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Zuko couldn’t sleep.
How could he, when the half of his face that was covered with a bandage throbbed and burned, when the ringing in his ear showed no sign of quieting or stopping, when his bandaged eye felt painfully dry, when the ship swayed just slightly, making him mildly nauseous, when the pillow felt so.. much on his newly-shaved head, when all he could think about was how badly things had gone wrong?
He’d known his attempt to sleep would be futile, and hadn’t bothered to take his uniform off. Just like the last two nights. He was exhausted, but how was he ever supposed to sleep when the exhaustion just made him hurt more, made his problems seem bigger and more overwhelming?
He stepped towards the heavy metal door, but felt tears welling up in his eye and stopped. Don't cry, not again! He tried to fight, tried to make the tears and the anger and confusion and pain go away, but his exhaustion let him down, and he half-collapsed back onto his bed and cried.
What did I do to deserve this? He put his head into his hands as tears slid down his cheek. No, this is exactly why I deserve this. I’m weak and a crybaby and weird and awkward and I never do anything right, his own voice in his head shouted at him, echoing what his father had told him countless times.
A sneaky, traitorous voice in his head tried to tell him it’s not your fault , but Zuko got up, anger winning over sadness ( weakness , the louder part of his brain reminded) and shouted.
“It’s always my fault! Everything is! None of this would’ve happened were it not for ME, and MY stupid opinions, and MY stupid brain making me say stupid, disrespectful things in front of everyone!”
With the last word, his hands created long bursts of fire that slammed into all four walls of his sparsely furnished room, fortunately missing his bed and desk. Zuko let out a frustrated yell, and haphazardly pulled his boots on, leaving the laces untied. He whisked the door open with the pitifully small amount of force that he had energy for and stomped out of the room, not bothering to shut the door.
Zuko was too tired to even try to stop the angry fluttering of his hands as he made his way down the stairs towards the mess hall, instead putting all his little remaining energy into not tripping over his own feet, which were aching from his impatient pacing earlier in the day as well as the added difficulty of trying to walk in long strides on a ship frequently being rocked by powerful waves.
After accidentally going down one too many flights of stairs, leading him to the deck, he made it back up to the mess and with a huff, slumped down into a chair at the very corner of the room, mere moments before his thin legs gave up holding his scrawny weight.
Looking around the room, he sighed a little bit when he confirmed it was empty; there was no way he could handle any sort of social interaction right now. He wondered for a moment why he came to the mess hall in the first place. Food, maybe? He wasn't sure whether he was hungry or not. He hadn’t eaten at all that day, but the swaying of the ship made him lose his appetite for the most part anyway. But, he decided, eating something couldn’t possibly make him feel worse than he already did. He sat there for a bit, attempting to scrounge up enough strength to go into the galley and get some food.
Finally, he got up, heaving himself up with the help of one hand pushing against the table. Weaving around empty tables and the chairs that slid out of place when the ship rocked, he opened the door to the galley and was relieved to find nobody inside. He opened drawers and peered into containers, trying to find something he could stomach. He found a basket filled with small bread rolls he remembered having once, and, recalling that he liked them, took two of them and put the cover back on the basket. It felt like stealing, but he breathed deeply and reminded himself that it wasn’t. This, technically, was his ship, so he could do whatever he wanted. He filled a small cup with water and then went back to his seat.
He was right about the bread rolls; they were soft and a little chewy, and they made him feel a tiny bit better. He downed the cup of water without thinking about it- having remembered from yesterday that the barrels that they kept drinking water in made the water taste a little bit wooden, a flavour he definitely wasn’t fond of.
Zuko’s lack of sleep and the metallic walls surrounding him were making him feel cold from the outside, but also the inside, which felt… strange, because his firebending should keep that from happening. He tried exhaling a little spurt of flames. It didn't help.
It was just his tiredness, Zuko reasoned, that made him not hear his uncle entering the mess.
It was just his tiredness, he insisted to himself, that made him not notice his uncle was there until he tapped him on the shoulder gently, making him yelp and flinch out of the way.
It didn’t mean anything, Zuko believed until years later, how he relaxed as soon as Iroh spoke, so calmly and kindly, asking him if he’d like a cup of tea.
“...Yes,” he mumbled defeatedly, even though he was pretty sure he didn’t like tea. Where are your manners, the angry voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like his father yelled, show some respect! Say please!
