AN: Warning. Concentrated Angst Ahead.
Look, I made this awhile back. I got to the point where I'd read it so many times I felt like burning it. But now, reading it again, it's pretty mediocre. I realize that I spent too much energy on the first section, then on some weird symbolism, then just trying out a new writing style. I feel like I didn't flesh out the plot and reasoning enough, and the dialogue is trying too hard, but oh well. Pacing's pretty shit, too. Something to remember for next time. But I just do not want to go back and rewrite. My love for this story has been burned out, but it was nice while it lasted.
Ba Sing Se was nothing short of invincible. That is, until its walls were breached.
He finishes the stroke and leaves the brush to soak. The scroll is made of the finest paper to date, and the brush flows so smoothly that the characters almost write themselves. It doesn't hide how hard his hand shakes. Perhaps it had its benefits; there was a certain voice that shone from crooked lines and careless scrawls. Tear stains as well, but he suspects those would dry away. He hoped to show all he felt and all he needed to say; after all, these were his final words.
At least, the last that people would hear about. He doubted Ozai would ever repeat what he would have to say to him.
He pens a few more lines but he barely knows what he's writing, too focused trying to ignore how the white space of the parchment shrinks. It's eaten away with whatever remains of his composure and when it comes time to write a closing statement, he's compelled to write I'm afraid. He overrides the sentiment and scrawls off I'm sorry instead.
He finds a thousand more things he wants to say just as he makes the final stroke. He was a fool with words. He'd sent Katara off with little more than a meaningless go and now he wastes away his last chance at saying goodbye.
He can do nothing about it, and the reality of the waiting game he plays surrounds him like the flames of the throne room. It was a battle crueler than that the one he awaits. He's alone, in a chamber filled to the brim with melancholy memories as he counts the seconds to his demise; and the exit stands squarely before him. He's already signed his death sentence, and the chance of escape can drive him mad, but he will not run.
He lays the scroll on the throne before him, the firelight licking at the edges. It'll never reach them. Not here at least; leaving it in such plain sight would be like pitting it into the trench that curtains him with flames. It doesn't matter, though. The words meant nothing, only a selfish desire to scream reason into his life. It doesn't aid his purpose, but he wants them to hear.
He takes the paper and rises, scanning for a place to hoard it. It's petty, but he will let himself savor today. Behind the flames would become a battle zone. The roof too high, and he doubted it would be found. The tiles were close to impossible to cleave open. So he turns and golden eyes stare back at him. The dragon's maw spills fire behind the Firelord's throne and its jaws now hold the final words of a dead prince.
He stands before the bas-relief and let's himself indulge in one last paltry act. Burned into the walls, forever to shadow, he writes one last reminder.
Crack the glass, and it will never be the same again.
It's the mantra he's hanging his life on. Zuko takes his seat on the Firelord's throne once more, and waits.
They'd just come back from Ember Island and he was in good spirits, despite almost drowning a few times and scraping his knees a few more. He sat by his mother where they always would, under the shadow of the willow before the garden's pond, and he'd found a coin someone must've thrown into the shallows.
It must've been old; it had a phoenix stamped on the back instead of Sozin's likeness. He shows it to mother who fingers its rusted edge and tells him to hold on to it for good luck. Then he sees him, flanked by stiff collared officials and bent servants, hair up with a golden band and wearing the cape he and Azula had frisked with on cool, island nights.
Zuko's up on his feet, wishing to show his find just like he had with the seashells on Ember Island, but mother's hand reaches him first. She tells him not to bother the Firelord. He answers with a timid but and tugs away, but the entourage is gone before he takes another step forward.
She pulls him into her lap and he sticks his lip out and stiffens his shoulders like the headstrong child he was. Your father's a busy man, Zuko, she tells him, a powerful, important man. It'd be best to respect his time.
He never took the words to value. Not until later, when he wakes up the night after Lu Ten's death and grandfather is dead, uncle is not Firelord and mother is gone. He doesn't know why or how but this was his father's doing, his father who stood before a sea of thousands, backs bent in worship, with a crown smiling down from atop his head. The nation is bowing before him and he doesn't question it anymore. His father is a powerful man, and Zuko bows a little lower.
The Firelord is indomitable, inviolable and you are not to question him. He never knew the extent of this truth, and perhaps, neither did most of the nation, not until they are reminded, suddenly, painfully, with no room for doubt. He's banished for extra measure. He can only imagine how many voices died in the throat of the opposition, how many tongues were held against the Firelord because of the memory of their prince shriveling into ash.
