Chapter Text
The First Prince of the Empire of Eternal Flame was born in the Pei Zhi Era in the Year of the Dragon, on the ninth day of the seventh month. More commonly known as the Empire's darkest day. Because of this, the First Prince's birth was seen as an ill-omen, and the Emperor nearly ordered the First Prince's death as an infant, but was tempered by the kind will of the Empress.
Despite urging the Emperor to allow their sons living, the Empress refused to name her son until the birth of the First Princess on the illustrious day of the solstice, the longest day in over a hundred years. It was then that the Emperor announced the birth of the First Prince and Princess to the public, and the children were named.
Zuko and Azula, the Empress decided. 'Zuko' to symbolize prosperity and ambition, and 'Azula' to honor the late Emperor, Azulon, who she'd killed in cold blood just a few years earlier, to earn her place in a court she did not belong in, and marry a man she did not love.
Nevertheless, the Empress loved her children, and taught them the benefits of compassion, despite discouragement from the Emperor, a man who'd clearly never known love himself.
To the Emperor, the children were nothing but an extension of himself, of the Empire. To the Empress, they were people in the making, and the she refused to allow her offspring to suffer the same fate as their father. She swore against it, the day she looked into her son's crimson-brown eyes and saw her own tearful reflection.
Little did the Empress know, in twenty-some years, the First Prince would suffer a fate much like her own.
Zuko didn't like his birthday.
Wait, no, actually, scratch that—he hated it.
His birthday might be the single worst day of the year, if not because of the ever looming threat of the Crowning, then because it was the one day where every problem somehow got worse. The twitchy servants avoided him, Azula always made sure to dial the antagonizing comments up a hundred notches, Father watched his every step with even more disdain than usual, and the kitchen refused to even make his favorite dish.
Truly a day from the darkest pits of hell.
He understood now why everyone had tried so hard to hide the true date of his birth from him as a child, this day was nothing but cursed. Sometimes he wondered what his life might have looked like if he hadn't stumbled stupidly into his mother's bedroom on that fateful day. Zuko doesn't even remember what it was he wanted to tell his mother, only recalls the cold horror of learning that he didn't really share a birthday with his sister—as everyone said he did—and the numb feeling of understanding how much sense it made.
The avoidant servants, Father's vaguely disgusted looks, Mother's guilty smiles. All on one seemingly normal day. It was so stupidly obvious, Zuko was half-sure Azula had figured it out before him. The only person who acted normal around him on his birthday was Uncle Iroh. Zuko hadn't spent all that much time with his uncle in the grand scheme of things, considering Iroh's position as General, but the man was always suspiciously willing to take a day off when it was Zuko's birthday. A lot of Zuko's best memories as a child were with Uncle Iroh.
Too bad he was dead.
The reminder of Uncle Iroh's unprecedented death soured Zuko's mood even further, he was already dreading the mean-spirited lectures he was bound to receive throughout the day. Zuko tied off his gold-threaded sash and faced his reflection. A stranger stared back, as usual. Recognizable features were strewn across his face—his mother's eyes, his father's arched eyebrows. Gentle planes and a strong jaw.
None of it resonated with him, made him want to look in the mirror and stare in awe at his reflection, as his sister seemed so fond of doing. Zuko huffed and turned away, before he did something stupid and temperamental, like break the mirror. Which he totally hadn't done before. On multiple occasions.
After strolling through halls that weren't empty before he'd began walking through them, Zuko arrived in front of the grand doors to the throne room. The guards standing sentry in bulky, imperial armor saluted him. The spikes protruding out of their wrist guards sliced through the air, and the torches lining the walls flickered with the movement. Zuko took a moment to nod at them—and to catch his breath. He'd winded himself on the way here with mental playthrough's of how this dreaded conversation would go.
With a heavy, foreboding clunk, the embellished guards heave the doors open, and the shadowy figure of his father behind a wall of flame is revealed. Zuko hesitated a second before stepping through the threshold, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from bolting back through the doors as they slam closed behind him.
