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1- Iroh
There was no stark realisation, no moment that Iroh can point at and go ‘that is the moment I decided Zuko is my son’.
He loved Zuko like the sun loves the moon, a distant, all consuming awe that fills him with such tender warmth as all he can think is this is my child.
Maybe it had been from the first time he held him, 2 days after his birth and he was so small and silent so unlike his Lu Ten who had announced his arrival with all the noise his little lungs could produce to the world for weeks.
Maybe it was the first time Zuko came crying to him, a harsh red handprint, still warm to the touch, on his cheek, asking if he was useless, if his father was right.
Whenever it was, it was solidified in his mind as he watched his nephew beg on his knees whilst his father cupped his face with a fiery hand. The fire didn’t go out, even when Zuko was limp to the firelord’s cruelty , Zuko’s father still grabbed on to his dark hair to keep him up right as the screams faded into broken pleas into haunting silence.
He’s dead. That’s all Iroh could think. He had just watched his brother kill his beloved nephew. Lu Ten was gone to the war, Azula to her growing madness and Zuko was joining the spirit world because he was too kind, too good, too much like his mother, for his cruel nation and crueler father.
But he wasn’t dead, Iroh sat at his bed for days and ,Agni be praised, Zuko was alive, each breath a battle, no words spoken or eyes opened, but he was living and fighting to remain that way.
Firebending started with a breath and Zuko never stopped.
Zuko still hadn’t woken up when the announcement of his banishment was made. Zuko woke up on a small boat in the middle of the ocean surrounded by strangers and an uncle who had looked away, who couldn’t face his own shame.
His father hadn’t even bothered to visit the son he burnt. Iroh didn’t know if that was good or bad because surely if he had seen his brother he would be in a jail cell and Zuko would have to face his trails alone.
Initially Iroh thought it was best that Zuko never saw Ozai again but as he watched Zuko, still wrapped in bandages and so, so small, struggle to firebend every day, still flinching and eyes clenched shut, Iroh would have given his life for Zuko to be happy again, whatever that meant for the world.
Zuko was and always will be Iroh’s priority; the burn had changed him, he was angry (not cruel, no boy who spent days healing an injured turtleduck could ever be cruel), obsessive and no longer did his eyes shine with trust or love. Any positivity was burnt by his father’s fire and in the ashes grew weeds, hate and ignorance.
Ozai had ruined Iroh’s nephew, he had maimed and tarnished a boy with so much love for everything around him and Iroh promised if he had any say in the matter Ozai’s death would be long and painful because nothing could ever make up for what he did to his own children (Azula too was injured by her father’s madness, Iroh had watched as she morphed from proud to a spiral of the clasing superiority and inferiority complexes battling within her mind).
But for now, in the middle of the cold ocean, he would not allow anger to fuel his actions. He would use his love for the burnt child to push him, push him to be better, to face the realities of the nation he served. He was in a position to change the narrative and he would.
Ozai may have burnt his son but Zuko was Iroh’s now and Zuko would never suffer from his father’s hand again.
***
2- Jee
Jee hated Zuko. He was bossy and smug. Each condescending smirk and harsh command caused the acidic hatred in his chest to bubble and grow.
On a small boat, hatred can fester like a mould, spreading through every crevice and crack. There is no escape from his burning hate when every day he must face the source of it.
The thing about hatred is it is not as far from love as people think, it too can make you blind. Blind to Zuko’s red scar, blind to how fucking young this boy was to be on a boat with only his uncle to trust, blind to how if maybe Zuko yelled even a little bit less would anyone even bother to listen to what he said.
Then came the storm. Then came Iroh’s story. And everything changed. Jee was not nice, he had served a tyrannical regime too long to ever be considered a nice person but he was, above all else, a good, honourable man.
There was no good, no honour in the firelord’s actions. To rule a nation obsessed with honourability and then to permanently burn your 13 year old son’s face for the crime of speaking out of turn even as he begged for forgiveness? It was wrong.
Jee didn’t sleep that night, too focused on the acidic bile in his throat and the pit in his stomach as he tried to imagine his own father hurting him like that.