All he knows is that it's enough to blind every wisp of rebellion in him and burn the reminder in his soul. The Firelord is strength, manifested. The flames had struck more than skin deep, and for years he looked at the world through fractured glass. And when so many look through the same cracks, it's like they all see clearly.
24 hours ago
The night after the battle, he hides away in the palace, staying resolutely in the foyer, away from more distressing areas. Katara opts to stay outside, and when he dazedly searches for her after his midnight nap, she's still there. She hunches over the railing with a messenger hawk perched besides her, scroll in hand and the rising sun painting the courtyard gold.
"…Katara?"
Her shoulders rise and fall but her eyes don't turn to him. He joins her side, knowing they would both need company to go through this, but not daring enough to wrest the parchment from her hands and see it himself.
"Is it from them?"
She nods and he sees the stiffness in her movements. "From Sokka."
It should be a relief to hear him safe but he knows there's more to tell.
"He and Toph and Suki; they're okay. They stopped most of the air fleet. They took control of a war balloon and they're headed for Ba Sing Se." She's trying to keep grounded, holding on to the good and the hopeful as she always does.
"It sounds like the White Lotus took back the city. And…"
"…And what?"
"And Sokka broke his leg. They're fine though, we'll all be fine."
"…And Aang?"
There's a wrench in the air and he already knows.
"He fought Ozai. They saw it, there was water and fire and lightning all across the sky." She stands so rigid and strong and hopeful, putting up a show to keep together, for him, for herself. "They haven't seen him since."
He doesn't give himself time to let it sink. He puts a hand on her shoulder and fights off thoughts of Aang, that brave, stupid kid that never gave up on him, because there's time for that later. Katara lets the tears fall and maybe this is the first step onwards.
"We have to go," she says between breaths, "Ozai's coming this way and we don't stand a chance."
No.
"I'll get Appa ready, if you think we need anything else while we're here, get it now."
She doesn't understand the words in his eyes and leaves. He doesn't follow.
He has his eyes closed but he hears him. One step in, two, three, four, and then a laugh that slithers out his throat. He can see the flames under his eyelids, dancing with it.
"They told me you'd be here," he's still winded, hysterical and this Ozai unnerves him more than he'd admit, "You're more of a fool than the airbender."
He opens his eyes and seizes control of the fire before him, letting the tips burn blue with power he hadn't thought he had.
"Oh, is his majesty awake? Pleased to be graced by your presence."
Ozai mocks a bow and moves towards him with ease. He'd hoped that he'd be a little weathered from his previous battle, to at least compensate for the scar he was nursing under his robes. Ozai is stone's throw away from him and he'd be lying if he said his heart wasn't pounding.
He takes a breath and the flames flow from the trenches like water. "What do you hope to achieve here, traitor? Shouldn't you be licking your wounds in Ba Sing Se?" The fire laps against the tiles as he laughs.
Zuko voice cracks from misuse but it eases into the crackle of the flame. "I'm here to end a fable."
"What's that? Calling me a fable now? I am no myth, boy, unlike that weakling of an Avatar."
"Aang is no weakling." Anger flares on his tongue.
"Oh, you knew his name? How sweet, were you two friends? Were you the one who taught him to deflect lightning?"
He doesn't grace him with an answer.
"You'll be happy to know he used it. It could've saved his life as well, if he hadn't been such a pacifist. What a fatal culture; no wonder the Air Nomads fell so easily." Ozai eyes him, watching if he would waver, but he'll get nothing from him, not one flinch. "It was no contest, really, not when victory was immoral for the other party. He was nothing more than a child. And if you share any thoughts with that weakling, you will fall just as easily."
"Aang is no weakling. But don't worry, Ozai," he rises from the throne, firelight lashing, "unlike him, I have no qualms about severing your head from your shoulders."
He unsheathes the dao and Ozai eyes the flames, as if he were below his notice. The flames are killed with a wave of the hand and Ozai still favors the trenches when he speaks.
"Do you think I am afraid of you?" No, of course he isn't. "Do you think you have any hope of leaving this place alive?"
A flame burst into his palm. "This is more pitiful than when you were begging on your knees in the Agni Kai. You yourself know that you cannot defeat me!" Ozai throws first and he's off the throne in a blink.
