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The heat of the Fire Nation was almost oppressive in the summer. Zuko had nearly forgotten in his years of traveling what it felt like to have the hot air surrounding him at all times, pressing into his skin and slipping into his chest with every inhale. Of course, the heat didn’t bother most people—firebenders were in their natural element when the air around them was just as warm as the fire within. And for the most part, it didn’t bother Zuko. With everything else he always had on his mind, he rarely took the time to notice the heat, and the tiles of the palace had always been cool under his feet.
But then there were days like today. Days when the heat was just one more thing that irritated him, one more problem inherent to the Fire Nation that he couldn’t fix. And maybe he was projecting a little. Even the Firelord couldn’t change the weather.
Zuko stopped. He had wound up back at his quarters somehow without realizing it. The two guards who stood outside were very carefully not looking at him, and it took all that was left of his fraying willpower not to sigh aloud as he pushed the doors open and stepped inside, his robes swirling around his feet as he did so. He had caught them in the door no less than seven times before getting the hang of how to move so that they avoided contact with the door as it closed.
Once the door had shut, he released the sigh and raised a hand to run through his hair before freezing and slowly lowering it to his side once more. His hair had just gotten long enough to put up properly a few weeks ago, and it had taken his hairstylist fifteen minutes to do it this morning.
This morning...had it really only been a few hours since he had woken for the day? He had been in four meetings already, and each of them had seemed to last a year on their own. Lunch had been in there somewhere, he was pretty sure, but he couldn’t remember what he had eaten. Some kind of soup between the meeting with the Fishery Department Head and the one with the Omashu ambassador?
He scrubbed at his face and crossed over to his closet. He didn’t have any more meetings on the books for today as far as he was aware, which meant he could change into something that wasn’t so hot while he read and composed reports in his office. After a few moments of deliberation—why in Agni’s name did he have so many clothes —he settled on a silk robe that was ornate enough to be appropriate for the Firelord to wear while light enough for Zuko not to feel like he was suffocating.
He changed clothes quickly, leaving his previous outfit on his too-large bed for his servants to take care of. It wasn’t dirty, and he chafed at the unnecessary labor that would go into cleaning and pressing it for him to wear again, but the last time he had suggested that an outfit didn’t need washing Akalo had nearly fainted, so he figured it was best to let the woman have her way.
Once dressed, he grabbed a few scrolls of his desk—he had been meaning to read these reports from the generals leading the withdrawal of Fire Nation troops from the occupied territory in the Earth Kingdom for two days now—and strode out the door. His guards bowed to him as he stepped past, and he nodded to them in return. As always, he felt their eyes linger on him as he made his way down the long hall.
Finding staff for his palace had been nearly impossible. He hadn’t expected things to be easy when he had taken his place as Firelord, but he hadn’t expected one of his first challenges to come in the form of finding people to fill the palace. It had taken him three solid days of writing letters to the people Azula had banished and offering them their place at the palace back as well as an additional two days of interviews before he had anything resembling a functioning staff. As it was, Zuko knew he had too few guards stationed around the palace and that the head cook was still understaffed. Not that anyone had told him these things, of course, which led to his second problem concerning his staff—no one spoke to him. Ever.
There were the greetings and the formalities of course. The murmured “my lord”s and “your highness”s but he hadn’t been able to wring a single conversation out of any of the servants on his staff. Any time he tried they either started trembling and apologizing for nothing or they kept their gazes trained firmly at his feet and answered with one-word sentences. The fear radiated off of them in waves, seeping into the air like a stinking rot until it seemed to coat Zuko’s skin and made the scar on his face itch and burn.
His people looked at him and saw his father.
He had done his best to remove all trace of Ozai from the palace. He had reversed any decrees that made corporal punishment against his servants legal, had provided additional health benefits and higher wages, and had even made it so that the servants didn’t have to bow every time he entered the room. He knew it would take time to undo all of the damage that a century of war and terror had done to his nation but by Agni it hurt to see—
Zuko collided with something warm and soft, the abrupt movement yanking him from his thoughts. He blinked and saw that he had run into a person. A person who was now on their knees and babbling.
