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“That...wasn’t a good play.”
Zuko hadn’t been expecting much from a production that came from The Ember Island Theatre Troupe, but what they just sat through really takes the cake.
‘Wasn’t good’ was a very generous critique. He would have liked to have said more but felt too drained.
It’s exhausting to have your actions played out in front of you for entertainment. It feels even worse when they are able to highlight every one of your bad decisions and embellish it with colourful streamers and melodramatic spotlights.
I hate you, Uncle! You smell, and I hate you for all time!
Zuko flinched at the memory of his actor’s portrayal of what happened in the catacombs of Ba Sing Se from where he laid in bed, several hours later, trying to get some sleep.
It was childish and nasty, and so unlike what had happened, but at the same time, so very accurate.
Toph had said that he had redeemed himself by being here, doing the right thing by helping Aang defeat his father, but even if that’s true, his choice in those caverns will haunt him till the end of his days. The only thing that was keeping him from spiraling down into a hole of regret and guilt was the other part of the play that was wreaking havoc on his night.
From the balcony, at the end of the theatre, he could see the full audience as they stood as one, and cheered enthusiastically, as his stage persona succumbed to Azula’s comet-powered flames.
He felt rattled, almost petrified, by what was happening but not for the reason his friends probably think.
(Although, having the audience —his people— cheer for his death was also extremely disconcerting, no denying that. He couldn’t even distract himself with the fact that they got Azula’s fire the completely wrong colour.
Logically, he could reason that there was the propaganda and the compulsive need ingrained into every Fire Nation citizen to celebrate the death of a traitor, but still...)
He felt like he was almost having an out of body experience as he watched the Prince Zuko-actor descend into a trapdoor behind fake, cottony fire. The memory of what it felt like when his head hit the polished marble floor of the arena, dirtied with his tears and blood, felt both too strong and too faint as the ever-present phantom feeling of burning-numbing pain spreading across his face fought for superiority, in that moment.
The rapturous cheers he was hearing, in real time, started to overlap with the heavy, respectful silence that echoed after he collapsed and turned into approving applause as his Father walked away from his prone form.
He had passed out—from pain, from blood loss, he still hasn't figured it out yet—shortly after that but was hyper aware of everything that was going on before that occurred, even as his vision spotted to black.
He’d banked the fire of everything associated with that on the walk back to the beach house, but even after taking the time to meditate before bed he couldn’t go to sleep. He could deal with the memories but after those feelings dissipated, all that was left was what was right in front of him.
Dying by the comet’s power. Losing to his sister, to his father. Watching as his friends turn to ash, one by one. Failing to stop Ozai. The Earth Kingdom joining the Air Nomads in the Spirit World.
All these doubts and thoughts that he had been avoiding thinking of have been put on blast tonight, because of that play. That underlying tension, that’s been growing as the comet nears, was being very persistent and he knew with a certainty that he wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight.
A cat-owl meowed in the distance.
Zuko sighed.
He got up from bed and carefully crept through the room, memories of which floorboards to avoid still ingrained in him after all these years. He slid open the window and quietly pulled himself up and onto the roof. Letting his mind focus on being stealthy and agile, on the divots and ridges and sheathing that threatened to break with any missteps, was the closest thing he was going to get to relaxing.
The night sky was dark and the air was cool, with the familiar scent of the sea being carried inland. The moon was shining brightly, not even a cloud in the sky.
It was an idealistic night. And in complete contrast to what Zuko was feeling right now.
He walked across the slanted structure, being careful to avoid disturbing his friends resting in the rooms underneath him. He doubts that any of them were having any easier of a night than he was. He wandered aimlessly, for a while, before noticing a shadowed figure crouched on the far end of the roof.
His first instinct was to attack. To sneak behind the would-be assassin, or whatever agent his father or Azula had sent, and incapacitate them before they could carry out their orders—because no one on this island would dare trespass on these grounds, even if it has been years since any of the royal family has stayed here.
But when he got closer, he was able to make out sky blue arrows and defeated, slumped shoulders.
Aang was awake as well, it seems.
Zuko felt guilty as he remembered that he wasn’t the only one with the less than favorable ending in the play. Aang had already been upset at his casting, watching an ending to the war where they lose and die horribly wouldn't have made him feel better.
“Hey.”
Aang jolted at his greeting. He turned to look at him, surprised.
“Oh! Hi, Zuko.”
“Mind if I sit?”
At Aang’s permission he sat down at the edge of the roof, letting his legs dangle off the side. They both sat in silence, staring into the distance. From where they were seated, they had a nice view of the water reflecting the moon and stars.
