AN: Thank you all for the feedback, it is much appreciated! To answer the question of what "dark" means…in this context, it just means that the themes explored in here are not easygoing, surface-level issues. Think in the milieu of trauma, the effects of war, racism/classism, etc. Will this story have a happy ending? Can't say for sure, and also, it really just depends on what "happy" means to you, especially given the context. That's really all I can say at the moment!

Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender.

The Lost Year

Chapter Two

Youth

When Zuko dreams, or at least, recalls his dreams, it is always of home. He dreams of the palace, his father, sometimes Azula…but he mostly lingers on his mother. She is ever the pillar of strength, the one he constantly goes back to in times of need.

He can't deny that while he misses her deeply and wonders about her whereabouts, he is angry. He is angry that she left him. She must have known she was leaving him in the lion's den, what with his father and Azula preying on him, dubbing him the weakest link. Why wouldn't she have taken him with her? He desperately wants his father's approval…but if it comes with the cost of having his mother gone, without a trace, he knows without a shadow of a doubt that he would go with her.

But she left him, the writing is on the wall.

He bitterly remembers the last words she had told him, to never forget who he was.

Zuko tosses in his sleep, tugging the thin blankets with him.

He cannot forget who he was because he doesn't even know who he is anymore.

When he wakes the next morning, he is in a more irritable mood than ever. The sun is barely rising and Zuko is out the door in full uniform, an hour or so before everyone else stirs.

He returns to the one place he feels most in control, the training ground.

With a determined look, he slides into position and begins practicing well-versed firebending moves. He knows these like the back of his hand.

As he moves, he remembers with a tinge of embarrassment the time he performed in front of his grandfather, the previous Fire Lord. He had utterly humiliated himself, his grandfather, and his family. Azula had taken great pleasure in watching him crumble.

But not anymore.

With a cry of frustration, Zuko sends two large balls of fire into the air. Panting, he rests his hands on his knees as he leans over to catch his breath.

"Your form has improved greatly, Zuko."

Zuko spins around, eyebrows furrowed. He could've sworn he had been alone when he got out here.

The man approaches closer and Zuko's posture relaxes as he sees it is his uncle Iroh.

"Improvement isn't good enough. It has to be better. It will get better," Zuko affirmed.

Iroh smiled. "Even so, Zuko. Not many have the discipline you do. I imagine you are on track to becoming a great firebender!"

Zuko glowers. "What about Fire Lord?"

Iroh opens his mouth but hesitates. Zuko seizes this moment, like a starving dog.

"What would you know about greatness, Uncle?" Zuko snarls. "If you were great, you would've been the next Fire Lord. But you're just relegated to training the next set of warriors."

Iroh does not take offense to Zuko's words. After all, he is largely unaware of the true circumstances regarding the throne. And he intends to keep him in the dark for as long as possible. It is no secret that the Fire Nation's royal family is broken, perhaps damaged beyond repair. But he will be the best role model he can be for Zuko, even if he refuses to let him in.

"You're right, Zuko. You know, I sometimes wonder if I really should've been a teabender!" He pats a hand to his round stomach and laughs heartily. Zuko does not share the same sentiments.

"What do you really want, Uncle?"

Iroh regains his composure and his face slides into the picture of absolute seriousness. "You have great discipline, Zuko, but you need to control that temper of yours. You can't go picking fights with others every time you get upset."

Zuko, with all his perfect timing, wants to howl in a rage at his Uncle, who presumes he knows everything. But for once, he begrudgingly follows his uncle's advice. He cannot look weak. His uncle, much to his annoyance, is right. If he loses control all the time, he will never be taken seriously.

"Is that all, Uncle?" Zuko replies tersely.

Iroh gives a slight nod. As he turns to walk back inside the building, he pauses.

"Oh! That reminds me. There are plans to begin heading for the North Pole."

"North Pole?" Zuko repeats incredulously. "What is there in the north?"

"The Northern Water Tribe has been particularly staunch in adopting a neutral stance, despite its sister tribe being in serious peril. I suppose the Fire Nation would like to see what sort of, ah…message…they can send. If anything, we are always in search of skilled healers." Iroh shrugs his shoulders.

"Why would we need Water Tribe healers? We've got enough skilled medics here in the Fire Nation, don't we?"

Iroh smiles. "Your faith in the Fire Nation is uplifting. But waterbenders are particularly skillful in the healing arts. They understand better than any others how the body works…water is all about change, after all. The body changes when it is wounded, but it also changes when it is healed."

Zuko snorts, starting off into the sunrise. His uncle is delusional.

"In any case, the Fire Nation navy will be setting its course for the north, and I will be joining them."

Zuko stares back, incredulously. He has never considered that his uncle would be an active participant on the battlefield. Not since Ba Sing Se…he frowns to himself, suddenly ashamed for letting his temper get the best of him. He knows his uncle means well, and he also knows his uncle is too forgiving.

"When do you go?" Zuko asks, refusing to make eye contact with his uncle.

"The ship leaves tomorrow. We are supposed to hopefully join with the Admiral's forces soon enough."

Zuko bites back a snarl at the mention of a man he loathes and sets his lips into a thin line as he walks past his uncle.

He is being left behind again, and he wonders if anything is ever permanent in this life.

Sokka used to dream about the day he would join the war efforts. He idolized his father – still does – and wanted nothing more than to join him as a fellow Southern Water Tribe warrior. He recalls the days he would sit honing and polishing his beloved boomerang, knowing that his fourteenth birthday was just around the corner.

