When he returns to the palace, it's hard to pretend things are just as they've always been, because they're not. Zuko has had a taste of a life he cannot have, and he feels the weight of his secret every single day.
All at once, it becomes too much. The day it happens is not particularly notable. His secret doesn't burst out of him in some dramatic and unexpected fashion. Nobody accidentally stumbles upon his situation, and decides to out him. No, the day he decides to say it out loud is like any other day.
The reason why he chooses this day is simple. Zuko wakes up, and his heart clenches. He thinks of all he has to do and all he has to say and all he has to be. And all at once, he can't take it anymore.
Locked in his room all day, he turns away the servants. He refuses any visitors. He doesn't even bother changing out of his nightclothes. No, his every waking thought is consumed with... it. With what he is.
That evening, he stands outside the Fire Lord's private study to request an audience with his father. A guard passes on the message, and the child waits patiently, sweat dampening the back of his sleep shirt as he rehearses what he needs to say. He's gone over his spiel a thousand times today alone, over and over again- how to explain what he's feeling, how he came to realise it, and what he wants going forward. After what feels like a lifetime, Ozai allows his firstborn to set foot in the spacious office. The door shuts quickly behind Zuko, and he nearly jumps at the sound of his father's impatient voice.
"Speak, girl, and be quick about it."
Flinching at the sharpness of his father's voice, Zuko fights to keep the crafted look of fearless determination on his face. He has never been very adept in social situations, and this secret feels undeniably huge. His body tenses with caution, and he briefly wonders if he should just shove these feelings down and try to forget about them forever-
Never forget who you are.
His mother's last words to him.
That's when Zuko knows he needs to get this out of his brain. He wants these thoughts to be real. And they are real. He knows that, but he just has to be sure. He wants to know that he's not crazy. That he's not just imagining things. As much as it terrifies him, he needs to tell his father. Then, Zuko can't take back the words and lock them away forever. This will be permanent.
His mother used to talk about how he's turning into such a wonderful young lady, and that she couldn't wait to see what a beautiful woman he'd become one day. It was Ursa's way of trying to make him feel better.
Except… he doesn't want any of that. That was her dream, not his, and it hurts. It hurts because it's one of the few things he has left of her, and he doesn't want it. He's barely 11, but he feels as though he's already wasted so much of his life striving to be something he can never be- someone he never wants to be.
Never forget who you are.
He takes a deep breath, and every eloquent turn of phrase- every delicate way of breaking the news- disappears from his mind in an instant. Instead, his mouth chooses his words right as they are on their way out of his mouth, forever out of his control.
"I'm a boy."
Silence.
Then:
"What?" Ozai says, but he doesn't sound angry like Zuko expects. Instead, his father's stern voice rises with mild confusion, while his face betrays nothing. "What are you on about?"
"I don't want to be a girl," Zuko quickly clarifies. "I'm… a boy. In my head, Father. I'm a boy." He winces slightly. He already knows this is not going well.
Ozai's face tightens, and he growls, "You waste my time with this nonsense? Don't you realize how busy I am?"
Zuko shakes harder, fighting back the tears behind his eyes. Still standing ramrod straight, he replies, as firmly as he can, "Please, Father. Let me live as your son, and not as your daughter. I promise I will still bring honour to our family, and-"
"I don't care what's between your legs or your ears," his father snaps. "You've brought only shame upon this family since the day you were born."
Completely close to falling apart, Zuko squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself not to break down. Not yet. Those moments- those awful, heart-wrenching moments- are best saved for the middle of the night, when no one can hear the sobs muffled by thick blankets.
"Pretend to be a boy. I don't care," Ozai sneers, turning his back on Zuko to resume working at his desk. "But realise that this is still no excuse for mediocrity." His voice grows hard, as though forcing every word through a clenched jaw. "Not only is your younger sister still surpassing you in firebending, but I have also received word today that you're still fumbling through your academics as well."
The Fire Lord pauses, as though thinking, but his back faces Zuko, and his expression remains unreadable. He speaks slowly and softly, tone deceptively thoughtful. "Since you are no longer a girl, I suppose we don't have to worry about trying to get you into the Royal Fire Academy for Girls anymore, hmm? Not that you would have ever managed, with your marks." With a small flourish of his brush, he continues proofreading an open scroll, as though this conversation requires very little of his attention. "No, that's one less opportunity for you to embarrass us."
And Zuko should be shaking out of the clear scorn his father shows him. Instead, he now shakes with relief, because his father does not hate him for this. His father hates him for other reasons- ones he is not privy to. It makes his chest hurt to know, but he will never, ever stop trying to win the man's affection. He may not have his father's support or understanding in this endeavour, but it sounds like… it sounds like his father won't stop him.
That means Zuko can do this. Of all the things he has been denied, this, miraculously, will not be one of them. He may end up ridiculed, or sneered at, but Zuko is no stranger to unfavourable treatment.
Zuko can do this.