“So, why are you up?” Aang asked quietly.
He was looking at the image ahead of them but seemed less gloomy than before. Zuko could relate, he still felt grim but it was more bearable with company.
“Are you referring to being awake or on the roof?”
Aang huffed a laugh, “Awake.”
“Trouble sleeping.”
Aang murmured his agreement and they fell back into silence. After a long moment, Aang spoke up.
“What do you think about destiny?” he asked, ”Do you think it’s real?”
Zuko hadn’t been expecting that question but answered honestly.
“I...I don’t really know...”
For so long, Zuko’s life had revolved around what he thought was his destiny—his given purpose. When he had been a child, his destiny was to serve his nation as a Prince; when he became Crown Prince, it was to become the Firelord; when he was banished it was to capture the Avatar. Even when he made his decision to leave the Fire Nation to seek out Aang, he thought he was following some cosmic plan.
But if he really thought about it, if he thought about his struggles and turmoil, and the decisions he got caught between, did he really think it was destiny?
“I don’t think it’s as set in stone as it’s implied,” Zuko said, then added, “Uncle said that Destiny is a funny thing.”
Aang mulled over his words before responding.
“I don’t know how to feel about destiny.” Aang said, shrugging his shoulders helplessly, “I feel like my life has been pulled in so many directions. That destiny has always had a hand in how my life has played out, no matter what I want. I was destined to be the Avatar. I was destined to stop the Firelord. I was destined to save the world.”
He was serious and solemn, looking far older than his youthful appearance suggests.
Zuko often gets reminded of how Aang is so much more than your average twelve year old, that his spirit is far more experienced than anyone else in this world. But now, Zuko thinks that he should remember that for all of that Aang is still just twelve.
“I want to be upset.”
The admission shocked Zuko more than he was expecting it to.
“Because if destiny really does define so much, then that means that everything that has happened, happened for a reason. That it’s inevitable.”
Aang’s eyes got misty as he got emotional but he wasn’t showing any other outward reaction besides that. It was worrying and Zuko cursed at himself that he didn’t know how to properly handle the situation.
“It means that no matter what, I was going to lose them all,” Aang said with a heartbreaking calmness, “My people, my culture, my friends, Gyatso.”
Zuko took a chance and lifted an arm up when Aang’s voice broke at the end. Aang sniffled but crowded into his side. Zuko held him tight.
“I want to be upset because it means I was destined to disappear when the world needed me. I want to be upset because destiny means one hundred years of war was unavoidable. I want to be upset because I’m supposed to be the one to stop it—I was suspended in time so that I would be the one to stop it and I don't know how!”
Aang had lost that unnerving composure and was properly crying now. Zuko shouldn’t feel relieved but he was; crying meant Aang wasn’t holding anything in anymore. Zuko held him through all of it. Letting him safely break down, be heard and supported.
How long have you felt this way? Zuko wondered. How much have you been holding back?
“You’re allowed to be upset.”
Zuko waited until Aang had calmed enough to hear him and by the hitch in his breath Zuko knew he had.
“You’re allowed to be upset,” Zuko said again, firmly, so that there was no mistaking it, “You’re allowed to be confused. You’re allowed to be angry.”
“I don’t know for certain if there is some predetermined plan out there or not,” He said, getting it out of the way, “But regardless if our lives are set to follow a certain path, we have a choice.”
Zuko thought back to his decision in the catacombs and heard his uncle's words from another important night, clearly.
Is it your own destiny, or is it a destiny someone else has tried to force on you?
It's time for you to look inward and begin asking yourself the big questions. Who are you, and what do you want?
He was Zuko. Son of Ursa and Firelord Ozai. Brother to Azula and nephew to Iroh. He was a Prince to the Fire Nation and had a responsibility to his people and the world.
Maybe it was destiny that led him to where he was now, that it was necessary that he went through what he did to see the truth about everything.
But it was his choice to either embrace it or reject it.
Zuko looked Aang in the eye.
(Which was slightly difficult because he hadn’t really let go.)
“You are the deciding factor in your life.” Zuko insisted, “It is your decisions that make the difference. Even when it seems like your choices have been made for you, you get to decide if you take it or not.”
Aang stared at him, tears still running down his face and eyes red but not sobbing anymore. Zuko hoped he was able to help, even a little bit.
They stayed on the roof, waiting for the last of Aang’s tears to dry before heading back to the house. They were both tired enough to sleep by now and should try to get as much as they could since dawn will be breaking in a matter of hours and they had to be awake for firebending training.