He would lie in the morning, tell the similarly sleepless crew he hadn’t slept due to the thunder. They would agree (it was a boat of liars afterall).
And if after that he was just the tiniest bit kinder, just the smallest bit more generous with the banished prince’s food servings, even a smidge more conscious of Zuko’s face when they dueled with firebending… well the whole crew was doing the same.
No one ever talked about it. Not to each other or Iroh and definitely not Zuko. Jee couldn’t even imagine the proud prince being faced with what no doubt he would see as the humiliation behind his scar.
Zuko approached him a week after the storm, a week after the beginning of small kindnesses Zuko needed.
“Do you think I am weak, Lieutenant Jee?” There was no insecurity in the words, just anger.
“No, Sir, of cou-“ Jee scrambled for the words that would appease an emotional 16 year old.
“Then tell me,” Jee had not successfully found the words “why in agni’s name you are treating me like porcelain.” Zuko’s voice was hushed, a dangerous quiet laced with poisonous shame and frustration.
“Porcelain, sir?” Jee had been kinder, but only so that Zuko was now treated as he would any other 16 year old annoyance. Barely a difference, basic respect for a commanding officer- nothing Zuko should have taken offense at,
He was not a delicate man, no sailor was and that would never change even when faced with a 16 year old boy with a 3 year old scar.
“I know what you and the crew think of me.” Jee was mortified to see tears building in Zuko’s one golden eye. “I know you think I’m a tyrant and I’m weak and useless and-“
Zuko was cut off by a hug, warm arms wrapped around a far too skinny teenager.
“I don’t know who made you think these things about yourself, sir.” He did and he had some words to throw in Ozai’s pompous face if they ever met. “But you are young, you are learning. It is not an easy task you have been given but we, all of us not just your esteemed uncle, are on your side. Not the fire nation’s, not your father’s or sister’s, we serve you, Prince Zuko.”
The hug didn’t end for 10 minutes and the time they separated Jee’s shoulder was wet with tears where Zuko had buried his head.
“I promise you, Lieutenant, I will be a better leader, I will become someone you are proud to follow.”
“You already are, Sir.”
Less than a month later, Jee and the crew were with Zhao and Zuko would deny to the end of his days he missed them.
***
3- Katara
Katara wasn’t capable of hate. Anger, yes. Yelling, yes. Dislike, certainty.
Zuko was the closest to hate she had ever come, just above Jet. When she had confessed this to Aang after the dancing dragon journey he asked her ‘what about the Firelord.”
The thing was, Katara had never thought of the Firelord as an actual person, how could someone with a heart and brain and soul ever do what Ozai had. She couldn’t comprehend it or face the fact that maybe he was just a mortal man playing god.
At least with Zuko, she knew he was human and therefore she could dislike him as much as she wanted. Zuko was a real person that she could talk to and touch and see. The Firelord wasn't, he was more a symbol than anything, a figurehead of war and grief.
Aang had talked about outlets and coping mechanisms but all Katara knew was Zuko had tricked her, he had hurt and betrayed them all in the crystal catacombs. The Firelord never pretended to be something he wasn’t, Zuko had made her feel sorry for him, made her think he was good and that was unforgivable… no matter what Aang said.
Whilst she didn’t like Zuko, he was useful. He was the only one who ever helped with cookery, cleaning or mending on top of his training responsibilities. Katara may be angry but she wasn’t a fool and knew to use all resources she could to lessen the workload and that’s all Zuko was, a tool available for her disposal.
A small part of her, a part that had either miraculously survived the war or had been revived by Aang, might have felt a little bit of pity when she saw Zuko’s ever growing bags or how he stumbled during training. His stammering annoyed her but when she saw how he kept his eyes trained on the floor and his shaking hands tucked behind his back she decided not to comment.
Pity was an emotion that had been tainted by years of watching her village starve and struggle so the concerning facts of his behaviour could be ignored. Not enough of her could feel sympathy to treat him like she would any other member of the gaang. He got smaller food portions, he sat further from the fire and he definitely wasn’t allowed anywhere on his own. Maybe it wasn’t fair but it was justified.
