Sun shining down on gracefully swaying dancers, birds singing in the blue sky, even a breeze stirring the leaves of the trees lining the periphery of the courtyard.
It is a perfect day. The ceremonial dancers, elegant and colorful, smile as they turn and sway, their movements pregnant with joy and possibility. Aang, of course, had been the one to suggest that Zuko reinstate the dancing.
It is his birthday.
Zuko remembers cold, filthy beds and hot tea and wisdom it took him too long to accept and being young and fierce and a nameless traveler.
His robes and his crown, even the heavy knot of his hair, everything feels like it's weighing him down, closing in over him, suffocating him.
Zuko closes his eyes and breathes.