He dreams of dragons that night

He dreams of dragons that night.

It's a vivid dream, and when Sozin wakes up to the stillness of his bedchamber, his heart is thumping loudly in his chest, his cheeks are flushed hot.

Trying to go back to sleep is pointless. The room feels too stuffy, the blanket too heavy, and if he shuts his eyes he can still see flying red and blue shapes encircling him, the ground below nothing but a distant, motley brocade. After tossing in bed for what feels like an eternity, Sozin gives up, quietly sneaking out the door and down the corridor to Roku's chamber.

His friend sleeps like a platypusbear, deeply and peacefully, with loud, regular snores. Waking him takes some effort; it's a good three minutes after Sozin first starts shaking his shoulder that Roku reluctantly lifts his head from the pillow, propping himself up on his elbow.

"What's going on?"

"I had the best dream!"

"A dream?" The words disappear into a wide yawn. "That's why you woke me up?"

"Not just any dream, the most amazing dream I've ever had!" Sozin doesn't wait for a reaction before he continues, agitated, but careful to keep his voice down. "I was flying with dragons. And not only that, I was fighting them. I was their master. I was—" He pauses, spreading his arms in a grand gesture. "Sozin, King of Dragons."

Roku blinks drowsily.

"That title doesn't sound half as cool as you think."

"My dream iwas/i cool," Sozin protests, but then he can't think of what to say. No matter how he tries, he can't seem to find the right words to describe the gracefully contained power of the dragons or the intoxicating feeling of being in control of something that strong, that raw and ancient and alive.

"That's great." Roku gives him a sleepy smile, already drifting off again. "You'll have to tell me tomorrow."

With that, he lets his head fall back on the pillow, gone to the world.

Sozin stays and watches him for a few moments, listening to his breath get slower and slower to finally erupt in snores. Then he runs on silent feet back to his own room, where the darkness is empty and warm, and the only sound is his own pulse beating against his eardrums.

Slowly, he clenches his fists, readies his stance. He goes through the familiar forms, tensing his muscles and focusing on his breath, on the ball of heat centered in his stomach, all but releasing the fire into bursting flames.

There; with a spin to the side he evades the whipping tail that smashes a whole mountain side to pieces with one single hit. A high jump; and he lands on the back of the dragon, running along its spine towards the roaring head. A lunge forward; and the curtains that billow from his empty punch are the mighty beast's vain attempts to escape, forced to succumb to the awesome power of his invincible fire blasts.

At dawn, when the chirping birds in the palace garden drown out the clanking from kitchen servants, he finally falls asleep in a chair.

He dreams of dragons and fire.