Chapter Text
“Prince Zuko?”
The air was stale and damp. A chill clung to it, but it was nowhere near as cold as the fear that snaked down his spine as his name was spoken.
Only one person ever said it, after all. The woman who brought food said nothing, nor did the guards. All they had to offer were looks of pity in the few instances they dared to meet his eyes. Some part of him, buried deep, resented them in a way. Another part was comforted.
Neither particularly mattered.
“My prince?”
A shaky exhale, an impossible steeling of nerves, and he opened his eyes. Pain shot through his skull and he immediately squeezed them shut again, the torch held in one of the guard’s hands being a bit too much to bear.
Through his eyelids, the light faded, and he eased them open once more.
His gaze found the torch first, chasing the light hungrily even despite the pain it brought. His attention quickly shifted, though, to the Fire Sage standing a few feet away. He furrowed his brow. A Fire Sage? He had been sure that the only people who knew he was down here were his father, sister, and the servant and guards. A Fire Sage had been nowhere on the list. Perhaps because he liked to think that everything his father was doing would be against whatever doctrines the Sages dedicated themselves to.
Maybe not.
“Can you hear me?”
Zuko swallowed. His mouth was dry. His throat was dry. They were always dry.
The air was damp, and sweat clung to his hair, and the water was never enough.
He nodded slowly.
“All right, that’s good, that’s good,” the Fire Sage breathed out. “Do you know why I’m here?”
There really was only one reason. Only one he could think of, at least.
“My father?”
If the room hadn’t been dead silent, his voice might not have even been audible. It was weak and hoarse, and the eternal cold likely did it no favors. Zuko couldn’t blame the guard for wincing.
The Fire Sage pursed his lips. “Yes, something did happen to him.”
Zuko raised an eyebrow, as if goading him to continue.
The Sage glanced away for a moment before he spoke again. “Your father has been defeated by the Avatar. During Sozin’s Comet. Your sister was captured as well. The princess was never officially crowned, nor was your claim ever officially revoked, so…” The Fire Sage seemed to be at a bit of a loss for words. He squared his shoulders and turned to Zuko, solidly meeting his eyes. “Prince Zuko, you are to be crowned Fire Lord this afternoon.”
The breath that he sucked in hurt.
Fire Lord?
The Fire Sage stared at him for a moment longer, as if searching for something, before he sighed, turned to the guard, and nodded.
Relief flooded the guard’s face, transforming it in an instant. Zuko almost thought there was something wrong with him.
The door opened quickly, the guard stationed outside appearing in the opening.
Zuko struggled to stand. Vaguely, he supposed it made sense. He hadn’t stood in months. Closer to a year, he would wager, not that he had any real way of knowing. As it was, he managed to get to his knees before they gave out under him.
The two guards rushed forward. The one with the torch hovered at his side, and after a moment Zuko swallowed his pride and nodded to him. A tight-lipped smile was returned. The torch was passed off to the Sage, and the guards moved to lift him, one by the arms and the other by the legs. He supposed he had little room for embarrassment. This was hardly the worst state they had ever seen him in.
The food server was waiting outside, a wheelchair in front of her. She was wringing her hands, eyes red in the torchlight as Zuko emerged from the doorway and was lowered into the waiting seat.
For people who saw him every day, they were surprisingly happy to see him.
Whatever. It was better circumstances than usual, he supposed.
Anything was better than the cell.
The Fire Sage walked by his side, just a step behind. The servant pushed the wheelchair, flanked by the guards, and, oh, what a menacing group they must be. A Fire Sage, a servant, two guards, and a prince just as broken as the nation he was to rule.
They moved slowly up the stairs once they reached them, one guard carrying the front and one carrying the back. As they ascended, Zuko couldn’t help but admire every crack in the stone, every flicker of a torch. He’d long since memorized the same dark rocks of his cell. As they passed another torch, the warmth brushed against his skin, and he savored it.
Agni, he had forgotten what warmth felt like. True warmth, not the searing heat of white flames or the feeling he got when he was so numb it burned. It called to him, and something in the pit of his stomach that had been missing for so long tried to call back.