The Emperor does not speak as Zuko bows low before his grand throne and greets him, "Esteemed Emperor," he turns to Azula and, with great reluctance, greets her as well. "First Princess."
Azula sneered at him from her place next to their father, her more elaborate headpiece glinting in the light of the flames surrounding them. Despite what is told to the public, Azula had already been chosen as the heir to the throne. In every way that mattered, at least. She was the one who shadowed Father's every step, who wore the Crowned Heir headpiece, who was feared by every subject within the Inner City's walls, and, most importantly, exceeded Zuko in every aspect of Fire bending. The Crowning Ceremony that was set to a few months from now was simply a formality.
That didn't mean Zuko was dreading it any less.
"So glad you finally decided to join us!" Azula crowed.
Zuko doesn't respond. He can't respond, not until his father gives him permission, so he grits his teeth and ignores the ache in his back and waits. The flames in the throne room are either silent or crackle louder than the fiercest thunderstorm, depending on his fathers mood. As it is, the flames are hardly louder than a whisper. Zuko wagers his father isn't in as good a mood as he pretends to be in, so he does the smart thing and refrains from assuming permission.
The Emperor's voice is smoother and younger than some would imagine, but it remains just as chilling. Zuko shivered at the sound of it, despite being surrounded by scorching heat.
"Rise." Is all he said.
Zuko does, despite being greatly confused. That command is missing it's latter half, usually being 'and assume your position', which is on his father's left side. Azula seemed caught off guard by the request, so Zuko guesses she isn't aware of their father's intentions either.
Oh, wow, that makes me feel so much better about all this. He groused internally.
The Emperor took the balls of his opulent, shadowed throne in his hands and stood up. Azula did as well, after a moment. Zuko held his breath.
"Today is the day of your birth, is it not?" The Emperor said.
The flames began to crackle louder. Sweat beaded down Zuko's temple, kissing the high collar of his stuffy robes. An uninvited lump formed in the back of his throat, and he swallowed harshly before answering.
"It is, Father."
The Emperor straightened and folded his hands together behind his back before continuing:
"And as of this day, you are of age, correct? Finally a true man?"
Zuko has to suppress an eye-roll at that. For some odd reason, the Empire's general age for the beginning of adulthood was 16 years, while the Empire's royal family—specifically the men—had an adulthood marked by 18 years of age. Zuko had considered himself a 'true man' for, like, two years already.
Still, he answered his father's inane question with the utmost respect. "Indeed, Father."
To Zuko's heart-stopping surprise, the flames have an immediate and violent reaction at his acknowledgment, roaring upwards and blasting a scalding heat into the room. At the same time of the reaction, the Emperor steps out from behind the wall of flames, an utterly blank expression on his face.
Muscle memory kept Zuko from throwing an arm out to shield his face from the fire, that and an intense fear of showing weakness in front of his father. Especially when he was in a mood like this. Azula skipped out of the curtain of fire as well, her dull, militaristic garb doing nothing to brighten up the deadness in her eyes. They were eerily similar to their father's.
Zuko's father, in a move anticipated by no one, puts a hand on the young man's shoulder, and says, "I suppose that means you should be sitting in on the war meetings."
The… war meetings?
He hadn't known what to expect before, but he was well and truly astonished now. Zuko had assumed his father would never allow him to step foot in the war room again, considering the stunt he'd pulled when he was 13. Either way, the expecting upward tilt of his father's brow spelled no time to keep his jaw hanging open.
"I would be honored, Father."
Finally, the heavy weight of his father's hand was lifted from his shoulder, and the breath trapped in his lungs was freed. Zuko nearly sagged with relief.
"Good. Let us not keep the Generals waiting." The Emperor said, and began walking toward the dragon-embellished doors of the throne room.