And then it finally happened. He had donned the wolf's pelt and paint smeared across his skin as he was initiated into the Southern Water Tribe's ranks.

And now, he sits aboard the ship, eyes glazing over as he watches the clouds drift by. War was decidedly boring. All his life he had thought there were battles to be fought, enemies to defeat…what nobody told him was that ninety percent of the time, he was sitting…whether it was on a boat, on the dirt…sitting. A whole lot of sitting.

He frowns, recalling Katara's sour disposition the day he turned fourteen. She had been a year younger and irritated at being left behind. She wanted to join the war efforts too, she had demanded. Sokka had laughed in her face, reminding her that not only was she not of age, but she was a girl. Girls had no place in the war.

Katara had sent a slap of water his way, and he cursed her ability to bend.

Now though, three years since that day, he is wryly wondering if he should let Katara know that it isn't all it's cracked up to be.

He frowns, suddenly noticing he has not heard from Katara in awhile…a while being what…nearly two and a half years? Sokka hangs his head backwards as he leans on his elbows against the ship's railing. He supposes two and a half years isn't too long to go without hearing any news. Besides, no news is good news, right? And news was hard to transmit, what with never sticking around in one place for too long…that, and it wasn't safe to send too many messages nowadays…

Sokka is surprised it has been this long. He feels like time has simultaneously flown but also come to a grinding halt. Part of him believes that if he were to step back on the Southern Pole, the tribe would be as he left it. He knows this is foolish, but at the same time, it helps keep him sane.

He snaps out of his reveries and stares ahead. The boat is floating along at a lofty pace. They have set course for the Northern Water Tribe after helping the Earth Kingdom near the Chameleon Bay. The Fire Nation had been attempting to focus its efforts on Ba Sing Se, but that had proven difficult for them.

Omashu, he has heard, is proving to be another story.

Despite this, it has been decided that the best route is to appeal to their sister tribe to join the efforts. The Northern Water Tribe has been maintaining a state of neutrality, preferring to keep itself safe at all costs.

Sokka finds it is just another way for the north to laud its achievements over the south. The Southern Water Tribe may be small and outnumbered by virtually every other nation, but at least it has spirit, Sokka thinks. That's more than he can say for the uptight Northern Water Tribe.

Snippets of conversation slowly drift out onto the deck, and Sokka perks his ears, wondering if battle plans are being discussed and just why was he not around if that is the case?

Upon edging closer, he is able to better hear the voices coming from inside the cabin. It is his father, Hakoda, talking amongst a few other men. He can pick out Bato's voice from among the others, his father's right hand man.

"…Chief Arnook has clung to the Northern Water's Tribe stance of neutrality. He seems unwilling to listen to reason." Bato.

"I hear it is his daughter, the princess. He worries about her welfare. She has always been a sickly child, saved only by the grace of the Moon Spirit." Another voice.

"Well, I cannot blame him. But in times of war, we cannot act for selfish reasons." Hakoda.

Sokka finds himself silently nodding in agreement. Just who did this Chief Arnook think he was, blocking the Earth Kingdom and the Southern Water Tribe from added support? He knows the Northern Water Tribe, as pretentious as it is, has many skilled warriors and capable waterbenders. Katara had always envied their ability to practice their craft under the tutelage of a waterbending master.

In any case, princess, unwell or not, was no reason to put a halt to war efforts, was it? Sokka grumbles. What about the villagers back in the southern pole? Did their daughters and sons not matter? And just what the heck is this nonsense about moon spirits?

He frowns.

It is best, he thinks, if the Northern Water Tribe starts to reconsider their position.

Tonight, the captain – now admiral – storms into his private quarters, and he is angrier than ever. The Earth Kingdom, as shoddy as it appeared at times, had managed to ambush their fleet while en route to the northern pole. Looking back, the admiral realizes they had drifted too near their territory, particularly close to a port city. It would have been beneficial to have taken it over, but the Earth Kingdom had managed to fend them off well enough. The Fire Nation fleet was lucky enough to defend itself and escape. The admiral had miscalculated, and miscalculations were unacceptable.

He snorts, smoke blowing out from his nostrils. As he sits, he can finally start to feel the sting in his knuckles. He had gone overboard with his firebending. His old master had always admonished him for it, but power is what gets the job done. And he would, without a doubt, make all the other nations submit.

For now, he decides it is best to get his burns and other wounds healed. He can also feel the bruise from a stray boulder that had smartly hit his chest. Upon recalling that event, he snarls. The Earth Kingdom is proving to be burdensome.

"Lieutenant!" He barks through the door. A man quickly opens the door to his private quarters and bows.

"Yes, Admiral Zhao?"

"Send in the water tribe girl. I have some minor wounds that need seeing to." He makes sure to mention the wounds are minor. He cannot have his crew thinking he is weak, especially after today.

"Yes, Admiral Zhao." The lieutenant bows before shutting the door behind him and trotting off to fetch the healer.

Mere minutes later, a soft knock sounds at his door. It is Katara.

She enters upon his grunt of admission.

Her face is a mask, as it always has been when in the presence of the admiral.

His golden eyes narrow. At times, Zhao finds that look of defiance in her eyes so aggravating. Sometimes, he ignores it, but tonight, he is in rare form.

He used to believe he had broken her, long ago when he arrived on the pathetic southern pole…but now he sees that she is still holding onto something – what that something is, he cannot fathom – but he will break her.

AN: There you have it! Chapter two up and running. Shorter than I wanted, but that's the way it divvied up. Let me know your thoughts, comments, questions, etc.