Exhaling sharply, Zuko lowered himself from his static position on the gymnastics bar into a dead hang before going through a grueling set of pull-ups. Flares of pain spiraled up his arms with each repetition and he could taste the sweat dripping through his lips onto his tongue. Zuko continued till his biceps shuddered and his breath came in ragged gasps, finally collapsing to the grass in a heap. Sitting up quickly, he wiped the moisture off his forehead. He could hear crunching in the ground near him, figured that Sato was approaching, and smiled grimly.
Over the last three months, Zuko had labored through the old palace guard's aggressive regime. Soon after their first meeting, Sato had approached him in the royal suite and detailed his availability for instruction, and the pair soon worked out a schedule for Zuko's training.
They had begun the day after.
Zuko had been put through a wide variety of ablutions to get him into something resembling good form, from endless laps around the palace guard, timed swimming at the bathhouses, weight training, and calisthenics to hand-to-hand combat. This being said, Sato was certainly not a cruel master, pacing Zuko appropriately to avoid injury and encouraging him to get as much sleep and eat enough food as necessary to aid in recovery.
The effects were definitely noticeable. The Prince had once been a scrawny, uncoordinated boy, but his almost-twelve body was now toned with lean muscle and he carried himself with an air that suggested a considerable deal of physical prowess. He'd taken especially well to the martial arts, progressing quickly through drills and katas and eventually proving his potential to be a fighter with great power and pace during light sparring.
The work had carried over to his bending. Zuko's newly conditioned and limber body was more apt to handle an aggressive routine of meditation followed by firebending training. He'd focused intensely on quickly accessing the emotions that bolstered his strength, developed greater control over his flames, and then mastered the basic forms of the art. Advanced techniques still proved difficult without an instructor, but Sato's acrobatics teachings had helped Zuko adapt to the balance and precision required of them.
The form Zuko performed before his grandfather, which he'd thoroughly butchered and Azula had excelled at, no longer proved a challenge, and the Prince was proud.
"My Prince" a voice sounded.
Zuko looked up and smiled, realizing that Sato had arrived during his reminiscence. The old man and himself had formed a bond during their time together, one of mutual respect, with Zuko extending his out of gratitude for the training and the guard out of respect for his position and willingness to learn. Still, natural barriers remained between them. Sato was not the boy's family, meaning he couldn't request the paternal affection he needed. Zuko was naturally curious and sometimes frustrated his teacher with questions about topics concerning war and family that Sato wasn't comfortable answering. It was clear that the relationship, while it had been pleasant, was moving toward its end as Zuko neared his goals. The Prince had needed guidance on beginning his journey of growth but could continue on his own soon.
"Training's over."
Zuko nodded and rose to his feet, turned, and strode away.
Sato allowed a smile to crease his face as the boy strode away. To say he'd been pleasantly surprised by the progress Zuko had made would be putting things lightly.
Zuko had excelled.
It wasn't that he was particularly talented. It was clear that the Prince didn't have the raw power, grace, and innate understanding of distance and timing that his sister did, which allowed her to have already begun developing a deadly precise style of firebending. Nonetheless, Zuko always put his best foot forward, devoting all his energy toward strengthening and limbering his body to improve his art. Sato wasn't a firebender, but he'd noticed the unorthodox nature of his pupil's bending, peace and tranquility washing over the child's face as flames flickered in his palms while others' meditated with expressions filled with barely-contained angst.
Sato had watched as Zuko ran through his forms and seen the growing intensity of his flames each time, growing even more puzzled when confronted with how the Prince's fire seemed to wash smoothly out from his hands instead of shooting out abruptly without ceremony.
The guard had never seen anyone firebend that way.
Looking back on the start of their training, Sato remembered how he'd once paid no mind to the Prince and realized he was wrong to do so. There was something special about him. Maybe not in the sense of traditional impressiveness but rather in tenacity and unusualness. From this point on, despite Zuko likely moving on from him soon, Sato would pay attention to the boy's life.
