Title: The Art Of Deception
Author: Lala-Ness (vivian)
Genre: Drama + Romance
Summary: Zuko's world had been shattered once, and Katara finds that she can
melt the icy barrier that surrounds his heart. But there is a killer among the Fire
Nation, and both Zhao and Zula decide it's time to get rid of the Prince. Permanently.
Disclaimer: Avatar: The Last Airbender and friends do not belong to me. The plot,
however, is mine - along with any of the encounters and scenes that appear in TAOD.
Chapter Two
One-Hundred Years
"...could we have been friends?"
Those five words echoed through his mind. Tossing and turning, Zuko plunged into the everlasting darkness - into a the illusions of dream. Everything came back all at once - fear, panic, sorrow - all the emotions he'd experienced during his banishment. Slowly, painfully, he lived through it once more. And than it was black. At first he heard nothing but the harsh breathing that was his own. And then the high-pitched sounds of an animal that he couldn't comprehend - a chirping bird? He couldn't tell.
And than he awoke, shivering with cold, basking in the bright sunlight drifting through the windows. He didn't know where he was, only that he was on the floor instead of in bed. And it was cold enough that he could see the white mist of his own breath blend with the pouring brightness . He rolled over, gained his feet, then abruptly collapsed again. What the hell? he wondered.
He took a quick search around the room. It wasn't his. Forcing himself back to his feet, he wobbled, but managed to gain balance. Walking over to the window, he attempted to look out - and realized he couldn't reach the window-sill. What the hell? He hopped once, testing how high up he could see. Doing so again several more times, he was able to glimpse out the window enough times to establish that he wasn't cruising along the ocean anymore.
What the hell? Now he was angry - no, more than angry. He was down-right pissed. What was going on? Where was he? And why can't he reach the damn window? He stomped out the door, and nearly gasped. Stepping back into the room, he looked into the mirror. His first reaction was mere shock. And then fear. What the hell happened to me? It was no wonder why he couldn't reach the window. He wasn't five feet and eleven inches tall anymore - he was a midget. There was no other word that could describe him at that very moment.
He was a short, pudgy, midget.
He screamed, and halfway through, he covered his mouth. It was a high-pitched scream. What happened to my voice? he wondered frantically. What the hell happened to me? He cleared his throat. "Good morning," he tested, and almost shrieked with sheer terror. That wasn't his voice! It sounded like a child! A midget child! Shit! Shit! Shit! Abruptly, he stopped circling around the room and took a deep breath. Thinking like a toddler would only worsen his predicament.
Think! he forced himself to close his eyes. The last think he remembered was..."Oh God," he moaned, and hiccuped. Slapping a hand over his mouth, his eyes widened. He never hiccuped before. Why was he hiccuping now? Why? Why? Why? He looked in the mirror again. He could see the pale oval of his face, so young, so not him, with those thoughtful, and innocent looking eyes and smooth skin. He wasn't Prince Zuko anymore.
He touched a small hand to his cheek, drawing it over his left eye. The scar was gone - not even a trace of it trailed along his new skin. His eyes trailed down to his stomach. Is that BABY fat? He poked it, and watched it bounce back out. What happened to his athletic build? Wrinkling his nose, he shook his head. No, he definitely wasn't Prince Zuko anymore.
Wrapping the sheets around his shoulders, he stepped out of the unfamiliar room. He wrinkled his nose again. Not only did he suddenly shrink, he was slouching. Straightening his posture, he stepped deeper into the hallway. Where am I? Looking behind him, he saw other rooms. Is anyone in there? Deciding not to find out, he continued walking forward, and stopped unexpectedly when his newfound nose caught the scent of food. Home-cooked food? he wondered, and licked his lips. Realizing the idiocy of his thoughts, he shook his oversized head and hastily made his way to what looked like a kitchen.
"Did you enjoy your sleep, young one?" The man standing beside the table was younger than Zuko had expected. He couldn't have been far into his sixties. His small, almost delicate build was almost completely covered by his long, orange robe. His face was fox-sharp - the narrow, somewhat aristocratic nose, the high, planed cheeks, the tapered chin. He's bald, Zuko noted, probably some kind of monk. And than he saw the blue arrow marked upon the man's forehead - the Air Nomad's sign.