“Please”, Zuko added, though Iroh was already heating water, and his voice was just a whisper so it wouldn’t’ve mattered anyway.
A moment later, Iroh carefully placed a hot cup of tea in front of his nephew, and sat down at the table next to him to drink his own cup. Zuko took the cup with both hands and cautiously took a sip. It was hot in his mouth but it didn’t burn, and he was clearly wrong about not liking tea. The sweet, floral, but not too strong flavour washed away the weird aftertaste of the water from earlier, and the tea warmed him from the inside, finally making him feel a fraction more relaxed and quieting his impending sense of doom.
Zuko finished his cup of tea, and then glanced at his uncle.
“Uncle, what tea is this?” he asked, although unsure that the information would help in any way.
Making sure to sound graceful rather than matter-of-fact-ly, Iroh responded “It’s Jasmine tea.”
“It’s good,” Zuko mumbled.
“I’m so glad you like it. Would you like another cup?” Iroh said. Zuko wasn’t sure anyone had spoken to him with such sincerity and gratefulness for years. He was so genuinely shocked that he almost forgot to answer, and stumbled on his words when he did.
“Y--yes,” he stammered. Manners…
“Thank you,” he added, feeling the shape of the words in his mouth and speaking slowly, so as to not trip over his words again. Because that’s embarrassing and childish, the echo of his father’s voice in his head remarked, chastising him.
Zuko could barely keep his eye open after his second cup of tea, and considered giving sleep another try. Everything still hurt, but he wasn’t cold anymore, and his mind was less focused on his disastrous circumstances and more on just how simply exhausted he felt. He pushed back his chair and braced his hand against the table to stand up.
Iroh saw how tired Zuko was, and, ignoring his muttered insistence that he was fine, helped him out of the mess hall and guided him back up to his room. Zuko’s hands scratched and fidgeted with the fabric at his thighs, trying to pull the warm, itchy fabric away from his skin. He wished he had something softer to wear, but Father hadn’t let him take any of his clothes from home when he was banished.
Between Zuko’s aching legs, the itchy fabric touching him everywhere, and the dim, claustrophobic halls, it felt like forever before they got back to his room. Iroh silently helped Zuko take his clothes off and set them on the back of his chair while Zuko let out a grumble of resignation and flopped into his bed. Within moments, he was asleep. Iroh smiled a worried but relieved smile and quietly closed the door as he left.
Zuko didn’t sleep peacefully, or particularly well, but he slept. He woke up to the sound of boots clanking in the halls below and sounds of conversation muffled by multiple walls, feeling about as much better as one would expect from a thirteen-year-old who’s whole life was upturned less than a week ago.
He tried to push the nightmares out of his mind as he dressed; enough sucked as it was without adding things that didn’t really happen to the list.
His legs were still sore from yesterday, but at least they didn’t feel like complete noodles anymore. He grumbled at how itchy the pants felt, but he couldn’t walk around without pants, so he forced himself to not do anything about it. He looked up at himself through the small mirror on his wall, and despised what he saw.
Half his face wrapped in dirtied bandages that needed to be changed, his face creased with fatigue and frustration and worry, and his stupid-looking shaved head with just the topknot swaying and occasionally brushing the back of his head. This isn’t what was meant to happen. I deserve it, though. But I can get it all back if I find the Avatar. No, when I find him. I’ve got no other choice.
He felt the treacherous sting of tears welling in his eyes again, but he wouldn’t let them fall this time. He couldn’t be weak if he was to succeed in his mission. And he had to succeed. So instead, he yelled and punched the mirror with a fist of flames, and it shattered, the pieces clinking as they hit the metal floor. He let all his anger bubble to the surface, and shoved sadness and pain as far down as he could. Anger was better than pain. Pain was weakness, and the Fire Lord had never allowed weakness, so he couldn’t allow it either.
He sat down in his chair to lace up his boots, because they weren’t going very well. In addition to his already subpar hand-eye coordination, his impatience and incapacitated eye made it nearly impossible to lace them correctly. He kept putting the wrong lace over the other, and had to restart multiple times. Eventually he got the laces to the top, ignoring the part where he missed a crossover somewhere in the middle, and made a weird messy knot at the top. It wasn’t great, but they’d stay on his feet. Usually he’d stay until he got it right, but this time, he’d fix them later.