Leaving the guards' training ground and heading toward the gardens, Zuko began to breathe in the day. It was still early in the morning, meaning the full effect of the Fire Nation's humidity couldn't be felt as it could at noon. He could center himself better in this more kindly atmosphere and felt almost totally calm as he entered the lush expanse of flowers and ferns.
In the center of the garden beneath the central tree, Zuko started to bend. He began slowly, producing a flame and exchanging it between his hands. He transitioned into pushing it outward in fluid arcs while shifting through stances, occasionally lashing out in quick strikes before falling back into the relaxed flow.
While he spent most of his practicing time on traditional forms, Zuko had found since discovering a new source of his bending that it felt intuitive, even nice, to sometimes allow the fire to weave around him easily like liquid.
He picked up the tempo, allowing his movements to become more staccato as he ran through a series of quick jabs and kicks, producing strong spurts of flame before crouching down and spinning his leg out to create a large, fast-traveling arc. Quickly shooting to his feet, he began to shift them backward while circling his hands before him and sometimes squaring them in mock defensive sequences.
Finally allowing himself to fall backward, he sprung into a handstand before pushing back through the air and landing on sure footing once more. Stepping forward with a jump, he unleashed a ferocious gout of flame with both hands before stopping to breathe heavily, pleased with his work.
Unknown to him, the Prince had had an observer.
oooo
Princess Azula had been keeping a close eye on her dear brother lately. Ever since she'd noticed him focusing his fire that afternoon in the garden, she'd been snooping in corners at every opportunity to catch glimpses of his training or whatever else he may be up to.
What she'd discovered frustrated her to no end.
Soon after her initial discovery, Azula had caught Zuko out in the training yard, slaving away under the instruction of a grizzled old guard. She'd scoffed at his attempts to complete exercises and work through his firebending forms, reveled in the clumsiness of his movements and easy exhaustion. Her amusement and curiosity were roused, so she continued to watch.
Much to her dismay, Zuko steadily improved. His new master's rigorous instruction had proved effective; her brother gained strength and speed and better control of his limbs. His conditioning improved and he could meditate and practice his bending for extended periods. The results compounded with time and the fruits of Zuko's labor were evident in this display she'd recently witnessed.
Hiding in the bush, Azula had stared with narrow eyes as Zuko slid through moves with his flames arcing around him liquidly. Her irritation mounted as his tempo changed, becoming fast and furious with strong jets of fire shooting from his hands and feet.
It was clear that Zuko's bending had grown immensely. A prodigy with a prodigy's eye, Azula could see the small missteps present in Zuko's sequences and the way he sometimes had to think through the progression of moves. Nevertheless, he was no longer struggling. If anything, he'd become proficient. The Princess had always been confident in Zuko being incapable of reaching her level but that conviction wasn't so strong anymore. There remained differences in their skill but he was not so far away now for her to be considered on another level entirely.
This scared her.
When Azula had first displayed bending, she'd been able to create sizable gouts of fire and wield them as she pleased. Her father's eyes had lit up at the sight that day but quickly soured as his gaze shifted to Zuko, remembering that he could still scarcely produce a flicker.
Their childhood had been peaceful until then. Azula got along with her brother although she still took every opportunity to tease him. They were treated much the same by their parents and Azula had no reason to believe she'd ever be in higher standing with them than Zuko.
Her bending feats planted the seed in her mind that she could one day wield more power in the family and Fire Nation court than the Prince, a belief only buoyed by the Fire Lord's new and intense interest in her training. She'd begun to look down on Zuko and transition from teasing to antagonizing, reveling in the childish glee associated with surpassing someone.
Azula basked in the glow of her father and the court's adoration, became comfortable in thinking that Zuko and his status as the older sibling had no bearing on her future plans, and her excitement for the future grew after grandfather's passing and her crowning as the Princess.
All of this could change now.
Zuko wouldn't be considered a disgrace anymore. Her father may see his progress and decide he deserved respect, start to afford him the privileges afforded by his title, and stymie Azula's efforts to secure her position as next in line for the Dragon Throne. She had to do something.
