Despite his age, Zuko wasn’t a child. His childhood had ended a long time ago. The night his mother left and his father stopped seeing him and Azula as children and started shaping them into weapons he could use to conquer and destroy, and when that wasn't enough he set them on each other. Then, he'd been sent to chase the Avatar, a twisted illusion of regaining his honor, that slipped further from his grasp with every desperate mile.
And for what? Neatly packaged lies?
He’d learned a lot in his travels since then. The world had opened his eyes, but more importantly, it opened his heart and what Zuko wanted more than anything was to stop the Fire Nation from hurting the world more than it already had. He couldn’t undo the damage his nation had done. He couldn’t bring back the Air Nomads or Katara and Sokka’s mother. But he could try, in whatever capacity was left to him, to help them find some closure.
That’s why he was here now, seated @droplct on the Avatar’s bison, the night air biting at his face as he watched her stare blankly into the distance. She looked haunted by what she's just done to that soldier on the battle ship. He could still see the way his body had moved like a puppet under her control. It had been… terrifying. Power like that wasn’t meant for anyone, and yet she wielded it with a effortless sort of grace.
“You need to rest,” he said quietly, eyes still fixed on the horizon. “Whatever it was you did back on that ship —it took a lot out of you.” He hesitated, the wind catching the last of his words before he could stop them. “I’ve seen a lot of bending in my life… but nothing like that.”