Katara had been betrayed by Zuko once before, he wasn’t making a fool of her again.
They had been at the temple for 2 weeks when Katara was first woken up by Zuko’s nightmares. She didn’t do anything, she pretended to be asleep whilst she listened to him thrash and whimper.
If in the morning she gave him a slightly larger portion for breakfast no one questioned, especially not Zuko whose hands were still shaking.
The 5th time it happened, Zuko actually spoke. Katara swallowed bile as she listened to her reluctant teammate beg his father to stop hurting him.
It was then that the waterbender finally acted, she crawled to Zuko’s sleeping bag and shook his shoulder.
Zuko was curled in a ball, hands covering his face and chin tucked into his knees. Tears streamed down his pale cheek from the scarless eye and for a second Katara wondered just how functional Zuko’s right eye was.
As soon as her hand clasped round his bony shoulder, Zuko shot up, golden eye wide as the other pulled on scar tissue to open as much as it could.
Eyes glassy and hands tangled in black hair that was so unlike the stupid ponytail he used to have as he sobbed. It was horrific. His crying was almost silent save for the hitching of breath- she watched as his adam's apple bobbed and his teeth dug into his bottom lip so hard blood blossomed beneath them.
“Zuko…” Katara breathed, a hand reaching towards him before stopping halfway when she realized it might not be the best idea in his current state. “Can you hear me Zuko? You’re in the air temple. It’s me, Katara.”
“I’m sorry, father.” Zuko’s tone was panicked as he began to prostrate himself before her. “I’ll be better, I promise. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so-“
“Zuko, listen to my voice.” This was uncharted water, after nightmares Katara usually knew the protocol, Aang would want cuddles, Sokka would need time alone and Toph needed simple comforts like warm foods but Zuko- “Count with me okay. One. Two. Three…”
She kept her voice low and soft as she counted. By 40 he had stopped begging for forgiveness. By 76 he had begun to count too and at 92 he was back.
“I’m sorry Katara..” Katara flinched back, not expecting an apology or really any form of communication.
“Huh?” Ever the wordsmith, she thought deprecatingly to herself
“I know you need sleep and you shouldn’t have to bother with stupid, weak, pathetic, usele-“
“Zuko, no. I just didn’t expect… this. “ Zuko flinched “Sorry, that’s not what I meant. It’s fine Zuko, you are allowed to have nightmares, everyone does. I just didn’t expect it to be about…”
Zuko looked up at her, eyes still wet as he smiled without any joy.
“My father isn’t a good man and only a marginally better father.” His hand subconsciously reached up to his scar.
Katara felt sick again. She didn’t stop feeling sick until the morning after watching Aang meditate with the firebending prince.
Zuko had been wrong but maybe he did deserve the ‘not as much of a jerk as you could’ve been’ award.
Katara let out a breath and tried to forget about the moral complexities of Zuko. Afterall, why concern herself with the person she is closest to hating in the world.
***
4- Hakoda
Hakoda knew fire nation. He knew their cruelty, their greed and he knew what their fire could do but now faced with Zuko he knew their honour, their drive and respect bubbled.
When Sokka had said the fire prince himself was helping them break out of prison, Hakoda had doubts- he spent too long fighting a war to be as trusting he had been when he was a young lad.
Then, Zuko fought his own sister and Sokka told him of the cooler which no doubt must have been painful for a firebender. Watching the young boy, barely older than his own son, fight his own sister, no older than his daughter, with real flames and actual intent, something inside him softened.
On the air balloon Hakoda tried not to be offended when Zuko refused to meet his eyes, tried not to get angry when Zuko took a protective stance between himself and Sokka.
As soon as they arrived at the air temple, Zuko was off, a rushed excuse about meditation as he ducked away from the greeting hugs. Hakoda briefly considered maybe the prince was a snob but it was quickly dismissed at dinner as he watched the ebony haired boy roll his sleeves and wash the dishes.
Water sloshed in the basin and despite Zuko’s frequent fiddling with his sleeves they ended up soaked anyway.
Around the fire that evening, Katara was yelling at Sokka, something about Appa’s mouth not being a storage unit.
