After Zuko's banishment, after the Agni Kai, the burn on his face that took half his sight and more than a quarter of his hearing, Zuko and his uncle left all Fire Nation soil. They had been warned that a single toe on Fire Nation soil would end in death. For both Zuko and Iroh.
At first, they had nowhere to go, no idea how to get anywhere remotely safe—or at least somewhere where their presence didn't condemn them to death. Iroh was the one who had the idea of going to one of the poles.
Zuko hadn't understood why. Not really. Iroh told him that the Water Tribes were peaceful people and not one of them would even think of hurting Zuko. He didn't show it, but it was comforting. The idea that no one would try to hurt him, especially after the duel with his father...
It took weeks, over a month to get from the Fire Nation borders to the South Pole. Mostly because they had to find a ship to get them there since they couldn't get one from the Fire Navy.
Zuko was thirteen and scarred and—not that he'd ever admit it—absolutely terrified when he and his uncle finally washed up on Southern Ice. The boat they'd bought was small and cold and Zuko had had to learn Breath of Fire just to keep warm. His face still hurt even with the ointments from his uncle and Zuko's meticulous cleaning and dressing of the wound, it burned just as much as when Fire Lord Ozai had inflicted it on him.
Oh, and he was hungry. Hungrier than he'd ever been. He and Iroh hadn't eaten in days, not being able to do much but hide away and try to generate as much heat as possible. No time for hunting.
The first thing Zuko heard when they got there was the voice of a boy yelling out for his father.
"Dad! Dad, there's people! There's people on the shore! Dad!" The boy yelled. Zuko and Iroh traded looks. They should get out and show peace. However 'peaceful' Iroh said the Water Tribes were, they would be better safe than sorry.
Iroh stepped out of the boat cabin, walking out onto the board, completely exposed, completely vulnerable.
Zuko heard someone yell about it being just an old man. Mere seconds later, he heard his uncle call out to him.
"Zuko, come now, they won't hurt you."
He almost wanted to scoff. Like that was something he was worried about—it absolutely was but no one needed to know that, not even Uncle.
He stepped out of the cabin, tentative and slow and shaking so much he couldn’t tell if it was from fear or from the cold. He stepped out into the open, the cold wind making his face sting, making his scar burn. Zuko wasn’t sure he’d make it another day out in this cold.
“He’s just a child.” Zuko heard a man say. He turned in the direction of the voice, eye landing on the man who’d spoken. He was tall and well built and Zuko could tell that this man must be their leader. Their chief. Zuko heard gasps. Horrified gasps. They must have seen the other side of his face. The burn. It stung worse with the wind directly on it.
“What did they do to you, my boy?” He heard another voice say, much too close to him now. He flinched back, recoiling away from the voice. The man had been on his left side, he hadn’t heard him or seen him. He couldn’t see. He—
“Oh, hey, easy there, you’re ok.” That same voice said. He was in front of Zuko now. Zuko could see him now. He was about the same as the chief but he could tell it wasn’t the same man. His hair was longer, a couple more braids.
“Uncle—where’s my—” Zuko felt the words tumble from his mouth, felt his heart race at the thought of having lost his uncle to these people. He scanned the boat, no uncle. Scanned the ice below. Still no uncle. Where was—
“Zuko. Here, I made tea.” Iroh said, kneeling down next to his nephew, a cup of hot tea in his hands. How had he had the time to do that? It didn’t matter. He was here, he was alive. He took the cup into his hands, the warmth seeping into his hands the longer he held it. The tea itself was familiar, the same jasmine tea Uncle always made when Zuko was caught off guard by his inability to see or hear on one side. He drank it slowly, savouring it. Letting it heat him up from the inside.
“Uncle.” Zuko said, looking up at his uncle, looking away from the Tribe man in front of him. “Uncle, are they going to have us killed? Will they send us back to father?” Zuko knew he shouldn’t let his emotions get the better of him, knew he shouldn’t cry in public or show his fear. But he was thirteen and he was no longer allowed in his own home and he was terrified.
He heard more gasps. The man in front of him leaned closer. “Kiddo, what do you mean ‘have you killed’?” he asked, his voice softer now than it had been. Zuko didn’t answer. He couldn’t bring himself to. “Why would your father want you dead?” He asked.
“I—I spoke out of—out of turn.” Zuko hated the way his breath stuttered, hated the way the words lodged themselves in his throat. He felt a hand land on his shoulder. His uncle’s hand.
“We won’t let anyone hurt you kid.” the man said. He held out a hand to Iroh. “I’m Bato. I’ll take you to Chief Hakoda in a moment. First—” He turned to Zuko. “—let’s get you both some parkas.”
dededos
romaincrisis
kianamaiart
blakekathryn
stormborns