“—this humble servant! It was not my intention to bring your highness any harm. A thousand apologies, my lord!”
It took Zuko a few moments to decipher what the woman had said with her face buried in the floor as it was, but once he had he blinked. “What? No, it’s not your fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going,” he reassured her, barely resisting the urge to scratch at his head. “Sorry about that.”
“My lord has done nothing wrong. Please, punish this humble servant however you see fit,” the woman said, her voice trembling on the word ‘punish’.
Zuko had to push down the rage that surged inside him. When he had been younger, he had been blind to the punishments the servants around him had endured at first his grandfather’s and then his father’s hand. The woman in front of him had done nothing wrong, and yet here she was on her knees in front of him. His stomach churned.
“Please,” he said, hoping his voice was soft and gentle the way he wanted it to be. “Rise.” The woman hesitated a moment before scrambling to her feet, keeping her gaze trained on the floor. Now that she was standing, Zuko recognized the woman as Lai Shu, his personal stylist. “You have done nothing wrong, Lai Shu; you don’t have to apologize to me.”
Lai Shu didn’t move, and Zuko couldn’t stifle the small sigh that escaped him. “You may continue...whatever you were doing before I ran into you.” The words came out stiff and awkward, but they were the best he could do at the moment. He stepped past Lai Shu, but he only made it a few feet down the hall before her voice stopped him.
“Firelord Zuko?”
Zuko turned back around, readjusting the scrolls he held as he did so. “Yes, Lai Shu?”
“Was there something unsatisfactory with the clothes I selected for you this morning?” Her voice was stronger than it had been, but he could hear the edge of panic that lingered on the words.
He blinked and looked down at the robes he now wore. “No, no it was fine. I just got...hot.” He felt stupid saying it aloud. The Firelord got hot in his robes? In truth, it had been more than the heat that had made him change, but his stylist didn’t need to hear some sob story about how he flinched at himself in the mirror thinking it was Ozai whenever he wore the more ornate robes that hung in his closet.
Lai Shu nodded, her eyes now focused somewhere around his chest. “Of course, my lord. I will check with the head seamstress to see if there are any lighter outfits that will be more appropriate for your meetings tomorrow.”
Zuko opened his mouth to argue that she didn’t need to do that before closing it again. It would be nice to be a little more comfortable during his meetings, especially since he had to meet with the ministers of education tomorrow, a discussion that was sure to get his temper riled. “Thank you, Lai Shu.”
“It is my honor, Firelord Zuko,” she replied, bowing low before turning away and continuing down the hall.
Zuko watched her go and wondered if anyone in the palace would ever say those words and mean it.
. . .
Sleep rarely came easily to Zuko, but this was starting to get annoying. Every time he had started to drift off tonight it was like someone rang an alarm bell in his mind and he bolted back awake. It was only a few hours from dawn now, and he hadn’t gotten more than an hour of sleep.
His insomnia was mostly due to the fact that no matter how much calming tea he drank or how tired his body was before he went to bed his mind never seemed to stop. He had only been Firelord for four months and there were so many things to do. Every time he tried to go to sleep his brain reminded him of the to-do list he had, of the things only he could do to fix the war his ancestors had caused.
The rest of it came from his surroundings. He had thought, when he had first returned to the Fire Nation, that it wouldn’t take long to readjust to the luxuries that came with being the Firelord. After all, he had lived in the palace for most of his life, and he had even been the crown prince for a few years. But even after four months his bed still felt too soft, and his pajamas felt strange against his skin.
Zuko let out a huff, the air steaming as it left his mouth, and rolled out of the bed. He made his way to the closet and dug around the back until his hands closed around coarse fabric. A tired grin spread across his face as he pulled the outfit out and quickly changed into the muted brown and green clothes. The shirt had a hole under the armpit and the right leg of the pants was burned at the bottom from when Aang had blasted them on accident, but the fabric was familiar.
