A/N: I wrote this for a fic contest over on LJ, using the quote-prompt, "Do not consider painful that which is good for you." I think I twisted the original meaning of the quote, but the damn thing just SCREAMED Ozai at me, so...here we are. Big thanks to The One and Only Lobster for beta'ing!

Ozai waited until all the spectators had gone before he allowed the royal physicians to treat his son. He let Zuko lay, curled into a ball in the center of the arena, writhing in pain, hands clutched over his face. He let him lay there for quite a while, yes. After all, the flame must have time to set, the scar time to form. What good was a lesson when there was no reminder to strengthen it?

Zuko tossed and turned feverishly in the infirmary for days hence. He was barely conscious most of the time, but his sleep was anything but restful. The physicians came to Ozai often, speaking to him of infections and lost eyes and psychological damage and disfigurement of a horrific sort, but Ozai waved them away. He was a master firebender, he knew what he had done. The scar would be ugly, yes, terribly so. But that was the point, wasn't it? Zuko would suffer for his mistake: the pain now, the scarring forever. And anyway, Zuko would still be the stunningly handsome man his features had previously promised; just not from any angle but right profile.

Ozai passed down his judgment for Zuko's crime as soon as his son was lucid enough to understand. He was banished. He was to board his ship and leave the homeland; sail as far away as he could get. He was stripped of his title as Crown Prince, his place in the family, and his honor as a man, and would be nothing but a disgrace for the rest of his days…unless he completed the task set for him.

Find the Avatar. Bring him in chains before the royal throne. Do this, Ozai said, and I might be willing to call your lesson learned.

Ozai did not bother visiting his son after that. Zuko was not allowed back into his old quarters; instead, he was to stay in the infirmary until preparations for his departure were complete.

--

Ozai was taking dinner in a private dining chamber one evening some weeks after the Agni Kai. The servants were just taking away the appetizer when the doors burst open and General Iroh stormed in, his robes flapping about him, looking as livid as Ozai had ever seen him. It was controlled, however; only Iroh's eyes betrayed his great anger. The servants did not hesitate to get out of his way, though.

"Brother," Ozai greeted warmly. "Welcome. Come, sit, dine with me. It has been too long since we sat and talked as siblings."

Iroh did sit, but it was perched on the edge of his chair, and he ignored the plate of food placed in front of him. "Ozai…what have you done?"

Ozai peered quizzically at Iroh. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, dear brother." He started to lift his goblet of wine to his lips.

"You know damn well what I mean!" Iroh roared, and the servants practically scurried away. The goblet paused, just for an instant, a hairsbreadth from its holder's mouth. Ozai sometimes forgot that they called his brother the Dragon of the West.

Ozai took a small sip from his goblet and set it down again. "Calm down, brother, there is no need to be so upset."

"But what you have done is madness! Sending your eldest child on a fool's errand!" Iroh leaned across the table, hand outstretched. "Men, great men, men of the royal line, have tried and failed for a century to find the Avatar! What do you expect the efforts of a thirteen year old boy to yield?"

Ozai smiled. "I expect that Zuko will make us all look like the fools whose errand this apparently is."

"But…but he is just a boy," Iroh pleaded, and now Ozai smiled inwardly, triumphantly. He could see it in his brother's eyes, the emptiness of remembrance for the son he no longer had, and the pain of seeing the loss of a nephew just as dear, perhaps more, now, the value honed by longing.

"No, Iroh, he is not just a boy," Ozai snapped. Then he chuckled. "Well, I suppose he technically is, now, but, he remains a Prince in blood if not in title. And a Prince will learn the proper respect, the proper place, the proper attitude. Zuko simply needs a stricter teacher than most." The Fire Lord returned to his dinner, now somewhat cooler than before, acting as if nothing amiss had passed between them.

The table was silent for some time. The servants returned, hesitantly, aware that they were mice tiptoeing among gods, ready to run for cover should any lightning bolts be thrown. Finally, Iroh broke the silence.

"I am going with him."

Ozai raised an eyebrow, pretending as if he hadn't known this from the instant Iroh entered the room. "Oh? And why would you do that?"

"Because he is only thirteen. Because he has just been through a horrific ordeal, and he needs guidance. Because he has no experience at sea, and the crew are unlikely to take well to a prince newly dishonored and embittered." Iroh paused, letting his words hang in the air, and Ozai had to bite down on his fork to keep from laughing at the melodrama. Iroh stood, and turned to leave. "That is why."

Ozai called out to him as he strode away, "And when do you suppose you will leave?"

"Tomorrow, at dawn."

"Very good, brother. I shall be there to see you off."

--

Ozai was indeed there as the sun rose over the docks the next morning, his daughter at his elbow. Before them was the ship set to take Zuko away, dwarfed by the warships to either side.

They came before too long, the crew Iroh had hired to run the ship, led by a long serving Fire Navy lieutenant, Jee, a lifetime underachiever if his rank was to be believed.

Iroh followed the crew, and he resolutely ignored the gazes of his brother and niece, boarding the ship without a backward glance. And following him…

"Hi there, Zuzu!" Azula chirped, but Zuko did not look at her. His hair was gone, shaved off by the physicians who had treated him, save for the topknot at the crown of his head. Bandages covered the left side of his face. His uncovered eye darted about, emotions flickering across it like a candle flame. Here was bitterness, there was desperation, and there was repentance, all directed at Ozai, all ignored, though not unnoticed, not at all.

And among the parade of feelings, there was no sign of the youthful eagerness and buoyancy Zuko had previously displayed.

Ozai gave Azula a small push. "Go say goodbye to your brother, Azula."

Azula bounded forward, and Zuko was surprised when she wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight, sisterly hug. As if she loved him. As if she was sad to see him go. Then she whispered in his ear.

"I want to thank you, Zuko."

"For what?"

"For making me the new heir to the throne, of course. You don't honestly think you're ever coming back here, do you?"

Zuko stiffened. "No. No, that's not true. Father will welcome me back if I find the Avatar. He said so himself."

Azula laughed, quietly, still hugging him. "Oh Zuzu. You're so funny." Then she was gone, skipping back to their father's side, Zuko's gaze following her, and the distance between him and Ozai had never seemed larger.

Ozai watched Zuko as Azula returned to him, watching how his shoulders slumped and his breathing became pained, how he turned and walked up the gangplank as if his boots were full of lead. He waited until the ship weighed anchor and begun to sail away, and he waited until they had left the docks and returned to the palace.

And when he was alone, he smiled.

His son was broken.

Ozai would not have it any other way.