Title: Unchosen
Characters: Zuko, Iroh, Aang
Summary: Padawan Zuko must choose between the adoptive family he has found in the Jedi, and his blood family. Star Wars fusion
Dawn broke on the Jedi Temple, reflected by the orbital mirrors down through the dingy sky until finally it filtered through the transparisteel windows of Padawan Zuko's small room in the Western Tower of the Jedi Temple. The light was gray and pale, but enough to break him from his meditative Force trance. He breathed out uneasily, balling his hands into fists. The balance of the Light Side always seemed just outside his grasp, and answers further still.
Jaw working, he reached out to play the holo message again. Blue light flickered and resolved into a robed figure, face obscure by a long hood. A familiar, cruel smirk peeked out from beneath.
"Brother dear," Azula began. Her voice was saccharine and though Zuko knew it was fake, he ached to hear it, leaning forward to listen to the promise once again. "Your mission is coming to an end. Father demands results. Deliver the Chosen One to the Senate building tonight and your exile will be over. We'll be a family again."
The holo looped and began again. Zuko stared at it just as he had the evening before when it first arrived, delivered by one of Azula's handmaidens. Mai had pressed it into his palm, her long and solemn face showing just a glimmer of happiness as she promised to see him again soon.
"Deliver the Chosen One…" Azula repeated, and with a jerk Zuko reached out through the Force, slapping the message off.
Zuko carefully reached up, touching the weal of scarred skin that struck across his face. Father had been the one to burn him with Force Lightning, leaving his face a ruin and Zuko himself only half alive when the Jedi found him on Naboo. Even the Jedi Healer had not been able to completely heal him, leaving him with partial vision in his right eye and a scar that terrified the Younglings despite Yoda's admonitions.
He'd be free of that fear soon, back at his father's side where he belonged.
"Zuko?" Master Iroh called through the thin, durasteel door dividing their rooms. Zuko dropped his hand, trying to rein in his shame before his master felt it across their training bond. As usual, Iroh verbally ignored Zuko's inner struggles, even as he tried to soothe his apprentice through the Force. The door whooshed open and Master Iroh popped his head in, enthusing, "I made jook!"
Zuko nodded quietly, rising slowly to follow his master into their small dining alcove. Breakfast conversation was spare, unusually free of Master Iroh's chatter as the older man eyed his Padawan with growing worry. Zuko avoided his eyes.
It was easier to concentrate on the things he hated about the Jedi Temple – the stares, the whispers, the criticism even when he did right – than it was to think of leaving Master Iroh's side.
"Thank you, Master," Zuko said as he cleared the table. His eyes flicked up once, doing nothing to temper the depth of gratitude in his voice. Master Iroh stirred, his presence in the Force coming into sharp, unhappy relief in the back of Zuko's mind; he clearly heard the good-bye in those words that Zuko could not suppress.
Master Iroh reached out to snag Zuko's sleeve, but Zuko dodged away.
"I have class." He narrowed his eyes, cursing Master Iroh internally for souring their last morning together. Stiffly, he bowed before turning on heel and leaving the apartment.
Master Iroh sent out a steady, warm pulse of comfort and apology. Zuko quickened his pace.
His Master was the only Jedi to whom Zuko felt any bonds of loyalty. It was Master Iroh who argued for his admittance to the Temple, traumatized and already brimming with anger at age thirteen. Master Yoda dismissed him out of hand. Too old. Too scarred. If Master Iroh had not fought for him, Zuko didn't know where he would be. The Agri-Corps, where all Jedi rejects were sent, was truly the best option.
Proving himself at Master Iroh's side during the Naboo blockade crisis had swayed the Jedi Council, but they had never let go of their suspicions of him, nor he of his resentment toward them.
It was impossible to outrun the Force, but distance did dim a training bond, and Master Iroh's attempts to calm Zuko faded into the background. Of course, all presences faded into the background around the Chosen One.
