Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: the Last Airbender or any of its characters. All rights lie in Nickelodeon's (and whoever else helped make it... I don't know) hands.

This is a one-shot, the first ever fic I've posted. Please Review!

Mirrors

There are no mirrors here. There are none hanging from walls, none standing on the floors. Mirrors are breakable, they're dangerous. That's what he said anyway; and I trust him. The ship rocks endlessly on the waves, the mirrors might fall and break, or one may accidentally find their fist in a mirror, their knuckles splitting on the cold shards of glass. I'm not sure how I remember what he said, as I hardly remember anything from that day. It was three days after the bandages had come off. I was already leaving my home, seems a disgrace is not welcome even… especially at home. It was a strange feeling; I don't think I'll ever be able to understand it. It was a dark place, with despair and disgust and emptiness, as if my head had been emptied of all I had put my faith in. With my eyes wide and staring I'd packed, fast and efficient and mechanical in my actions.

And there I was, on a deck of a small ship, given to me for my search. I'm proud of my memory, my ability to remember the smallest of details, but even if I was to lose my sanity, I could not forget this. My one last chance… to capture the Avatar, a mythical figure, able to control all elements, a being that had not been seen in over a hundred years. But I would search. I would not show that same shameful weakness and give up.

My uncle had come up on deck, his arms linked under his sleeves as always, concern in his eyes. "Come to see me off, Uncle Iroh?" I manage to ask. He reaches over to put a hand on my shoulder, but I wince away and bring up my arms in a reflexive shield before I can stop myself. No, they do no come up higher than my chest; I have enough self-control left to correct myself still.

Something catches my uncle's attentions and he quickly grabs my descending hand. He looks suspiciously at the glove I'm wearing and then at me. I've never worn gloves. It is warm in the Fire Nation; there is no need for gloves. He stares at me, through me, and I avert my eyes, not wanting to explain just how weak I had been and how my hatred took hold of me. I must control myself, Father always said it, and it was true, as was everything he said; almost everything. It took me 14 years and a banishment just to think it, just to think that my father may be… wrong.

I tense and ready myself for him to pull off the glove and discipline me for my lack of control, but he does not.

"I'm going with you, nephew." He answers finally. My eyes widen in delight, but my lips twitch to an expression of disdain. "Does Father not trust me to do this on my own?" I ask. It is disrespectful to ask, but my broken pride can't take much more beating, I may as well do what I was punished for. "Actually, my brother objected to me going, but what could be more important than training the person who is to vanquish the last true threat to the Fire Nation? He had to concede."

I give my uncle a twisted bright smile, like the blade of a knife, "he hopes I'll be killed."

Now it is his turn to avert his eyes, Fire Nation nobles are taught that blatantly lying is a peasant's trick, and true to his upbringing he does not lie.

"I will do anything I can to help you" is all he says. He is still holding my wrist in his grip, gently, he pulls off the glove, I wince, it had been bad enough putting them on. There are many cuts on my hands; the skin over my knuckles is broken and the front of my fist is bruised. There are only a few deep cuts, most are shallow, thin, and painful; glass cuts.

He thinks for a moment and then in realization whispers "Mirrors." I hang my head lower; there is no excuse for what I had done.

"How many mirrors are there in your rooms, Prince Zuko?" he asks.

"Seven." I answer quietly. There were seven; three in a row on a glass wall, one next to a carved wardrobe, two in the sitting room, and an ornate hand mirror.

There is a minute of painful silence. "I am sorry for losing control, uncle; I must be able to control myself. What I did was the action of a weakling and is inexcusable. I will not shame my family anymore, and I will control myself." I chant off. I do mean it, but I have said the same thing too many times.

He looks at me for a moment and sighs, "I do not blame you Zuko, and you do not need to apologize to me for everything that makes you seem human. My brother may think himself a god, but I do not."

This was not what was expected, I look up startled. Is he just playing with me, like a cat with a mouse? No, I see kindness in his eyes, and although I do not know him well, I'm sure he would not do that.

We had stood on the deck and watched the retreating coastline of our home. I wandered the ship later, unable to sleep. The more rooms I saw the wider grew my morose smile. There were no mirrors here, except for personal hand ones, and for once, my pride did not flare in indignation, but accepted the kind act.

I came upon my uncle on the main deck, looking over the dark, calm sea. He turned and smiled at me.

I duck my head to hide the almost painful gratitude in my eyes, but he seems to understand. I remember something and whisper with a smile "There are no mirrors here in Hell." My uncle seems to recognize the quote, he chuckles.

"Nothing is better to calm the nerves than some ginseng tea and a game of Pai Sho. Come Zuko, I will teach you to play."

This is the poem I wrote that inspired this piece. It is by me, I wrote it, corrected it, reviewed it, so don't steal it

Tell me of my face,
Help me see myself.
Is there madness and disgrace

Caving on itself?
Will you tell me of my eyes?
Has the hope yet disappeared?
Has the bitter taste of lies
Killed what I revered?

Please, I beg you,
Help me see
If I can start anew,
If there's hope still left for me.

Find this memory a place.
Don't forget, as I bid you farewell,
Only you will know my face
Because there's no mirrors here in Hell.