Zuko started after him, a little starry eyed at his father's sudden change in demeanor, but was stopped by a harsh tug of his robes. He turned, hot temper simmering with annoyance, to find Azula standing where their father had before, arms crossed. When Zuko met her eyes, she smiled and sidled up next to him as they walked.
"Don't let this get to your head." She whispered sharply, and before Zuko could even respond with a sarcastic 'no, of course not, First Princess' she had already taken off down the hall to retake her place at their father's side. The Emperor glanced at Zuko over his shoulder, his blood-red eyes narrowed to a sliver, and gestured towards the empty place on his left. Something—some sort of feeling, squeezed viscously at Zuko's heart.
Zuko took another deep, steadying breath and quickened his pace to catch up.
Dear Ancestors, hear my plea, please don't let me fuck up again.
On second thought, Zuko doesn't remember why he'd been so excited to attend this dreaded meeting. It wound up being a horribly stiff affair , the tension in the room so thick it couldn't be cleaved through with a long sword .
Every general in the room rose at his father's arrival—as usual—but Zuko could feel their eyes linger on his form, assessing. The generals clearly were not the nicest bunch, he could tell by the wisps of amusement of disgust in their gazes. Zuko did his best to meet every one of their ill-concealed stare with his own, even if it came off as childish and petulant.
The Emperor walked around the large, polished wooden table covered in maps to sit in the imposing seat at the head. Azula followed suit, kneeling next to their father on a well-embroidered cushion. Zuko lagged behind, slowed by the heavy weight of the frosty glares tracking him. Eventually, he got to his seat and the Emperor called for the meetings procession.
"Your Majesty," the High General greeted, "we requested your audience to discuss the issue of the White Lotus rebel group. Specifically the…unfortunate misdirection of our most recent attempt to infiltrate their operations."
The White Lotus? These lousy old men were having trouble with that insignificant rebel group? And had the High General—Nan Feng or Jiang Cheng or something—mentioned this being their most recent attempt? How long had they been wasting their time hacking after a rebel group for?
Zuko disguised a derisive scoff as a cough into his fist, glancing up at his father to gauge his reaction. He was bound to be furious. The Emperor hated incompetency.
Zuko couldn't see his father's expression very well, kneeling as he was, but he did notice the subtle way he leaned forward as he spoke.
"Who was assigned?"
The tension in the room somehow got thicker, a long bout of awkward silence and shifty glances tossed around before Admiral Zhao stood, his helmet clutched tightly under his arm, and a thick line of sweat at his brow. Zuko shifted into a more comfortable position on his cushion. His father liked to psychologically torment traitors before killing them, so this was likely going to take a long time. Unlike last time, Zuko feels no need to rise in righteous fury to defend an innocent accused of treason. Admiral Zhao was the farthest thing from innocent, after all, and if anyone where to be rightfully accused of treason, it would be him. Zuko would be glad to see the nasty old rust-bucket go.
He gave himself a mental pat on the back for the change in mindset.
"Admiral Zhao," the Emperor said, "would you care to explain how you've failed the Empire this time?"
The Admiral audibly gulped and bowed deeply before speaking, "Your Imperial Majesty, I sincerely apologize for this failure. But it was not a failure on my troops part! I swear it. My soldier was so close to success,.He gathered a great amount of information on the White Lotus members within the Earth Provinces' local governments. However…"
Admiral Zhao trailed off, but the entire room's gaze remained fixed on him. The Emperor did not even bother to goad him into admittance. Admit or not, he likely wouldn't be walking out of the Palace alive. Telling the full story would only prolong his sentence.
Eventually, Admiral Zhao took another noisy swallow and continued, "however, our soldier was converted—brainwashed—by those Water Tribe barbarians! The soldier neglected to send any information or updates regarding his mission, and refused arrest when we located him. I had no choice but to order termination."
No awkward silence permeated the air this time, as the Emperor immediately countered, "why were there members of the Water Tribe in the Earth Province?"
