Hi Everyone! Yes, I'm back, but this time, it's with... Avatar! This is my first time outside the Harry Potter fandom, so any advice either way on this would be good. I wasn't sure about this one, but, honestly, it just popped into my head while I was in the shop. Have fun!
- Dialux
Ring around the Rosie
Sozin rose with careful steps, eyes shadowed with wariness and triumph in equal measure. He made his way down the stairs, taking account of all there and all not. A good leader knew his people, and Sozin was a better leader than most. In the Fire Nation, silence said more than words. He stepped out into the sunlight, letting golden rays spill over bloodied hands and wearied shoulders. When he looked out, all he saw was his army, a sea of black and red, ready to lay down their lives at his bidding.
Roku should have known better. Freezing gold narrowed at the generals.
"Kill them all."
Pockets full of Posies
He was the second son of the greatest Fire Lord in history. Azulon didn't need the whispers and laughter of others to tell him he was ugly; his brother did that all by himself. He was lesser than, worse than, eviler than his brother, it was true. But his brother had never had a mind for the politics of court. He could charm them, yeah. But he didn't have the patience and cold-bloodedness to watch others die just because he wanted power.
And then, of course, the stupid boy went and got himself killed. Azulon stood at his brother's funeral and didn't shed any tears; his wife of all of one day- she had been promised to his brother before he died- cried more than he did.
When the Fire Sage's hands pressed gold metal to his head, sharp and deadly and a promise of so much more at the same time, Azulon smiled.
Ashes! Ashes!
Ozai didn't marry for years. He watched with hidden bitterness as Iroh blossomed, the perfect Fire Nation prince. Iroh married, and the girl was the most submissive person ever to marry into the royal family. She bore him a son, and bled out hours later, all before he even heard of his heir. Lu Ten was trained and was better than a prodigy, and Iroh's fervent pride in his son- a pride no one had ever shown Ozai- had been clearer than the morning sun through a cloudless sky.
His wife was brought to him by his father, a strong, stubborn woman who was fierce enough to make him think twice about sharpening his tongue on her. His son was a failure, and his daughter was too much a psychopath to see that her actions were burning their- his- reputation to tatters. Even in triumph, Ozai was a failure.
When the Avatar took his bending away, he felt cool surety wash over him. It was time to stop trying at last.
We all fall down.
Zuko was the last of the royal family. Every morning, he woke up beside Mai, and he was grateful for his avoidance of the madness that had ripped through his blood and left them in jails, at best, or graves, at worst. But sometimes he'd sit in bed, and look at his hands, hands drenched in the blood of his people, and wonder if he was not as insane as the rest of them.
They were simple hands, at first glance, but closer looks told a different story. Calluses from years of practice with swords and fire, stopping only when blood dripped from blisters. Long fingers that might as well belong to a musician, and short nails cut to the quick with anxiety and fear.
I thought that when the war ended I'd be happy. Zuko closed pale gold eyes and tried not to give in to the burnt-out fury in his heart. So why do I feel so lost?