought looked like it may have what he needed. Zuko slipped out from the crowd and started perusing, fingers grazing over soaps and jewel-encrusted combs.
“Can I help you?”
Zuko jumped at the booming voice that startled him from his shopping. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a large shopkeeper looming over him, a lecherous smile spread across his face. Zuko almost said no, almost tucked tail to run from the stand altogether, but quickly remembered his mission.
“A shaving kit,” he ordered, doing his best to channel his most authoritarian tone. The shopkeeper laughed a deep, hearty laugh, so Zuko figured he hadn’t channeled hard enough.
“You buying that for your boyfriend?” the shopkeeper asked, and Zuko bristled.
“It’s for me,” he spat.
“And what does a pretty girl like you need with a shaving kit?” His voice was dripping with flirtation, and it made Zuko want to vomit.
“I am not a girl,” he said through clenched teeth. He could feel his face twitching, and a familiar feeling started to swell in his stomach, burning and angry.
The shopkeeper bit back whatever he had wanted to say, looking Zuko up and down. He smiled again, an ugly and menacing thing. “Sure,” he conceded. “I think there’s a kit in the back. Why don’t I show you?”
The man took a step closer, his body trapping Zuko in a corner. A thick, sweaty hand grabbed one of Zuko’s wrists and tried to pull him along.
“No,” Zuko said, trying to pull his wrist free. The hand just gripped tighter and tugged him towards the back of the shop. “I said no!” Zuko shifted his weight down and leaned away. In one quick movement, he twisted his arm to free his wrist, grabbed the man’s arm with both his hands, and pulled with his whole body. He rolled down onto the ground and kicked up, sending the shopkeeper up and out of the stand and into the busy path outside.
Several people gasped as they jumped out of the way, and everyone in the immediate vicinity looked on with interest as Zuko exited the shop to join the man. The shopkeeper groaned, but stood up unsteadily and dusted himself off.
“Bitch,” he spat. “I’ll kill you.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Zuko shot back. He lifted his fists and made a show of setting each aflame, pointing the fire at him aggressively. The crowd around them took a few steps back. The two started to circle, dropping into combative stances.
“What’s going on?” Zuko glanced behind him to see a group of four Fire Nation soldiers enter the fray. He wasn’t sure he remembered their names, but they looked familiar enough that he knew they were part of his crew.
“Collect your trash,” the shopkeeper yelled to the newcomers. He gestured to Zuko. “She’s making a mess.” Zuko growled and punched, sending out a blast of fire to graze the shopkeeper’s arm. Not enough to do damage, but just enough to scare him. The man yelped and prepared to lunge.
“Leave him alone,” a voice yelled from amongst the Fire Nation soldiers. Zuko turned on his heel, ready to tear into whoever was telling their commanding officer not to fight, but froze when he realized the soldier was talking to the shopkeeper, not to Zuko. All four soldiers were crouched in fighting stances, the two benders with fire at the ready. They stared down the shopkeeper intensely.
The shopkeeper, at least, knew when he was outnumbered. He held his hands up in surrender and backed away into his shop, grumbling the whole time.
“Are you alright, sir?” One of the soldiers approached and placed a hand on Zuko’s shoulder. Zuko, like a fish out of water, opened and closed his mouth a few times before he found his voice.
“Yes,” he finally croaked. He cleared his throat. “You’re dismissed.”
Before anyone could ask him anything else, he hurried away, pushing through several people who were still crowded around after having watched everything unfold. He made his way through the throng and headed back for to the ship, his mission completely forgotten.
Zuko spent the entire afternoon and much of the early evening in his room. It was several hours before he heard a knock on his door, and he thought absentmindedly that it had taken longer than he expected for his Uncle to hear of the news.
Sure enough, when he called for the person to enter, his Uncle came through the door and shut it behind him. Zuko spared him only a small glance before he went back to sitting curled up on his bed, stewing. His Uncle sat beside him and folded his hands in his lap.
“Were you going to tell me you attacked a man in the marketplace today?”
Zuko didn’t answer, though he didn’t really need to. They both knew the answer was no.
“Nephew,” his Uncle said softly. It was the tone he always used that made Zuko melt, so the boy turned his face away to hide its affect. “What happened?” A gentle hand rested on his shoulder, and Zuko pushed it away.
“Nothing,” he snapped. He didn’t want to think about it anymore. He’d spent all afternoon sitting in his room replaying the scene over and over, hating himself for not just leaving the stand right away. Hating himself more for having gone in the first place.
