Chapter 2
A flash nearly blinded Zuko, but he strode on confidently as if it were nothing.
"Ah! Your Highness Prince Zuko! So good to see you again! How fare your wonderful parents? Have they joined you on this trip? It's been so long, we were really hoping to meet with them again."
Zuko's smile was polite, if strained, as he forced himself into his perfect public image. "They apologise for being unable to attend, but send their warmest regards, Chief Hakoda. They hope to be able to make a trip in the future. How are your family? I remember you were always a proud father."
"Ah," agreed the now old man with a fond smile, "That I am and always will be." He guided Zuko into the sweat lodge (which Zuko didn't remember being there the last time he'd visited—he hadn't thought this was the kind of thing the Water Tribe did) and with an amicable smack on the young man's pale back (which nearly sent him sprawling), guided him to the seat of honour.
Among the circle of other naked men.
Another few flashes went off, and Zuko was more firmly resolved than ever to thank his uncle when he returned to the palace for all the time he'd spent teaching Zuko knot-tying in his youth. There was luckily no way it was cosmically possible for the towel at his hips to loosen without the aid of a solid steel marlin spike.
"Here, sit beside me, thigh to thigh! Let us talk of our accomplishments; there is much to catch up on!"
The other men around them cheered loudly and poured more water on the exposed rocks in the middle of the fire-heated stones, and they sizzled and cracked as they released their steam. It was loud and getting louder, and Zuko swallowed and nodded, smiling all the while. He could do this. It was just like talking to someone at a sauna. Just… more… naked…
Until he noticed the… wear marks… on the seat he was to sit on.
"Of course," Zuko said around his constricted throat as he gingerly sat down on the very, very worn wooden bench, which he was sure had been worn into another's ass grooves going by how uncomfortable it was. Oh god, and ballsac. He was sure it was grooved to another man's particular ballsac.
Oh spirits, no, he could not throw up in this situation. He'd dishonour everyone. And it would no doubt end up graphically portrayed in the tabloids, and he would do quite a bit to keep his arse literally away from the public eye.
But he'd still do quite a bit more to get his arse out of its current 'groove', he realised with feeling, as the bile rose traitorously upwards in his throat.
Oh sweet-
"Prince Zuko," Hakoda leaned towards him and his shoulder brushed Zuko's. He was so close to the young man that Zuko wondered if perhaps he should have spent more time reading up on the definition of personal space when it came to the Water Tribe, or if he should make a casual mention of needing an adult. "I am honoured to have you here at my side, where my oldest, my son, normally sits. He unfortunately became gravely ill earlier and had to leave this place." He gave Zuko's shoulder a firm squeeze, and lowered his head.
Rooted to his spot (no matter how much he wanted to sandblast it), Zuko felt his stomach drop into his shoes.
"Your son Sokka? Chief Hakoda, I had no idea, and apologise for my ignorance. Please accept my and my family's sincerest condolences—"
"Oh, he just means his son ate some bad pickled herring. Had terrible shits," called out one man, further down.
"It was horrifying. Thought the poor guy was dying from all that screaming."
"Like lava," added a third.
"I can't even imagine," choked Zuko, and the other men nodded with him before returning to their previous celebration, Sokka's irritated bowels no longer the main feature of conversation.
Feeling tears rising in his eyes, Zuko nodded, truly moved by the men's comments. He wondered just how much skin he would lose when he scrubbed his own arse with a wire brush and Clorox later that night.