"Now leave, and do not disturb me again," his father growls. "Next time, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Father," Zuko manages through a voice trembling with tears of both fear and elation. "Thank you."
With a low bow, the boy scuttles from the room with haste.
The servants can't hide their lack of understanding at first, because to them, it's as though Zuko has suddenly changed. He doesn't explain himself, and he feels like he doesn't have to. They're just here to serve, aren't they? The inner workings of a royal's mind do not concern them.
It's not as though he actually changed at all, of course. He's still very much the same person, albeit noticeably a little happier- a little more secure in his identity. He only corrects them in their speech, advising them to use male language when referring to him. Nobody quite knows what to say to that, but they comply without issue, because Zuko is still their princess- er, prince.
Zuko is a prince now. The thought fills him with a truly ridiculous warmth, because it shouldn't make that big of a difference. It shouldn't be this monumentous, earth-shattering change, but it is. It means the world to him.
In their haste to please, the servants replace the gendered pieces of his wardrobe after Zuko begins refusing to wear them. He even leaves the royal spa one afternoon with his hair in a simple phoenix plume instead of the elaborate bun he'd kept for years.
The issue of his lady's maid, Giya, leaves him at a loss for words, though. Giya is his main servant, much like the female version of a lord's valet. Yet, 'lady's maid,' certainly undermines Zuko's newly-expressed gender. And it's not as though he can simply request that his entirely-female staff be replaced- he doesn't want grown men helping him bathe and dress. That would be uncomfortable to say the least. But he doesn't exactly want women around, either.
His solution isn't ideal, but it will have to do. Azula gladly takes his staff, not even bothering to investigate his lame excuses for offering them to her- she now has double the amount of people to attend to her every whim. Zuko kind of feels bad for the women who are now tasked with Azula's, direct care, but he supposes them having a cruel employer is better than having no employment at all, right? He still remembers how many women were tossed onto the street after Mother left...
The only servant he refuses to transfer is Giya, under the very made-up position of gentleman's attendant. Zuko is royalty, and he can't let it seem as though he has lost any authority. He's the crown prince, after all. But even so, she completes tasks for him only sparingly. She draws his baths and does his hair, but he does not allow her to help with his clothes until he's already dressed in his first layer. It takes some adjusting to do everything for himself, but it's actually not that hard.
With all of this sudden privacy, Zuko has the liberty to actually take his time- to see himself bare, and to pay attention.
He does not like what he sees. His nude form makes his heart race with anxiety, and the more he looks, the more wrongness he sees. His shape has changed- is changing- will continue to change. Every curve and dip of pale flesh chips away at the person he knows himself to be. The flat part of his nipples are a little bigger now, and slightly darker, and he wonders if that's normal. Of the few men he's seen shirtless, always training under the hot sun of the palace training grounds, he hasn't seen any who look like that. His tapered torso has a new dip in it, where the beginning of his waist is starting to take shape, and he decides he hates it. He doesn't want to change. He likes how he used to look, skinny and sexless and without any of the weird new feelings growing inside of him. His body and his mind have fallen too out of sync, and it's too much to ignore any longer.
He breaks into the infirmary that night.
It's not hard. He's small and quiet, sticking to the walls like a shadow. He watches the on-duty nurse, and spends an hour familiarising himself with her routine. When her back turns, he knows he'll have enough time to pass her by unnoticed, so he does. And, of course, getting out is just as easy.
When Zuko first wraps his chest in stiff bandages, he realises that this could work. It hurts, just a little, but he is no stranger to pain. No, he misses the way he used to feel so free and unrestrained in his movements when he only wore his overclothes against bare skin, but once he starts, he can't stop. He wears them from the moment he steps out of the wash up until he's undressing for his next bath, even allowing himself to stay tightly wrapped in his sleep. It's difficult to breathe most of the time now, and his firebending only suffers more because of it, but he thinks it's worth every moment.
He looks in the mirror now and sees a preteen boy blinking back at him.
One day, he doesn't hear the knock at the door, and Giya enters while Zuko is still partially uncovered. They both shout out in surprise, the woman bowing and muttering apologies while the prince sputters in anger, trying to cover his bare chest with just his hands as the half-wound bandages unravel from his flailing. Suddenly more aware of his body than ever before, he barges through his insecurities to be angry, and he starts yelling in earnest.
He… says a lot of mean things. Things his father or sister might say. The words that come to mind are the ones that he's used to hearing from them, about himself.
Stupid.
Incompetent.
Worthless.
She stands there, eyes lowered, and just takes it. Finally breathless, he turns around to tie the remainder of his chest away. And he regrets saying those things right as they leave his lips, but he's so angry, and she's the perfect outlet for his rage. She's letting him do it, letting him get away with it, and he briefly wonders if this is what true power is like. To do whatever you want, even when you're wrong. For other people to know you're wrong, too, and yet they don't question it. They just live with it.