"I'm not here to defeat you. I'm here to end a fable."
"You pathetic traitor. You never think ahead; and this time, it will cost more than an eye."
Ozai burns red and he sees him through the lens of the world: the epitome of destruction, unwavering and invincible. This is what he was fighting, not the Fire Nation, not Ozai, but this image.
He watches lightning spark around him, so familiar, and takes his stance. "As long as it cracks, I'll give whatever it takes."
It's time to fly and Katara's looking at him, waiting, and now he has to explain and he fears it more than the battle.
"Zuko?" He doesn't move, and her eyes break when it unfolds before her. "Please, Zuko. I can't fight you right now." She steps down from Appa and takes his arm in her hands, but he won't budge, not in mind, not in body. "Please, Zuko. Ozai's on his way; we can't stay here."
He shakes his head. "I have to. I can't run again."
"Spirits sake, Zuko, this isn't about running away. You can't beat him."
"I know."
"Then why would you-," Her face contorts in pain and Zuko wishes there was a simpler way to do this. She slides to the ground and now he sees how much the day has tolled her. "We can't lose you, too."
"Katara, please-"
"Why? You have to think ahead, Zuko. I want revenge as much as you do but-"
"It's not about revenge." He slides down beside her. "This is the one time I have looked ahead and I have to, Katara."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"If I run it'll just make it worse. Ozai just beat the Avatar, Katara," it hurts to remind her, and it hurts her to be reminded, "The world thinks he's invincible and you have no idea how much that thought will hurt us. We'll never make it two steps without remembering, and they'll remind us, over and over."
She looks ready to challenge him, but he needs her to understand, so he reaches up and shows her however he can.
"It's like a scar. I have to show them. It took me years to remember; but he's not unstoppable. We can't afford anyone thinking like that. I can't run."
Oh, the irony. For once, he'd looks past tomorrow, and he doesn't expect to see himself there
Katara stares a while, and there's defeat in her eyes for a moment but it flickers just as hastily. "Then I'll stay with you."
"No."
"Don't fight me on this." It's not determination or confidence or anger coloring her voice; it's desperation.
"No. You said it yourself: we can't beat him. We don't need two to die."
"Don't say that."
"We both know it. They need you, Katara. You're the healer, you're the only one who can pick them up after this. I could never do that. And if both of us go… The war would never end in peace, not like Aang wanted."
Appa gives a gentle roar and Katara takes shelter in her hands. When she looks up, defeat has returned to her eyes but he can't find the victory sweet.
"Then forget what I said before. You can beat him, you can defeat Ozai. Just like you said Zuko; he's not invincible." He stays quiet. "Say it, Zuko, please. I need something to hold on to."
He's quiet again. She doesn't move, resolve as strong as his, and time keeps ticking so he swallows hard and decides the words will do more good than harm, true or not.
"…I can defeat Ozai. Now go, hurry."
She stares again and he wants to shout at her to leave already, I said it, now go. It feels like the sun's climbed a league higher before she stands, and another eternity until she's on the saddle looking down on him with a face that spoke contempt and anger and pity. "You're a horrible liar."
He's stone cold and won't meet her eyes, lest he shatter before he makes his final stand.
"Go, please."
Is it fire that's eating at his side? It was heavy, perhaps the pillars had given in, or the beams had had enough of the heat lashing underneath them. He can't tell, not when the soot is so thick it's like haze is permanently painted over his eyes and it's filling his lungs, like he's drowning in water scattered with glass and set to boil.
Are there more voices in the room? They're clamoring somewhere off to the side where the screams had sounded when he'd thrown that flame through the ash, blindly, but it had burned white with certainty. Lightning shrieked back, and he'd seen him for a moment, falling, clutching scalded flesh, as if that would stop the scars he'd patterned. He's cracked, and they can see, they can all see, it's painted on his skin where he'll never forget.
Is he still here? It's quiet again, and dark and heavy, so heavy. He's splintering, fractures spreading along the preexisting, and he doesn't fight to keep himself together. He opens his eyes again, and it's bright, he can see the dragon behind the throne, his last words in its maw, he sees Appa circle over Ba Sing Se and tea passed around a table of worn faces. He keeps his eyes open, tries to tell them he's done it but they can't hear. He's shattered, eyes on a fiery sky raining shrapnel, lightning scratching his veins, and he's won. He sees Ozai's silhouette again, crumbling like the image he's broken, and smiles. He's won.