Manic
"I wanted someone strong who could protect me.
I let his anger fester and infect me.
His solution is a lie.
No one here deserves to die except for me, and the monster I created."
- Heathers
Zuko stared, wide-eyed, at the body. The position it was in was so - wrong. The head of the body was twisted backwards, the neck seemingly snapped. Bones lay twisted and crumpled on the floor in a position that wasn't human. It wasn't - it couldn't be her body. No. His mother was somewhere else. This body - this woman, was a guard. It had to be. Zuko didn't speak. He didn't breathe.
Movement in the corner of the darkened cell diverted his attention. Zuko saw a mess of black hair and a golden stare so much like his own, dripping with malice. For a moment, his mind failed to comprehend. Maybe it was because he didn't know if he could handle this devastation. But he couldn't avoid it for long. It was too obvious.
A woman was dead in his father's cell. A woman with his mother's dark hair and slim body and royal robes. The woman was most certainly his mother. A man sat in the corner of his father's cell, dirtied and contemptuous. The man was most certainly his father.
"Zuko," Iroh breathed, his voice wavering, "Step back." But Zuko did not hear him. Zuko didn't even know he was there. All he could think about was the man in front of him. No, the monster in front of him. All he could hear was his own heartbeat, pounding against his temple in erratic intervals.
Zuko was dead silent. Ozai was dead silent. In one, extremely cold, visceral instant, the truth became clear. It was transparent. Between them, there were no words of explanation, no pleadings of virtue, no need to do anything but stare. The eighteen year old Fire Lord looked from his father to the corpse of his mother, and there was no more confusion. This man killed his mother. This man ruined his sister. This man burned his son.
Zuko took several steps towards his father. He didn't thrash or scream. He didn't do much at all. All he did was raise his hand to his father's eye level, and stared at him. His heavy breathing was the only thing that could be heard in the cell. His expression was completely neutral. His eyes held no fury, no fear. Only empty discontent. At that moment, his body couldn't seem to keep up with his mind. Maybe his body didn't want to. Maybe it was better this way, because his father was incredibly confused.
Ozai looked at his son and his blank expression with wide eyes. Ozai was not sorry. But he also wasn't scared, because he knew that his son was too much of a coward to do anything about it. This was still the weak little boy that trembled in front of him, was it not?
Lightning crackled inside the room and Ozai's eyes went wide as the room filled with bright blue light. Iroh gasped,
"No, Zuko!" But it was too late. Zuko couldn't hear him. Zuko couldn't even think. All he could do was go through the motions. His fingers shook. It didn't register. Aang gasped from the doorway. It didn't register. Now Ozai was the one to shake. He was powerless. Zuko's fingers moved through the form flawlessly, and with clear mind, Zuko struck his father. Zuko killed his father.
When the lightning erupted and sparked inside Ozai's body, Zuko took a step back and watched fearlessly. There were no screams, no cries for help. Zuko had struck his heart. The aftershock of the lightning erupted within Ozai's corpse, and Zuko breathed in the smell of burning flesh. The room was dark once more.
"Zuko," Iroh wasn't sure what to say anymore. The Fire Lord breathed heavily and after an aftershock caused his father's body to twitch so that Zuko could see his face, he couldn't stand the sight of him, dead or not. - Suddenly, it wasn't enough. His breathing got faster, faster, faster. Zuko screamed and burned his father. His orange fire filled the room and all of his emotions, all of his hurt fueled the inferno in his hand. His eyes were crazed and hurt and he couldn't stop. He looked at the fire and all he could do was stare.
Zuko burned him, and burned him, and burned him. The fire just kept coming, and he didn't know what else to do. Mother's dead. Mother's dead. Mother's dead. How long had he burned him? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? He didn't know. All Zuko could focus on was the pounding of his heart in his chest and the throbbing in his head that came when he exerted this much force in firebending. That and the fire, searing, burning.
No one knew what to do. Iroh placed a hand on Zuko's shoulder a bit hesitantly. In the darkened room, only illuminated by fire, Zuko looked so much like his father. He had his piercing, golden gaze and his sharp, aristocratic features, and his shiny, black hair. And for the first time in his life, Iroh feared Zuko. He could see the concentrated hatred and fury so clearly in his nephew. Hatred and fury that was so like his father. But Zuko was burning his father. He was murdering his father with blue lighting and fire and tears. The tears weren't from the smoke, Iroh knew. There was nothing Zuko loved more than his mother. And she was dead.
Once Zuko registered the hand on his shoulder, he stopped the stream of fire. Zuko's eyes searched the cell frantically. The smell of death was so strong now. It stung Zuko's nostrils. Where was he? Where was his father? It took a few seconds for Zuko to find him in the almost pitch darkness. There was a crumple of something on the floor. No, not a crumple, a heap. A heap of bones and flesh sat in the corner where his father was a few moments ago. And a skull.
That was all that was left of his father. A bloody, pulpy mess. Ozai. The man feared by millions. The man hated by millions. All that was left of him was the remains of ash and charred bone and melting organs on the floor of his prison cell.