He stumbled back to his bed, eyes heavier than they’d been in days, and fell face-first into the too-soft comforter. It took all of his remaining energy to flop onto his back and pull a blanket over himself, and then he was asleep.
. . .
Zuko woke to light streaming into his room and the sound of someone knocking at his door. He blinked once and then bolted out of bed. How long had he been asleep? He had a meeting at eight with the ministers of education and—
The door to the room opened and Lai Shu stepped in. Her eyes widened almost comically as she took in his disheveled state and the less-than-royal clothes he was wearing. If it had been later in the day, Zuko would have been embarrassed. As it was, he simply ran a hand through his hair in an effort to tame it before asking,
“Is there something you need?” The woman didn’t respond, still frozen in place, her eyes fixed on the ragged edges of his pants. “Lai Shu?”
She let out a small yelp. “My apologies, Firelord Zuko! I’m here to deliver the robes that the seamstress had delivered. They’re lighter than your other ones, and if there is anything that does not meet your expectations, I am to deliver your comments. Aide Jokin also asked me to inform you that your meeting with the ministers of education had been delayed until ten this morning, which is in one hour.”
Zuko blinked, his sleep-addled mind taking a few seconds to process what the woman had said. “You can leave the robes on my desk and tell Jokin that I’ll be at the meeting. And ask him to...pass my apologies onto the ministers, I guess.”
The woman nodded but didn’t move.
“What is it?” he asked, suddenly self-conscious. No one in the palace had ever seen him like this, barely awake and about as far from a proper Firelord as was physically possible. Agni, his hair was probably a mess.
He was so caught up in the wave of embarrassment that washed over him that he almost missed the way Lai Shu squirmed in her place before asking, “Should I ask the seamstress to make you new sleepwear, my lord?”
Zuko could feel his ears burning and he suddenly wished he were more like Azula. No one could ever tell what his sister was feeling, because her face never betrayed even the slightest hint of her thoughts unless she wanted it to. He banished that thought as quickly as it had come. He did not need to start the day by comparing himself to his sister.
“Don’t worry about it,” he finally said, grabbing the new robes from Lai Shu and making his way to his closet. “The clothes I have are fine.” Before Lai Shu could respond, he stepped inside the closet and shut the door to change. He knew most Firelords let their servants help them dress, but he thought that if he couldn’t do this on his own there was no way he’d be able to lead his country.
After a few minutes of figuring out how the ties worked on the new robe he managed to get it straight and turned to look at himself in the mirror that hung in the very back of the large closet. The fabric was much lighter, reminding him of the silks he had always seen in the market at Ember Island. It hung off his shoulders in a way that gave him plenty of movement while still maintaining a solid image as was befitting of a Firelord. The colors themselves were also lighter than the dark reds and black of his typical outfits, a change he appreciated. He spent another moment taking in the changes before turning and pulling on his shoes and leaving the closet.
In his room, Lai Shu was gazing intently at his bed, as if she expected it to come to life and answer a question for her. When she saw him, her face brightened and she smiled. The expression was quickly schooled into a reverent appreciation, but satisfaction still gleamed in her eyes as she said, “Those colors compliment you, my lord. Is the outfit to your satisfaction?”
Zuko fell into a lunge and swept through a half-dozen firebending stances. The fabric moved with him, never hindering his thrusts or steps. “It is. Can the seamstress have similar outfits made?”
The smile was beginning to pull at Lai Shu’s lips again, and it made Zuko’s chest feel a little lighter. “Of course, Lord Zuko.”
Zuko nodded absently as an idea struck him. The Firelord always wore the colors of the Fire Nation to symbolize their strength and ability to lead, but if Zuko could get the seamstress to make outfits that somehow incorporated themes from the other nations as well he could wear them to cross-cultural diplomatic events. Then it would be a symbol of cooperation and interconnectedness...right?
“Could the seamstress have two more outfits made? One with Water Tribe elements incorporated and the other with Earth Kingdom?”