Finally, they came to a door. The servant slipped past them and opened it. The wheelchair was placed on the ground once more and the woman took up her place to continue pushing. They traversed through a final hallway before the Fire Sage opened the door at the end and–
Oh.
They were in the palace.
Not just any part of the palace, though, he realized. His eyes scanned the room, and something like fury flickered in his heart. Oh, his father must think himself to be quite the comedian.
It was the trophy room. The one place in the Fire Nation, save perhaps the Archives and the Dragonbone Catacombs, that held any information at all on the other nations. Jewel statues from the Earth Kingdom, carved wood from the Water Tribes, tapestries from the Air Temples. As a piece of cloth fell in place behind them, Zuko was hit with the realization that it was one of those tapestries his door had been hidden behind.
Not just any tapestry, either.
The symbols of the elements swirled around one another, forming a perfect balance with a figure at the center. The Avatar.
A depiction of the one person who could stop his father, who Zuko had sworn to help, hid him away from the world. A tapestry made by a people wiped from the face of the earth, turned into a burial shroud for the genocider’s own descendant.
Funny.
Then, they passed through another door, and the room was gone.
The corridors were empty. At least, he thought they were. He spent most of the journey focused on not going blind from the amount of light flowing through the windows. Had the sun always been that bright? He didn’t think so.
He felt them slow, and there didn’t seem to be as much light trying to break through his eyelids, and so he eased them open only for his heart to skip a beat.
They were in front of a large door, but it was one that he would never be able to forget. His gaze easily found the chip on the right side, where the paint was slightly different because Azula had once, years past, run into it while they chased one another. It felt like a lifetime ago, but he knew that this was his door.
A guard opened it, and the servant pushed him inside. She bowed to the Fire Sage, and then much lower to Zuko before turning on her heel and leaving the room, the door closing purposefully behind her.
“Someone will be down soon to get you ready,” the Fire Sage said. Zuko nodded absently. The curtains were drawn in front of the balcony, he noted.
“Outside.”
It took a moment to register that he was the one who had spoken.
There were three mirrored startles at his sudden words. “Pardon, my prince?”
He didn’t think he had it in himself to say it again, so instead he just breathed, “Please.”
It was low, quiet, but the desperation must have gotten through as the Fire Sage nodded. “Of course, sire.” The female guard took the handles of Zuko’s wheelchair while her partner moved to the curtains. As he reached them, the man, face solemn, pulled the curtains back.
Zuko winced. The light hurt.
He refused to back down from it, though. He never had before. After a moment, he managed to bob his head into a nod, and the wheelchair moved in response.
As the guard pushed him forward a bit, to where the sunlight could touch his skin, he instantly found himself reveling in it. He let its warmth wash over him for the first time in years, seeping into his bones. It had been so long since he had been able to feel the sun rise, but even this was different. It brushed against him gently, as if trying to whisper that it had missed him, too.
He hoped it had.
Zuko could have sat there for hours, and probably would have if it hadn’t been for the knock at the door. He nodded to the male guard, and a call went out, giving permission to enter. A woman strolled in, her arms filled with very expensive clothes, and from the harried look on her face, this was all as abrupt and last-minute for her as it was for him.
“My prince,” she said, bowing as low to him as she could when he was wheeled back inside. As she rose, she seemed to finally get a good look at him, her eyes widening. She opened her mouth to speak, but must have thought better of it, as instead all she did was place the clothes down. “I am here to help prepare you for your coronation this afternoon.”
Zuko nodded. A wave of pain surged through his head, and he did his best to blink it away. His mouth tasted strongly of blood. “Name?”
The woman, who looked younger and younger the more uncertain she became, stared at him for a long moment. Her throat bobbed. “My apologies, my prince. I’m afraid I do not understand.”
If every word didn’t feel like knives being run down the inside of his throat, he was sure this all would be much easier. “Yours,” he managed to say, and then- “Name.”
She looked completely taken aback, and he hoped that meant his message had finally gotten across.
It seemed it had, as she found her voice and said, “Pim.”
His gaze moved from her to the guards, straining to look over his shoulder. Ideally, they would understand what he was asking without any more words being exchanged.
“I’m Lee, my prince,” the male guard said.
“Ming,” said the other a moment later.
