Work Text:
It was calm on the Wani: the rhythmic clacking of Pai Sho tiles accompanied by quiet waves lulling the hull back and forth. The mid-day sun beat down upon the steel deck in the way that only firebenders can enjoy.
For all intents and purposes, a single letter delivered by messenger hawk should be unable to break the peace.
Only, it bears the Imperial seal.
Zuko stares at the molded wax unblinking, his fingers crumpling the sides of the scroll. Only the Firelord has access to that seal. The man who held his life in his hands.
His Father.
There is an idea that has hope sparking in his chest, though it is weak with the depth of dread and doubt that sits a stagnant weight in his stomach.
He wishes he could ignore that treacherous feeling. Usually he can.
His hands shake ever so slightly as he tears away the seal, unfurling the waxy parchment. His Uncle's steady presence is made apparent by the warm hand upon his shoulder.
Zuko's eyes scan the elegant characters of the palace scribes, brows furrowing in confusion.
'Agni's visage on Earth, Firelord Ozai of the Dragon Throne, the end of the era of the Phoenix.'
"Oh my." His uncle had been reading over his shoulder. Zuko reads it again. And again. And again. It still makes no sense.
The end of an era means that the current Firelord has left the throne, either through retirement or death. It is rarely the former, and Zuko's Father certainly wouldn't give up his position.
His Father... would never retire.
Surely this is foolish trickery? Enemy propaganda? He would think it an attempt of Azula's to mess with him, only she would never spread such lies, even to see him fall even further out of favour.
But Father could not be dead. That's ridiculous.
It's not impossible, even if it feels as if it is. The Firelord is not an untouchable demi-human like some would be lead to believe. Ozai is as mortal as any other man.
Someone so powerful could not simply die. There is a visceral part of Zuko, bloody, charred and oozing pus, that physically cannot understand that Firelord Ozai is dead.
It is wrong for him to have outlived his Father.
Yet as he tears his eyes away from the paper and to his Uncle; he remembers that wrong things happen far too often.
"Uncle." His voice comes out oddly strained. "What now?"
Iroh frowns in concentration, chin pinched between thumb and forefinger as he mutters under his breath. After a minute he looks up at Zuko, face set in a determined expression.
"We must return to the Fire Nation."
"Uncle-!" Iroh cuts him off with a raised hand.
"As heir of the Dragon Throne you are no longer bound to your Father's banishment. It is your right to return and stake your claim to the throne."
The awful mix of dread and hope begin to boil.
"Azula will already have made her claim by the time we arrive." Zuko does not find it hard to imagine her sitting upon their Father's- her throne with a golden flame piercing her top knot.
But she looks so small. Still the eleven year old she had been when he last saw her. Two years ago.
"That does not change the fact that you have a right to the throne." Zuko has always known his Uncle to be a wise man, a man who is rarely wrong.
"You're wrong, it does." Iroh raises a questioning eyebrow, his gold eyes piercing through Zuko. "It- it does." Even to his own ears he sounds desperate.
"How so?" How so? Why does Uncle not understand? He knows what Zuko would have to do to push Azula off of that Throne. To wrench the crown from her hair. He should know.
"It does." He repeats, explanation caught in his throat like a beefly in it's own honey.
"It does not." But it does.
Zuko turns away from his Uncle, shoulders set. "No." He turns his attention back to the parchment. There is more writing below what he's already read.
"A new era, era of the Tempest declared by Firelord Azula of the Dragon Throne, Agni's righteous visage on Earth, daughter of Ozai and Ursa." He reads aloud. "Firelord Azula."
The title tastes like bitter ash upon his tongue. It is wrong, as are many things upon this plane. The ship sways beneath his feet and he sways with it, and he wonders how the Throne would feel beneath Azula. He imagines it to be cold and unforgiving. She looks so small in his mind.
"We will return to the Royal Caldera. I am sure Firelord Azula will be in need of a trusted advisor." He says, turning back to his Uncle. The older man looks frustrated. Zuko sees it not in his face or the set of his shoulders, but rather he can tell by the fire in his eyes.
Zuko had learnt that his Uncle was trustworthy on his first year at sea. For the first time since then he wonders if that really is an accurate judgement.
Of course it is. Uncle would never do anything to hurt Zuko and Azula. He made it clear years ago that he had no interest in the Throne. He is a wise general and will do his best to protect Azula from the albatross-vultures of the court.
Of that Zuko is certain.