From what Zuko knew, it wasn't uncommon for people descended from the Water Tribes to live in different Provinces, considering there was only one technical 'Water Province,' and even it was a smaller, more closed-off society. All Zuko knew of the old Southern Water Tribes was that there weren't many members left, and the ones that did remain were distinct members of the White Lotus, so they tended to stay away from high-profile places like the Earth Province.
Now Zuko was curious. And it seemed everyone in the War Room shared the sentiment. Why were there members of the Water tribe in the Earth Province?
"I—I believe they were—err.." Admiral Zhao stuttered. Of course he chose now to stutter like a buffoon.
"Spit it out, Admiral." The Emperor demanded, but even his demands were void of desperation.
The lack of anger made it all the more threatening.
"The information we received from our soldier suggests that they were looking to make some kind of agreement between the Tribe and a high-ranking Earth Province noble, Your Majesty."
Head General Nan Feng, who'd remained standing throughout the entire ordeal for some odd reason, stroked his chin in thought, "they must be trying to establish political ground in the Earth Province."
Another General piped up, "and how exactly would they do that? The Water Tribe—specifically whatever's left of the southern islands—isn't known for their riches. There is no perceivable way they can pay enough to satisfy an Earth Province noble."
"But they can pay a dowry." General Lu Ten, Zuko's cousin, replied gravely.
Zuko had been so immersed in the conversation he hadn't even noticed his cousin. The man nowadays seemed to carry a ghostly aura to him, lingering at the furthest corner of the table with his shoulders hunched and his gaze locked below. Zuko felt for him. They hadn't known each other well as children, but Lu Ten had been the only one who had really grieved Uncle Iroh beside him. But while Zuko had moved on—or at least, pretended like he'd moved on—Lu Ten remained static, haunted by the horror of his father's death.
Minister Yao—the only civil servant present, serving as a stand-in for the Southern Earth Province's Head General—sputtered at Lu Ten's words.
"A dowry?! There exists no such thing as primitive as a political marriage in the age of the Esteemed Emperor. Marriages are unions between families , not whole Provinces. It would create too much of a power vacuum!" The wrinkled Minister squawked, fanning himself with an elaborately decorated tuanshan.
Zuko rolled his eyes hard enough to stick to the backs of his eyelids. It seemed Minister Yao's prissy attitude hadn't seen much change since he'd stopped serving the palace as Zuko's Chamberlain. Thank Agni for that, but Zuko couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor Earth Province officials that had to deal with him. Zuko's new Chamberlain—who was really just Azula's Handmaiden—wasn't much better, but at least she wasn't quite as nagging as Minister Yao. It wasn't like she had the time to, with her time split between the Palace and her matchmaking business.
Zuko cast his gaze around the room again, lingering on Lu Ten, who seemed to be deep in thought. Zuko wondered what about the situation had his cousin so troubled. So what if the Water Tribe rebels managed to make an alliance with some sector of the Earth Province? It likely wouldn't be recognized as a valid marriage until the White Lotus was put down once and for all, to keep them from garnering any more power. The Emperor's useless General's were already struggling as it was.
General Nan Feng had come to the same conclusion, turning to the Emperor decisively, "I don't believe you'll need to worry about that, Your Majesty. The White Lotus is very high profile in the Northern and Southern territories of the Earth Province, and with the abundance of capitol assigned Ministers residing there, it's unlikely the nobles would agree to an alliance."
The Emperor nodded once, "I agree. The issue of the White Lotus has yet to be been resolved, however. Which of the Earth Province Generals would be willing to send a soldier in disguise?"
The room, which had begun to fill with a low chatter, suddenly went silent. Even General Nan Feng, who'd insisted on standing throughout the entirety of the meeting, had silently retreated to his seat. Minister Yao was indiscreet in hiding behind his large, rounded fan, the sweat on Admiral Zhao's brow had thickened to an almost unhygienic degree. Zuko was sure every General in the room would scream in terror at the call of a turtle-duck.