Daring to break the terse silence, Giya politely begs him not to, saying it's a dangerous practice.
"I knew a man who was disfigured from not using bandages properly, Prince Zuko-"
She keeps talking, but he refuses to take them off, quickly throwing a shirt on so she can't look at him anymore. Red-faced and hair still wet from a bath, with eyes wild in furious embarrassment, Zuko imagines he looks like a mess in more ways than one.
"No! I need to!" he hisses.
"Please, my prince! Your breasts-"
In his humiliation, he throws fire towards her. The flames arc between them, pulsing brightly in warning. Giya flinches away, startled but unharmed.
Shame and mortification creep up Zuko's neck in a red flush, and against his will, tears start to form in the corners of his eyes.
He didn't mean to do that. He didn't mean to- to scare Giya, or hurt her, or-
She just doesn't get it!
He needs this.
A ragged breath slips from the woman's pale lips, and she bows steeply in apology. Unlike the servants that Azula has threatened before, she doesn't scurry away like an insect. She doesn't plead for mercy, or show any fear. Instead, Giya simply walks away, looking more resigned than rattled. It's this break from the norm that leaves Zuko unable to form a single sentence, effectively dismissing her from the room.
He doesn't bother to finish dressing. He goes straight to bed, too upset to speak to anyone the remainder of the day.
The following morning, Giya loudly knocks at the dressing room door. When Zuko, already clothed in his first layer, reluctantly allows her to enter, he notices two narrow garments folded tightly under her arm. With a bow of acknowledgement, she holds them out for his inspection, both sleeveless items a pale cream colour.
"Prince Zuko," she says, words oddly quiet. "Yesterday I requested the tailors make these shirts specifically for you. They spent the day collaborating with a physician's assistant to ensure its safety." She pauses before adding, "They are garments that will help your chest look flat, and without harming you."
In shock, he doesn't say anything. He simply looks at her with his jaw hanging open.
"Please, for the sake of your health, do not wear one in your sleep, my prince," she gushes when it's clear he's not going to reply. "Everyone warned me that a third of the day should be the maximum length these binder vests are worn at any given time."
He is so, so grateful- for her being thoughtful, for her caring enough to go out of her way in ensuring he has all the tools he needs to take this step in his transition. Especially when he had lashed out at her the previous day.
"And," she hesitates. She drops to the ground in a kowtow. "I humbly apologise. You did not give me orders to commission new clothing in your name. And with my speaking out of turn yesterday morning, I understand if you see fit to punish me, Prince Zuko."
His mouth feels dry, but he forces himself to swallow anyway. She had tried to help him, despite his unjust behaviour. He doesn't deserve her kindness.
"Please wait in my main chamber," he says, voice a little detached.
"At once, my prince."
Alone, he nearly tears off the bandages to try on one of the binders. It's a little difficult to slip on over his shoulders first, but it fits comfortably around his torso. His chest isn't flat like a tabletop now- it's more subtle, more discrete. Much like the way a man's chest slopes gently with pectoral muscles beneath the skin. The garment stops towards the lower third of his ribs, leaving room for his diaphragm to fully expand and contract without restraint when he bends. The fabric in the front feels rigid and unyielding, all the better to compress and smooth his chest, with stretchy bandeau material comprising the backside, allowing for the regular rise and fall of his lungs to continue uninterrupted. It's unlike any piece of clothing he's ever seen, producing far better results than he could have ever imagined.
A deep breath while wearing one almost has him in tears. His inner fire spikes with appreciation, and his chi paths fully alight for the first time in what feels like forever. It hurts much less than his previous workaround- it doesn't hurt at all, he realises with a delicious gasp.
Through the door, he thanks her profusely, also apologising for his behaviour the previous day. He is so close to fully crying, only he doesn't, because boys don't cry. Certainly not royal boys.
Fully dressed once more, he calls her back in.
"You said you knew someone," he blurts out, looking at her with hope. "Another male… like me."
"Yes, Prince Zuko," she says, and then she pauses to look away. "My brother."
The boy blinks, stunned. "What?" he nearly shouts before lowering his volume. He doesn't want to scare her off, but his shock can't be contained. "What? He was born like me, and lives as a boy?"
He wants to meet this man, to ask him questions, to fully connect with someone similar. All this time he thought he was alone-
"He did, my prince."
Oh.
At his look of realisation, she nods. "He has since passed."
Kneeling down to gather the bandages bunched up on the floor, she continues, "He would bind with bandages much like these for days on end. It was the only thing he could think of…" She swallows hard. "Some of his ribs started to bruise, worse and worse each time, until one finally cracked. It pierced a lung, and we lived too far in the countryside to reach a physician in time. The town herbalist could only do so much."
"I'm so sorry, Giya," Zuko murmurs, amber eyes big with horror. His heart bleeds in empathy, as he knows all too well how losing a loved one hurts. "I'm… Spirits, that's awful. I shouldn't have- I'm- I'm sorry."
