Far From The Tree: Part 3/3
Original credit for the idea and background still belongs to avocado_love. I would love to know what you've thought about this story, and if you think that anything should have happened differently. "What if..." is one of my favorite questions when it comes to stories, and I usually can go into far too much detail about why I chose A instead of B or C.
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Zuko showed them the way. He pointed out the Western Air Temple's fountains, the water closet, and the best bedrooms. He found the broken remnants of the kitchen, and a practice field. When he finally stopped wandering, and found the room where they had stored all belongings, the bedroll designated as his was missing. He found it a minute later, in the large room that everyone was sharing.
Katara and Aang were against one wall, their bedrolls touching and Katara’s waterskins at her side. Sokka was snoring gently along the adjacent wall, being outdone completely by a loudly snoring Toph that had curled in the corner closest to Aang. The last of the bedrolls was perfect. It had been laid out near the door, with plenty of space between him and the others. None of them would be able to trap him in a corner, and he’d be out the door before anyone made it all the way across the rough stone floor that sounded (but didn’t feel) like the cave.
Sokka, he diagnosed, looking at the wrinkled condition of the bedroll. Katara wouldn’t know just why the placement was so important, she wouldn’t leave it wrinkled and crooked, and she wouldn’t look away from Aang until he woke up. Toph would have left telltale smudges of dirt, and she wouldn’t know this much about him already. Sokka knew where Zuko would want to be, and maybe it was a little signal that their bargain would work.
Everything about this place was still a novelty. Zuko was dressed in clean clothing (Katara had looked him over long enough to make him shift awkwardly before she found him a set of well-fitted Earth Kingdom clothing) as he climbed into the clean, soft bedroll. The small pillow was an unmatched extravagance, and someone had left a neat cloth-wrapped packet of dried fruit on top of the pillow while he was looking through the Air Temple’s many abandoned hallways.
To make everything about the night better, La’s light reached in through the east-facing window, as if she was reassuring him that she’d done her best. He would always miss Uncle, and he would always hate the Chief for what he had done, but he wouldn’t hate Katara and Sokka. He’d probably like them, as well as Toph and Aang, and maybe he could pay his debt by showing Aang how to firebend. Zuko could show the movements just as well as anyone that still had fire, once he had his muscle strength and his stamina back, and Aang wasn’t likely to find a teacher more familiar with Ozai’s fighting style.
“If you haven’t moved on yet, Uncle, I hope that you can watch over me,” he whispered to the moon. “I’ll do my best, but…” He stared out at the sky for what seemed like half the night before continuing.
“I miss you, and your stupid proverbs, and your tea, and saying things that didn't make sense for months. I... you said that honor wasn't what anyone said, or what people did to...” He curled his arms closer, feeling the sleeves that covered even the backs of his hands. “You said that children never deserve cruelty.” Uncle had only said it once, just a month after the Agni Kai, and Zuko had been too young and too angry to realize just what that meant. Children never deserve cruelty. It sounded so simple, but it meant that he hadn’t deserved what happened to him.
And if Ozai had no right to hurt him… how could he ever doubt his uncle? He said things that had the power to help him three and a half years later, and starting the next morning he planned to write down every single saying that he could remember. Ozai had been cruel, and Zuko hadn’t deserved it. It didn’t matter that he’d spoken out of turn in a meeting, or that his father saw dissent as a shame. It didn’t matter that he was the prince of the Fire Nation, even. He was still a child, by years, and no one had the right to be cruel to him. There was no more entitlement to abuse an adult, but there was no one in the world that could seriously defend the way that Ozai or the Water Tribe had treated a child.
Children do not deserve cruelty, and neither did adults. Neither did someone on the border between childhood and maturity. His uncle wouldn’t be mad at him for surviving, and maybe living through it had been his only way to fight. Now, Zuko could make his own way. He could help Aang bring balance to the world, and maybe someday he could help stop cruelty in the Fire Nation. Uncle should have been the next Fire Lord, but that responsibility would fall to Zuko now. He wouldn’t help the Avatar because Sokka had saved him. Zuko would help because this was what he wanted to do, and it did feel better to act when your desires and your duties coincided-just like Uncle had said, even if he had talked about silks and linen and then tea again.
Fire Nation should not be an entirely separate part of the world, just as the Water Tribe and Kingdom shouldn’t be full isolated. Agni and La were sisters. Even with clouds obscuring the moon’s face, Zuko could feel the small strength that the best of firebenders would draw out from moonlight.
“Good night, Uncle.” 'I love you' was still unspoken, but Uncle always said spirits were different. Even thinking the words let some of the long-seated tension drain from the muscles in his shoulders and back. “There’s still a lot for me to do here.”
Drowsily thinking about the future let him slip into dreams with no fear, even with a stone wall all too near and the moonlight damped entirely by clouds. The next morning, Agni brought with her a familiar stirring deep in his core. He pushed himself into a sitting position, and drew Agni’s flame into himself. Later, he would follow his uncle’s advice and find the dragons, but now…
Some intuition led Zuko to stand, bracing himself against the wall as he drew breaths down to his core. No flames had reached his fingers, or even spread down past his shoulders, but he could feel the glowing warmth of chi spreading through his body again. He was still one of Agni’s children, and he could almost hear his uncle’s approving words for mastering some new technique. He was going to heal, and he was going to manage that with the Chief’s two children as his friends.