The limp was pronounced—Zuko winced every time the child took a step towards him. Black hair, golden eyes, pale, flawless skin…he looked every bit the Prince he was meant to be. The son of the Fire Lady Azula.

But appearances could be deceiving.

"Uncle Zuko!" the child exclaimed happily, making his unsteady way towards him. "You're back!"

"Yes, Aku," Zuko said with a quiet, hidden smile. "The North Pole finally fell."

"Yay!" he cried happily, clapping his small hands together. Zuko's smile fell slightly, but he knew better than to contradict the little prince. "Does that mean we win?"

"We're getting closer and closer every day," Zuko whispered, pulling Prince Akulon on to his lap. Azula's features were becoming more and more prominent on the boy's face; he was—Zuko had to admit—a beautiful child.

A beautiful mistake.

Akulon looked up at him with a contented smile. "What was it like, at the North Pole?" he asked curiously.

Zuko took a deep breath. So many emotions, not enough time to decipher them all… "It's very, very cold. Colder than you can imagine. Everything there is white—"

"Everything?"

"Everything. And everything is smooth—smooth, cold, and white."

"Sounds like a rock."

Zuko chuckled, wondering if he was like this when he was a child. (Oh, how Iroh must have loved him…) "It does, doesn't it? But the North Pole is much, much colder."

The boy kicked his legs back and forth. "But that don't matter, right? You can use fire and be warm!"

"That's right," Zuko said distractedly, rubbing his nephew's arm. "We can use fire."

"No. Not we. I can't."

A frown appeared on his face as he glanced down at the child. "What do you mean?"

"I can't. I tried. No fire came. Not like before."

Zuko felt his heart grow suddenly cold, as if he was once more at the North Pole, watching those beautiful white walls crumble. No fire…but the boy had been a fairly good firebender before. He had been learning. He certainly wasn't a prodigy—in fact, he might have even been below average. But he was bright and eager to learn, and he had been progressing fast.

"Why not?" he demanded, and Akulon looked away.

"Ever since I got my limp, fire doesn't come."

Oh, Agni. Agni help him.

Zuko's breath came shorter and harsher, and he held the child a little tighter than he had before. "But you've tried, Aku?"

He nodded. "Lotsa times. It doesn't come."

"Prince Akulon!" A nursemaid came rushing from the hallway, bursting into the courtyard. Momentarily blinded by the sunlight, she squinted at the two sitting on the bench. "Prince Akulon! You have lessons with your tutor!"

"Oh, I forgot," the prince replied blandly, in the way only young children can. He hopped off of Zuko's lap, saying, "Bye Uncle Zuko! Can we play later?"

"Of course, of course," Zuko muttered distractedly. "Be good for your tutor."

"I will!" the child said, waving at him. Then he turned, and was led away by his nursemaid—each limping step was like a physical blow to Zuko's insides, and he found he could not watch his nephew walk away.

He needed to talk to the Fire Lady.

-x-x-

"Fire Lady Azula," he said, his voice dangerous as he stepped into the throne room. His sister, slightly aged but all the more beautiful for it, was consulting with three others and several pieces of parchment in the corner of the room. She looked up as he entered, her expression brightening somewhat. (How could she lace menace into every action?)

"Excuse me, gentlemen," she said serenely. "You are dismissed. We will pick this topic up again at the next meeting." There was much bowing and murmuring, and then all of them vanished behind a heavy crimson curtain.

Azula looked ravishing in a shapely orange dress, accented in reds and golds. Her hair had been let down, to hang around her shoulders loosely in a way that seemed entirely arranged. "My dear brother," she said with a smile. "How can I help you?"

"Akulon can no longer bend," Zuko snarled. "He told me this morning."

"Really?" As much as Azula was usually stoic, an expression of the briefest surprise flashed across her face for a fraction of a second. "That's interesting."

