The first week of Zuko's banishment was the worst. The scar that marred his face served as a throbbing reminder of his stupidity, his single act of defiance. He wasn't sure which hurt more, the actual wound or the shame and regret that came with it. He longed for his mother's soothing touch more than ever at that time. He wanted her there, to hold him and whisper soft, calming words into his ear. She never appeared, and that too felt like a betrayal.
The second week was almost as bad. The pain of his scar had faded a bit, but the heart-ache had not. All the emotions inside him, the shame, regret, sadness, and pure hurt, morphed into anger. And that anger grew.
The third week was worse. That anger grew and grew until he broke. He raged and screamed and broke things. He slammed his small fists against his walls and yelled until his throat hurt. Then he sank to the floor and sobbed. He wept bitterly for the loss of everything familiar, and for the knowledge that he would never get it back unless he found some being that hadn't been seen for a hundred years.
The fourth week he decided that he would find the Avatar. He would find him and be able to come home. And maybe, just maybe, his father would smile and say he was proud. Weeks turned into months. Months turned to years. Three years of searching for the Avatar when he received word of him being in the Southern Water tribe. For the first time since his banishment, Zuko smiled. Suddenly home didn't seem so far away.