Toph was cackling whilst Aang looked mildly offended as he scratched Appa’s belly, Zuko wasn’t paying attention, honeyed eyes staring deeply into the fire.
“Katara. Enough.” Hakoda snapped, voice a little louder than it needed to be but not angry. He could never be angry at his daughter, not after her growing into such an amazing human without him or her mother to guide her.
He had expected Sokka’s cocky giggling and Katara’s outraged gasp. He hadn’t expected Zuko’s full body flinch and subsequent fall of the makeshift bench.
Hakoda watched with growing horror as Zuko’s shoulders curled in, feet pushing him further away from the fire, kicking up dust and dirt. Pale hands and arms reached up to shield the teen’s face as his breath sped up.
“Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Didn’t mean to. Sorry, please.” The pleading was sickening, full of desperate fear and hushed acceptance.
“Zuko?” Sokka was first to react, already half stood up, hands reaching towards the mess of a prince huddled on the dirt floor.
Zuko violently flinched from the approaching hand before fleeing the scene. Silence overcame the group. Aang and Sokka shared a look of concerned confusion whilst Katara looked more understanding than Hakoda thought she could ever be with Zuko.
After a minute’s consideration Hokada spoke.
“I’ll…” Hakoda began, bile clogging up his throat “I’ll go talk to him.”
Sokka looked like he was about to protest, mouth open and eyes shining with an empathy that made Hakoda glad he never faced a battlefield as it would have soon left him dead but Katara grabbed his bicep and shook her head.
“Let Dad deal with this, okay Sokka?” He nodded, but he didn’t lose his expression of distress.
Hakoda made his way to Zuko’s room, hands shaking and stomach curling itself into knots. The door was ajar and as the chief stepped through the growing apprehension reached its height.
Zuko was curled in the stone corner, hands covering his face and elbows tucked protectively into his stomach. Pleading words flowing out of his mouth a mile a minute.
“Zuko?” Hakoda kept his voice low and soft, like he would approach an injured animal. Avoiding the impulse to call him son out of a growing dreadful suspicion Hakoda continued to quietly mummer his name.
Steps slow and deliberate, by the time Hokada was crouched in front of the teenager, Zuko’s hands had lowered from his face but the sight of his face was no better, red scratch marks were scored into his cheeks, little beads of blood dripped in random spots where he had gone too deep with his bitten off, jagged nails.
“Zuko, I need you to listen to me.” Glassy eyes immediately shot up, lids wide and pupils mere pink pricks. The boy’s (because that’s what he was, not even 17) lips were trembling. “I’m not going to hurt you, my boy.”
Zuko reacted instantaneously, he pushed himself into a dogeza position, head down and body trembling. Hakoda felt sick build up in his throat.
“I’m sorry, sir. I meant no disrespect. I’m sorry.” The boy’s voice trembled and shook but the words seemed to fill his mouth so comfortably that it sounded rehearsed. He’s done this before his mind spat hatefully.
He imagined Zuko kneeling before his father, who didn't have any reservations about hurting a child, begging in the same way. He imagined his own son being this scared of fathers. He threw up.
Watery bile from weeks on prison food spilt through his lips and he was hacking, choking on grief and horror. War had filled his lungs with smaug and ash and as he gasped for air through tears he couldn’t care less for his own misery, only that of the boy before him.
“Zuko,” a flinch “look at me, child.” A pale face shot up, eyes glassy, cheeks still bleeding and lips moving in silent pleas for a mercy he had never been granted.
“I’m not going to hurt you and I never will.” Zuko blinked, eyes clearing. “You are a child. Your father is a monster, you don’t deserve to be hurt.”
Zuko nodded, lip still shaking. Hakoda placed a hand on the teen’s pale hand and squeezed carefully.
“You are so good, when we end this war you will never have to fear being hurt at a father’s hand again.”
***
5-Gaang
Toph had never met Zuko before his arrival at the air temple asking for forgiveness. She had however heard stories about a ponytailed, honour obsessed prince whose face was half covered in a burn.