The rocking of the ship didn’t bother him as much today, and it wasn’t making him nauseous, but he still tripped and stumbled and almost hit a wall on his way to the sick bay. He'd already memorised the very simple route there, and considering he had to go there at least once a day for the next few weeks, that was a good thing. He walked down the last narrow flight of stairs, turned right, and entered the sick bay.
Shako, the only soldier on the ship that had any medical training, and who had thus been deemed the medic, looked up from his desk and motioned to the bed as Zuko entered. Zuko scowled as he sat down on the bed, shoving his hands under his thighs so they wouldn’t flutter around, and especially so they wouldn’t try to hit Shako like yesterday. Zuko hated everything about getting his bandage changed, but he understood that not changing it would be worse, so he tried to deal with it.
He pressed his mouth shut tight and tried to keep his breathing steady as Shako unwrapped the bandage as gently as he could.
As bad as Zuko was at identifying emotions, even he could recognise the look of pity that flashed across Shako’s face every morning when the bandage came off. Everyone he passed after the incident had that look on their face, even with the bandage on, just for a split second before regaining their composure. Before, only his mother had ever looked at him like that, and even then it was paired with joy and love and kind words and kisses.
The burn was bad, and it was fresh. Zuko hadn’t even seen it, but if it was any reflection of how much it hurt, he knew it was bad.
Zuko flinched and inhaled sharply when Shako carefully spread burn cream on the wound, and wrapped a clean bandage around it. Shako secured the end of the bandage and stepped back, saying nothing. Zuko, forcing himself to not cry out at the pain, took a shaky deep breath and slipped off the bed and back onto his feet. He mumbled a “thanks”.
Looking vaguely in Shako’s direction, he frowned and clenched and unclenched his fists, doing his best to remain calm and not vent his frustrations at the medic, who'd done nothing but helped him and not said anything unless necessary, exactly how Zuko wanted.
Shako smiled politely and nodded, indicating they were done and Zuko could leave the room.
Zuko sighed unsteadily and left the room quickly.
He walked down the hall towards the mess for some breakfast, but stopped when he saw a few officers conversing and eating in the room. Zuko didn’t feel prepared to interact with anyone but the medic or Uncle, so he turned to go back up to his room, figuring he’d eat breakfast later when the crew were back at their posts. But he heard someone, probably the Lieutenant, whatever his name was , coming down the stairs, so he quickly turned and headed further down and outside onto the deck.
The wind slammed into his face the second he stepped outside, and he almost stumbled back in. He walked unsteadily against the strong wind, stepping towards the side to grip the gunnel as he made his way to the bow of the ship. The sound of the wind engulfed his right ear, mimicking the distracting, smothering quality of the constant ringing in his left ear. He put his other hand on the gunnel as well, and looked down at the water below. He felt the spray of a wave mist his face with salt water, and lifted his head in displeasure.
Zuko turned his head to look around, and the only thing he saw, other than the colour of the ocean blending into the sky, was a stretch of coast far in the distance. I wonder where we’re going, he thought absentmindedly. Wait. I’M the one who should be ordering everyone around and telling us where we’re going. Why have I not done that yet, and why are we moving if I haven’t done that?!
He turned around and made his way back inside the command tower as fast as he could without the wind knocking him over. He ran up the stairs, ignoring the shocked crew member that quickly stepped out of the way and then turned to stare.
Zuko burst into Iroh’s room, whisking the door open so quickly he felt the air rush past him.
“Uncle!” Zuko yelled, and Iroh looked up, shocked but remaining composed,“Where are we going?! I’m the one who’s supposed to be giving orders on this ship, and I haven’t told anyone anything yet!”
He scowled and felt his fists ball up in frustration when Iroh didn’t immediately speak, seemingly gathering his thoughts.
“Zuko,” Iroh began, improperly slow for the urgency of the situation, Zuko thought. He huffed.
Iroh continued just before Zuko could interrupt.
“You should focus on healing for a few weeks before taking command. Don’t worry about the ship yet, Lieutenant Jee and myself are perfectly capable of handling things for now. Go get something to eat and try to rest.”
Zuko growled at the fact Iroh hadn’t even tried to answer his question and stepped into the room. “A few weeks?! No, what I need to do is find the Avatar so that I can go home with my honour! Where are we going ?!”
Iroh sighed, having guessed that Zuko wouldn’t drop the subject just like that. Worth a shot. He looked at Zuko’s face, who glared right back for a second before his eye shifted up to focus near his hair instead.
