A/N: Well, hi. Alright, this is my first fic...so be gentle ;P Comments and constructive criticism welcome. Oh, and there are some spoilers for LOK.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing! Except two of the dreams. Those are mine. Everything else belongs to the glorious human beings involved in creating this incredible series.
Meditation was nothing new to Zuko. He had practiced it for years; it was required by his firebending teachers as a method to prepare for bending. When he was younger, Zuko would make it very clear that he hated meditating. He claimed it made him tired, bored, angry. More often than not, he would try his hardest to find an excuse to get out of it. But after Azula began her lessons, and it became clear that she was very talented, Zuko suddenly became very interested in meditating. He would never admit it, but he would be damned if he let his little sister beat him at bending, even if she was a prodigy.
Secretly, Iroh believed sibling rivalry was not Zuko's only reason for meditating. The aged general knew the prince better than anyone else did. He knew that the boy was angry, that he used his anger to bend others to his will and gain power over them. He also knew that his nephew hated it. Zuko hated that his temper had such a hold on him, that it did not earn him respect, only fear. He hated that it made him like his bully of a sister. During those lonely nights at sea, he had sought peace through meditation, wanting only to find some way, some miracle, which would allow him to regain his honor.
He never found it.
-x-
His fever had broken five days ago. He had been weak, so weak. He could hardly sip water without spilling most of it over his burning skin. But he had gained strength. When speaking no longer fatigued him, he confided in his uncle the dreams that had plagued him in his fevered sleep. Such disclosure from his nephew both surprised and gladdened him, though he did not admit it. Perhaps the hard shell on Zuko had cracked at long last. Or perhaps it was simply a product of the delirium. Either way, Iroh did not take it for granted.
The prince spoke of seeing himself Fire Lord. He sat atop the golden throne in magnificent robes, flames blazing before him as was tradition. His scar had faded into nothingness; he was unmarked, clean, honorable. Suddenly, a blue dragon had appeared, speaking with Azula's voice. A red dragon had materialized as well, contradicting the words of the red dragon with the voice of Iroh. The beasts had coiled around the throne, their advice confusing him more and more until he fell, plummeted like a stone into a dark pond, the walls of the palace crumbling around him. Before he lost sight of everything, his sister's voice said words to him, words he could not remember. But with those words came feelings: terrible feelings of sadness, rage, confusion. With those words came his mother, crying out for his help. Yet Zuko could not do a thing. He woke with a start.
At least, that's what he thought. He felt better, well enough to stand and stumble to the washroom. He splashed water onto his face, hoping to clean off the sweat and dirt and confusion that lingered on his skin. When he looked into the simple mirror, the dripping visage staring back at him was not his own, but that of his quarry: the young Avatar. Yes, his angular face was still his, and his eyes were still the same deep amber they had always been, but he no longer had his scar. Or his hair. Instead, the sky blue arrows of an air bending master had been tattooed on his bald head.
This was when he had woken with a cry of horror. Chest heaving and drenched in sweat, he had lay back on his pallet tiredly, feeling his scar, reassuring himself that it was still there. Iroh sponged the sweat from his nephew's forehead.
"You have changed, my prince," he had said quietly, gently spooning a weak broth into Zuko's mouth. "It has not been pleasant, but it is done. You have transformed."
Zuko merely lay back down on the makeshift bed, too weak and tired to respond. A shuddering cough wracked his thin frame, and he rolled over onto his side with nothing in his head but the desire to sleep deeply and peacefully. Iroh let him.
-x-
There were dreams that he did not tell his uncle about, though, dreams that somehow baffled him more than the others.
He dreamed of a sprawling city, a metropolis more advanced than any in even the Fire Nation. There were things he had never seen before: carts that moved without ostrich-horses, buildings that stretched to the sky. It was, in a word, incredible. He turned towards the water and what he saw stopped him cold: a small island on which stood a statue of the Avatar.
Was this the future, then, his destiny? To fail? To remain forever the banished prince, the laughing-stock of the nation, the worthless child?
But then, the ground beneath him shifted, bringing him to a new part of this mysterious city. It appeared to be a square of sorts. In the center of the space there was another statue set on a large platform. It was of a man, dressed in Fire Nation attire. His arm was outstretched, and fire flared from his upraised palm. Upon closer inspection, Zuko realized the statue was in his likeness. The tell-tale scar marred his left eye, confirming the suspicion. Zuko shrunk back in shock; what was going on?
He jolted awake with a muffled cry; his face was pressed into a pillow. He was barely aware of his uncle easing him upright and tipping a small cup of water past his cracked lips. It was only moments later that he had passed out again.
This time, he saw himself standing outside the palace at the Coronation Plaza. He was much older now, with lines etched deep into his face and his hair grey. His arm was wrapped around the waist of an equally older woman he did not recognize. They were beaming with joy as they watched a Fire Sage place the royal headpiece into the hair of a younger woman, exclaiming, "I give you your new Fire Lord!"
Zuko watched as everyone knelt for the young woman. She stood gracefully, and bowed to the assembled people, unable to hide the smile from her eyes. She peeked over her shoulder at the elderly couple and mouthed, "I love you."
His older self smiled through tears and kissed the head of the woman next to him before the pair knelt to the woman.
Bewilderment rippled through his mind. Who was the woman by his side? Or the woman to whom he was bowing? Was this the future, or simply a fever-induced dream? Some part of his consciousness desperately wanted this to be the future. He wanted to know that he had restored his honor and married. At the same time, though, he realized something must have gone horribly wrong if the past two dreams were to be believed as the future. He could not possibly be Fire Lord if the Avatar was still alive…could he? No, what a silly question. It was not possible. Not at all. Right?
That time, he had not woken up feeling fearful or dreadfully confused; instead, it was something that felt suspiciously like hope.
-x-
Five days later, things had changed. Zuko's mood had become lighter, and again, Iroh did not take it for granted. He suspected there was more to the dreams his nephew had shared with him, but he knew better than to ask. If there was anything else Zuko wanted to share, Iroh could only hope he would do so.
Zuko had taken to meditating again, sitting alone in his room before going to sleep with the door closed and candles placed before him. Iroh could only imagine on what the boy was meditating. Only once had Iroh watched Zuko. He had quietly rolled the paper screen door open, peering into the room. Inside, it was hot and stuffy; the thick curtain on the window had been drawn. His nephew sat facing that window, away from the door with his legs crossed in the lotus position, back ramrod straight, and hands cupped before his torso. With every slow breath the banished prince took, the candle flames would dance as they had for firebenders over centuries. Inhale. The flames of the candles shrunk down on themselves, as if crouching. Exhale. The flames stretched up, reaching for the ceiling. Repeat.
Iroh carefully shut the door and retreated to the kitchen, sitting heavily in a rickety old chair with a deep sigh. Perhaps he would never know why his nephew mediated that evening. Nobody but Zuko himself would be able to tell him that, and if the past had been any indication, there was a very slim chance of that happening. But maybe the change that had overtaken the young man would persist. Maybe, things would change indefinitely, all because of some strange dreams and a little meditation. Maybe, dreams such as those were destined to become reality, whatever they were.
Behind him, the blush of candlelight blazed and dimmed, over and over and over again.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Repeat.