But she only smiles sadly, and says, "Do not be sorry. Sometimes things happen for a reason, my prince. For example, this tragedy in my family must have happened so I could be prepared for this moment 30 years later. So I could be prepared to help you." Her eyes shine with loss. "He would have wanted me to help you. Please, my prince… if you need anything, all you have to do is ask."
"Thank you," he whispers, genuinely touched by both her actions and words. With a small smile, she bows before leaving.
Alone once more, Zuko can't hold it in any longer. He cries, wondering if the reason Giya's brother is dead is the same reason why he has never met anyone else like them. He cries for the loss of a man he never knew, and he cries for the way his life could have just as easily been extinguished. He cries because he feels alone, but maybe a little less so after today.
Word about Zuko spreads quickly, and more so than other pieces of gossip. It's only two days later that his sister confronts him.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she demands, fists on her hips.
"I… didn't know how to tell you," he confesses, suddenly feeling bad to have let her find out in such an impersonal way. They are still siblings, after all. Perhaps he should have trusted her more.
"What were you afraid of? That I'd set you on fire?" she scoffs. "It's not like we're Water Savages, Zuko. You don't need a cock to have power in the Fire Nation." He hides a cringe at her foul language, and instead sends her a harsh glare. Where did she even learn that word, anyway?
"Can you just drop it already?" he grumbles, face burning. He does not want to have this conversation. Not with someone so cold and callous.
"I'm serious, Zuzu," she tells him. "You're so desperate for love and acceptance, and it's actually kind of pathetic. Father's not going to suddenly love you just because you say you're a boy-"
"Shut up!" he roars, smoke rolling from his nostrils.
Father does love him. Father already loves him, and- and that's not why he did any of this, damn it!
For the briefest of moments, a hurt look crosses her face. Just as quickly, however, she schools her expression into one he's much more familiar with. Now she looks almost bored, like she's too above him to care anymore.
"Whatever you say, Brother," she drawls, before stalking away. Even a word that feels so good against Zuko's ears feels so, so demeaning when coming from Azula's lips. He supposes her anger at him- at being left out of the loop- is her strange way of showing that she cares.
He shakes his head. He doesn't understand Azula- he doesn't understand people- and he'll just have to accept that he never will.
Uncle doesn't say anything. Zuko thought this reaction would be worse- to not acknowledge that something has shifted at all. And as the old man pours two cups for their first afternoon tea since his coming out, Zuko panics, because maybe Uncle doesn't know. Maybe he hasn't heard. Maybe Zuko will have to tell him, and it was so hard, so terrifying just to get the words out the first time, and he doesn't know if he can-
"Here you go, Prince Zuko," Iroh says, and Zuko looks up, stunned, to meet the man's soft expression. "It's Jasmine. Your favourite."
By 'favourite,' Uncle of course means, 'the brew Zuko is the least disgusted by,' but the child can't muster up the energy to complain. His eyes fill with tears at the simple affirmation, and he averts his eyes to take a sip. The old man is still smiling- smiling just how Lu Ten had smiled at him all those years ago, in the older boy's dressing room.
Zuko can feel it from the burning in his cheeks, to the somersaults in his stomach, to the stinging behind his eyes. He realises that surely Uncle must know about his stint with Lu Ten's old undershorts- that Uncle had already put all of the pieces together, probably even before Zuko had.
"Thank you, Uncle," he replies, gesturing to the cup in his hand, but he's not talking about the tea.
"You are most welcome, Nephew," Iroh murmurs, and he doesn't even try to hide the honest affection in his voice. "I will always love you."
Not everyone takes the news as well.
The next day, Mai turns away from him in the hallway. Ty Lee hesitates, before telling him, "I'm sorry, Zuko," and she sounds like she means it. "Our parents said we're not allowed to play with you anymore." She pauses, a sad tilt to her big eyes. "You understand, right?"
He doesn't, but he just gives the girls a strained smile before turning away without another word. He walks away from them before they can fully walk away from him. He thought that maybe it would hurt less that way, but it doesn't. It still hurts- a lot. Especially when he knows, deep down, that they were never really his friends in the first place.
Quite a few of the guards avoid him, as well as the nobles who traverse the palace grounds. He pretends not to notice, and it's hard, pretending, but Zuko holds his head up high anyway.
Never forget who you are.
It's the mantra that gets him through the day.
Even on the rare occasion where someone throws nasty words his way, he refuses to apologise for being himself. He fights right back with words, asserting his role as crown prince. He's laughed at, and sneered at, and even downright ignored. But in holding onto his convictions, the rumours live on, and they end up reaching the right ears.
When the head royal physician hears about it two weeks later, the man approaches Zuko. Startled, and even a little suspicious at first, the boy reluctantly agrees to meet the man in his office. Before he knows it, he's sitting in the back of the infirmary, on a plush cushion in a private office, being handed a glass jar of something that looks like flour.
