The haughty prince was not at all in a good mood that evening. The Avatar had slipped through his fingers, yet again; he had lost his boat, and his uncle was a complete idiot. The boy rounded a corner and continued his brisk walk down the long haul of the iron ship. The metallic soles of his boots made a click-click noise as eat foot fell onto the floor. With his ivory fists clenched into tight balls, the prince looked like he was about to have a fist fight with someone. This was hardly the case; there was no one to fight with. As much as the boy longed to punch something or someone, there was nothing he could do. Finally he emerged onto the starboard side and a gust of warm ocean wind greeted him. The sea salt air was comforting and he made his way over to the side of the ship. Gripping the hand railing with a white-knuckle grip, he groaned.

What am I doing here? This is ridiculous…

He turned his gaze upward and stared at the endless ocean before him. It was so vast. So big. The prince suddenly felt overpowered by it and turned away. He leaned against the railing; head bowed, and massaged his temples. Everything was falling apart. He was no closer to capturing the Avatar than he was two years ago. The loathsome little Airbender still managed to evade him. Every time, the same routine: Find, engage, lose. Over and over and over again. The boy wondered if there would ever be an end to this…

"Oh, Prince Zuko! I didn't realize you were here!" a sudden voice interrupted his pessimistic thoughts. He glanced up to see one of the crewmen with some type of bag on his shoulders. The crew man was hardly a man, but a young boy, probably about 13 or 14 years of age. He pulled the sack from off his shoulders and undid the straps. The boy's black and rugged looking hair hung over his eyes as the bag slid off of the thing it was concealing. Zuko tilted his head curiously to see what exactly it was.

"An instrument…?" the prince wondered aloud, looking at the sleek, coffee colored instrument in the worker's hands. The boy pulled a long stick, with what appeared to be hairs attached to it, out of the bag. Taking out some kind of rock, or so Zuko thought, the boy slid the stick over the rock. The chair creaked a little as the boy sat down in it.

"Oh, excuse me. Do you mind if I…" he asked, aware again that he was in the prince's presence. He had the stick poised over the metallic strings of the instrument, ready to begin. Zuko looked at him curiously, doubtfully, but shrugged his shoulders and turned his back to the boy. Suddenly, a low tone sounded and Zuko turned to hear more clearly. Another tone came after that, higher, and then another, higher than the one before it. The forth string sounded off and the boy sighed. Muttering under his breath, he turned a black knob at the top of the thing until it sounded right. The charge ran the bow over all four strings and they sounded beautiful. He nodded and took a deep breath in. He piddled his fingers on the black, smooth piece of wood where the strings were and Zuko heard the boy humming faintly.

"Alright then, let's see if I can do this," the crew man muttered under his breath. He swung his hand and poised it again over the strings. Taking another comforting breath in, the boy began to play.

Zuko whirled around and faced the boy. Never in his life had he heard anything more beautiful in his life. Each note, be it low or high or somewhere in between, moved him in ways he had never been. The sound reminded him of being under the ocean, the currents swaying the sea plants to and fro. Or rain pattering down on a ceramic roof, creating a melody in his head he had always be able to hear. The prince closed his eyes and felt somewhere deep inside of him each note. The music washed over him and he left as light as a feather. Zuko opened his eyes as the music began to pick up tempo and was shocked to see the player not even having his eyes open.

He's memorized it? How…?

Zuko watched, enthralled, as the boy's arms stayed perfectly straight, but his wrist bent back and forth, drawing the bow with him.

Up, down, high note, low note. Endless repetition of unnamable beauty.

The notes climbed up the scale, becoming higher in pitch and louder. The boy shook his wrist that his fingers belonged to and sounds like something vibrating came out. No, it was more like shaking, writhing, flowing in delight. Zuko could not describe. The climax left him breathless. The charge drew the bow once again across the strings and kept pulling before giving the chord a final push, creating a beautiful ending.

Silence greeted the ending of the piece.

Zuko had no words to say. How could he? He had never felt, never been apart of something as…rejuvenating as listening to that one song. The prince suddenly felt hope come over him that he had not experienced in what seemed hundreds of years. He shakily swallowed and turned his back to the boy.

"No words…" he frailly whispered, his voice nearly inaudible to himself. The prince gripped the bar with the same iron grip that had his knuckled go white before and tried to remain still. He blinked and felt a small, hardly noticeable tear slide down his face. Was he the one crying? How could be crying? Something as insignificant as music had gotten this kind of reaction out of him?

I won't let him see me crying

The prince stormed towards the door to the main haul and wrenched it open. It flew open and Zuko vehemently marched in and slammed the metallic door close.

The charge stared incredulously at what had just happened. What had just happened? Was it something he did? Had he insulted the prince?

"Maybe he doesn't like music…?" the boy whispered to himself, finding it difficult to believe even himself. How could anyone not love those sounds; those deep, undersea sounds? The charge shrugged and hovered the bow over the strings, recalling the fingering for the next piece. Pulling the piece of wood across the strings, music as beautiful and terrible as the night rained out on the sea, deep and mysterious as it ever was. Shadows became larger and finally disappeared, but still the boy played on. Stars twinkled down and the moon shone her beams of crystalline light down on the ship. The crewman's music continued to sound.

Hidden in his room, Zuko listened, ear pressed up against the wall. Oh, how the sound moved him. He couldn't describe it, but he felt it. That tranquility, calm, hope, sorrow, utter joy. Everything a person could feel in a lifetime rushed at him in mere seconds. He no longer felt like Prince Zuko, banished prince and failure at life. Zuko just felt like Zuko. And he was fine with that. The more he lost himself in something so simplistically complex, the less complex he felt. Prince Zuko broke down to Zuko. Zuko broke down to boy. Boy broke down to human. Human broke down to body. Body broke down to mind. Mind broke down to Spirit. Spirit broke down to Energy. Energy broke down to Life. And Life broke down to Joy. All in mere seconds. Zuko couldn't help the tears cascading down his face. He didn't care about the tears then. He accepted them. He wasn't crying for sorrow or pain. The prince was crying for Joy. For that was what he was: Joy. He smiled, laughed, cried, chocked on his own laughter. He wanted to dance, to sing, to yell, to fly. Zuko wanted everything at that moment. He wanted things that he had never thought he had wanted again. Zuko longed for sea breezes on warm beaches. He longed for the sun to shine down on his face. He longed for a hand in his own, no matter whose hand it may be. The prince laughed and cried and slumped against the wall, still carrying on in his hysterical fit. Never before and never again, he was sure, he would feel anything this powerful.

"So this…is the Meaning of Life?" he asked no one in particular. He sobbed and darkness over took him.

The next morning, Iroh walked into Zuko's room. He was surprised to find the boy crumpled on the ground, next to wall. He picked his nephew up and awoke him. When he inquired as to why the boy was sleeping on the ground, he received a most peculiar answer.

"Uncle, didn't you hear the music last night?" Zuko questioned, amazed that his uncle didn't even notice those notes, melodies, sounds that had moved him so. He uncle gave him an odd look and shook his head. Iroh placed a comforting hand on his nephew's bare shoulder. Zuko stared up at the older man, confused and waiting for an answer. Surely, his relative hadn't gone deaf?

"Zuko, there was no music last night. I didn't hear a sound."

"What? No…no music?"

"No, no music."

"But, I heard the most wonderful music! I know I heard it!"

And suddenly, Zuko felt the tiniest wind on his bare skin. His hair did not move, neither did his clothing. His uncle didn't even notice it. What was that wind? Was it…

Yes, yes it was, Zuko decided.

It was God.