When they did meet she was less than impressed, he was just… scared and kind of pathetic. Ember Island was a nice change of pace, an actual house and although sand wasn’t her favourite it was nice in a simple way the war had burned away in most other places.
Katara ,having forgiven Zuko, seemed more motherly than usual as she scooped extra servings of watery stew into the fire nation traitor’s bowl.
When Sokka and Suki came back one afternoon, heat bearing down and ground too hot to walk on barefoot, talking about a play ,she couldn’t deny that small spark of excitement.
Toph had never really been a play person, they weren’t all that accessible to the blind but a play where she was one of the main characters? She could get behind that.
It was better than she could have ever imagined. Katara was a melodramatic whiner, Aang a girl and Zuko a full blown emo. Her and Sokka were the only ones who seemed okay with their characters, Sokka seemed offended by the quality of comedy but he took endless joy in the others’ pain.
A sentiment Toph too shared in.
It was fun. She had never been concerned by appearance, a nicer part of being blind, so the fact she was apparently played by a hulking man didn’t bother her. If they were strong then it was accurate. Zuko however, did not seem to see the joy in it.
It wasn’t a secret Zuko was a theatre nerd, he could recite monologues from romantic tragedies and discuss technicals with Sokka all day- it was sort of endearing. So maybe she should have been a little bit more concerned about Zuko’s discomfort.
“Father should have killed you when he gave you that scar!” The actress azula proclaimed, hands waving dramatically and red ribbons flying from dancing fingertips.
Zuko’s heart skyrocketed and although no one had been talking before the silence was suddenly suffocating.
“Zu-“ Suki began, calloused hand reaching for his shoulder but he shot out of his seat and disappeared through the swinging door.
“Leave him.” Katara muttered softly “He probably needs some time.” Suki nodded her head, throat bobbing and eyebrows furrowed.
The stage suddenly went dark, a voice called out from off stage ‘the banished prince’. Lights lit up the stage again in shades of red and oranges, on the platform was Iroh and Zuko. The actor for Zuko had changed, he was younger and free of any scar.
“Uncle!” His voice was a prepubescent whine “The guards won’t let me in the war chamber!” The actor stomped his booted foot.
The uncle chuckled easily. “Why of course nephew, though I must remind these men are wise and experienced you must not speak against them with disrespect as you so often do.”
The false Zuko snorted and pushed past the older man and made his way to the right hand side of the stage to join an assembly of actors in plasticy armour.
“My dear son, I am glad to see you will be joining us.” Ozai’s actor smiled, a painfully false smile painted on his face.
Toph felt anger burn in her chest, it was lies, it was making propaganda out of her friends suffering.
She listened with morbid curiosity as Zuko shouted at a general, and accepted the challenge of an agni kai. She knew what would happen next but that did not stop her feeling sick as she heard the audience laugh as a 13 year old boy screamed under his father’s hand.
“I will give you another chance, my beloved son.” The crowd booed, Katara next to her gagged into her hand. “Return with the avatar and you may regain my love and your honour.”
They didn’t talk about it. They walked back to the house in silence, any jokes that may have been made previously died on tongues as the reality of the horror they had just faced settled in.
When they got back Zuko’s form was meditating on the beach, no one went up to him.
“It makes sense.” Aang finally broke the deafening silence. “ I always thought he seemed more desperate than genuinely evil.”
There was an unmistakable tremble in the Avatar’s voice. No one responded, they let the sentence linger in the air until the next morning when they woke to the smell of curry.
Zuko stood at a steaming pot, smiling sheepishly. Hair wild and eyes red rimmed.
“ Sorry about yesterday.” He averted his eyes, a clear signal not to bring it up. “I made curry.”
Sokka found his words first, the rest followed and conversation began to flow again. Ozai may be a horrible ruler, a cruel tyrant but Toph found herself thinking his worst transgressions were his sins against his prefect, kind, awkward son.
***
+1- Sokka & Zuko
Sokka had come to terms with his slight crush (read: completely consuming devotion and love) on Zuko. He was kind and shy and smart but so so so stupid.
He had a dumb akward smile and a ridiculously cute laugh and a stupidly perfect voice. He was so painfully insecure of himself and his position in this world despite his countless strengths and kindnesses.