“We’re going to the nearest Earth Kingdom port to get the rest of the supplies that we need. Your fa- the Fire Lord didn’t allow enough time to get all of the supplies we need. We’ll arrive there in the evening.”
“But we need to start searching for the Avatar! There’s no way we’ll find him in some random Earth Kingdom town. We-” Zuko insisted, but stopped when Iroh stood up. Iroh slowly put a calm but firm hand on Zuko’s shoulder. Zuko glanced at Iroh and then the hand on his shoulder, wanting to push it off but not moving.
“Zuko. We need these supplies. Getting the supplies will only take a few hours, then we can either head off immediately or stay there for the night, sleep, and head off first thing in the morning. Okay?” Iroh had a finality in his voice that even Zuko knew he couldn’t argue against and win.
“ Okay, ” Zuko snapped.
Iroh took his hand off Zuko’s shoulder. “Good. Now go get something to eat, you won’t find the Avatar if you starve to death first.”
Zuko grumbled “ Fine ” and left the room. He walked down the stairs to the mess hall with a spiteful sluggishness, and paused before entering the room. There was still some crew inside. Two sitting at tables, as well as the cook. He groaned. Uncle was right; he needed to eat, but he’d still rather not do it with other people around.
He briefly thought back to the last time he refused to eat. Father got mad, and… he didn’t want to think about what happened after that. Although Uncle was not the same person as Father, Zuko didn’t want to find out whether he got mad about things like that too, so he entered the mess.
The metal floor made it impossible to walk anywhere undetected, so the two crew members in the mess instantly looked up when Zuko entered, and then continued looking, barely even trying to hide the fact they were staring.
Zuko found it annoying that everyone knew exactly who he was, while he hadn’t met the majority of his meagre crew. He wasn’t sure whether they knew what led to his banishment, but in the hopes of retaining at least some of his dignity, he really hoped they didn’t.
He walked up to the opening on the side of the galley where food was served from. The cook noticed him and tried his best not to stare as he handed the boy a warm bowl of noodles. Zuko took hold of the bowl but didn’t look at it. He looked down at his hands which were nervously tapping the side of the bowl, staying in rhythm with his quickening heartbeat.
“What’s in this?” Zuko asked quietly. He would rather not speak to anyone, but he wanted to know what was in his food before he put it in his mouth.
“Noodles with komodo chicken and a dash of chilli,” the cook answered, looking towards Zuko for confirmation that he heard what he said.
Zuko blanked for a moment, trying to determine whether spicy noodles were in the zone of things he could normally handle eating.
He must have been frowning or something, because the cook swallowed and quickly added “...Prince Zuko” before turning away and going to clean dishes.
Zuko snapped back into reality after coming up with the conclusion of usually yes, but this smells weird so I’m not quite sure. He looked up and saw the cook glance at him nervously. Finally having processed what the cook had added, Zuko raised his eyebrow in surprise and headed to the same corner table that he sat at last night. Prince. Good to know at least one person here respects my position.
Only as he approached the table did he look up and notice that someone was already sitting there. The soldier looked up at him quizzically, as if considering whether or not to ask what he was doing. Zuko’s heart raced at having to talk to another stranger, fumbling to find what to say.
After a moment, Zuko turned to face the soldier. “You’re in my seat,” he said, meeker than he intended.
“Nope, I was here first.” the soldier said flippantly. She chuckled a little as she eyed him up and down with comical bemusement.
“But it’s- it’s my seat” Zuko insisted, louder this time but it still sounded more like a request than a statement.
“Not if I'm sitting here.” the soldier retaliated, raising her voice slightly, snickering but dead serious.
Zuko quickly put his bowl down on the table before he dropped it or impulsively threw it at her. “Get out of my seat!” he exclaimed, slightly louder than he meant to. The other soldier still in the mess looked towards the two, and motioned to his crewmate to just let Zuko have her seat and come sit beside him.
The female soldier snarled, grabbed her bowl, and stood up. She sneered at Zuko and went to the other side of the room to join the other seaman.
Zuko glared at the two, who were clearly looking in his direction, and then sat down in his seat.
Zuko was somewhat shocked when, even through the sound of the waves against the side of the ship and the ringing in his ear, he could hear the two crew members openly discussing him in a less-than-respectful way. He was more irritated than offended; it wasn't like this was the first time someone had bad-mouthed him while he was clearly still in earshot. He decided to stay seated and get back at them for it later, not even bothering to listen to what they were saying; he doubted it would make him feel much worse, but it certainly wouldn’t make him feel better.