Physician Tah gives him strict instructions. He's told that he'll have to be seen regularly to adjust the dosage as needed. Apparently his skin will change too, which is weird, because flour shouldn't be able to give people acne, right? He's given a lot of information, a lot of odd things to look out for- things to don't make any sense. It's a lot to take in all at once, and Tah is quite the talker, but he does interrupt the man just long enough to ask the most important questions.
"What is this?" Zuko says, examining the small jar of powder. "What are you talking about?"
Looking bewildered, the physician replies as if the answer should have been obvious. "It is jisu. To masculinise you, my prince."
Well, Zuko hadn't been expecting that. "What?" he says, completely flabbergasted.
"I apologise, my prince. I heard you were- ah, it would seem that the information given to me is not correct in regards to you requesting this service." He clears his throat, somewhat nervously.
"You- what?" Zuko said, brow furrowed in confusion. "I know people say bad things about me, but- what service? What is jisu?"
"Oh! I- well, ah, if you didn't ask for it- perhaps you're a little young-" Tah looks a little sheepish, but Zuko just crosses his arms and scowls.
"I'm 11," he shoots back, incensed by the accusation. "I'm not too young for anything. Now explain!"
With a hesitant smile, the physician starts. "Well, jisu is-" he pauses, considering his words more carefully. "You see, after we reach a certain point in our lives, the bodies of both men and women begin to fall out of balance. Conceiving another heir may become difficult, for example." Tah takes the jar back from Zuko, then rattles it a little, allowing the powder to ripple across the glass. "Well, it's not uncommon for older folks of the courts to supplement their body's natural production of the energies responsible. This type of energy, be it to masculinise or feminise, is called jisu." He straightens a little, his smile growing, as though sharing a well-guarded secret. "Ensuring heirs later on in life was only its original purpose, though-"
"Why are you telling me all this?" Zuko interrupts, looking suspicious, and rightly so. "What does any of this have to do with me?"
"You see, as a child, I was very sick for a time," the old man starts, and Zuko sits back, a little exasperated. Old people like Tah- like Uncle, like Grandmother- enjoy telling long, boring stories. So if Zuko wants answers, he has to prepare himself for the anecdote.
"A bad outbreak of pentapox reached my village," Tah says. "Have you ever seen someone with pentapox? The face swells along the sides of the jaw and in front of the ears. It gives an odd and very distinct appearance, like having a pentapus stuck to each side of your jaw, hence the name. And since it is a pox, there are, of course, red marks across the skin." The physician takes a seat across from Zuko, looking almost lost in thought for a moment. Zuko, however, remains unimpressed, and he shows it with a glare.
"Anyways, in short? Healers believe the illness damaged one or both of my testicles as a boy."
That gets an uncomfortable reaction out of Zuko. He shrinks back a little in his seat, and Tah misinterprets the look on his face. "You see, the testicles typically sit in a flesh sack beneath the penis," he begins to explain. "They are the source of male energies-"
"I know all that!" Zuko snaps, flustered, because he does not want to talk about boy parts. "I just- ugh. Just get on with the story already!"
Tah merely laughs, and Zuko scowls in indignation. It's not at all childish to be embarrassed by such things. People aren't just supposed to talk about these things in the open like Tah does, is all!
"Well, as I entered my teen years, I did not begin to form like other boys. I looked and sounded too feminine," Tah continues. "Right up until I was given jisu treatments."
Heart practically stopping, Zuko leans forward in his seat, attention now captured. This story clearly did have a purpose.
"So, it's an option for someone like you to acquire certain male traits by taking male jisu," Tah finishes, hands folded neatly in his lap. "If people like myself can benefit from it, you may, too."
"Wait. So, you're saying that if I take jisu," Zuko says, amber eyes brimming with excitement, "I will become a boy in the way that other boys are?"
The smile on Tah's face falters. "There are many things jisu can do, my prince," he says very carefully. "But there are also many things it cannot do."
"What do you mean?"
"Male jisu isn't commonly given to born-females, and female jisu isn't commonly given to born-males. However, there is enough documentation for us to know what changes to expect, and what to not expect. For example, you will not grow testicles or a penis," the physician adds, pretending to not have noticed the boy's flinch.
"There are parts of you that jisu cannot change- things that were set in stone long before you left your mother's womb. It will not solve all your problems, but it can certainly help. My role as a physician is to help others in any way I can, and to improve the quality of life my patients experience. I am well-known throughout the city for my uniquely successful treatments." His voice softens a little as he searches Zuko's eyes. "Not only would not offering this knowledge to you be a stain on my honour, but I have watched you grow up, Prince Zuko. I only wish to keep you happy and healthy."
Tah doesn't even know Zuko that well, but he really seems to care. He doesn't seem to be solely loyal due to Zuko's title. It seems as though Tah actually just… wants him to be okay.
And Zuko wants to be okay. He doesn't want to be sad anymore. He wants to be okay. He wants to be enough. He wants to be something more than he already is.