"Well?" Father demanded, the faintest wisp of anger curling in his voice. Zuko tensed.
To Zuko's surprise, it was the cowardly Minister Yao that broke the silent spell, though he didn't have quite enough courage to stand and deliver his address. "M—my Lordship, please," he whimpered, cowering behind the width of his fan, "there has been nothing more economically devastating than the rebel attacks in the last decade. Especially the White Lotus' retaliations after the infiltration failures."
"These infiltration missions bring nothing but blood." Lu Ten spat, standing to look the Emperor in the eye, "40 of the Earth Provinces best soldiers have been lost to disguised operations. Not to mention the countless number of innocents harmed in the retaliations. It's not worth the loss."
Lu Ten's hands shook at his sides as he looked away and whispered, "it wasn't worth my father's death."
Zuko's heart froze. Certainly he'd heard that wrong. Certainly. He was told—everyone was told Uncle Iroh had died of some heart-related illness on the way home from his successful battle in Ba Sing Se. There was no way—except. Except Uncle's body hadn't been presented at the funerals. They had made the fire, sure, but Zuko doesn't remember anyone other than Father having a hand in creating it. Usually the closest family members did, but Lu Ten hadn't attended, and Zuko was too torn to approach the fire, Azula was too young to take part in ceremony.
Slowly, piece by agonizing piece, a once-disjointed narrative reassembled itself in his mind. Uncle Iroh had fought in the siege of Ba Sing Se. That siege—it had been the worst one from rebels in ages. A testament to the White Lotus' strength. Uncle must have died there—his body likely desecrated by those barbaric men. Lu Ten had returned home, technically victorious, but without his father. The White Lotus was declared officially disbanded by the Empire. A false funeral was thrown for Iroh. And now they were here, nearly six years later, on a wild goose chase for a rebellion that should've been stamped out ages ago.
Worst of all, his father seemed genuinely angered by Lu Ten's statement.
"Is that so?" He said, a furious frost stuck to his syllables.
Lu Ten's steely gaze lost some of it's bravery, the corners of his mouth beginning to twitch in acquiescence, before he collected himself again and nodded. Zuko was awed by his courageous will.
Father huffed a plume of smoke, which unfortunately immediately immigrated to Zuko's face—he gagged on the acrid taste of ash, coughing discreetly into his fist.
The room was stiff and silent for a moment more, Lu Ten wavering but steadfast, his father's ire simmering over the surface. A battle of wills.
Eventually, Father lost his temper, as he so easily did, and snipped at Lu ten:
"Well then. Thank you, General Lu Ten, for volunteering to lead this next operation."
The Emperor stood up, a physical signifier of the meetings end, and Zuko watched in slow-motion as the General's began to rise in response, some even had their helmets halfway over their heads. But Zuko couldn't—he couldn't let it end this way. He couldn't have a repeat of that cursed day, he could not lose face the way he did , make his father lose face. Zuko pressed his lips together harshly, a juvenile attempt to keep himself quiet. Agni knows, if he made the same mistake twice, his father wouldn't be quite as kind as he was then.
But then again, it wasn't because of his father's kindness that he had left the War Room without the weight of an impending Agni Kai on his back, was it? It was Uncle Iroh's.
The world still felt sluggish, like Zuko's eyes couldn't keep up with what he was seeing. He registered the sharp crimson glare of his father eyeing him over his tall shoulder pauldrons. He turned his gaze away to give himself another moment of indecision. When he did, Zuko locked eyes with Lu Ten across the room. The young man's shoulders were slumped in defeat, the heavy bags under his eyes contrasted starkly against translucent pale skin. He looked like the personification of grief.
At the reminder of grief, of Uncle Iroh, Zuko is thrown back to that day in this very same room, this very same situation.
He remembered Uncle Iroh's words. The last words he'd said to Zuko before setting off on the long trek to his death:
'Never suppress yourself, Prince Zuko. There is a well of goodness inside you, much like the water wells we drink from. Nourish yourself before you nourish others.'
