Hey guys! This is my first ever non-comedic fic! So please give some feedback with reviews! My other fics for this fandom are "The Aangover" which is pretty self-explanatory as well a crossover with Harry Potter called "Water: In Time and Time" so feel free to check those out too (though just a warning I'm suffering acute writer's block with both of them). The song used to inspire this fic is "I'm Not My Father's Son" from the musical Kinky Boots and I don't own that or Avatar: the Last Airbender. Here's a link to the song:
watch?v=1q3zmi2iM5w
At the beginning of his reign came a brief month of uncomfortableness in Zuko's life. Not only was being firelord a difficult duty, but the movement of all his father's possessions as well as the upcoming war trials brought back memories of a painful childhood. One of guilt one of loneliness. One of effort that came to no avail. One of disappointment and a sense of failure to be the man his father was. To be powerful, to be in control, to be feared.
Zuko remembered mimicking his father's movements as a young boy. He mimicked the way his father walked. He mimicked the way his father bended fire. He mimicked the way his father snapped cruelly at the servants and the way he smirked arrogantly down his nose at the nobles of the court. Despite all his efforts, however, Zuko could never be like his father. He didn't have the talent to bend and fight the way his father did, and his heart was too "soft" to be cruel to others in his father's cold way. Even though Zuko tried, to his father he was essentially useless.
In the Fire Nation, power was power and strength was strength, and to the Royal Family, this meant even more. Because Zuko "lacked" the power and prowess Azula had on the battle field and the court, his father at first had been "willing" to look into another alternative for Zuko to find his strength. The art of the sword, he decided, was the perfect choice for his son.
Zuko liked sword fighting, sure, and he excelled at it. However, he was not a master at it, and, according to his father, Master Piandao's lessons of mercy and surrender were weak.
At least after his lessons, Zuko had a talent his sister didn't possess. He fit in better amongst the noble children. He was strong. It gave him a smile to think back on that. A sad smile.
Talk of peace and love and friendship were things Ozai didn't want his children to think about. Zuko, however thought about it a lot, and on that fateful day in the war meeting finally spoke up with compassion. He expected his father to be proud of that decision, but instead of seeing a strong man who fought for others rights, he saw a weakling, afraid to fight an enemy in an Agni Kai.
Zuko remembered how his own father burned his face, leaving him for dead. He remembered how he believed for such a long time that he deserved his scar. He remembered how he believed his exile a fitting punishment for his outspokenness. He remembered the despair and self-loathing. He remembered the pain.
There was a continuing sense of hopelessness in those three long years of wandering. Hopelessness coming from a singular knowledge that he failed in his father's eyes. That he wasn't like his father. That he was lucky to be born while his sister was born lucky. He believed the facts to be true; he "knew" them to be true.
Following those years were a few months of hunt, half a year of wandering, and finally sickly sweet regaining of his "honor."
But it really wasn't his honor, now was it?
It took about a month and a half for Zuko to finally realize that fact. A month and a half of facades. A month and a half of secrets. A month and a half of guilt. And when he felt his father's lighting rush through him, he felt a final peace settle into his soul. A sense of purpose that only grew stronger as he joined the Avatar, and fought his sister, and made his coronation speech.
Zuko was finally independent, finally himself, finally free.