Inspired by the Hunger Games fanfiction Colours.
My first ATLA fanfiction, so review?
Reflection of Color:
Fire Lord Zuko paced in his office impatiently, his mind swimming in multiple places at once.
Maybe blue was the color. He thought to himself. Blue is tranquil and calming; soothing. Blue skies can brighten up a day; a safe and natural color. It's the color of water, her color. The color of her eyes.
Zuko stopped pacing and nodded, proud of himself. "Surely, the color of love is blue." He murmured aloud to himself.
But no.
Zuko cursed. Blue is related to rain and sadness. Love is not always tranquil like the water. There's heat and passion and surprises; there is always something that extends expectations.
"Maybe red." He pondered. Red equals fire, which brings heat and warmth. Red is a passionate color; a symbol of courage and sacrifice. "Relationships are full of sacrifice." He spoke quietly, sure that he was right.
But again, Zuko shook his head and continued his pacing. Red means anger and aggression. It's a symbol of pain, guilt, and blood. Red obviously cannot be the color of love. But maybe green? Yes, green surely. The color of the grass and the trees and the flowers; the color of growth and hope, of fertility and life.
But Zuko pushed off this thought quickly, more determined than ever. Green is the color of envy and greed and sickness. Love should not be envious or jealous; quite the opposite, it should be filled with trust. No, green was definitely not the color of love.
But maybe purple? He thought. Could purple be the color of love? It's the symbol of good judgment; it's a color filled with magic and mystery. Zuko shoved this idea off, though. Certainly it could not be purple. Purple is also the color of power and nobility. Love, on the other hand, is about compromise.
Maybe the color of love was white. The young Fire Lord thought to himself, confidant that he was right. White equals purity, loyalty, innocence, and kindness.
Satisfied with himself, Zuko sat in his sat and put his feet up on his desk, and a smug air settled over him which quickly vanished. In some ways, white is a symbol of perfection, and love was anything but.
He ran a hand through his hair and sighed angrily, his satisfaction fading just as fast as his patience.
Knock, knock.
"Zuko, it's almost time for lunch!" Katara's voice called to him through the door.
And then it clicked.
Something about her voice seemed to make all the cogs in his head work again, and the answer he had been searching for all along seemed so obvious to him now.
At last, Zuko understood.
Love couldn't be set into a certain color. It couldn't be copied or manufactured. Love couldn't be confined to a certain category or certain spectrum. It wasn't an object, but a feeling or image. It couldn't be bought or forced. No one could keep another person from loving or being loved.
It was a process. It was a puzzle. It had to be fixed and mended over and over again because it was never perfect. It didn't fade like colors do, but grows stronger over time.
He heard the door to his study open, and he glanced up to see his wife's confused face. "Didn't you hear me calling you? It's almost lunch time."
He nodded as she walked over to him and leaned on his desk. "What's wrong?"
Zuko shook his head and stood. "Nothing." He grabbed her hand and pulled her to his chest, giving her a quick kiss. "I love you." He told her when they pulled apart.
She laughed and rested her hands on his chest. "I love you too. What's going on Zuko?"
"Nothing." He repeated, pulling her out of the room. "Come on. Let's go eat. I'm starving."
Review?