A smile slowly crept onto her face. Her predatory eyes glinted with satisfaction.
Her Father could find out about Zuko's growth, but he didn't know anything about it right now. Now, she was in the position she had been for years, able to torment her brother without reprimand from the Firelord. She held all his respect and trust; he'd believe whatever she had to say about any conflict of theirs.
Zuko's bending was the problem so his bending would have to be nullified. A prank, or better yet sparring gone wrong could easily result in an injury that would hamper his bending indefinitely. Ozai wouldn't bother to look deeper into something that appeared to be a training accident.
All Azula had to do now was manufacture the situation that would bring her idea to fruition.
oooo
"Zuko."
Shocked out of his meditative reverie, Zuko opened his eyes. Azula stood before him, hand on her hip as she looked at him expectantly.
"I was wondering if you could do a favor for me."
The Prince's eyes narrowed with suspicion. Azula hadn't asked him for anything in years meaning she had to be up to something.
"What kind of favor?" he intoned annoyedly.
His sister smirked and tilted her head.
"I want you to spar me."
Zuko hadn't been expecting that, and his mind flew into overdrive. Why would she ask him? What were the risks of agreeing? He couldn't imagine that she'd go so far as to hurt him – he was the Prince after all. Besides, hadn't his skills improved? Holding his own shouldn't be too tall of an order.
"Just a friendly match, right?" he asked slowly.
Azula nodded, and some of the tension left his shoulders.
"Alright."
They moved to opposite sides of the garden. Zuko stripped off his tunic and Azula flexed her fingers before entering a ready stance.
The pair began to circle one another, Zuko wary while Azula retained a relaxed expression on her face. Without warning, she struck, sending precise blasts his way and forcing him to weave and duck. Zuko was able to escape a majority of them before nearly running into one head-on, avoiding burns only by punching straight through the flames.
Azula didn't let up for a moment, beginning a series of wide kicks sending searing arcs of fire his way, which he dissipated or directed toward the ground. Zuko countered with quick jabs, making Azula cartwheel away to avoid being struck with tiny, hurtling jets. He quickly dropped to the floor, performing a wheel kick to deliver a wave that would break his sister's footing.
Azula's expression sharpened as she leaped into the air, spinning and striking downward with a blast that Zuko barely caught his forearms, his feet driving into the soil. His unwillingness to collapse seemed to enrage her – her nose scrunched and lips curled to form a snarl, and she started to unleash a furious barrage.
Stepping forward each time, she produced massive flares speckled with blue and drove Zuko back with each one that he split and sent blazing into the grass.
The Prince's expression was colored with panic and he heaved for breath but he still maintained his footing. With a cry, Azula sent her largest blaze yet speeding toward him. This time, Zuko knew he didn't have the strength to dissipate it. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he splayed his hands out as the flames approached, spinning and allowing them to circle around him in a swirl before pushing them outward. He looked with surprise and anger at Azula, whose jaw was slack with shock.
Taking advantage of the moment, Zuko sprinted forward and caught both of his sister's wrists, effectively pinning her.
"What in the world do you think you were doing?! You could have fried me!"
He shook her as he shouted but her focus had shifted to something across the garden, fear etched on her face. Following her gaze, Zuko felt tremors travel up his spine and he quickly relinquished his grasp.
"F-Father."
Standing in the arched entrance leading from the palace's inner passages into the garden stood Firelord Ozai, an intense but unreadable expression on his face.
Azula took the opportunity to flee the scene but Zuko remained, body still quaking. Father and son stood at an impasse, the silence stretching far beyond the realm of mere awkwardness.
Finally, it was broken.
"Walk with me, Prince Zuko." Ozai ordered.
Gulping, Zuko walked to join in step with his father and match the man's pace.
oooo
Sprinting through the halls of the palace toward her quarters, Azula nearly tripped over herself and finally collapsed somewhere close to the entrance of the kitchens. Sweat dripped from her brow, her chest heaved, and her thoughts ran at a million miles per hour.