Zuko felt his anger building, rising, expanding inside of him until he thought he would explode. "He said he hasn't been able to firebend since he got his limp."

Something sparkled behind his sister's gaze—but he couldn't put a finger on the emotion. "Is that so? Even more interesting." Turning away from him, she walked towards the throne in the center of the room, still talking as she went. "Obviously he's too weak to bear the pain, and his bending is suffering because of it."

"He's a child, Azula!" Zuko shouted, striding forward with his fists clenched. "How could you have done it?"

Azula swiftly placed herself with care on her throne, looking perfectly at ease. "I know what this is," she said softly. "Whenever you see him, you see yourself. You see your scar, you see your exile."

Zuko was too furious to say anything.

"He's not going to be exiled, and unlike you, he deserved that scar."

"How so?" Zuko asked, unsettled.

"He flubbed a training exercise while I was watching. When I told him to do it again, because he had done it horribly, he said, 'But I don't want to! I hate that exercise!' Such rebellion could not go unpunished, Zuko."

Horror was rising in him so fast he couldn't speak. He opened and closed his mouth several times, like a fish gasping for air, gasping for life—

"Plus, I gave him two more chances. I told him he should do it right now, and he told me he wanted to show me another exercise instead. I told him again to do the exercise, and he refused."

Zuko finally found his voice. But when it came out, it was hoarse and strained. "So you shot his leg with a lightning bolt."

"As far as he knows, it was an accident," Azula said nonchalantly, examining her fingernails. "That's what I told him. He believes me. But still, children are like animals: they remember what causes them pain. He will not disobey me again."

Millions and millions of chaotic, furious, confused and hateful thoughts whirled endlessly around Zuko's mind. No, she had to be kidding. She couldn't be serious. She had scarred her own child…because he had refused to do what she wanted. Aku would always walk with a limp; he would never be able to run properly; he wouldn't be able to firebend…

He'd be the reject Prince of the Fire Nation. The one everyone pitied. The one everyone looked down on, saying, "Oh, what a pity."

What had started as an ache in Zuko's heart was now flowering into a sharp, fresh pain. He felt as if someone was stabbing him with one of Mai's long, flawless knives. No need to twist the blade—it had already pierced him straight through. The pain was enough to last him a lifetime.

Azula lowered her hand—apparently satisfied with the condition of her nails—and stared curiously at Zuko. "Zuzu, you don't think I did the wrong thing, did you?"

Zuko looked up at her, as if seeing her for the first time. Malice and distaste lined her every move, her every word, each amber fleck in her golden irises. Why hadn't he been able to see this before, when he had been forced to make the choice? (Avatar or your nation…Avatar or your nation…)

He remembered his own worst childhood memory, when he had openly told a general that he was wrong.

And he imagined himself saying, Azula, you're insane. You can't keep this child. You can't keep abusing him like this.

But he couldn't say the words out loud. He couldn't fall from grace again. Not again. Not this time. No matter how much that blade in his heart stabbed and pierced.

"No, Azula. Not at all," he heard himself whisper. He saw himself—as if from outside of his body—bowing deeply, his head inclined. He saw himself walking calmly from the throne room, gently pushing aside the curtains and walking into the hallway.

He saw himself walking out of the palace, to where the walls protected the city.

He saw himself walking away from the walls, towards the volcanic cliffs surrounding his island nation.

He saw himself standing on one of those cliffs facing the ocean, the wind making his robe ripple and snap. He no longer heard it.

He saw faces swimming before his eyes (an old lined face, eyes alight with affection; beautiful, ocean blue eyes and dark brown hair; a cloudy, unseeing gaze that seemed to look right through him) and the sheer force of emotion brought him to his knees.

Akulon would be a scarred prince with no family, no reputation. He wouldn't be able to make his parent proud, no matter how hard he tried. He would never be good enough.

Zuko would never be good enough. Not for his country, not for little Aku, and not for the world.

He had already betrayed them all, hadn't he?