Author: These are drabbles, written for a community on Livejournal, the theme being Sins/Vitrtues. You could write sins only, virtues only, or, if you're crazy like me, somehow combine the two. I claimed Zuko as my character, so these will all be Zuko-centric.
Disclaimer: If anyone anywhere convinces you that I actually own Avatar, please tell me and I will set them straight. I make no money off of my writing, and have no copyrights. Thanks.
Pride and Patience
Zuko sat in his closed, hot, stuffy room aboard a grudgingly given ship and breathed.
In.
He had been wandering the world for about a year now–a year aboard a ship with his troublesome uncle and a crew he neither liked nor respected. But he had no options left open to him except to wander on a mad quest for the Avatar. He had been gone for a hundred years; what would make this year, or the next year, or the year after that, any different? The Avatar might never appear again.
Out, a little too forcibly.
Damnit, it hurt. He had been a prince, heir to the throne of the Fire Lord! What was he now? Only marginally more than a common soldier.
A brief struggle for a semblance of serenity; in.
He would show his Father that he was worthy. He would prove himself to himself, his uncle, his father, and that gods-forsaken poor excuse for a human that posed as his sister.
Out, with a brief flare of fire, his hands tightening painfully on his thighs. His lips curled in a silent snarl, and the flames on the candles before him danced dangerously high, nearly licking the ceiling. The lucky prodigical bitch who sought to destroy everything he made for himself–daddy's little girl. She hadn't even blinked when their mother went missing. They were both female–they should have had a mother/daughter connection, or something. Instead she had shrugged it off, throwing off a one-liner about weakness that left him seething and nursing wounded pride.
In.
Pride was all he had left to him. His pride as a soldier. Pride as a firebender. Pride as a prince. Though what was that last one worth? He was an exiled prince, he was nothing.
No, he had to have something left to him!
Out!
He was breathing irregularly now, good eye wide with hurt, anger, and shards of pride that were precariously balanced to form the person he identified as himself. His scar throbbed with pain and shame, and he growled, the candles before him burning furiously now, melting the wax at an alarming pace, soon to leave him in darkness. The shadows descended slowly around him, enveloping him and his pain, comforting and hiding him from the world that seemed to have forsaken him. In the darkness his pride fell to pieces and his breathing returned to normal, only the occasional hitch breaking the rhythm. There he began to pick up his pride, piece by piece, patiently placing them back to form a shattered whole.