Water crashed down from the high, airy ceiling in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, and even that sound seemed drowned out by Aang. Zuko swallowed back against his jealousy, deliberately moving his hands away from his twin lightsabers, as he lifted his gaze up to where Padawans Aang and Katara splashed in the fountain pool. Aang's Master, Gyatso, had clearly taken on the task of distracting Master Pakku from their apprentices, guiding the other man away from the fountain with a firm hand on his back. Master Gyatso gestured cheerily to the surrounding gardens, pointing out the gifts Chancellor Ozai himself had sent after they saved his home planet. Master Pakku seemed unmoved, mouth pursed and annoyance gathering both on his face and in his Force presence.
Katara glanced over her shoulder at her Master, face pensive; Aang took the opportunity to shift the waterfall, dousing her completely. She glowered at him, wringing out her hair as he laughed.
"That's a good look for you, Katara," Zuko said.
She straightened, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she eyed him suspiciously. Her Padawan braid hung into her face, ruining the effect as she tried to blow it out of the way with little puffy, breaths.
"It really is!" Aang said cheerily. "But you always look great."
Katara softened, giving Aang a pleased smile. Aang flushed at the attention, fussing with his own Padawan braid. While Katara's was decorated with beads and only three blue bands – showing her accomplishments in healing, telekinesis, and hand to hand combat – Aang's was layered in bands of all shades to the point where almost no hair showed at all. If there was a Jedi skill to master, he had already done it and years ahead of schedule.
It was pretty easy to hate him.
Zuko reminded himself of the four spare bands on his own braid – for academics and lightsaber fighting, but no Force skills – and set his mind back to his task. He wracked his brain, trying to think of a plausible story to lure Aang to the Senate building, but thankfully Aang's gregariousness took care of that for him.
"Do you want to spar, Zuko?"
"Yes," Zuko blurted.
Aang gave a small cheer, already drawing his lightsaber. While Zuko didn't have much contact with Aang generally, lightsaber dueling was the one thing they did together. Aang's technique needed work, to say the least. He was never aggressive enough.
"But not here," Zuko added. "At the Senate."
Aang shrugged, clipping his lightsaber back to his side, but Katara stepped forward, frowning at Zuko.
"Why would you spar at the Senate?"
"Well…" Zuko fumbled, trying to think of an excuse. "We won't be sparring. It's an exhibition. For my Senator. Tonight."
"I haven't heard of any exhibition."
"That's because you aren't invited," Zuko snapped. He tugged lightly on her braid with the Force. She clapped a hand against her face, pinning it down. Her breathing suddenly went even and deliberate, eyes unfocused as she tried to calm herself. "It's only for saber masters."
Aang perked up.
"I'm a master now?"
"Absolutely," Zuko said. He nodded toward the beaming Padawan, turning on his heel and tossing over his shoulder, "I'll see you in the speeder bay at 1700 and we'll go over together."
Zuko walked out onto the promenade outside the Room of a Thousand Fountains, stopping suddenly as his master's presence reasserted itself on their training bond. Among the serenely chatting Jedi, Iroh looked up, catching Zuko's gaze and holding it. He gulped down against his anxiety, fighting the urge to run as his master made his way over.
Iroh took Zuko by the arm, leading him into the starlight map room. His grip was strong and unyielding, echoing the unusually stern tenor of his Force presence.
The door to the room slid shut and Iroh let Zuko go, rounding on him.
"I know what you are doing, Padawan."
"Then stop me," Zuko hissed back. His hands flexed next to his lightsabers. He couldn't win, but fighting would be easier than facing his master's disappointment.
"Think about what will happen – to you, to the Jedi! Zuko, this is your home," Iroh said, eyes pleading.
"It's not! It never has been. You know they don't want me here, Master."
"I do," Iroh said. He stepped forward, putting his hand on Zuko shoulder.
Zuko drew away, shaking his head.
"It's not enough."
He was going home. He would stand at his father's side, the Chosen One defeated before them, and he would finally have a place to belong.