The Fire Sage didn’t seem surprised when Zuko turned to him next. “My name is Shyu, sire,” he said.
He nodded, and shifted his jaw a bit. His limbs were numb, but he was able to gesture vaguely to himself and say, “Zuko.”
It was kind of silly, he realized after a moment, saying his name so casually. Or, maybe it would be silly, if it didn’t make his chest ache.
Pim shifted a bit, uncertainty clear in her stance, before she asked, “My prince, do I have your permission to begin dressing you?”
Zuko swallowed and inclined his head. His throat was still dry.
As if on cue, the door opened, and the food server walked back in. She bowed as she entered, and he was able to recognize the large jug and glass held in her hands. “Water, sire?” She asked.
He nodded, perhaps a bit too eagerly. “Please.”
Something in her eyes softened, more so than he might have expected, but she filled the glass and handed it to him. She took it back quickly, once it became clear that his hands were a bit too shaky, and held it to his lips herself.
He downed three glasses before deciding it might be a good idea to not drink so much he threw up.
That was the last thing he wanted. While imprisoned, he often threw up his food, finding it nearly impossible to keep down the first few bites. It made it even easier to appreciate the extra bits of rice or komodo chicken that were occasionally snuck in. Having extra food that might actually stay in his body was always nice after the first bit didn’t.
When he would finally fall asleep, he’d wake up some time later to find his cell cleaned, and it would almost make him want to smile.
Almost.
He turned to the servant as she placed the glass on a table. “Name?” He asked her.
She whirled back to face him. Her eyes were just a bit wide, but something warmed within them. Unlike the others, she needed no further explanation to figure out what he was asking. “My name is Keeli, my prince,” she said, her voice indescribably gentle. It was like she was speaking to a long-lost family member, rather than royalty. Oddly, he appreciated it. It grounded him in a way little else had thus far. A reminder that he wasn’t just a prince, he was a person.
He wondered if his father could have done with a reminder like that.
The process of getting dressed for the coronation could only be described as unbearably arduous. He still couldn’t stand on his own, and he resented the words he could hear Shyu muttering to the guards, about how it would likely take weeks of therapy before he could walk without assistance. As a result, something that would have taken perhaps half-an-hour instead took two, spent being lifted by Ming and Lee while Pim dressed him, Keeli and the Fire Sage recruited to help. He tried not to focus on the fabric against his bruises, or the occasional spritzes of water that dusted over his skin.
Zuko refused to look down at his own body as they worked, staring straight ahead at a painting of a beach that hung on the wall. Had that been there for the first thirteen years of his life? He couldn’t remember it, but he also didn’t think his father would bother redecorating in the time that Zuko was gone.
He might not have looked at his chest or his arms or his legs, but the others in the room certainly did. Pim’s lips were pressed shut tight, wobbling ever so slightly. Ming’s eyes were glazed over, a bit unseeing, and Lee mostly kept his trained on the ground. Shyu clasped his hands behind his back, standing straight as a board, but Zuko didn’t fail to notice the way the man trembled ever-so-slightly once in a while. Keeli’s eyes were red, though no tears fell, and she never hesitated for a moment when Pim gave her another command, even when the younger woman’s voice cracked on the words.
With the way they were all acting, Zuko didn’t know if he wanted to see what he looked like.
So he didn’t.
As Pim adjusted a gold band near the shoulder, he asked, eyes still stuck on the painting, “How long?”
There was silence.
Then, Shyu asked, “How long were you down there, sire?”
He shifted, and it must have looked like agreement, because Pim said quietly, “There’s a calendar. In my…my bag.”
Keeli shuffled through the bag before pulling out a scroll and handing it to Ming. The guard raised an eyebrow, and Keeli said in a low voice, “I can’t read.”
Zuko frowned. He’d have to change that.
Ming, oddly, scowled and muttered something under her breath that sounded like, “-would’ve thought he’d-” before she said, “A few months over three years, my prince.”
The words were blunt, and for a moment he had trouble believing them. Over three years? He would be sixteen, then. He supposed that made sense. Shyu had mentioned Sozin’s Comet, and that was supposed to return the summer before he turned seventeen. Four months before, specifically.
