Chapter Text
‘Dear Azula,
I’m sorry.
And I apologise that those two measly words, so overused by everyone in life that they’ve become flimsy bandages on open flesh wounds, will never ever be enough to contain my sorrow, guilt, rage at having to leave you behind in that place. With that man. Given everything that has transpired, I don’t think that he can be called that. It humanises him too much.
Rather, he is a dark spirit bundled up grotesquely with a fleshy overcoat, but even that cannot contain the evil that threatens to burst out. He more closely resembles those rat-roaches we ran from as toddlers - which gorges itself with flimsy crudely constructed hands. Which fights and fights and fights until it collapses, a mangled mess of fur and blood.
When the sun lies down to rest behind the earth, I lie awake - staring blankly at the ceiling in that way that you make fun of me for doing. Something twisted in the bowels of my mind forces me to replay those moments over and over, relishing my anguish as all that rattles in my head is ‘why, why, why’. Crew members wince not only at the scar now, but the increasing size of the bags under my eye. I can’t imagine I look like sunshine and butterflies right now, and it was only made worse when I heard a faint ‘he looks like a walking corpse’ as I trailed away. Even if it is true, it stings. One of my ears may not work properly, but I still have another one. Rude pricks.
Despite all your lessons, I gave into my emotions and paid the price. You must be so disappointed - to have spent so much time training me, coaching me and reminding me to reign in my personality, my views, only to be forced to watch as I discarded your advice completely. But I fear too many apologies will just make you burn this letter more quickly, so I will move on. Although the memory is fuzzy and disconnected from my other memories - a puzzle piece that just won’t fit - it still exists. A small part of my life where everything is blurred and disjointed and every aspect fades in and out. A flicker of a time that only can be accessed when I force myself to focus on piecing each part together.
I remember when you came over - taunting me about my actions. How your voice shook with each half-hearted jab. How each sentence trailed off slightly, as if you rehearsed the insults like an actor in an Ember Island play. Briefly, the sensation of a tight confine around my skull being released can be visualised in my head. It felt freeing. It felt exposing. It felt off. But I think that the only reason I even remember that specific time was the short silence that followed. A quietude that stretched for hours in my mind, but likely lasted just a few seconds. A brief whimper, a half-contained hiccup echoed in the glorified prison crudely labelled as an ‘infirmary’, before your hands rushed to confine my injury once more. I wonder what you may have seen. To cause the mask to shatter so completely that you made sounds like that. And it tears my soul in two to remember that I’ve caused you such distress. You are much more than you think you are, and deserve a whole lot more than you get. No matter how much people may say otherwise, that you are a ‘monster’ or a ‘tyrant’. Those people are
fucking
idiots. Though you don’t need me to tell you.
Now that I’ve seen it - the damage, the aftermath - it took me days, weeks to recover from that moment alone. It's so much worse than I could’ve possibly imagined, and the nightmares only make it a more horrifying experience. Especially when I wake up in a cold-sweat, my heart practically lunges to escape from my body and my scar still feels like it is burning. I stumble through unfamiliar hallways, one hand grasping at the wall like it is the only pillar keeping me standing and in some ways it is. A shaking hand that only one eye can fully comprehend properly - beyond the vague oblong pale shape that it is - falls short of whatever it is aiming to grasp at. And each time it does, the hate in my heart grows just a little bit more. It’s laughable, how the prince has fallen. Pathetic. At least things are getting better. People on the ship, however much they might hate the royal family, approach me from the right more often, talk at a louder volume and, at least not to my face, don’t make fun of me when I trip or fall. Initially, it bothered me, the fact that the sheer extent of my weakness caused me to inconvenience others, and I vowed to try to face everything myself. But after a tumble caused me to sprain my ankle in the dead of night in my attempts to continue my bending practice, I am currently learning a valuable lesson.
It is alright to accept help. It is alright to not be perfect all of the time.
