Chapter Text
After Azula starts her firebending training, it becomes clear to Zuko that something has changed. Their father has never really spent time with them outside of his work. Zuko could count on his fingers the times he’d seen him this month. It was different to see him walking the grounds with Azula by his side while she rambled happily. He’s sitting by the turtleduck pond when they pass. His father doesn’t notice him.
Or at least he pretends to.
“Do you like Azula better than me?” He asks his Mom.
She drops the pen she was using to write. Ink splatters across the tile floor. Zuko feels a pang of guilt tear though his chest.
“Sorry,” he doesn’t meet her eyes.
“That’s okay, it was an accident,” she ruffles his hair and he hands her back her writing things. “Why do you think I like Azula better?”
“Father is always spending time with her.
“Ah.” Something in her face tightens. Zuko saw that look a lot recently. He has no idea what it means. “He’s just...excited about your sister’s new skill.”
Zuko looks down again, a new feeling swirling in the pit of his stomach.
_
He expects things to change again when he summons fire for the first time. His father’s face is strangely indifferent. It leaves Zuko feeling uncomfortably dizzy.
“Azula is already years ahead of you, you won’t be able to catch up.”
Azula glances over at her brother, who’s fingers twitch by his sides. “I could teach h--”
“Silence. He’ll train under the masters after your sessions are finished.”
Azula’s small frame goes pale. “Yes, father.”
They’re dismissed. Later that night, the two of them eat dinner outside on the balcony of Azula’s room. They’re alone. When Zuko strains he can hear his parents’ muffled argument from downstairs. Every time there’s a crash, he jumps.
The steamed komodo-chicken dumpling he’s eating sticks to the back of his throat when he swallows. It’s not supposed to. The cook must have changed their recipe.
“Are you hungry Zuzu?”
Azula’s face is strained, just like mom’s.
He puts down the remnants of his meal. “Not really. I feel kind of sick. I’m going to lie down.”
“You shouldn’t. Father already thinks you’re weak.”
Zuko glances up at her, startled.
Her golden eyes are wide. He realizes she’s not trying to insult him. It’s a warning. He didn’t know what to do. This never happened before. The lukewarm pressure on the back of his throat grows until it’s all he can feel. He barely hears her call his name.
Zuko runs to the bathroom and waits to throw up. He never does.
_
Zuko laughs at the idea of Ba Sing Se burning to the ground in Iroh’s letter home.
That afternoon he played in the gardens with his new knife. Never give up without a fight. Zuko had always liked his uncle. He hoped to make him proud enough to deserve the gift.
He stops in his tracks, and stares at the blade. He can see his reflection clearly on its surface.
“Hey Zuzu!” Azula calls across grass. “You may be Iroh’s favorite, but I’m still better than you.”
She drops into a stance, her hands almost graze the ground as she spins. Azula breathes a hoop of fire in existence. She and her friends laugh when Ty Lee jumps through it. Zuko scowls and sheaths the knife.
That night, dinner is quiet. Zuko had been pushing around his spiced fish for the better part of half an hour. Occasionally, his mom asked him something about his or Azula’s day. He had a hard time answering. The room was too big and to fill it with his voice seemed… a waste. Not to mention every time he opened his mouth his body was hit with a wave of nausea. However, the fear of what his father would think seeing him struggle was stronger than anything else. Just like every night, he chokes down a few bites. His throat was burning.
“Zuko’s been practicing his katas.” Mom mentions, gazing with a hard stare in his father’s direction.
Azula snorted. “Is that what you were doing Zuko? I thought you’d given up on firebending and decided to become a professional clutz.” She laughs at her own jab.
Zuko’s jaw tightens and he puts down his chopsticks.
“I thought you looked very graceful.” His mom puts a hand on his shoulder.
Zuko pushed his chair back. “Can I be excused?”
“But you haven’t--”
“--I’m not hungry.”
“Zuko.”
Hearing his father say his name makes Zuko flinch. To his horror, he realizes father was watching him. He saw his son become scared at the utterance of one word. The disappointment radiating from the Fire Prince’s body was palpable.
“Finish your dinner.” It was not a request.
It was the punishment Zuko deserved.
_
Things changed again when Uncle Iroh returned from Ba Sing Se. His mom explained to Zuko that his cousin Lu Ten hadn’t come back with him. Zuko could feel the stares Uncle received when he did emerge from his quarters. He walked like there was a heavy weight on his shoulders.
“Grandfather should make father his heir now that Lu Ten is dead.” Azula said offhandedly, throwing a rock into the turtleduck pond. “Dad would make a much better firelord. He wouldn’t have just given up.”
“Mom said we’re not supposed to talk like that.” Zuko watches another rock sink the turtleduckling.
Without warning, she shoves him into the pond. The flock scatters in several directions before rejoining under their mother. Zuko comes up sputtering.
