This is my first fanfic ever! But not to worry! Normally, I write original fiction, so this shouldn't suck. I do have a strong hold on both the English language and grammar, so it should be, at the very least, intelligible. Comments / constructive criticism would be much appreciated! Enjoy!
Summary: A Zuko drabble (Word count: 860) in response to limepocky's prompts on the katarazuko LJ community. Zuko comes to a realization.
Spoilers: Takes place sometime after "The Cave of Two Lovers."
Disclaimer: "Avatar: the Last Airbender," Zuko, Iroh, et al. are copyright to Nickelodeon (Coincidentally, I've been toying with the idea of having my name legally changed to Nicole Odeon...). Don't sue me.
"So a day when you've lost yourself completely/Could be a night when your life ends"
- Move Along, All American Rejects
The sinking sun sent creeping strands of shadow to entangle the form curled beneath the ancient willow. Each long strand of pale skeletal leaves was another veil between him and world beyond. A world that no longer held a place for a boy without honor.
He contracted further into himself, hunched back pressing painfully against coarse, furrowed bark. But he felt nothing, because there was nothing left to feel. He had known it all now: concern, disappointment, anger, remorse, despair, defeat, guilt, uncertainty, desperation; and now, dishonor, abandonment.
For the first time he was truly alone, separated from his last remaining tie to humanity, not by force, but by choice. Iroh had left him--freely left him--to continue on his own. It had built up over time, months of disapproving glances, proverbs delivered in chiding tones. It had begun with the stolen short-haired ostrich. Even then Zuko had sensed his uncle's reluctance, but remained confident of the old man's dedication, not only to their relationship, but to their (to his) mission. This was only the first of many incidents in the following weeks. The exiled prince had done what needed to be done to ensure survival, to remain one step ahead of those who tracked them, of his sister. But this day, he had gone too far.
The Dragon of the West was many things--eccentric, jovial, wise, formidable in battle--but one thing he was not was a paragon of morality. His nephew was privy to his gambling, stealing and sometimes womanizing ways. So when Iroh counseled against robbing the cabbage merchant of the meager provisions in his rickety cart, Zuko failed to even acknowledge him. When the man resisted and Iroh demanded they move on, Zuko threw a blast at the frightened peasant's feet. One tongue of flame leapt higher than the others, catching upon the tattered corner of the man's tunic, frantic hands slapping to smother the burning cloth. As the merchant fled to safety, Zuko calmly lifted two of the cabbages and tossed one to his uncle, who caught it and placed it disapprovingly back upon the cart. Iroh had had enough.
The boy reasoned, argued, feigned indifference, even resorted to what may be construed as pleading, all to no avail. His uncle's words resounded through his head, ricocheting between the constricting walls of guilt and shame that had slowly been closing in around him: Accepting charity and friendship is more honorable than demanding tribute and obedience.
Over two years ago, his father had stripped his face, and with it his honor, throne, and country; yet always he had found some modicum of comfort knowing that in his uncle's eyes there was still approval, devotion, and love. For the second time in his short life, a single flame had stripped him of his world. It was gone, buried beneath smoldering ashes of disappointment. Now, he was truly, completely, dishonored. Truly, completely, alone.
And that is all he felt beneath the whispering vines of the willow--the emptiness of abandonment. Iroh had only left, returned to the town they had passed through the previous day. But it was Zuko who had abandoned his own principles, who had betrayed himself. Today he had dealt the final blow to the innocent boy who had defied those exploiting the common man. The dusk closed in upon him, augmenting the darkness that grew within. Once his honor had blazed in that void, and then flickered tended with an old man's kindling. In everything from childhood fancies and youthful ambitions, to intense training sessions and a zealous obsession with a fool's errand, his uncle had offered him unconditional support and guidance. The few glowing embers that remained faded further as the full extent of his betrayal hit him.
"Hello?" the soft rustling of leaves blended with soft words. "Are you hurt?"
He peered up past folded arms and the mist that had formed in his eyes. For the first time, he felt his spine digging into the rough tree trunk. The girl. And in the field behind her, the hulking mass of the bison and two thin figures pulling packs from the saddle.
"Do you need help?" She was silhouetted against the final rays of dying day, the pale red glow catching her eyes like sparks off steel.
Iroh's words began their cycle anew in the silence that followed, setting his resolve.
She hadn't recognized him yet. When she did, would she fight or flee, he wondered. He settled on the latter, because he had decided. Decided that he was done fighting her, fighting the Avatar. So they would run, and he would let them. But he vowed to himself, in that moment, that he would regain his honor, in the only eyes that mattered. He would not become what he despised. He would no longer strive to be the perfect son to a heartless father. He would revive the child who fought for his people. The innocence gone perhaps, but with a new understanding of what he fought to protect them from. And he would do so by aiding a boy to overcome the tyrannical ambitions of one man.
He would make his uncle proud.