"Please," he begs, his eyes bright with longing once more. Then he bows, much lower than he should as a prince showing respect to an individual of lower standing. "I don't want to be… who I am now. I want to be the real me. I want to be Zuko."
The kind old man smiles. "Please, my prince," he replies, ushering the boy to sit up. "The real Prince Zuko has been here all along. He just needed a little extra time to ripen."
It's such a ridiculous statement that Zuko can't help it. He laughs. He laughs so hard he cries. But then it's just crying, and he doesn't quite know why the tears keep coming, but maybe, just maybe, they aren't all sad tears.
Within months of taking his supplements under heavy supervision, Zuko's body starts to transform. His voice starts to deepen, breaking on nearly every other word. He's hungrier than ever, and the heat gets to him more quickly than it usually does.
Strangest of all, though, he wakes on most mornings with the trickle of half-dried fluid between his thighs, a delightfully slick, if not somewhat gross, feeling. In tandem, the instinctual urge to grind against a pillow to relieve the throbbing in his groin always makes itself known, which he does only after much hesitation. It seems to both relax him and get him worked up at the same time, even if he stops before his pleasure can be fully sated. The sensation, when built too high, alarms him.
Iroh laughs, much to Zuko's displeasure. He scowls, thighs pressed tightly together.
"I am not making fun of you, Prince Zuko," Iroh assures him. "I have just never heard it described in such a way before. That is all."
Uncle Iroh had been oddly accepting upon hearing the rumours about Zuko, so it only felt natural that the boy could trust his uncle with something… just as odd.
Still frowning, Zuko looks pointedly at his bare feet. "So, if it's not some kind of urine, then what's coming out? Why does it feel like I need to use the toilet?"
At this, Iroh's grin slides from his face, and he looks… well, Zuko would say he looks uncomfortable, but that can't be possible. He's never actually seen anything bother his uncle before.
Taking a seat by his nephew's side, Iroh clears his throat. Zuko sits on the edge of his bed in just a sleep shirt and a fresh pair of undershorts. Crumpled up on the floor is the pair of underpants Zuko had initially worn to sleep, the damp spot at the crotch being the source of his mortification. Iroh just looks at the garment for a moment, then finally turns to Zuko.
"I believe it may be arousal. It only means your body is interested in sex, Prince Zuko," he says gently, a faint trace of embarrassment visible in his soft expression.
A furious blush blooms across the boy's fair skin.
At 12 years old, Zuko becomes painfully shy around most women, and he finds himself full of very lewd thoughts concerning them. While he's not allowed to interact with Mai and Ty Lee, he still sees them when they visit Azula, and there is certainly no shortage of attractive women around the palace, both servants and noblewomen alike. He's caught glimpses of perky breasts bouncing with sudden movements; how a full, round bottom will strain against fitted robes when a noblewoman bends to seat herself. He sees how loose clothing catches on broad hips and long necks when servants bustle around him. He notices every line, every curve, every shape; new to his eyes, though he knows they've been there his whole life.
These thoughts- and the dreams, oh, don't even get him started on the dreams- often leave his private parts wet, and now it's starting to show through his underwear. He initially wanted to ask Giya, because he thought maybe this was an anatomy issue, but he talked himself out of it. To have her, a woman, speak to him about such an intimate body part would surely be unbearable. Hence, Zuko had sent an urgent summons for Iroh at such a late hour. After all, it's not as though Ozai would be keen to tell Zuko these things.
"Has this ever happened while you are awake?" Iroh finally asks. "A lot of fluid comes out all at once?"
Zuko shakes his head. "It's- when I'm awake, sometimes it's there. Like a slow… trickle." He grimaces, embarrassed beyond words. "When I woke up just now, though, there was a lot, so…"
So, he got scared and called for Uncle's help.
"Well," the old man says slowly, as if still figuring out what he wanted to say. "I must admit, I do not know much about how your particular body would work during this stage of life."
Zuko sighed. "Figures," he muttered, kicking his legs aimlessly. He just has to be different, doesn't he? If Zuko had just been born male, this would all be so much less confusing.
His body is a traitor.
"Now, don't be so hard on yourself," the old man lightly admonishes. "While I am unfamiliar as to whether or not this frequently happens with young women, I can tell you for certain that such emissions are very normal for boys your age. That seems to be all this is, or something similar, I'm sure," Iroh chuckles. "You see, physicians believe that men must purge stale seed from their bodies in order to stay fertile. So, when young men do not pleasure themselves manually, the body does so on its own, usually during sleep-"
"Wait, wait, wait," Zuko interrupts, scrunching his nose in confusion. "What do you mean by that? Doing what manually?"
Iroh clears his throat, looking more than a little uncomfortable now.
And to his immense satisfaction, Zuko experiences his first climax later that night, sheets soaked in sweat, naked limbs lazily sprawled across his bed. Still panting, Zuko looks at his hand, sticky with his own juices as well as the contents of a vial Iroh had given him shortly after their talk. With a start, he realises the very same oil he'd found in Lu Ten's room all those years ago must have been for a similar reason as well.
