Disclaimer: Avatar and all associated characters belong to Nickalodeon and other people who are not me. The following is literary adoration done for fun, not profit.
Warning: Minor spoilers for the "The Storm".
The nightmarish eternity of deep burning pain, intersected with hallucinations and moments of brief, drugged awareness, had been bad; the first day of full consciousness was worse.
"I'm on my boat," he said, staring up at the massive, rivet studded metal plates that made up the ceiling. His voice came out cracked and strained with misuse; the bed under him was damp with sweat, the left side of his face was stiff and swollen. He could barely open his left eye.
"Of course," said a rough and familiar voice, "It was your birthday present, after all." Cool hands patted his hot shoulder. "Welcome back to the waking world, my nephew."
Zuko took a deep breath and felt it catch in his throat. "Uncle," he rasped, the relief in his voice unmistakable. He'd expected to awaken alone; abandoned on some Earth nation island with no weapons or attendants. But his Uncle was with him, perhaps…perhaps he had imagined his father's declaration of banishment, perhaps the suffering and burning had been enough.
But if that was the case, then…
"Why am not in my quarters in the palace?" he demanded weakly, the dry, cracked skin of his lips tearing and leaving the taste of copper in his mouth.
"Ah, I believe you could do with some tea," Iroh said, chair creaking as he stood, "For your throat."
The lanterns swayed, a motion Zuko's achingly empty stomach echoed. If he focused, he could hear the distinctive sound of water moving past the hull and the roar of the engines. They were at sea.
Zuko closed his eyes.
"I am exiled," he said and turned his head to the side, so that his Uncle would not see if his body betrayed him, again, to tears.
"But at least," Iroh said, the bed dipping as he sat on the edge of it and the gentle scent of jasmine tea mingling with the oil and burning coal odor of the ship, "You are not alone."
It would have been better if he were alone, Zuko decided some hours later as he stood on the prow of his boat, surrounded by endless stretches of water. Iroh was near him; close enough to catch him if his faltering strength failed him, far enough away to preserve his equally faltering pride.
Zuko had only taken the ship out of the harbor twice before now; once with his father on the day of the gifting, the second time to enjoy having something so powerful under his sole command. That had been three weeks ago, when he'd had the time to spare between lessons.
He didn't know the captain or crew or the few soldiers that had been forced into exile along with him, since he'd never taken notice of or interest in them before. Now, he could taste their hostility and dislike like bile in the back of his mouth. They had been sent away from their homeland because of him and probably hated him for it.
Blunt nails curled into his palms; what did he care of their petty problems and complaints? Any of them could return home if they wanted to leave! They wouldn't get the warmest welcome, but neither would they be thrown into the nearest Fire Nation jail.
He was the only one with no choice.
A blast of sea spray stung his face, a lash of icy fire on his burned eye that the numbing pain medicines couldn't diminish. In the waves below, dark shapes raced alongside the ship, occasionally breaking the surface to show blue or green backs to the golden afternoon light. Miles and miles behind them, lay the mountains and fields of his home.
Straightening, he pushed away from the railing and crossed the deck to his berth. His legs felt rubbery from the combination of days spent abed and unfamiliarity with the roll of the ocean. Every eye, from helmsman to deck swappers, was on him.
How did he look to them, with his damaged face and most of his hair shaven away? Did they see him still as their prince, or as a dishonorable disgrace? Did they even know what had brought him to this downfall?
He walked with his chin up and did not stumble.
"Perhaps you should rest one more day," Iroh suggested from the doorway, "We could play a very nice game and drink some hot–"
"I've rested enough, Uncle," Zuko snapped, as impervious and demanding as ever. Injury and exile had not mellowed his manner any; indeed it had added a bitter, cutting edge to it. "I need to return to my training."
If only, Iroh thought with a sharp ach in his old chest, he was not so impatient. So much could have prevented. Again and again he had warned him, and still…
Iroh let loose a long sigh and smiled, looking down upon his nephew. He did love the boy, but Zuko, for all his skills with firebending and fighting, simply didn't understand the dangerous web of loyalties and politics that entangled the palace.
Perhaps the fault lay with Iroh himself, for allowing the boy to remain innocent for so long.
"Is it true," Zuko spoke up suddenly, his attention focused on the shin guard he was studiously lacing up, "What father said about my bringing home the Avatar being the only way to restore my honor. I…am not sure of my memory."
Iroh quirked his mouth to the side, feeling and smothering a dark flare of anger. How cruel you are, brother, to give your son a fool's hope.
"Yes, I suppose so," he drawled, reaching up to rub at his chin, "Of course everyone and their ancient grandmother have been searching for the Avatar since he vanished a hundred years ago. I have heard it's been turned into an enjoyable board game."
Zuko knotted the last tie and rose sharply to his feet, quickly grabbing the edge of the altar table to keep his balance. For one, unguarded moment, he looked exactly what he was; a hurt and lonely fourteen year old cast away from everything he had known. Iroh took a step forward.
Zuko's face closed down, like the shutting of doors. Iroh had seen it before, in warriors forced to be men before they had stopped being children.
"I will succeed where they failed," Zuko said with absolute conviction, pushing past his uncle without the deference anyone else his age would have given the old general, "I will restore my honor. Have the commander begin collecting all information pertaining to the Avatar for the last ten years."
"Now, now, Prince Zuko—"
"I am going to train!"
So headstrong, so determined; he was either going to get himself killed at an early age or become one of the most powerful leaders Fire Nation has ever seen.
Iroh shook his head and allowed himself a knowing smile.
Be careful my brother, he thought as he followed his nephew topside, or you are going to find yourself facing a very dangerous enemy.