"You're an Air-Temple monk!" Zuko declared, shoving a small, pudgy finger into the man's robe. He smiled, a quick flash that deepened the lines time had etched on his face. "Of course. My name is Monk Gyatso - I thought you'd remember my name by now." The monk chuckled. He handed Zuko the large plate before he had the chance to refuse. "It's soup - be careful with it. Aang will be out shortly, so you may dine with him this morning." Zuko raised a brow. Aang? It sounded familiar. Only when the other boy stepped into the room did Zuko remember.
"The Avatar!"
The bald boy jumped at Zuko's sudden outburst. "We can go visit Avatar Roku's temple later. How did you sleep, Kuzon?" Aang grinned, using his air bending to drift the plate of food away from Zuko's hands. "Thanks for the soup."
"The Avatar!" Zuko repeated, and prepared to attack once more. His hand shot out, and burning flames shot out, setting Aang into flames. Aang shrieked maniacally, begging him to stop - or so he'd imagined. Only a puff of smoke coughed out of his hand. Zuko's brows furrowed. "Why can't I bend?" He shook his hand furiously. "I can't fire bend."
Aang chuckled along with Monk Gyatso. "Silly boy," Gyatso commented, before pouring tea into the china he'd placed upon the table. Aang put his hands on his hips and grinned that irritating smile once more. "Your Dad said he wasn't gonna train you until you're older. Did you forget already, Kuzon?"
"Stop calling me Kuzon!" Zuko stomped one foot upon the ground and threw his hand out again. The same reaction - nothing. Damn it! "My name is Prince Zuko," he told them more calmly, collapsing to the ground. What was happening to him? Last night he was Prince Zuko, heir to the Fire Nation. And then he wakes up one day - a midget with baby fat who slouches and can't firebend. He glared at Aang. "My name isn't Kuzon. It's Prince Zuko," he told them again. "I'm the Fire Lord's son."
Aang's eyes widened, and for a moment, Zuko almost believed that he remembered everything. That he'd be frightened. "Yeah! You'll be Zuko, the Fire Prince. And I can be..." He rubbed a thoughtful hand on his chin. "I'll be Reizo, the dreaded spy who's out to get you. You have to try and catch me and kill me so you won't die." He grinned. "That's a great idea, Kuzon."
Exasperated, Zuko sighed. "Yeah...whatever."
Aang smiled at the Monk. "We're not really hungry. Can we go out and play?" Gyatso pondered for a moment, and found himself looking into the wide, oval shaped eyes of the little boy. Not the puppy-face, he mused. "I suppose-"
"Yes!" Before Gyatso spoke another word, Aang had seized a hand on "Jiro's" arm and was dragging him out into the garden. It was, Zuko thought, the most wonderful place. Not grand and elegant like the houses back home with their fluidity and feminine grace. But vibrant and unique and powerful. Right now, he'd thought of it as a castle. A place of dreams and beauty and great strength.
Even from the garden, he could see the outside of the temple. It was simply stunning. Stunning and proud against the sky, with towers defiantly rising. The garden itself was beautiful like a dream. Beautiful dreams with flowers spread at its feet like an offering and grand old trees guarding it's flanks. For a few precious moments, Zuko forgot that it wasn't real.
Aang led him down the garden path, through the wildly blooming roses, past the glossy leafed camellia, wound through the hills of azaleas with their blooms longs since spent, and fragrant spires of lavender that would scent the air all the way into winter. The world was lush here, full of color and shape and perfume. A lazily elegant place of bricked paths and lovely benches set just so among the beds and shrubs with overflowing pots of mixed blooms tucked arctically among the stream. The result was like a painting, meticulously executed.
"Hey, Kuzon?"
"Yeah?" Zuko replied to the name without even bothering to remind the boy that it wasn't his.
"Do you think if we lived a hundred years from now, that we would've been friends?"
And just like that, everything disappeared into a flash of darkness. The entire painting that was the garden mixed into the temples, causing all colors to blend into each other creating the black that colors always created when mixed together. Time rushed forward, and Zuko suddenly woke up in his own room.
Without another word, Zuko tossed the sheets aside and rushed to the mirror. Sighing, he looked at the figure that was truly his. He was tall again, and the baby fat was gone. "A dream," he murmured, rubbing a hand over his face. "It was all a dream." But he couldn't help but wonder if that was what it would've been like if he'd lived a hundred years ago.
This whole idea sprang into my head when I remembered that Aang had spoken of a friend who belonged to the Fire Nation. So I wondered how Zuko would've reacted if he suddenly was that friend. I don't know, just a theory. So if you didn't understand - it was all a dream. The old bald man was Monk Gyatso, and the bald boy was Aang before he found out he was The Avatar.