The war was over, Zuko was firelord all should be well but Sokka had a completely platonic slight concern about his jerkbending friend.
The gaang was staying at the palace until Zuko fully healed (Katara had almost thrown a fit when he saw Zuko and Sokka sparing an hour after Zuko got back into walking condition, she had refused to leave after that)
Sokka could count the amount of times he had seen Zuko take a break over the past weeks on one hand. The bags beneath his eyes grew and darkened to a deep purple, his legs trembled with exhaustion under his own weight and his words had grown softer and less frequent.
One evening at dinner when Zuko collapsed on his way to the table (not for the first time mind you) Sokka had decided he had had enough. Toph smirked knowingly at him as he picked Zuko up and Sokka would have flipped her a middle finger of not for the fact she was 12, blind and his hands were full.
She had probably felt his heart rate rise as he held the firebender against his chest anyway so that smirk was probably not ill intentioned.
He sat at the dark haired teen’s bed until he awoke, reciting words and comforts under his breath as he anticipated a lengthy discussion was needed to finally snap the dumbass out of his self damaging ways taught through years of abuse and neglect.
“Talking to herself is the first sign of madness my sister exhibited.” The voice was a familiar rasp. Zuko’s voice was like tea, so warm and soft- every aspect made to be a comfort, even with the teasing tang.
“That’s grim, dude.” Sokka huffed a laugh. “Besides it’s not madness, just a genius beyond your mortal comprehension.”
“My apologies,” Zuko waggled his eyebrows, a smirk dancing on his lips and a playfulness alight in molten gold eyes “Ambassador Sokka.”
Sokka chose to ignore the twinge in his stomach at Zuko’s smile, at his fucking dimples. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fi-.
A pale hand met Sokka’s face, warm palm against his cheek and thumb moving back and forth. Zuko’s face was painted a face of such tender love that Sokka’s breath suddenly left him.
“Zuko,” Sokka let out a broken squeak “dude we need to talk.”
The hand left quickly and Sokka pretended he didn’t mind not when Zuko’s now downtrodden expression was the most pressing of concerns.
“I-“ Zuko took a shaky breath, hand running back through his inky hair “I know I’m not the kind of man you want. I’m sorry, Sokka.”
“Huh?” Sokka’s mind reached a roaring halt. “Zuko, wait just give me a second.”
The firebender nodded, hands clasped in his lap as he straightened his back against the backboard of his bed, eyes trained on the yellow patterns of his blanket.
“Zuko what do you think is happening here?”
Zuko’s head shot up, mouth twitching in the shape of words but no sounds left his lips.
“I can promise you that it’s not what you think. Zuko, we need to talk because I’m concerned about you overworking yourself not-“ Sokka floundered for a second, hands waving back and forth “our sexual tension.”
Immediately both boys flushed horrendous shades of red. Zuko’s fingertips lit with tiny flames catching his blanket on fire instantaneously.
Chaos broke out, Zuko tried to blow on it to put it out, instead spurring it on, but made no move to leave the bed. Sokka’s hands moved in every direction, looking for something to put the flames out before his eyes landed on a flower vase.
He immediately tipped the vase onto the bed and time seemed to stop for a second.
The two teens, both so irreversibly scared by their ancestors' wars, one sat in a scorched, damp bed, the other coughing on remnants of smoke, both burst into the kind of full bodied laughter that brings stabbing pain in your stomach and breathlessness to your lungs.
A fire nation king and a water tribe chief sat opposite each other and the rest of the world faded away.
When the laughter choked off, fading into tender smiles as the ocean met the sun in their eyes, the all consuming love filled both their chests.
“Zuko,” Sokka began, an unimaginable soft feeling residing throughout his body, “you are better than your father. You didn’t deserve what he did to you. He was wrong and cruel. You are such a good man” hand in hand “I love you so please just… take care of yourself.”
Forehead met forehead and for a moment they seemed to share the same breath.
“Thank you, Sokka.” He was Zuko, the firelord but so much more- he had spent so long struggling and fighting. The world had always spun so fast but now it was still. “I love you.”