“Why did you sneak away to the marketplace?” his Uncle asked, bringing his hands back to his lap.
“To buy something,” he replied sharply.
“Yes,” his Uncle said patiently. “What were you buying?”
Zuko paused and looked at his Uncle, searching for judgement but knowing he wouldn’t find it. Still, heat rose in his cheeks and he hid most of his face in the arms wrapped around his legs as he pulled them tightly to his chest.
“A shaving kit,” he mumbled into his sleeve, too quiet to actually hear. His Uncle leaned in and raised an eyebrow, and Zuko sighed, lifting his face to rest his chin on his arm. “I was looking for a shaving kit,” he said, voice still soft. He raised a hand and brushed it over his hair, gripping the ends tightly. “I want to cut my hair.”
“Why would you want to do that?” His voice wasn’t accusatory, just curious. Zuko huffed anyway.
“You know why,” he muttered.
“I can’t say that I do,” his Uncle mused. “But then again, I supposed a man doesn’t need a reason to cut his hair.” His Uncle hummed and nodded, then stood. “Come.”
Wordlessly, Zuko followed his Uncle through the ship and to his quarters. It was very different than Zuko’s own room, which was bare bones, without any decoration aside from some broadswords on one of the cold, metal walls. His Uncle’s room, on the other hand, was filled with trinkets from years of travel. Decorative figurines and vases were scattered around on shelves, and the walls were covered in colorful tapestries. The air smelled like earthy tea leaves and incense.
“Have a seat,” his Uncle invited, dropping a cushion in front of a large mirror leaned against a wall. Zuko sat and stared at his Uncle through the reflection, watching as he fetched a small bundle from a dresser. The man returned after a moment, seating himself on another cushion behind Zuko. He smiled kindly at him through the mirror.
“What would you like?”
Zuko looked at his own reflection, seeing his mother and his father, and he frowned. “Shave it off,” he ordered. His Uncle, though he tried to keep his expression neutral, was clearly startled.
“If you’re sure…” His Uncle reached up to remove the hair tie, and Zuko instinctively reached up and grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t…” Zuko trailed off, biting his lip. “Maybe not all of it.”
He did love his hair. It was important to him, and it was a part of him. He didn’t want anyone, not even his parents, to ruin that for him. But, as he looked at his reflection, Zuko knew that something needed to change.
He and his Uncle exchanged ideas, and finally they settled on an option they thought would work nicely. Zuko watched dazedly while his Uncle cut and shaved away, hair piling up on the floor and in his lap. Zuko held a stray strand in his hands and absently ran it between his fingers. It felt strange, the familiarity of the texture mixed with the foreign feeling of the hair being separated from his head. It wasn’t bad, though. Just strange.
Zuko went back to his room that night and lay silently in his bed, trying and failing to sleep. His bare scalp brushed against the pillow, and he realized with a start that it was a sensation he’d never experience before. A hand came up, and he gripped the phoenix tail, running his hand over the shortened length.
Definitely strange.
In the morning, Zuko rose earlier than he usually did and made his way to the empty deck. He found a secluded section and sat cross legged, folding his hands in his lap and facing the direction he knew the sun would be rising in shortly. While he waited, he focused on his breathing.
In, out, in, out. Just like his Uncle had taught him. It soothed his worries, slowed his heartbeat, grounded him in a way he knew he desperately needed.
As the sun rose, Zuko felt it first on his head. The heat seeped into his skin, heating him gently and relaxing his muscles. He sighed, tilting his chin up to take in more of the sunlight.
Even though he tried to keep himself centered, Zuko’s mind wandered. He thought of a name that wasn’t his anymore, heard it being said by those around him for years. His mother, in the dead of night as she told him goodbye. His father, every day as he chastised him. Even his Uncle, though it was never said with hostility.
Then he thought of another name, the one he had chosen, that he was still growing accustomed to. He heard his Uncle say this one, knowing it was purposefully said with extra affection. He heard it from Shaofeng and Yun, friendly and open. He heard it from his own mouth, unfamiliar and awkward.
Zuko. Zuko. Zuko.
His mind repeated the name, over and over, like a methodic mantra. He breathed in once, deeply, through his nose, and let out a steady breath from his mouth.
“Zuko,” he whispered softly. The name slipped from his mouth with ease, as naturally as if he had been saying it his whole life.
His shoulders sagged with relief, a smiled played at the edges of his lips, and the sun felt warm on his scalp.