Iroh coughed from the smoke. There was nothing to say now. He turned away from the horrific scene, not wanting to think about the fact that that mess of body parts once belonged to his brother. But Iroh could put the pieces together on his own. The body on the floor was the corpse of Zuko's mother, murdered by his father in cold blood. The heap of melting flesh was the remains of Zuko's father, murdered in hot blood by his own firstborn son. What could be said?
The Fire Lord turned to his dead mother. His hands were shaking. His whole body was shaking. He fell to the floor and cradled the fragile corpse in his hands. She was so still. Without thinking, Zuko choked out a hoarse moan of pain. No. With the fear and impudence of a small child, Zuko supported the small of his mother's neck in his hand and rested his searing hot forehead to her cold one. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't cry. All he could do was scream. And these screams, these were worse than the ones of nightmares. These were real, maddening, sickening cries. Zuko sounded like a dying animal. His breaths were heavy and erratic, and he was starting to twitch along with his intense shaking. No. He couldn't take this. He couldn't bear it. It was too much.
Iroh knelt next to his aching nephew and rubbed his shoulder. There were no comforting words to be said here. Nothing could fix a tragedy like this. In a period of a few days, Zuko had become the sole member of his immediate family.
"Zuko," was all he could get out. The Fire Lord reached a shaking hand out to cup his mother's cheek and let out a choked cry, his voice sounding nothing like himself. His mother's eyes were open, blank. He turned to his Uncle with a trembling jaw.
"She's dead," Zuko breathed, his eyes frantic, "he killed her." Zuko was talking, whether to his Uncle or to himself, he didn't know. His expression was terrified and hurt like nothing Iroh had ever seen. Not even remotely. And to see him going through so much pain, he couldn't bear it. When Zuko spoke the words aloud somehow it gave them more substance. More reality. Tears gathered in Zuko's golden eyes and he nearly choked on his own tongue. His heart felt like it was at the bottom of his stomach. He wanted to scream and cry and vomit. This wasn't supposed to happen. She - she was supposed to be alive. He just got her back.
Unsteadily, Zuko shifted backwards, away from his mother's corpse. His arms were twitching and he was starting to hyperventilate, his expression shifting from manic to devastated. His gaze turned from his mother to Aang's small form in the doorway, standing in front of several nearby guards who had rushed to the scene. Aang was looking at the pile of flesh and bones in the corner of the room with a horrified gaze, his hand covering his mouth. The young monk looked to Zuko and the tears in his eyes.
"She's dead," he repeated, hot tears rolling down his cheeks. All Iroh could think to do was to hold Zuko in his arms. Zuko collapsed onto his Uncle's shoulder, crying loudly. He didn't care that anyone was watching. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.
Despite resting in the comfort of his Uncle's arms, his hyperventilating only seemed to get worse because Zuko could smell the fire in his Uncle's robes. Fire and flesh and death. Iroh moved his arms underneath Zuko's, and tried to aid him in standing. He couldn't stand sitting there any longer. He couldn't stand seeing Zuko in so much pain.
With shaky legs, Zuko stood up. He was standing directly in front of Aang. The Avatar looked at Zuko, at his shaky legs and tear stoked face and manic gaze. Aang could see the devastation so clear in his friend, but he couldn't go to him. He couldn't reach out and hold him like Iroh had. Aang was terrified of him. Aang was terrified of his lightning and his anger. Zuko had just murdered his father. Aang never knew if he would be able to get the image of Ozai's mangled corpse out of his mind.
Zuko only stared at Aang. Why hadn't Aang killed his father when he was supposed to? Why didn't he stop his father from killing her? Aang was there.
"You let her die," Zuko whispered harshly. His golden eyes, so much like his father's, were glassy with fierce tears. Aang's mouth hung open, barely believing Zuko was saying such a thing to him.
"You were right there - and you let her die!" He was fuming now, his voice escalating to a hoarse yell. Aang gulped. Iroh furrowed his grey brows.
"Zuko, stop." his Uncle reprimanded. Aang started to tremble, unsure of what to say to this man who had just killed his own father.
"How could you?!" He was getting a crazed tone now, and Aang knew that Zuko didn't really think it was his fault. He was just looking for someone to blame.
"Zuko, I tried. I never thought that he would have-" Aang started, his tone much softer than Zuko's. But Zuko cut him off madly before he could get out a full apology,
"You let her die!" His voice was furious now. The guards started to step back. No one knew what to do. But when Zuko started to clench his fist like he wanted to strike Aang, Iroh grabbed his hand firmly. He used his grip to turn Zuko around to face him.
"Zuko, stop this madness. You know this was not his fault," Iroh explained. Zuko's gaze drifted away from Aang and shifted back to his mother's corpse. For a moment, Zuko's mind went over his memories with his mother. She was so beautiful, so kind. She saved him. She saved him from his father's ideas, from his angers, and from death. She saved him from his father's wrath, but he had failed to do the same. He was too late.
Suddenly, everything went black and all that could be heard in the darkened hallways of the prison was the sound of Zuko's body harshly collapsing on the floor.
Weeks later Zuko's gaze catches on one of royal portraits in the great hall. He tears it down. It deserves to burn. He deserved to burn.
"Seven devils all around you,
Seven devils in your house.
See I was dead when I woke up this morning.
I'll be dead before the day is done."
- Florence and the Machine
A/N: Hope you enjoyed this! Please leave me a review!