It is alright to scream and yell and be angry and frustrated because Agni gave us those emotions for a reason.
At least, that’s what medic Ukoza says. You would like her. She’s like Uncle Iroh, but without all the proverbs and tea. Whenever I visit for my lessons, she always manages to bring in a story from her previous life - different times when she would set people and/or things on fire. It’s nice, and I’m not only improving my knowledge on various herbs, but learning new and noteworthy curses - that I will NOT be telling you. You are enough of a spitfire without crude words in your arsenal. The doctor is helping me improve, and now my depth perception fails only just a bit over half of the time. Sure, I still wobble and collapse like a newborn deer occasionally, and when people approach me from my left side, it’s like everything has been muffled. But at least I hate myself a little bit less.
I never knew the absolute gem that airbending would be in accelerating my recovery. The use of subtle winds to help me gauge distances and prevent rather embarrassing incidents. How much my balance has been assisted through the use of gusts of air around my body. It still needs perfecting, further study and definitely more notes, but it is a working concept. Already, things are going a lot more smoothly and I am kicking myself for not having thought of this earlier. All my movements are more fluid and confident, but maybe I should dial it down. Medic Ukoza narrows her eyes and purses her lips at what she calls a ‘surprisingly breezy start’. The use of the pun aged me at least five years, but there’s no way she knows. Not when not even He is in the dark. Sometimes, I regret not telling you. Then Lu Ten springs up to the front of my mind. First, smiling and basking in the sun as we play in the palace garden. Then, crushed by a boulder, blood streaming from underneath a crumpled corpse.
It was my fault.
It has to have been.
So this is why you are left in the dark.
There have been a few incidents,
even an attempted murder
, but we have persevered. Things are not perfect, they never were and likely will never be. But they are steadily improving. I am a prince, a banished one, but a prince nonetheless. On a ship practically brimming with citizens swindled by Fire Nation authority, it’s no wonder that the relationship I want to build with the crew is a slow-burn. But like you say, I’m stubborn. Hopefully, things will change.
Right now, this rickety hull of metal has stopped at an air temple - the southern one, since that was believed to be the home of the previous Avatar.
It took many days and nights of complaining crew members to arrive on the shores of a truly massive mountain, the temple being only a speck of white in the horizon. Shrouded in clouds and mystery, it resembled what I imagined the houses of spirits would be like - disconnected from humanity and practically blended in with the nature around them. Seriously Azula, you would not believe the sheer size of this mountain. Our ship was like a mere pebble compared to it. And you might be thinking that I’m exaggerating, but I promise on my favourite turtleduck that I’m telling the truth. Dread so thick that it could almost be visibly discerned as storm clouds filled the deck. Nobody wanted to go up the mountain with me. The lazy bastards. Not that I could blame them. Weeks on this ship with limited exercise made people lethargic. Lazy. Motivated to do the least work possible. At least, that’s what I thought. Luckily two kind people volunteered to make sure I didn’t die falling off the edge or something along those lines.
So we embarked on the journey of trekking up this geological structure. It was incredible. Soon, my companions who initially claimed to be unbreakable began to heave and pant, collapsing against the dirt ground with faces damp from near constant sweating. We weren’t even at the half-way mark. You could still clearly see the ship, and hear the laughter of the cheering crew below. So much for babysitting. By the time the temple was in full view, I was the only one to place my worn soles on the ancient tiles.
I wish I could tell you the truth, that what I’ve seen was beyond the worst horrors that I could have conjured in my mind. When I close my eyes to rest, the initial sight of the temple envelopes my mind - never letting up even when I do manage to sleep. Then, it appears in my dreams, morphing them into nightmares like a skilled puppeteer relishing in the applause that is my horrified screaming and sobbing back into consciousness. We did this. I am an airbender, technically one of them, but I come from the nation that has caused them such devastation. Such grief. Such agony. I am not like them, yet I gag at the thought of being part of the Royal Family that has started all of this. Prince Zuko lies on a non-existent middle ground, not part of any nation - Earth, Fire, Water, or Air. A truly lonely outlier.That thought lurks in the corner of my mind, pouncing when my guard is let down and immediately killing any joy or happiness I might have felt at the moment. I just feel so lonely not belonging anywhere.