A spark of understanding flickered in his mind, and with it, Zuko summoned his flame—which felt much stronger now, for some reason—and channeled it into his hands, slamming them down onto the wooden table to get everyone's attention.
Zuko's heart thundered in his chest as he finally rose from his seat and spoke, "There is no point in sending your best general on a suicide mission when there are better alternatives."
He crossed the length of the raised dais where they had sat, and stalked towards his father with a set brow and a steady fire in his heart. He'd made up his mind.
When no-one in the room responded, and his father remained rooted in his spot at the end of the table, near the elegantly painted doors that kept this poisoned meeting from infecting the rest of the palace, Zuko continued on.
"Uncle Iroh died an honorable death only because of his sacrifice. Sending him off on that mission—" Realization dawned on his mind, stoking the steadily growing fire in his heart, "you knew he would die, didn't you? Are these… these—'infiltration' attempts just fitting punishments for those who stand in your way?!"
The shrill sound of his voice echoed off the high ceilings and carved walls and into his ears, but he could hardly hear himself over the rush of pure, unadulterated anger. How dare his father commit such underhanded, dishonorable acts and then declare himself the 'Esteemed Emperor'?
Lu Ten stepped forward into his peripheral with a hand outstretched, "Prince Zuko, don't—"
"Flagarent accusations aside," The Emperor rumbled, "what do you suggest the Empire do in this situation, Prince Zuko?"
A deafening roar of blood rushed to his ears, his fingers, his toes. His palms sweat and ached with the need to let out a burst of rage-fueled flame. Zuko didn't know what to say.
The Emperor continued. He took slow, echoing steps as he spoke, closing the distance between them until there was barely an inch between Zuko and the oppressive heat that perpetually followed his father.
"Are there any solutions that you've been neglecting to share? Any ideas the council hasn't already thought of? What constitutes your ideas to make them better than the councils?"
Every jab made his heart sink deeper into the pits of his chest, made his shoulders shrink up to his ears and his nails dig into the sweaty surface of his palms. Zuko didn't know what to say.
Zuko didn't know what to say, until the Emperor uttered a phrase that reignited the perseverant flame in his heart.
"Is this your way of playing savior?"
It was said mockingly, like the idea was so ludicrous it looped back around to being plausible. And the Emperor found that hilarious.
"I'm protecting the innocent." Zuko rasped, it felt like the fire coursing through his veins was crawling up his throat.
Single-minded as Zuko had become during this conversation, he made a point to look straight at Lu Ten as he spoke, wanting desperately for his cousin to look back—to understand.
Zuko's stiff form softened with relief as Lu Ten caught his gaze from across the room. Zuko held himself more confidently, empowered by the sheer determination in Lu Ten's eyes.
And then the Emperor gripped Zuko's shoulder, in a manner that was so unlike any other time he had done the same action Zuko's gaze snapped back to the shadowed form of his father. A cold and numbing dread quickly replaced the inkling of relief.
A small voice in the back of his mind whined childishly: 'You've done it, Zuko. You've finally made him so angry he won't ever accept you. You're broken in a way no hero can fix'
Zuko stuffed that voice as far into the back of his mind as could. Because it was stupid and childish and so far from what he actually cared about that it wasn't relevant at all and was a total and complete nuisance to his thought process and there was really no reason it had popped into his mind at this exact moment. Probably.
If bones made an audible sound when broken, Zuko was quite sure his father had broken his shoulder. The unnatural crunch and shifting when the Emperor tightened his grip once more had Zuko pale in the face. He refused to regret his decision—but he really did want this ordeal to end.
Except he would end up regretting that thought as well, because the end to this one harrowing ordeal was the beginning of a larger, much more harrowing one. The malicious glint in his father's eye as he sends Zuko to his presumed death is one he will never forget.
"Well then. Thank you, Prince Zuko, for volunteering yourself to this operation."