He was probably unrecognizable, now, even if one ignored the dozens of scars that surely crossed over his skin.
That wasn’t mentioning the one on his face, either, the scar that he knew was there. While the memories of the others had faded from his mind, falling out onto the stones and slipping through the cracks, that scar was one that he would never be able to forget. The way his father had reached out, cupped his cheek as he cried, and rubbed a gentle thumb over his skin before setting his face ablaze.
A chill ran down his spine, and he shoved the image out of his mind. The scar across his eye tinged with pain.
His hair was choppy, tickling the tips of his ears, and it was never brushed. It had been shaved once, when he was first imprisoned, and had grown out since then. Over the years, he would occasionally wake to find it shorter than what he had gone to sleep, as if someone had cut it while he lay unconscious in the cell.
Zuko’s throat hurt. The warm, humid air of the late summer was oddly soothing to it, but it still hurt anyway, pulsing with pain as if it wanted to remind him that it was there. Talking was worse, he thought. Every word burned, like a hot blade run along the inside of his neck.
In an ideal world, he would never have to speak again, but he had known for a long time that this was not an ideal world. He was quite sure it wasn’t even a kind one. There was no real scenario he could imagine, either, where the ruler of a nation, especially one despised by every other, would be able to avoid, or even really reduce the amount of talking he did.
The ruler of a nation.
Fire Lord.
The idea was still rather unfathomable, he thought. Ever since he had lost his grip on the sun, years ago, he had banished all prospects of anything but cold stone walls, deafening silence, and hot pain. He lived in that cell, and when his father finally grew tired of him, he would die in it, too.
Forgotten to the world, Fire Lord Ozai’s failure son, who rebelled against his father and paid the price, would be lost to history.
Would anyone have even known his name? Or would that have been wiped from the records, as well, until a generation later, he was nothing more than a distant memory in the back of his sister’s mind as she sat the throne.
The throne that would now be his. He was going to become Fire Lord. The one thing that had been unreachable to him, that his father had used against him for so long, was within his grasp.
The thought was exhilarating.
It was terrifying.
“Would you like to look at yourself, sire?”
He pulled himself from the recesses of his mind and nodded without really thinking about what he was agreeing to. The wheelchair was pushed toward a mirror at the other side of the room, and he abruptly realized that his old bedroom was probably larger than ten of his cells combined. Perhaps more.
He blinked, and his reflection blinked back.
It must be his reflection, because there was no other that it could be, and yet he found himself nearly unable to believe it.
Zuko, honestly, couldn’t say that he recognized himself.
His skin, which had always been a healthy pale, was sickly now, a pallor to it that turned it closer to the color of paper than any human had any right to be. His face was sunken, bones a bit too sharp and blood a bit too thin. He looked like he was dying. To be fair though, he had been, slowly, for every moment that he was in that cage, locked up like an animal.
Against the ashiness of his skin, the scar on his face was even more striking than it already would have been.
The flesh of it was mottled. Within the depths, he could just barely make out the golden iris. All of the skin was red, but it was darker around the eye, and, somehow, he knew why without being told; the day of the Agni Kai, the day his life had fallen to pieces and turned to ash on the way down, his father had cupped his cheek as he sobbed, and his tears had boiled as he burned.
His hair was thin, and the rich color it once held had faded. He wondered if he could ever get that color back. He hoped so. He liked it.
It was his mother’s hair.
Zuko was sure that the rest of his body was just as bad as what he could see. He couldn’t stand, for spirits’ sake. He had barely eaten while locked away. He would be nothing more than skin and bones now, a shell of what he once was.
He wondered if that was how the world would see him.
“Thanks,” he said. He was acutely aware of how scratchy his voice was.
Pim bowed. “Of course, my prince.”
They went to the bathhouse next, and his head was gently coaxed backward into the water. Keeli worked her fingers through his hair. She was gentle, carefully undoing knots and tangles whenever they turned up, not grimacing at the grime that must lace the strands. Her movements were practiced, methodical, as if she had done this a thousand times before. She hummed under her breath as she toiled. It wasn’t a song he recognized.
He wondered if she had been the one to cut his hair every time it grew longer.