He poked at the noodles with his chopsticks. The noodles looked fine, but the broth they were swimming in smelled strange. He wrapped some noodles around his chopsticks, but most of them fell off. He tried to pick up some more, but then the rest fell back into the bowl too. Come on, seriously? How do I never get better at this? He tried again and got two noodles to stay on the chopsticks for long enough to put it in his mouth, which confirmed it. The noodles were fine, but the broth was not. He didn’t like it, but he swallowed it. He took a deep breath. Taking a piece of the komodo chicken and putting it in his mouth, Zuko quickly discovered that it had an extremely unpleasant texture that something like roast duck didn’t have and spit it out. Clearly he shouldn’t have assumed the two would actually be as similar as their appearances might suggest.
He promptly got up, took a cup, filled it with water, and came back to his table. He took a mouthful of water and swished it around in his mouth before swallowing. Even the wooden aftertaste was preferable to that of the komodo chicken. Ew, that’s disgusting. How does anyone like komodo chicken? I don’t ever want that feeling in my mouth ever again.
He stared down at his bowl with disdain. I’m not sure how much more of this I can stomach. Eugh, that broth is gonna make me sick. But I took the bowl, so now I have to eat it.
He leaned his head on his hand and considered his options for a moment, during which time he heard the two soldiers pass him and leave the room, laughing and talking about something completely different.
Relieved he was finally alone, Zuko got up and took his bowl to the small sink next to the door to the galley. He drained the broth into the sink, using the chopsticks to keep the noodles in the bowl. Some of the komodo chicken bits fell into the sink as well, but the rest stayed in the bowl. I’ll just have to avoid them. Zuko sat back down at his table and poured a little bit of water into his noodles to keep them wet and to water down the little remaining broth. After a few tries, he twirled a large amount of noodles onto his chopsticks and was glad to find most of the broth’s flavour gone from them. He ate the rest of his noodles and then emptied the chicken bits into the trash.
Zuko placed the empty bowl back on the counter on the side of the galley, nodded and said an awkward “thanks” and left.
Zuko stayed in his room when they arrived at the port. Iroh opened the door and stepped in.
“We’ve arrived at the port. Would you like to come with me, Lieutenant Jee, and a few other crew members to get those supplies?”
“No! I’m not interested in some dumb Earth Kingdom town.” Zuko crossed his arms and looked down at his feet.
“Alright then. Is there anything you want?”
“I want to go home.”
“Something from the town, I meant.”
“Oh. uh…” Zuko thought for a moment and looked at his empty desk. “A lot of paper and ink.”
“Easy enough, anything else?”
Zuko looked around the room, which was empty, spare for the bed, desk, and the chair that he was sitting on. “Maybe something to put on the wall. Like… a decoration?”
“Yes, I can get something like that. That’s all?”
“...That’s all.”
Iroh smiled and left the room, closing the door behind him. Zuko cursed and pinched himself for not remembering to say ‘please’ or ‘thank you’, or even greeting Uncle when he entered. Stupid.
An hour or so after Iroh and about half the crew left, Zuko wondered why he’d asked for a decoration without any further specifications. He wasn’t fond of most kinds of decorations, and there was no way Uncle had spent enough time with Zuko to know what he’d want. It's too late now. I’ll accept whatever he brings and remove it later if I don’t like it.
Zuko sat and tapped rhythms on his desk. He got up and paced the room, shaking his hands, feeling incredibly understimulated. He sat back down and stared at the metal-panelled walls. He got up and carefully swept up the shards of mirror scattered around his floor and put them in the little rubbish bin next to the desk. He looked at his hands, went down the three flights of stairs to the washroom and washed his hands, frowning at the stinging of the little cuts the shards of glass made. In hindsight, a glaringly obvious consequence of picking up glass with bare hands, one he would’ve noticed had he not been so distracted wondering how long Uncle would be gone for. He didn’t realise he cared so much.
I don’t, really. They were just so vague about how long they’d be gone for, and I hate this waiting. Hmph… I did skip lunch, so maybe I should eat something.
He dried his hands on a towel and went out of the washroom and across the hall to the mess. It was empty, and it seemed the cook had gone with Iroh too.
