Full Summary: AU. The Southern Raiders did not find a waterbender in the Southern Water Tribe, so Yon Rha took a captive back to Prince Ozai. As stubborn as the boy is, Ozai manages to break him into a servant. And he sees everything – he knows things that his family would never dream of.
Author's Note: This is extremely AU. The warnings are very important; don't like, don't read. This will eventually be Zuko/Sokka, but I don't know how often I'm going to update this.
Warnings: Abuse, non-con, pedophilia, and yaoi.
His left eye throbbed from where he was hit, and it was already starting to swell and bruise. He took deep breaths as he stayed on his hands and knees, trying to regain the air into his small lungs.
"I told you to stand," the gravelly voice growled. Strong, rough hands picked him up by his small forearms and forced him onto his feet. His body shook as he felt the cold eyes scan over him, taking in every part of his tan skin that was visible. Calloused hands ran over his arms, across his shoulders, then forced his head up by pinching his face between an index finger and thumb. His father and mother never touched him like that.
As soon as his eyes met the harsh gold, he averted his eyes down and away. The face matched the voice in his mind, all evil and unloving. "What did Yon Rha think when he brought you here? What use did he think I would have for you?" He turned the boy's face from side to side, examining the young, almost pretty, defiant face. Even with the defiance, innocence could be seen under the tough glare he consistently held. The large blue eyes couldn't hide the slight fear that resonated from their depths, knowing he was miles from home with almost no chance of going back. "You're not even a bender, just a filthy peasant. What is your name?"
Sneering, the boy ripped his face from the rough fingers and blurted out, "My dad's going to come to find me, and then you'll be sorry." He glared into the man's angry eyes before a hard slap reached his cheek, and then he was on the ground, arms shaking as he pushed himself up again. His breathing became ragged and he wanted to cry, to have his mother there to comfort him.
He was pulled by his left bicep into a standing position again, eyes still averted down. The rough fingers grabbed his chin again, hand harder and hotter against his skin. "I asked you a question. Only speak if spoken to, and answer a question when asked. Now tell me what your name is."
The small boy curled his hands into fists, grit his teeth and stared at the floor, but finally muttered, "Sokka." He flinched from the fingers that stroked down his cheek softly, past his swollen eye as if they were comforting him.
"Good boy," the man said to him. "I am Prince Ozai." Sokka chanced a look at his face, and flinched again; the prince's smile was disturbing and out of place. "You will do anything my family and I ask of you. Understand?"
Turning his nose up slightly, the Water Tribe boy murmured under his breath, "Prince of nothing." He expected the slap that sent him falling to his side, but he did not predict the foot that hit his ribs with what seemed like enough force to break them. He curled into himself and felt tears suspend in his eyes, pain radiating through his body every time he took a breath. He squinted his eyes open and saw the double doors that led into the room.
"Is the baby going to cry?" Ozai taunted. Sokka managed a deep breath and forced his aching body to its knees, took another deep breath, and then rose to his feet. Without thinking about the man that towered above him, he made a mad dash for the doors. The moment he got to them, his veins started pumping adrenaline, and the pain in his chest all but disappeared. His hand was about to curl around the door knob, but an arm wrapped around his chest and pulled him back forcefully.
Thrashing and screaming, he was forced onto the bed and held down by his forearms. He tried to kick and maneuver himself out from under the body that seemed to be made of pure muscle, but he was easily overpowered and forced to lay flat. The prince was too close to him; he could feel every hard muscle of his body and the brushing of the long beard against his chest. Everything felt too awkward and uncomfortable and made him squirm even more.
"You will learn respect," Ozai growled. "And pain will be your teacher." He firebent his hands just enough to burn the Water Tribe boy's skin where he held him. Sokka threw his head back and released an anguished scream, tears finally spilling out of his eyes. He tried to pull away although he knew it was pointless; his small, thin body still covered with baby fat could never defend against a master firebender with a body of sinewy muscle. "What is my name?"
"Ozai," he gasped. He screamed again as the fire on his arms became even hotter. The last thing he wanted to do, what he was taught not to do, was to give in. His father said that to be a warrior, he had to push his pain aside and always fight for what he believed. But the pain, the searing pain that felt like it was reaching to his bones, was too much for a boy his age to handle. He could feel any dignity he ever gave himself leave as he mumbled, "Prince Ozai, Prince Ozai, Prince Ozai."
And the pain was gone, replaced by painful blistering skin. He was raised by his biceps and thrown to the ground, unable to catch himself before he landed in a heap. Ozai rose from the bed and pulled on his robe, then stood over Sokka and looked down at him with no remorse. He nudged him with a booted foot, gaining his attention. "Bow, peasant, when my family and I enter and leave a room," he commanded.
The small boy was still crying as he forced himself onto his knees and bent his head forward, his body too tired to make it look any better. However, he let out a small cry when a heavy foot pressed against the back of his neck and forced him down until his forehead touched the floor, his arms shaking as they curled under his torso. "This is a bow," the prince told him, foot still forcing him down. "Apparently, your pathetic tribe has no manners."
Ozai left the boy to walk to the doors, turning back shortly to make sure he was still bowing. As if he had a second thought, he said, "Stay off the bed and don't make too much noise." It was like he was talking to an animal, a new pet that had to be trained. He pulled the door shut behind him, the click of the lock ringing in Sokka's ears.
The Water Tribe boy sobbed loudly and curled into fetal position, knowing that he would be broken, no matter how much he wanted to rebel. Spirits, he was only seven. And his captor had the power of fire; he was defenseless and helpless. He almost hoped for death, because he knew that would be easier than living thousands of miles away from home with a fading hope of returning.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to the silence, to his father, his mother, his sister, to the spirits. "I'm so sorry."