Shyu provided a few bursts of hot air to help dry him quickly, and Keeli brushed through it again before Pim took over to pull it up into a royal topknot. Zuko didn’t really want to wear the traditional style, but there was little choice when it came to a coronation.
Bells rang in the distance.
“The coronation is ready to begin,” Shyu said, gazing in the tolling’s direction. “Some words will be said, and then you will be brought out to be crowned before the crowd and Agni.”
Zuko furrowed his brow. “Who?” He asked.
“The remaining Fire Sages. Guards. Nobles. The usual. There is a large gathering of common folk beyond the gates, as well. That’s typical for these sorts of events.”
Zuko tried to imagine it. Crowds of people, thousands of the citizens of Caldera, his citizens, standing outside of the gates, simply waiting to hear when he was crowned. The walls of the palace were tall and thick. There would be no way for the people to see it happen.
“Open them,” he finally said.
The Fire Sage blinked. “Apologies, sire. Could you repeat that?”
“The gates,” Zuko forced out. His throat burned. “Open them.” At the silence that greeted him, he added, “They are my people. Let them in.”
Shyu stared at him for a moment longer before bowing. “Of course, my prince. I will inform the Captain of the Palace Guard at once.”
As the Fire Sage strode away, Zuko turned back to look at Keeli. She gripped the handles of the wheelchair, knuckles white, but her smile was soft, and her eyes glimmered with something that almost looked like pride.
They made their way through the palace, the only noise being the distant sounds from outside, and the rumble of the wheels against the ground. Once they’d reached the front doors, Ming moved to help Keeli look a bit more put together while Zuko strained to listen to the words spoken through the doors.
“-teaches us that in our darkest times, we need only look to the Sun, for Agni will always guide His people to a brighter dawn. Now, we gather here to witness the ascension of another of His most favored line. Phoenix King Ozai’s firstborn son, and official heir to the throne, Prince Zuko!”
The cheering was deafening. The whole capital city might be out there, by the sound of it.
The doors slowly began to open. Keeli, her hair pinned back, slid into place at the handles. He could hear her take in a carefully measured breath, and marveled at the way her hands stayed steady.
Zuko was wheeled forward, and the cheering increased. Then, he was in view of the people, and everyone fell silent. They might as well have all dropped dead. The only sound was that of Keeli’s sandals against the stone as she slowly pushed him forward, her head held high.
His eyes quickly scanned the crowd. All of them, every single person there, was Fire Nation. No Earth Kingdom, nor Water Tribe, nor Avatar. Just his people.
The nobles were at the front, just a thin line of guards separating them from the common folk, but it mattered not. All eyes were trained on him. No one moved. All was silent.
As Keeli rolled him to a stop, Ming and Lee moved forward, lifting him from the chair and settling him on his knees in front of the Fire Sage, facing the people.
His people.
All was quiet as the Fire Sage moved in front of him and carefully slid the crown into his topknot.
The man backed away and opened his mouth, but the words died in his throat as Zuko raised his hand.
It was silent. He could hear his heartbeat, and he wondered if it was audible to the crowd. He grit his teeth and moved one leg so that it was in front of him. Then, slowly, he braced himself and rose to his feet.
His legs trembled. There was an ache in his knees, and he dug his fingers into his palm, trying to distract from it. This wasn’t a choice that he was really making, not anymore. He had to stand, to face the crowd; not just for himself, but for his people, for his nation.
He was on his feet. His body shook from the effort, and for a moment he wanted to sink back into the wheelchair, but he refused to yield. He was the ruler of the Fire Nation. He was the descendant of Agni, the child of His chosen line. The blood of the Sun, of the Dragons, ran through his veins. He would not fall.
He looked out at the people, and the Fire Sage picked up where he had left off.
“All hail Fire Lord Zuko!”
There was a pause, as if the world itself had stopped to listen. Then, all at once, the people repeated it, screamed it, and it was so loud that it might have been heard in Ba Sing Se. A smile pulled at his lips for the first time in over three years. Overhead, the sun shone gold, its warmth coiling around him, holding him close, raising him up.
A tear fell from his eye, and Caldera echoed with the people.
“All hail Fire Lord Zuko!”
“All hail Fire Lord Zuko!”
“All hail Fire Lord Zuko!”