Chapter Text
Piandao's only student to have not yet been a denarian when he commenced training had been a very strange child indeed.
He had first come with his cousin, as a small child of four or five. Even then, the kid had shown a keen interest in the sword, mimicking his cousin's strikes and parries. Back then, he'd been bright and lively and, though Piandao would never dream of saying this to the boy's face, absolutely adorable.
A couple of years later, he came back, for his own training this time. It was only on the request of General Iroh, Prince Lu Ten's father and the boy's uncle, that he even agreed to train him at all. Typically, he required his students to be at least 13 years of age, as understanding what it meant to wield a weapon required a certain level of maturity.
Prince Zuko was not your typical seven year old.
Piandao noticed the difference in the boy almost instantly. The child's previous playfulness and mischief had almost entirely disintegrated; instead, in their place cowered fear and hurt. If the first time Zuko attempted a new skill wasn't perfect, he would flinch back, and apologise profusely, hands shaking and eyes wide with terror when Piandao didn't strike him with his stick.
It wasn't hard to imagine what kind of teachers were employed by the royal family. It wasn't hard to imagine kicking their butts with his sword, either.
In the beginnings of his training, the young Prince would work himself to the bone, trying to learn increasingly advanced sets at a rate that was sustainable for no one, let alone a seven year old. After Zuko had nearly passed out from exhaustion one day on the training field, Piandao resolved to find out what was causing him to push himself like this, and hopefully to teach him the meaning of rest.
He'd gotten his answer from Zuko. The boy revealed that he was not considered a good firebender by his royal tutors, and that he was considered an even worse student. He'd explained, with a fevered, tearful desperation that shouldn't belong to a child so young, that he had to master the sword in order to compensate for his weakness in, as he'd put it, everything useful.
Piandao already disliked those bastard tutors, but after that particular revelation, he loathed them. Alongside swordsmanship training, he taught Zuko painting, which he excelled in, an artist's flair rendering life into the landscapes around Shu Jing. calligraphy, which revealed Zuko's ambidexterity, each letter carefully printed with the left hand and then reflected perfectly by the right, and most importantly the art of patience, although that did very little to cure the boy of his burning impatience. That at least was expected, Piandao supposed, for a little boy. He supposed Prince Zuko might learn best in that particular area from time herself.
Over time, Zuko learnt to rest, to treat his body with deserved respect. He progressed rapidly, and in a much more healthy way, with his training in the art of the sword. The boy, Piandao quickly discovered, was something of a prodigy in swordwielding. In less than a year's time, he had progressed to a highly advanced level with the dual dao for his age and experience.
(Once, after finding out from the boy's mother, Ursa, that he dearly loved the theatre, Piandao had secretly taken the boy to a rendition of "the shadow of the solistice" performed by a local theatre troop. A few weeks later, he caught Zuko sneaking into his library, silent as the play's protagonist, Ta Mei, the ninja who stole the golden eyeglasses from right under the King's nose).
(He asked Ursa, once, to request that Azula be educated in the way of the sword as well. From Zuko's descriptions, Azula seemed an exceptional child, who had been endlessly impressed and annoyed by Zuko being able to fight with swords while she couldn't. It would be good for the siblings to learn the art of the sword together, and not in competition with the other for once. The Fire Lord shut it down. Azula stopped being awed by her brother's sword skills.)
Over the course of two years of weekends, Piandao watched as Prince Zuko grew into something close to a master, and something close to a child. Over the course of two years of weekends, Piandao found himself becoming protective of the sparky child that rested in his care during weekends, and Zuko slowly began to relax and enjoy himself during his weekends in Shu Jing.
After Ursa vanished, it started to become the only thing he looked forward to. Even if his father was neverendingly cruel, even if Azula was becoming less and less friendly to him everyday...at least he had an escape, here. There were swords and theatre scrolls and there was no fear of messing up in front of some stuffy nobles.
Of course, good things never last. Piandao waved goodbye to 12 year old Zuko one stormy autumn evening, lightning reflecting off the pale prince's face, turning cheeks rounded with baby fat haggard in it's harsh illumination.
Unbeknownst to any of them, Prince Zuko would never come back.
(Zuko, though, just might.)