Before they headed their separate ways, Aang stopped him.
“Thank you, Zuko, for earlier.” Aang said with a smile. “It really helped.”
Zuko, for all his improvement in interacting with people, has yet to be comfortable with receiving genuine gratitude with any kind of grace, so he fumbled a reply.
“Uh..yeah—you to—I-I mean, you’re welcome?”
Aang let out a laugh at his awkward reply, but he was looking much better than before so Zuko didn’t think much of it.
“Yeah, I think I needed to hear that.”
Aang looked at the floorboards, lightly scuffed from use, then back at the firebender with a renewed light in his eye.
“I guess destiny isn’t so bad,” He said with a grin, “Afterall, it led me to become friends with the rest of you.”
Aang was being sincere, and open, and unabashed in his affection.
So, obviously, Zuko's reaction to that kindness being directed at him was to defect.
“Well, I don’t know about me,'' He said a bit stiltedly, ''but finding the other’s really did seem to be the work of fate.”
“What are you talking about? Meeting you was definitely destiny!” Aang protested.
“Aang, I was sent to capture you,” Zuko tried to remind him, “I would have met you some way or another, that's not destiny.”
But Aang just shook his head.
“I know that we were meant to meet that day in the South Pole.” He said, “Just like I know that Sokka and Katara were meant to find me in the ice, or that Toph was meant to be my earthbending teacher or that our paths always crossed with Suki’s.”
Zuko scoffed, “You couldn’t have possibly known that we would become friends then.”
“Well, I didn’t,” Aang responded, sheepishly, “But that’s why I asked you!”
What.
“What are you talking about?” Zuko couldn’t help but ask, incredulous. When did he ever—
“Don’t you remember? You did get hit on the head,” Aang’s brow was furrowed with concern, “In the forest! After you broke me out of the Pohuai Stronghold!”
Do you think we could have been friends?
Zuko recalls the question being asked to him after he woke up with an aching head. At the time he didn’t appreciate it, thinking that the airbender was mocking him.
“You threw fire at me!”
Zuko also remembered that.
“They certainly forgot to add that part in the script.” Zuko mused out loud.
He remembered a moment too late that that accursed play was the source of their troubles last night and worried that Aang would get upset at the reminder, but apparently, that was unnecessary because Aang just laughed.
“Yeah, that didn’t happen that way at all,” He said, mischief colouring his tone, “That Blue Spirit actor didn’t look half as dramatic as you did when you came to save me.”
Zuko went to retort —he hadn’t been dramatic, everything he did was in control and completely necessary for his goal— but the sound of clattering and ceramic breaking put the two of them on high alert.
Both Aang and Zuko leaped into defensive stances, preparing themselves for intruders or any other signs of danger. Zuko could hear the rest of their friends moving in their rooms, clearly awoken by the sound as well.
When they didn’t notice anything flying towards them—be it people, knives, fire or any other objects—they took a more careful scan of the room, still ready to fight at a moment's notice.
In the entrance of the hallway that led to the lower level of the beach house stood Sokka. He was still and silent but his mouth was gaping open and his eyes were almost bulging. At his feet, was a broken bowl and scattered piles of fire flakes and rice crackers.
The following one sided argument was loud.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU!”
It was accusatory.
“YOU TRAITOR! I TRUSTED YOU!”
It expressed a truly devastating amount of personal hurt.
“YOU JERKY JERKBENDING JERK!”
If any of their friends hadn’t been awoken by the initial noise, they certainly were now. It also succeeded it’s secondary goal of informing the rest of the occupants of the residence what only two of their company had previously been aware of.
(“So...you’re the Blue Spirit,” Suki restated, unnecessarily.
She and the rest of their friends had piled into the hallway where Sokka was stranded, surrounded by shards of a bowl Toph refused to clean because he woke her up.
“Yeah.”
“Aren’t you wanted by the Fire Nation?”
Katara could barely be heard from over Sokka’s continued shouting.
“...Yeah.”
“Aren’t you wanted as yourself too?”
“...maybe?”
“....”
“....”
“I think Sokka framed your poster in Ba Sing Se.”
Another inhuman screech came from Sokka’s general direction.
“Can it, Snoozles!”)
It was truly an stroke of fate that any of the inhabitants of Ember Island, close enough to hear the echoes of the racket coming from the abandoned Royal Summer Residence during the early hours of the day, truly believed in the rumors of malicious and vengeful spirits haunting the place—because none of them dared to report this incident to the domestic forces for fear of being tormented by whichever dead royal with unfinished business on the mortal plane it was.