Work Text:
Zuko hates the color red.
Don’t get him wrong, he loves his country and the symbolism behind its national color – the power, the passion, the warmth. The love. He is exceptionally proud of his nation’s people for staying caring and compassionate through generations of dictatorship and propaganda, and for making all the reparations see life. Both to the other nations and to the Fireland itself. His heart feels too full when he overviews the terracotta roofs of Hari Bulkan, fortified by Agni’s rays, the vermilion flags serpentine under the peaceful sky like the long-gone dragons.
But Zuko’s also has had too much history tied with the color. When he lays on the ruby-red silk of his bedding in his childhood chambers, all he sees is his mother’s back when she slips away through the servant’s door. When he puts on his dark auburn shoulder armor over the formal fire-red tunic, all he sees is his father’s silhouette looming over him, a blazing hand that nears his face while his head is held in place by a fist in his hair. When he walks past the carmine tapestries adorning the palace walls, golden threads depicting the story of the Fire nation’s gallant conquests, all he thinks of is pain and blood – of his friends and their families, of the sons and daughters of all the lands.
He can not change the way the palace is decorated or the way he is expected to dress when on the Fire lord duties – that would be scandalous and, to be fair, outright vandal – but he can change his private quarters in the palace, the little corner where only the closest to him are allowed.
So he orders new bed sheets and wall paint, new curtains, a new set of casual and night clothes and shoes. He asks servants to take the bronze sculptures of his ancestors on cherry-red marble pedestals that decorate his rooms, enameled vases bigger than his childhood self and put them into the public part of the palace for everyone to behold.
Now, when his long day as the Fire lord is over, he goes into his cream-colored chambers, empty of anything non-functional, unfastens his intricate regal garments, and changes into a simple black linen wrap shirt and pants. And when he wakes up in his bed, the rising sun paints his ivory sheets and natural muslin curtains with hues of peach and lilac.
.
He prefers to spend his personal time surrounded by neutral colors, that are easy on his eyes and pacify his erratic thoughts, but he allows himself to adopt other colors too.
.
There is a soothing, grounding effect of the greens that Zuko has learned to associate with the smell of mature tea and soil after it rained. His uncle gives him a light sage-green shirt and matching pants so that he doesn’t stand out too much in the crowd and hopefully isn’t swarmed up by people when he visits him in Ba Sing Se. Uncle tries to shoo him from the kitchen in the teashop, but he ties a moss-green apron around his waist stubbornly and gets his arms elbow-deep into the soapy water of the basin full of dishes. Toph hugs him as reluctantly as she does strongly, knocking the wind out of him in fluttery laughter, and Zuko is forever endeared by how smudges of dirt look natural on her expensive emerald gown just as they would on any other child her age.
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It’s the day of the Avatar, and the Fire Nation capital is a kaleidoscope of colors, but more than the other shades there are bursts of yellows and oranges. It’s the flags in hands and the ribbons in hair and the garlands threaded between balconies. Since there are no other representatives of the Air nomads other than Aang, a big part of the festivities is singled out for sharing the culture of the Air people. There is a whole nomadic cuisine street, air games and competitions, theatrical performances, and many more, and Aang is ecstatic. He drags Zuko to the middle of the stage to perform the Dancing Dragon, their colorful fires a whirlwind, and then puts a wreath of marigolds on Zuko’s head. Zuko thinks that Aang’s smile is the brightest and sweetest when the yellow flowers reflect in his eyes.
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Zuko is provided with a winter coat and boots made out of burgundy suede and black wool by one of the Fire Nation’s workshops, but the moment he steps on the Wolf Cove ice, he is presented with a traditional Southern cobalt-blue parka trimmed with white fur as a welcome gift. Zuko changes into the garment right then and there, fingers running along the intricate purple and white embroidery of buffalo-yaks and tiger-seals, and feels immediately warmer. Both from a much better-insulated design, but also from a sense of being long-awaited. He shakes arms with Hakoda, bends down for Kanna to be able to pat his cheeks, and hugs Katara close, but when he looks up at Sokka he’s met with a frown, the other’s face unreadable as he takes Zuko’s appearance in. He asks him if he has overstepped by accepting the gift, shrinking under the attention, to which Sokka visibly shakes himself and admits softly that Zuko looks good in blue. And when he finally closes the distance between them to fold Zuko into his arms, his cerulean eyes make Zuko burn in the best way.
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His rooms slowly fill up with decor. Not the one that was selected by a palace administrator and approved by his father as presentable and manly enough, but his own mismatched collection of knick-knacks and memorabilia.
There is a picture that Sokka has created for him with a mix of dry pigments and oils. It’s a southern tundra at night time, soft snowdrifts finger-painted in ultramarine, the sky a navy expanse fading into coal-black broken into by a bright cyan Aurora and mother-of-pearl beads of stars. If one looks closely there are two small dark silhouettes in the corner of the picture holding hands and looking out into the scenery. Zuko orders a simple lacquered mango-rose wood frame for the painting and hangs it above the dresser by the side of the bed.
His other friends learn in their own unconventional ways that Zuko has Sokka’s work hung up on his wall, and soon enough a few new art pieces are joining his collection. A charcoal drawing of Appa and Momo by Aang is framed in a similar style as the oil painting and hung on the opposite wall. Toph sends him a palm-sized figurine of a turtle duck that she has carved from a pale murky jade and that Zuko has put on his cabinet’s desk. Next to it is a framed embroidery of cloud-cranberries made of shiny glass beads by Katara, which she made so that he is able to enjoy the embroidery all year round, unlike the one on his winter coat. After some time his collection is grown by a collaborative drawing from Mai and Ty Lee, and even a scribble from Azula.
One day he brings a little cherry-plum blossom from the gardens into his bedroom and puts it in a glass of water. Its pink petals held together by a wine-colored stem. It’s the closest to red that there is in his quarters. The part of the palace grounds, where the cherry-plums grow, doesn’t bring any bad memories to his mind. His mother’s ghost, that lives under the cloud-like trees, smiles at his young scar-free face. His servants notice the flowers in the glass, and ever since there are fresh lush branches blooming on his dresser at all times right below Sokka’s painting.
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Zuko’s neck is adorned with a coin-sized lazurite pendant that is held up by a strip of soft black leather. Sokka likes to kiss him where it rests in the dip between his clavicles. Zuko looks in mirrors more often now that he can see the reminder of being loved right there above the folds of his yukata, the weight of the deep blue stone cool on his skin.
He wants Sokka to have the same reminder. His hands shake when he clasps the carmine ribbon at his man’s nape, the hand-carved red jasper pendant hangs below the whalebone necklace. Zuko takes one look at the touch of red on the sun-kissed skin and thinks that maybe he could stand having more of the color in his life.