Lai Shu blinked, but her smile didn’t fade. “I am certain she can, my lord. When do you need them?”
Zuko shrugged. He had no idea how long it took to make clothes. The set he was wearing now obviously hadn’t taken very long, but maybe it was different somehow? “Just before the next cross-cultural event. I’m supposed to visit the Earth Kingdom in two months, so before then, I guess.”
She bowed. “Of course. Is there anything else?”
“Um, no, I don’t think so. Thank you.”
The door closed with a soft click behind Lai Shu as she left, and it wasn’t until later that night when he walked into his rooms and found his ragged pajamas sitting folded on top of his bed that he realized the woman had seemed genuinely pleased that he liked his new clothes and wanted more. And not in the way people always tried to cater to him to earn his favor either. It was almost like she didn’t fear him anymore.
. . .
“I can’t wear this.” Zuko choked, taking a quick step backward before he even registered doing it. ‘ It’s just a stupid robe, Zuko!’ he chided himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. ‘It’s not like Ozai himself is going to show up and declare himself Firelord again while you’re sitting for your portrait! Calm down before you set something on fire and give Lai Shu a reason to be terrified of you again.’
He opened his eyes slowly, bracing himself for the fear or anger he was certain he would see on Lai Shu’s face. In the last three weeks they had gotten to the point that Lai Shu actually spoke her mind and didn’t bow every five seconds, and he really didn’t want to go back to the way things were before. To his surprise, when he finally met her eyes there was no fear there.
Only understanding.
“Of course, my lord. I’ve never liked the shoulders on this outfit anyway,” she said smoothly, folding the robe back up in a few quick motions. She then dumped the robes unceremoniously onto the floor next to his door and smiled in a way that looked almost satisfied.
“I’m supposed to sit for the official tapestry in a week,” Zuko managed after a few stunned seconds. “Is that enough time for the head seamstress to find me something―” that will make me look like someone other than my father. That’s what he was going to say. Instead, he just shrugged and gestured uselessly. Thankfully, Lai Shu seemed to understand what he meant, the reason he couldn’t wear the outfit that was now crumpled on the floor.
“She’ll likely have to borrow a few more apprentices for the week, but it will be manageable, my lord, and she would be honored to make you a new outfit for your tapestry sitting,” she replied smoothly, the smile still on her lips. “May I make a suggestion, Firelord Zuko?”
“Of course.” A month ago, Lai Shu never would have even dreamed of saying something like that to him, and the fact that she had now made the thundering in his chest ease a little.
“A Firelord can be powerful without being aggressive. Your subjects know what you did to end the war, my lord, and they are learning the strength of your character. Let the seamstress create something that will reflect that.”
Zuko ran a hand through his hair. “Are they?” The words were little more than a whisper, but the way Lai Shu’s face softened told him she had heard them.
“There are many people who fear what your title represents, my lord,” she admitted, “but every day more realize that you are not your father. You treat your subjects with compassion and mercy, things that have been gone for so long most people don’t remember what they are. But our nation is healing, and it’s thanks to you.”
Zuko let out the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. “Thank you,” he murmured, praying Lai Shu could hear his sincerity. There was still so much to do to repair the cracks in his nation, he knew, but hearing someone tell him that he was making a difference? That made the sleepless nights worth it.
. . .
A month later, there was a new tapestry hanging on the stone walls of the palace. This one, however, was different from the harsh figures that had come before, a fact that citizens and visiting dignitaries alike never failed to mention. Where the other Firelords had commissioned ostentatious portraits that served only to highlight their arrogance and ambition, Zuko’s exuded a calm determination.
There were still days when it all seemed impossible—when the reports and requests piled high enough he thought his desk would collapse and he had slept little more than three hours in as many days—but then Lai Shu would smile at him, or the cook would go out of his way to prepare his favorite tea. It was a small thing--knowing that his staff no longer worried that a misspoken word could lead to their banishment or worse, but it gave Zuko the strength to push forward. After all, if he could change the mind of his stylist, how much harder could some stuck-up politicians be?