How had everything gone so wrong?
Her father was never out and about at this hour of day. He should have been occupied with some councilors' meeting or paperwork or solitary brooding, not visiting the garden of all places.
That didn't change the fact that he'd seen everything though. He'd seen her, the prodigal daughter, fail to beat her failure of a brother. What must he think of her?
Azula started to curl in on herself and felt hot tears stream down her cheeks.
If she couldn't even be better than Zuko, what right did she have to Father's love? She'd be worthless, and Father would begin to hate her as Mother had.
She'd end up feeling alone again.
oooo
Zuko followed behind his father at a breakneck speed. The Firelord's robes swirled behind him as he turned corridors and took small passageways that his son didn't recognize until reaching a large, mahogany-colored door.
Opening it, he revealed a small room illuminated by sunlight from a few grated windows looking out on the courtyard. All that furnished the chamber was a small plush mat set before a series of unlit candles.
Ozai turned to Zuko and motioned for him to sit before the mat. Zuko slowly lowered himself to the floor and his father soon followed, choosing to occupy the mat.
Silence overtook them once more. Ozai's molten eyes bored into Zuko's and the Prince tensed with trepidation.
"Prince Zuko," Ozai began, "you've grown."
Zuko started. This was not at all how he'd expected this conversation to begin. If anything, he'd doubted that there would be a talk at all and his father would simply immolate him as soon as he was hidden away in some room.
"I…have?"
The Firelord nodded.
"Just a short few months ago you could scarcely produce a flame, and now here you are having withstood an onslaught from Azula, even going so far as to catch her unawares. To say I'm surprised would be an understatement."
Color flooded Zuko's cheeks. He hadn't thought his performance against Azula had been particularly impressive – he'd mostly just evaded and evaporated her attacks before rushing to grab her.
Thinking back, however, he realized that even this would have been impossible before the start of his training. Azula would have shredded any defense he had to offer and burned him to a crisp.
"I…guess so, Father."
Ozai smirked a little, the first bit of emotion to show on his face since the interaction began.
"I had been watching for longer than you realize, Zuko, and your showing was no small feat. A less talented bender, such as those employed in the guard despite all their experience, would have collapsed in the face of those flames. You should be proud, young Prince."
Warmth spread through Zuko's body at these comments. His Father had something good to say about him.
Suddenly, whatever mirth or pride had been on the Firelord's face vanished.
"Nonetheless, Zuko, there remain…questions about your sudden jump in prowess. You've been abysmal all these years, so what changed?"
Ozai had begun to pace slowly during his questioning and his eyes were piercing. Zuko could tell that he wasn't in immediate danger here, but that the Firelord was still very curious about what he had to say. Unwillingness to answer would certainly spark his Father's ire. He'd be able to tell a lie too.
Zuko shifted uncomfortably, twiddling his thumbs, and started to speak.
"I wanted to improve my bending but…didn't know where to begin exactly. I started to think and thought that maybe…figuring something out about how firebending started could help. I knew from some of Uncle's stories that the first firebenders were dragons, so I looked and found some information on them in the library."
Ozai had yet to react, so Zuko continued.
"Some of what the scrolls said, things about them caring a lot about family and being protective…it made me think about what I used to fuel my bending. I always had trouble getting angry enough to produce fire before, but when I started to focus on…other things…it was easier. I could make fire properly, finally, so I started to train."
Ozai stood, his expression strange, almost as though he was studying Zuko like some sort of specimen. There was no hint of real disapproval there, but the effect was somehow more unsettling.
"Your Uncle will be returning soon from his failed campaign at Ba Sing Se." he said finally.
"When he does, I suggest you approach him about continuing your training."
With that, the Firelord strode toward the door. Zuko sat dumbfounded for a moment before realizing he didn't know the way back to the known reaches of the palace.
Sitting up quickly and dusting off his pants, he scrambled after his father.