He understands now. This touching-yourself business feels incredible. Though he's still cringing that Uncle had to actually brief him on the concept, when apparently most boys figure it out on instinct alone, he's grateful.
Maybe this talk would have been easier with his mother still around.
His eyes slide shut, and suddenly the high starts to wane from his glowing skin.
No, his mother is gone, and his remaining parent paints himself to be a very unapproachable figure.
While his left wrist aches from his enthusiasm that night, his right hurts for another reason entirely. The bruises there have not yet faded since Fire Lord Ozai ordered his children's firebending instructor to use harsher punishments. Usually, whenever Zuko messes up, he gets a minor blow- one to the shins Lately, though, Master Yusu has been reprimanding him more frequently and with more force, hauling him out of a form by the wrist, or even giving Zuko the occasional smack to the back of his head.
Little does Zuko know his last training session at the palace will be the worst to come.
The 13-year-old boy cries out as hot hands wrap around both of his still-tender wrists, Master Yusu's breath hitting his cheeks as the man leans in. Zuko looks up at his firebending instructor, mind racing as he tries to figure out what mistake in his form could have invoked another beating. Before he can ask, however, the press of Yusu's lips against his own causes his body to jolt in alarm.
The urge to protect himself shoots through Zuko's spine, and heat jumps to his fingertips. Head jerking back, he gasps out a breath.
"How dare you-"
Yusu clamps down harder on his dominant side, twisting it away from his body. The action dissipates Zuko's chi, and only smoke sputters out of his left hand. He tumbles to the concrete when a knee meets his abdomen, and a sharp cry of pain leaves his throat.
Out of breath, Zuko can only watch in horror as Yusu descends on him, straddling him with powerful thighs.
He can't think. He can't yell, or even move. He's just frozen for a long moment as he stares up at the middle-aged man. A man the Fire Lord himself entrusted to train his children.
Oh, spirits- has this happened to Azula?!
Puffs of smoke escape his nostrils, and suddenly the need to protect his baby sister overrides his fear. Zuko struggles and thrashes against Yusu, ripping a cruel laugh from the man's throat. Yusu leans down to steal another kiss, and ends up slobbering against Zuko's cheek when the boy sharply turns his head away.
"Don't fight it, Princess," Master Yusu says, and a chill runs through Zuko's body as the implications finally hit him. He has known Yusu for many years... including a few years when he still presented as a girl. Which means Yusu must have a pretty good idea of what lies beneath Zuko's clothes.
A primal fear fills the young teen, and he violently bucks his hips upward out of a desperate need to get Yusu off of him. He knows what this is now- he knows how Yusu is thinking of him.
But the older man just holds on tighter, leaning forward so that his centre of gravity rests above Zuko's hips, unaffected by the motion. As though eager to respond nonetheless, the master firebender rubs his groin into the prince's stomach, his hard arousal skating across Zuko's thin training shirt. The foreign appendage, once so intriguing, now only fills the prince with dread.
Bristling at the man's boldness, Zuko finds his voice. "Get the fuck away from me!" he growls.
Copper-coloured eyes drift down Zuko's face, through his neck, and over his torso. The gaze lingers too long at the tiny triangle of flesh bared by the base of the boy's throat.
"I can't wait to find out how much you've grown. Hard to believe you're almost a woman already," Yusu continues, and Zuko knows without a doubt now that his suspicions are true. Teeth graze the side of the collar of the child's shirt, before placing quick kisses against the exposed skin just above. "Tell me. Have you bled yet?"
"Stop it!" Zuko yells, twisting his head away.
"You can pretend to be a boy, but we both know it isn't a cock of your own that you really want," the voice above him insists. "You just need a good fuck, and you'll be good as new."
Yusu's hold loosens as he reaches for the boy's sash.
"Well, not new, of course," he grins. "You'll be used. Broken in, just a little-"
With speed and strength he didn't know he possessed, Zuko's right hand whips through the air, breaking free from Yusu's grip and punching him square in the face. The older man's head snaps back with an audible crunch, blood gushing from his nose. The moment of distraction is enough, though. Yusu lets go of Zuko instinctively, hands reaching for his face.
"You fucking whore-!" He's cut off abruptly when Zuko shoves him away, scrambling to his feet. All his life, he's been taught to stand and fight- that only cowards run. But he is a child, and as much as his breath control has improved recently, he can't hope to best a master.
If this were a regular fight, then he could try. But Yusu wants- Yusu wants him. Yusu wants to invade Zuko, defile him, steal his virtue, and dismantle the sanctity of his autonomy.
Zuko runs.
Feet pound after him in the distance, but he's smaller, and faster. He also grew up in this palace, and he remembers getting dragged on adventures of Hide and Explode with Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee. Locating a servants' passage, he ducks in, bare feet carrying him quickly.