Zuko stepped into the galley and grabbed three bread rolls and an apple. He bit into the apple, spit out the chunk he bit off, and grimaced. The apple was bruised and… he turned it over. It was mouldy on the other side. Blegh, ew! He spat into the sink and threw away the rest of the apples too. He perhaps smiled a little when he ate his bread rolls, being the only fully enjoyable food he’d eaten on the ship so far. He headed back up to his room with the last bread roll still in his mouth and holding a cup of water in his hand.
Figuring they still wouldn’t be back for a while, Zuko took off his boots and his annoying, itchy pants. Crap! I should’ve asked him to bring me something else to wear in the evening. He flopped onto his bed and sighed. At least the bed was comfortable and the blanket was soft.
He must have dozed off, because he wasn’t sure whether it was minutes or hours later when he heard footsteps clanking up the stairs. They’re back. Oh no, I forgot I took my pants off. Zuko jumped up from his bed and pulled his pants back on as fast as he could. Iroh opened the door before he could get to his boots.
Iroh came into the room, leaving a pile of whatever he brought just outside the door so that Zuko couldn’t see it from where he was standing. Iroh looked at Zuko and grinned.
“Had a nap, did you?”
“Wh-what? No. Why would you think that?!” Zuko protested.
“Oh, don’t worry about it.”
“What is it?!”
“Your hair has come undone,” Iroh noted, and then turned to pick up something from his pile of purchases.
“Aw, crap.” Zuko hissed under his breath and grabbed the hair tie from his bed, quickly fixing his hair before turning back to Iroh.
“I bought quite a few things, and some for you as well. Here.” Iroh put a thick blank notebook as well as an inkwell and pen on Zuko’s desk. Zuko turned to look at them and then at Iroh.
“...Thank you” he said, sounding flatter and more… confused than he intended.
Iroh didn’t respond as he was already picking up the next item. “I got this decoration,” he began, pulling up a weird, bright-coloured animal mask replica. Zuko scrunched his face in disgust before even thinking about trying to be polite.
“I figured you wouldn’t like it much, so this is actually for me, I just wanted to show you you.” Iroh put the decoration back on the floor outside the door. “What I got you … are these. ”
Zuko raised his eyebrow and tried to peer over at what Iroh was picking up, something clearly either heavier or more delicate than the previous item. When Iroh lifted it up, Zuko was speechless. It was a set of real dual broadswords, nearly identical to the ones Zuko had learned to use not long ago.
“I, uh, I…” Zuko wasn’t sure what to say as Iroh smiled wide and handed him the swords. “This- this is… uh, I… th… thank you… so much.” he stumbled through his words and stared at the swords.
Zuko was practically frozen in shock, and didn’t move away when Iroh wrapped him in a brief hug. “You’re welcome, nephew.” Iroh smiled again and, knowing Zuko probably wouldn’t say anything else, picked up the rest of his items and continued up the stairs to his room.
“Whoah,” Zuko breathed as he carefully put the swords in their sheath and set it down on his desk. That’s definitely… not what I was expecting. Wow.
Zuko picked up a few small hooks that Iroh had handed him alongside the swords. He attached them to the wall by melting the ends onto the metal of the wall. He took the swords out of their sheath and set the sheath on two of the hooks. He held the swords in his hands, feeling the sturdy, well-shaped hilts. He swung them around experimentally, very nearly hitting the inkwell, and with another swing, almost knocking the sheath to the floor. I probably can’t practise inside this room…
He carefully set the swords onto the other hooks, crossing them over in the middle. He thought for a moment about the only thing from home he’d managed to take with him, the water spirit mask now hidden in a locked drawer of his desk, and smiled.
The smile made the bandage shift and rub against the burnt skin on the left side of his face, and he winced. He swore he could physically feel his heart sink and his momentary joy instantly seep out of his body as his current predicament, and subsequently everything leading to it, were suddenly recalled back to mind.
He groaned with frustration and looked out the window above his bed. The sky was already dark, and he could see dim lights lighting the streets of the town below. We’ve got our supplies, now we should leave. We can’t continue wasting time when the Avatar is still out there.
Zuko pulled on his boots and compelled himself to move his hands slowly enough that he tied the laces correctly. He slammed the door shut behind him, and rushed up the two flights of stairs to the helm.
It was empty and unlit. Zuko slammed a fist against the wall, exasperated, and the resulting clang hurt his ears and he felt instant regret. Where’s the helmsman? Maybe he’s eating?
