Chapter Text
I hope I’ve done the right thing.
Zuko had lain down for the night, exhausted from the day’s events. He remembered the last time he was here, near the start of his banishment. He had even slept in this same room, his uncle insisted he get as much rest as possible with his freshly burned face.
Rolling over onto his side, the teenager sighed and glanced over to the carved out windows. The sky was lit up by stars, the moon providing a blue gleem to the otherwise black backdrop. Zuko could hear no noise from the rest of the temple, though that was to be expected as the Avatar’s waterbending teacher (Katara, he remembers) had her brother lead him to a room on the opposite side of the structure, her mistrust of the older boy glaringly obvious from the get-go. He could hardly blame her, as his understanding of her role in the group was strangely motherly, a concerningly common trait for young girls these days.
It’s been at least a few hours since Zuko went to bed, but he was still wide awake despite how tired both his body and mind were. Back on his ship, the Wani, if he couldn’t sleep he would spend his time mapping where to look for the Avatar next. That was obviously not an option right now, both because there was no reason to, and if he decided to find where the boy was sleeping Katara would one hundred percent murder him. Taking a walk around the temple would likely end with that same fate, or atleast add more suspicion to his character that he did not need.
Groaning, Zuko lifted himself to a sitting position, swinging his feet over to rest on the stone floor. He could try to stay up the rest of the night, when the sun finally peaked over the horizon he would be given a boost of energy due to his nature as firebender, though he wasn’t sure if it would last him through the day. He shrugged, it certainly wasn’t his first sleepless night.
I wonder what Azula is doing right now, he thought to himself. He hadn’t seen her since the night before he had left, and even then he had mostly ignored her in favor of mentally preparing himself for the confrontation with his fa- the Firelord. Looking back, that was rather dumb of him as Azula surely had caught on; perhaps she had, and hadn’t thought it worth her time to confront him over it.
He frowned. Azula was capable of taking care of herself, that much was obvious from meeting her again after his banishment, cunning and calculated. Though...was that really a good thing?
Thinking back to that night on Ember Island, where they had been the most honest with each other then they had ever been. Azula’s emotionless face as she stared into the campfire, regaling that their mother believed her to be a monster, and agreeing. While Zuko couldn’t talk about healthy mental states, he was certain that the idea of thinking of yourself as a monster wasn’t good. At the time, he was too busy dealing with his inner conflict to really reflect on his sister’s statement, but thinking of it now…
Zuko put his head in his hands and groaned, the noise vibrating throughout his nasal cavity. He has a few too many regrets as a seventeen year old, he was sure of that, but the idea that he wasn’t there for Azula as her older brother wasn’t something he had ever thought about. She was always the prodigy, her first flame came before his, quick to remember the most crucial details of their land and history. The Fire Lord (of now) had always made it obvious to both his children that he had wished for Azula to be the first born, if not the only child. Zuko had rarely seen her as her actual age, not for a very long time.
He knew he had been fortunate to have had his mother for when he did, one parent whose love he knew was unconditional. And Azula had her father for those things, did she not?
Zuko’s forehead scrunched up, as he really couldn’t imagine that man could truly love anything could he? No, Azula had Ozai’s attention and respect, but he had never overheard him say he loved his daughter, not when he would spy on their private firebending lessons or when his father had been in anyone else’s presence. Azula was aware of this, was she not? It would be strange to think she wasn’t aware of the fact.
The exiled prince’s stomach curled at the idea that his sister didn’t believe there was anyone who loved her. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Zuko knew the distance between his mother and Azula had grown further and further apart before she had disappeared…his uncle certainly didn’t care for his niece, remembering his blatant disregard of the idea that Azula could be an ally of any kind. Additionally, their grandfather was a figure in their lives for whom interactions were stiff and formal.
And what of Zuko? He will admit, his relationship with his sister was certainly...complicated. It would take more than tonight to sort through how he felt about the azure flame wielder.
Zuko looked over to the small dresser where he had placed his belongings. His bag lay slumped next to it on the floor, he hadn’t put anything much on the shelves. He stood up, knees groaning, and walked over to his things.
He hadn’t brought much with him, swords propped up against the bed, spare clothes, a water skin and dried meat. Momentos weren’t needed, any precious item that had no double stashed away in the palace. There were two exceptions to this; a portrait of his uncle, few left at the palace after his "traitorous actions". And…
He felt his fingers brush up against a small drawstring bag, gently pulling it out to rest on his other hand. Pushing it open and delving inside, there laid a set of beads and a stone strung along a cord. Messily woven leather, as long as his arm, and tied at the ends. There were a few wooden beads strung along baring chipped red paint. A misshapen stone wrapped in string hung from the middle, a dull amber color.
Sitting back on his haunches, Zuko carefully wrapped the necklace around his hand, running his fingers gently over the adornments. He had thought it to be lost after waking up on his ship, not being given the chance to pack his things when Ozai had banished him. Azula had presented it to him on the boat from Ba-Sing Se to home, carelessly swinging it around before throwing it at Zuko who had fumbled catching it.
“I was hurt to see you forgot this when you left, try to take better care of your things now, Zuzu.”
The necklace had been a gift from his sister, from before she had begun to torment him for her father’s approval. Sidling up to him at 5 years old, the young firebender had shyly presented her older brother with the necklace, mumbling how she had spent her time working on it all…well maybe mother helped a little but he should just thank Azula. How strange that moment would parallel with her returning it to him on the boat.
He hummed, turning the stone pendant over and staring at it.
Azula is only one year older than he was at his banishment. While he didn’t recall this, Zuko had heard of generals and others in the crowd that she had smirked while her brother screamed in agony from being burned.* While the Azula of now might take joy in seeing him be punished, he doesn’t know if he believes she would feel the same at age 11. War ages children faster than they should be, the Avatar a prime example in how his whole demeanor shifted from their initial meeting. Maybe those three years he was gone left Ozai to focus solely on making Azula the perfect heir of a warring nation. Combined with his memories of a bratty but endearing child, Zuko feels no resignation believing that if they grew up in a normal world, in a normal family, without Ozai- Azula would be a normal child. She would do normal, sisterly things, like teasing him about his interests or stealing his favorite books. Instead, she sees everything in her life as another game of strategy, what will give her the advantage, how can she win, how to be the best.
Could that sort of thing go away in a person? Once again, it was only three years, but she was entirely alone. Maybe…
Zuko yawns as sleep seems to have finally caught up with him. He glances at the bed, then at the necklace in his hands. Shaking his head, placing it back into his bag wrapped in cloth. He settles back onto the bed, turning over to his side.
Glancing at the bag one more time, his eyes slipped close, and fell into a dreamless sleep.