I spend a good portion of my time up there, sleeping under the stars and clouds next to this impressive feat of architecture - thinking about nothing and everything. For an empty complex of buildings, this place told me a lot. The murals, the halls and odd pieces of decoration all conveyed stories of the people who inhabited it. Tidbits about what their daily lives must have looked like, their duties in their community. I assume it was either you or uncle who packed all my notebooks, and thank you. I’ve already filled one with sketches and notes, and drew you a picture. I hope you like it.
In less than a week, when our rations and supplies are at low point, we shall leave this temple and go to a nearby port town to restock - one that won’t destroy our ship upon seeing its emblem that is. My colleagues will rest and I shall look around, investigating rumours in a disguise -see if anything still remains of the Air Nation. All the airbenders couldn’t have died,
right? I can’t be the last one
so maybe something got left behind. A scroll. A doll. Anything. I will do my best to complete my mission however I can so I will get back to you.
But even if I found the Avatar I wouldn’t hand it over to Him even if he burned my other eye off.
Everyday, I see little things that you would’ve pointed out - a jab or joke or hilariously dead-panned statement that would make my shoulders shake with laughter. I hear a viewpoint that would make that vein on your forehead bulge, and smell aromas that would have you raiding the kitchen faster than a cheetah-hare. I smile and look to the side with cheerful eyes to murmur insulting remarks, and the mood never drops quicker than when you realise a good sibling, a good friend is no longer with you. It’s like a part of me is missing - the louder and more annoying part, of course. I wonder if you feel it too.
Lots of love and hope you write back soon,
Zuko’
There.
Finished.
A delighted hum of relief escaped him before he could contain it.
Under the orange hue of his lamp, Zuko began to scribble out a new fresh copy - without any of the crossings out, in the code he and Azula made up when they were younger (just in case they were intercepted). Flickering flames coated his face with dark shadows, and threatened to fizzle out with its limited food supply. ‘Feed me’, the small fire seemed to plead after twenty minutes of its creator’s ignorance. ‘I’m dying!’ Yet, the prince failed to notice. Smoothing out the finished product with a satisfied motion, the young boy realised his only companion in his nightly writing was on death’s doorstep, and added more kindling.The flames grew slightly in gratitude.
Perfect. Folding the letter neatly into a rectangle and slotting the drawing of the temple, Zuko carefully inserted the small piece of his soul into one of the few envelopes packed with his stuff. Then repeated the strangely cathartic motion with his letters for Ty Lee and Mai - both, but particularly Mai’s shorter and a bit less honest, but honest enough. He’d better stock up when they go to the port town in a while. If Azula, Ty Lee or Mai read them and wanted to reply anyway. In the morning, Zuko would talk to the animal caretaker whose name he would need to learn to let him use a messenger hawk to send them to their destination (Ty Lee’s residence, the place least likely to have his messages intercepted, and Ty Lee was the most capable in terms of distribution). Who knows, maybe she would even convince Azula not to burn his letter on the first chance she gets.
Even if his true thoughts wouldn’t be read, it was still strangely effective to write them down anyway. But now came the bittersweet moment. Raising the original copy to his orange and red friend, Zuko lowered it to the hungry flames. Ever the glutton, fire climbed up towards it, as if it could sense the food it was about to be offered. The edge of the paper began to blacken and slowly disappear as the flames gorged and gorged themselves. Travelling up the letter, consuming word after word until nothing but black powder staining his desk remained. Just as his true feelings turned to ashes, so did his doubts.
They would reply.
They would (wouldn’t they?).
Because if they didn’t, then he would truly know that he was alone. That everyone had given up on him.