He hurried down the stairs and barged into the mess, finally feeling ready to yell at his crew and order them around, but the mess was empty as well. “Has everyone really gone to sleep already?” he exclaimed in disbelief, embarrassed at how his voice cracked on the last word. Ugh, fine. We’ll leave in the morning.
He looked at the empty room. Might as well have dinner while I’m here.
He entered the galley and found a bowl filled with steamed rice and roast duck sitting on the counter. Did the cook leave this… for me? Zuko wondered as he picked up the bowl. It wasn’t very warm anymore, but he took a pair of chopsticks, a cup of water and a sugar cookie and went to sit down at his table.
The rice had sort of clumped together as it had cooled down, but Zuko didn’t mind because it made it easier to pick up with the chopsticks. The roast duck was pleasant and filling, and the whole meal was miles better than what he had had for breakfast.
Zuko stayed at the table and thought about his plans. He knew he would have to learn as much as he could about the Avatar if he had any hope of finding them, so before he departed from the Fire Nation, he’d convinced Uncle to get someone to find some scrolls about the Avatar. They hadn’t been able to go to Roku’s temple though, so the scrolls he’d got were little in number and regrettably vague and uninformative. So, he decided, he’d keep his own notes on the Avatar.
The next in the cycle after Roku would be an Air Nomad. I thought they were all wiped out, but considering I’ve never heard any news about the Avatar being found in the Water Tribes, he could still be alive as an Airbender. He would have to be pretty old by now, so he’d also be a master of the elements. According to the maps I’ve seen, we’re closest to the Western Air Temple, so that’s where I’ll look first. Then all the other Air Temples, the Water Tribes, and then… everywhere in between I guess.
He thought about this for a while until he felt his eyelids getting heavy.
As if on cue, Iroh entered the mess, holding his teapot. “You’re still up, Zuko. Would you care for a cup of tea before bed?”
He looked up at Iroh, his eye half closed. He blinked. “Uhh, yes… yes, please,” he mumbled, feeling like he was about to fall asleep even without the tea.
Zuko drank his cup of Jasmine tea silently, thanked Iroh sleepily, and headed out of the mess without another word.
Zuko again woke up to the clanking of boots up and down the stairs. He got up and dressed as fast as he could, and immediately headed up to the helm. This time, the lights were lit and the helmsman, another crew member, and Iroh were there.
“Is the ship ready to leave?” Zuko asked loudly as he barged into the room, and all three men turned to look at him. Oh no, did I say something wrong?
“Almost, yes.” the helmsman said, sounding surprised. Zuko frowned. “...Prince.. Zuko.” the helmsman added hesitantly.
Zuko nodded once. “Good. We’re going to the Western Air Temple.”
The helmsman glanced at Iroh, who nodded. He turned back to Zuko. “Yes, sir.”
Satisfied, Zuko turned on his heel and left the room.
(a few hours later)
Iroh walked outside holding a cup of tea, and found Zuko pacing back and forth, grumbling and shaking around his hands, visibly agitated.
“What's wrong, Zuko?” Iroh asked, brow furrowing with worry.
Everything, Zuko thought, but knew what he was actually asking.
“It's just, aagh ! I'm trying to go through my forms and practise my firebending, but I keep getting it wrong! I know how to do it, I memorised these forms months ago! What is wrong with me?!”
Zuko yelled, shooting a random arc of flames to his left with his hand, and Iroh quickly stepped away from the edge of the flames.
Iroh sipped his tea. “Nothing's wrong with you, Prince Zuko. It's not your fault.”
“Are you sure?”
“Suddenly only having use of one of your eyes reduces your field of vision and can mess with depth perception. Shako said that your ear might be damaged too, which can affect your balance. How about you take a break and try some of the simpler forms?”
“So it is something wrong with me! I don't have time to take a break, and I don't want to go back to the simpler forms! I'll never get anywhere with forms meant for a nine-year-old!”
Zuko groaned in dismay and put his face in his hands.
“You have to give yourself time to heal and adjust, Zuko. A lot of big changes have happened recently, and it’s not just your vision that requires getting used to. You need to not be so hard on yourself. It will take a while, but everything will be alright, I know it.” Iroh stepped forward and gently put his hands on Zuko’s shoulders.
Zuko pulled away from Iroh and looked out to the sea, where a mountainous stretch of land was just beginning to become visible over the horizon. “Everything will only be alright once I capture the Avatar.”