“Azula!” He roars, no one is there to hear it.
He’s still dripping pond water when he comes across Uncle Iroh, quietly sitting on a mat in one of the many quiet alcoves of the Fire Palace. Except this one was Zuko’s hiding spot, and he nearly barreled into the meditating man.
“Sorry!” Zuko yelps and stumbles backwards.
“It’s alright.”
Something in his voice distracted him from the urge to run away. A small, amused smile spreads across Iroh’s face. Zuko thinks, just for a moment, he looks like a dragon.
“Next time you decide to go swimming, nephew, I suggest you choose something other than silk.”
Zuko begins to scowl, until Iroh bursts out with a deep laughter that ends too quickly for Zuko to really be upset.
“Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind. Sorry for dripping on you, Uncle.”
“No apologies, rain is a gift to the earth in all its forms. Come, sit with me. The sun is warm and you’ll be dry in no time.” He pats the spot next to him.
For some reason, Zuko obliges. Iroh reaches into a basket he brought with him and hands Zuko something warm wrapped in a napkin. Zuko holds it for a moment, unwilling to find out how his stomach would react upon sight of the thing. He barely made it through breakfast this morning. The smell of the mystery food in his hands made his stomach twist and curl, he couldn’t tell if it was hunger or disgust. The sensation was too similar these days.
Iroh seemed to sense the boy’s unease. “It’s just some idli, Zuko. Don’t tell anyone, but I learned the recipe in my travels and had the cooks make it special for me.”
Zuko unwraps it. It is indeed, just a simple rice cake. He can see spots of other colors. Other vegetables. He wonders why Iroh wanted to punish him.
“I’m sorry,” he says, waiting to see how Uncle would react.
He had an odd look about him. “It’s okay, you don't have to eat it if you don’t want to.”
“You’re not mad at me?”
“For what reason?”
Zuko sits still and contemplates that. He takes a small bite of the idli. It’s different from a lot of the food he’s eaten before, fluffy, and savory, with no telltale bite of spice. Zuko finds for the first time in a while, he doesn’t have to force it down. In fact, he’s hungry. It’s gone in seconds.
Iroh wordlessly hands him another.
“Thank you,” Zuko says, his voice barely audible.
His uncle nods, making a note to himself to keep a closer eye on his nephew.
_
“Dad’s going to kill you!” Azula leans against the doorframe, a snide look on her face. “Really, he is.”
Zuko sits up, “Ha ha, Azula, nice try.”
“Fine, don’t believe me, but I heard everything. Grandfather says Dad’s punishment should fit his crime. You must know the pain of losing a firstborn son, by sacrificing your own!” She hangs off his bed posts as she mocks her grandfather.
Zuko’s fists curled around his sheets. “Liar!”
“I’m only telling you for your own good. I know! Maybe you can find a nice earth kingdom family to adopt you.”
Zuko shuts his eyes, forcing down the feeling of his heart dropping into his stomach. “Stop it! You’re lying. Dad would never do that to me.”
Mom appeared in the doorway, her face is that familiar pinched shape and Zuko swallowed a pang of guilt. “Your father would never do what to you? What is going on here?”
Azula plays dumb. “I don’t know.”
Mom drags her away by the wrist.
Zuko is left alone, nursing the uncomfortable pressure of his throat and the taste of warm salvia as his body begs him to run from an intangible danger. Azua always lies. He repeats to himself as he walks to the bathroom with one hand over his mouth. Azula always lies.
_
Zuko had secretly always been curious about his father’s war meetings. Now, he was next in line to become Firelord, it was about time he started acting like it. Iroh would be there, it was going to be fine.
His father won’t even notice him come in.
_
“Zuko?”
The world is fragmented and dizzying now. The room he sleeps in is small and the walls are made of cool metal. He presses the side of his face up against it. It brings little relief from the pain and little distraction from the disorienting feeling of the ocean underneath him.
There’s a relentless knock at his door. “Zuko? I brought you some dinner.”
Iroh lets himself in, and coaxes Zuko to sit up.
“I’m not hungry.” He rasps, his stomach is empty and there’s a dull ache in the front of his skull.
Iroh takes a moment to calm his shaking hands before presenting a small, steaming cup. “Please Zuko, you’re going to need your strength in case of infection.”
It’s just tea, Zuko realizes, he’s had Iroh’s tea many times before. It’s safe. He’s unable to exist without his body reacting like he’s going to die or live, as if before, two eyes was all it took to see grey. He ignores the fact that he almost poured tea onto his bandage and readjusts his grip.
He catches his uncle reaching for a small basket he brought with him.
“Please don’t--” Zuko starts, knowing he will be unable to keep what little he’d managed down if faced with something new.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
Iroh held out a rava idli wrapped in a napkin.
As Zuko cried the skin under his bandaged burned once more.