Giya and Iroh make close allies. In retrospect, Zuko should have tried to find one of them instead, or he could have at least tried to hide in Iroh's chambers. But the child inside him runs for his father- his protector. Soon enough, he stands at the front of the throne room, sweaty and disheveled. And when the Fire Lord, in the middle of a war meeting, holds up a hand to silence the speaking general, Zuko takes this as his cue to start talking.
The men present listen in silence, their attention fully focused on the distraught prince. Master Yusu is well regarded across the Capital, and they have all met him. Surely, they need to know he's an ignorant bastard- a monster! Horror flashes clear across Iroh's face, eyes flickering down the boy's chest, and Zuko remembers that blood still stains his scarlet training clothes in dark blotches.
Fire Lord Ozai listens, face hard.
Because he cares, he cares about Zuko, he cares that Zuko is hurting-
When Zuko finishes his story, he turns slightly to see Yusu just two feet away, on the ground in a kneel as he waits for his turn to speak. He must've finally tracked down the prince in the middle of the tale.
But the golden eyes of the Fire Lord do not leave his son's face.
Zuko takes in the expressions of everyone before him, their brows furrowed in outrage despite the stoic masks they try to wear. And the boy thinks himself grateful to have so many people who care.
He thinks for once in his life that maybe he is lucky, after all.
With less than an hour before his Agni Kai, the Fire Sages bicker about what Zuko should wear. Tradition dictates men to fight bare-chested, and the prince outright declares he will not do so. Despite being on jisu, his chest has continued to develop, much to his dismay, and he can't stomach the thought of baring himself to the world in such a manner. The thought of baring himself to Yusu, especially, makes him want to throw up.
The Sages agree. To force a young woman to expose herself in such a manner would be dishonourable, they say.
"I am not a woman," Zuko snaps.
The women's wear for such a duel involves a specially designed halter top, the upper-arm bands interwoven with the sides of the cloth. The Sages eagerly share this idea, to which Zuko also refuses.
"Are you all deaf? I am not a woman!" he asserts. After an awkward silence where none of the Sages know how to respond, they resume their discussion, still no closer to a solution.
Zuko is not a woman, and he certainly doesn't look like one, either. His hips have stayed fairly narrow, with muscle filling in the slight curves of his waist, and he has no desire for any feminine part of him to be seen by anyone. With all four of the brand-new hairs below his collarbone, he thinks himself quite manly already. Not even the area between his legs, hidden by nature's design as well as thick curls, can make him feel like a girl- not when he can pleasure himself just as well as any other teenage boy.
No, it's really only the stubborn fat on his chest that makes him self-conscious. Even more so now that he realises there are people out there like Yusu. There are people out there who do not care who he is- they only see the body he was born with. Yes, Zuko makes plenty of people uncomfortable by challenging their perception of gender, but he never thought- well, he had never thought it could result in violence. He had never thought about the possibility of someone actually hurting him-
He had never thought about dying- literally risking his life in a fire duel- to obtain the most basic level of respect he should be afforded. Now, that's exactly what he must do.
Finally, after much arguing, all the Fire Sages settle on allowing Zuko to use sarashi- an ancient form of breast covering still used by savages like the Water Tribes.
The long, cotton strip tied around him pulls at the small pinches of fat next to his armpits, but Zuko ignores it. Like a bandeau, his chest is somewhat pressed down, but it doesn't constrict his breathing like medical bandages. The material is also nowhere near as good a concealer as the binder he usually wears, so it's still incredibly obvious to everyone what lies underneath. He feels really exposed, but his honour is on the line. His very existence as a male had been challenged, and his safety has been compromised by a trusted mentor. If the sarashi is the only compromise afforded to him, he will have to accept it.
Standing in the small back room he has been relegated to for preparation, Zuko flexes his hands, knuckles cracking. He has to swallow the anxiety at the idea that countless acquaintances will see him so immodestly dressed, many of them much older men. Yet he has no real choice. Not only did he interrupt an important war council, but he showed cowardice in running from Yusu's assault instead of fighting. One of these things on its own may have been overlooked, but combined, he knows his actions can not go unpunished, lest others see their Fire Lord as weak-willed. He knows Father only wants to give Zuko a chance to redeem himself.
Now, however, he must face his assailant in a formal duel. The thought of seeing his former instructor again, and so soon, sends a shiver of apprehension down Zuko's spine. But he has no choice. He must stand and fight Master Yusu like a man.
When Zuko turns around, he feels even more grateful for the wrappings around his chest. Maybe then no one will see how wildly his heart pounds, trying to tear free of its cage at the sight of his father.
He knows it's not okay to cry, but the tears fall anyway. Zuko drops to the cold, hard tile beneath them, refusing to fight the man who means everything to him.
"Please," he begs, voice cracking pitifully. "I am your loyal son…" More words come from his mouth, but none of them matter.
The tears evaporate when Father sets his face on fire.