Chapter Text
It was like she was still here, or at least, that is what it felt like. He could still hear her soft words in the buzzing in his ear, feel her gentle, warm fingers comb through his hair as the wind blew, smell her perfume that stuck to the blue face of the sneering spirit mocking him of days long gone and yet so near. Days where the cruel smile was a mischievous smirk and that laughter the feel from the mouth of the mask was a soft melody, not a malicious cackle. He missed the steady hand that found his shoulder and guided him away from his father's brutality and his sister's taunts. Her arms that were clothed in long regal sleeves that shielded him in an all-encompassing blanket that hid him from the cold desolate palace. A shoulder that his tears could fall upon without fear of the apparent weakness his emotions showed.
Now he wandered alone, no one to hold him tight as he wept alone a night, a silent plea for his mother to return, to wrap him in her all-encompassing hug once more, for silk sheets were a poor replacement for the warm, loving arms he once curled into. Silk sheets had no fingers to navigate through his hair to rid it of knots caught on from long days of learning and running about. Silk sheets could not hum melodies that flowed like honey and were as sweet as sugar. Silk sheets were no mother of his.
What he missed most of all, though, were her eyes. Her kind, warm eyes never looked at him with disgust or pity. They never hid cruel intent like Azula's. They never held barely restrained anger and evident disappointment like fathers. They only ever had love and affection swimming through those pools of brown. She never needed to say, for her eyes held it in them, this sense of pride, this sense of I made that, and I will never let harm come to this. Eyes that had looked so faded the last time he saw them, that held a dark storm, a sight that had never fallen on him before, as she told him to never forget who he was. Determination was brewing in her eyes, and that was the last time he saw her eyes.
It felt like years ago, but it has only been a few days. The loneliest few days he ever had to endure, and if things kept going the way they were, it was looking to be a very melancholic life. Now Zuko spent all the time he had to himself, slumped forward in front of his mother's favorite place in the whole palace, the turtle-duck pond. He may be delirious with pain from the loss of his mother, but he feels like the turtle ducks are the only ones who share in his despair over the loss of his mother. He feels he can see it in the way they waddle around, lost, almost aimless, looking for the kind hands that used to glide through their downy feathers and place berries and seeds through the grass so they may enjoy lovely treats as they laze the day away. Now they quack as if crying out for Ursa, but just like Zuko's own sobs, they fall on deaf ears. Only the turtle ducks share in Zuko's pain.
"My prince," a soft voice spoke from behind him, "His royal highness Firelord Azulon wishes for your presence," the voice continued after a long pause. Zuko rose on shaky legs and followed behind the servant his grandfather had sent to fetch him. The servant would peer back at him every so often as if to check to ensure he hadn't collapsed. The servants seem to be looking at him like that a lot recently. Zuko can't blame them. He is aware of how decrepit he looks, unfitting for a person of his standing. Still, since his mother vanished into the night, he couldn't bring himself to care about his appearance. He decidedly ignored the servant's watchful eyes and instead turned his gaze to the towering walls of the palace. Once these walls were bright, laughter could be heard bounding off their elegant surfaces, but now they were dark and imposing. This place no longer felt like home.
It felt like a cage, a prison keeping him from his mother and any memorabilia that proved her existence. Well excepted for that haunted theater mask, but he didn't want that, he wanted his mother back, not some broken-off chip of a vase, he wanted the whole thing. The mask was just one part of the person Ursa was, but without her, it was just a regular old chunk of wood, yet he couldn't bring himself to let go of it. It was all he had left to remember her besides his memories. Even those were starting to fade as if his brain was trying to make him forget all the joy she brought so his heart would ache less. But he refuses to let go of those memories because he needs to know that there is someone out there who cares for him.
Zuko could feel a burning behind his eyes as more tears threatened to fall from his eyes. He just couldn't understand how they could all move on from her so quickly; maybe he was the problem. Azula always did tell him he needed to grow up and stop clinging to mother so much, but he still needed her with him; he was only ten, and his mother said it was normal for children his age to still be close to their mothers. But Azula was older, and she barely spent any time with mother; says she had other responsibilities and did not have time to laze around uselessly like Zuko.
"We have arrived my prince," The servant bowed as she spoke. Zuko's head popped up, not realizing his eyes drifted to the floor, as he looked at his surroundings and realized he was in front of the Firelord's throne room. The doors flung open, and Zuko walked in, his eyes falling onto the wall of flames that blocked the view of his grandfather's imposing stare. His eyes slowly drifted from his grandfather to a figure that stood in front of his grandfather's throne, now realizing it was his father.
"Zuko, nice of you to finally join us," his father sneered, looking at him and his clothing with poorly hidden disgust. Zuko quickly remembered his etiquette and bowed respectfully towards his father in greeting before turning to his grandfather and taking an even more profound bow in proper respect to the Firelord.
"Many apologize for my tardiness, I have no excuse and can not say sorry enough." Zuko's voice and body trembled slightly as he spoke.
"No you can not, now raise you head boy." Zuko did as his Firelord instructed and rose up from the bow he folded himself into as a show of respect. "Do you now why I called you in here?"
"No, my lord, I am not sure. I was only told you wished to see me." Zuko's voice faltered once more. He felt like he was going to cry again but for a completely different reason.
Dad's going to kill you.
Dad's going to kill you.
Dad's going to kill you.
Dad's going to kill you. Really, he is.
Slowly echoed through his mind as he waited for Firelord Azulon to tell him why he was there so he could go back to mopping in front of the turtle duck, waiting for his mother to return.
"I will let your father explain." His grandfather finally said after a moment of contemplation. Zuko slowly rose from his kneeling position and turned to his father. He, hopefully, stealthily gulped as he saw his father make his way over to him.
"My son," his father spoke in a deceptively kind voice, "I am sure you know by now how I long for the throne, but there is only one way I can get it." Zuko felt tears start to fall from his eyes as he took a step back.
Azula always lies, Azula always lies, Azula always lies, Azula always lies, Azula always lies.
He clung to the mantra like a lifeline.
Stop it! You're lying! Dad would never do that to me!
He wouldn't, would he, Zuko froze. No father would never do that. Grandfather would never order that. The line of succession was already short as it was. Grandfather wouldn't shorten it more.
They already have Azula; what do they need a failure like you for. Father can always remarry anyway.
Father was now close enough to touch Zuko. Ozai reached out his hand and gently cupped the left side of Zuko's face, wiping Zuko's tears away in the process. Ozai's eyes softened, and he gave his son a sweet, almost kind smile. It was the kindest look he ever afforded Zuko, at least that Zuko could remember, but there was something off about it. There was a peculiar cruelty in the smile, one his mother's smile never held. His father's hand slid past Zuko's cheek straight to his neck, and the next thing he knew, he felt the worse pain he had ever felt. It was a burning agony, and Zuko couldn't even scream because the hand at his neck squoze on his vocal cords, and the heat from the pyre lit at his neck dried any tear that leaked from his eyes.
Azula always lies...unless the truth hurts more.
And that was his last thought before the pain overwhelmed him. He fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of turtle duck ponds and warm-clothed arms wrapped tightly around him, shielding him from all of life's woes as a sweet melody lofts through the air.