#who wants to ask for part two: Zuko’s unhappy childhood

[muffinlance]

So, how does Zuko wind up at the Tree of Time in Chaos Avatar to bust Vaatu out? Didn't you say the start is pre-banishment, post-mom gone? What, does he, as a descendant of Roku, have enough of a knack for spirit stuff to fall into a meditative trace while hiding at the turtleduck pond and missing his mom or whatever, and poof! He's at the Tree of Time?

FINALLY someone asks for the START. You are correct that the turtleduck pond is involved. <3

* * *

The turtleduckling had disappeared the day after mother did, but at least Zuko knew where it had gone. But he still wasn’t talking to Azula. 

“You have to talk to me sometime, Dum-Dum,” she said.

He crossed his arms, and stared at the remaining ducklings as they hid under a bush on the opposite side. There were four left.

“It was an accident, I didn’t even see it, and anyway it should have moved. You have to forgive me for accidents, moth—”

Mother said so. But they didn’t talk about mother anymore. 

Azula sat down next to him. She crossed her arms, too. And puffed out her cheeks, and glared, and he did not look like that. Not that he was paying attention to her. 

He was paying attention to the turtleducklings. Because… because there were five.

Azula went very still next to him.

The fifth turtleduckling had a darker shell and feathers, like it had been rolled in ashes. It waddled into the water, heedless of its parents' warning quacks and the two children the rest of its siblings were hiding from. 

Quack, it said, and paddled merrily along. 

Quack, it said, and disappeared like it had swum behind a screen. Except the screen was a normal patch of water and air, and he could see straight through it still. No fifth turtleduck.

“Is our pond… haunted?” Zuko asked.

“I thought you weren’t talking to me,” Azula said, but it was more of a reflex, as they both stared. Then, more sharply: “What are you doing?”

Zuko was standing up. He found a pebble and, without a mother to re-advise him against throwing rocks into certain ponds, launched it towards the spot they’d last seen the ghost duck. 

Quack, quacked an extremely offended quacker, who was still out of sight. The rock had disappeared, too, with no ripple on the water to show it had ever landed.

“...Dare you to go in,” Azula said.

“How stupid do you think I am?”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Azula said. “But a coward? That remains to be seen.”

Zuko glowered. Azula smirked. …Zuko started rolling up his pants.

“I wasn’t serious,” she snapped. “And I take it back, you are stupid,” which meant that now he was definitely going in. “Father is going to be angry when he sees you in wet robes,” she said, as he toed off his shoes. “And I’m not covering for you,” she said, as he caught his balance on the first slimy algae-covered stones, “and I’ll demand the servants attend me so they won’t be able to help you change, and—”

By then he was near the center of the small pond, and poking at air. His hand disappeared.

“I hope it hurts,” Azula said. She was on her feet now, with her arms crossed even more firmly over her chest.

“It just feels… normal? Maybe a little cold? It doesn’t—oww!” 

He jerked back his hand, complete with one ghost turtleduckling clamped over his palm. 

“Oww oww oww,” he shook it, and shook it, but it wasn’t coming off, and then he tripped on a stupid slimy rock and fell sideways—

“I’m not coming after you!”

—into somewhere that wasn’t the palace gardens at all. He’d fallen in water, but it was a shallow stream now. The day was colder, the wind stronger and drier. And there was a tree, up ahead.

The duckling dropped off his hand, and paddled away. Zuko barely glanced after it.

That was a very, very big tree. A purple light pulsed at its bulging, split-barked core.

“Hello, mortal,” the tree said.

At which point Zuko scrabbled backwards until he splashed back into the stiller, warmer, deeper water of the turtleduck pond.

“Evil tree,” he told Azula.

“Dum-Dum,” she said, and stomped off. 

By the time Zuko got inside, the servants were busy drawing their little princess a warm bath. He was made to wait his turn.

* * *

“I am unaware of any records pertaining to… evil trees,” the sage in charge of the royal archives said. 

“What about the spirit world?” Zuko asked.

* * *

The ghost turtleduckling swam with impunity between realms. And stole entire loaves out of Zuko’s hands, before fleeing on its tiny paddling feet to the safety of the other side.

“Hey!” 

It had learned that Zuko wouldn’t follow. Neither would its equally hungry siblings.

* * *

A place of death could form a rift, if the spirit did not realize its own passing. If it still desired to return, and was unaware of the general impossibility of the task. Spirits worked mostly on not realizing they couldn’t do a thing. 

“Oh,” Zuko said, to the scroll.

As this was a more common occurrence with animal spirits than with humans, who tended to overthink things even in death, it did not help Zuko narrow down his mother’s location.

* * *

Azula had stopped coming to the pond. And they had different bending instructors, now; father said a private tutor would stop her from being held back by… others. She preened.

Since Zuko was left alone at his lessons, he had a private tutor now, too. It didn’t feel like a reward.

* * *

“...Hello again, mortal,” the tree said, its voice oozing like a courtier’s. “Do come in. No need to be shy.”

“Are you evil?” Zuko asked, only his head poking through the rift.

“Such terms rarely apply to spirits,” the tree said, exactly like an evil tree would. “Consider our meeting, rather… an opportunity. Is there something you require assistance with? You would not have found yourself in this part of the spirit world, if I could not help. Perhaps we could— Mortal, come back here—”

Zuko pulled his head back out. It was definitely evil. But he’d gotten a better look at the patterns on the glowy purple part, so he sat down on the pond’s edge, and drew them before he forgot. He’d brought paper this time.

Maybe he wasn’t a good bender. Or heir. But there was an evil tree in the royal turtleduck pond, and he wasn’t a coward. He’d take care of it.

* * *

The sage in charge of the archives blinked. Took the paper from him, and blinked again. 

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I believe I have seen something like this. Come.”

The scroll was old. So old it wasn’t even the original: it had been copied, and had time to grow old all over again. The sage fretted over every crackling inch they unrolled.

“Where did you say you saw this design?” the sage asked.

“...I, uh. Dreamed it?” Zuko said.

They stared, together, at an inked drawing of the Avatar’s patron spirit. 

* * *

…If Zuko found the Avatar, father would definitely like him better than Azula.

* * *

“Mortal,” the evil tree greeted, much less cordially.

“Are you the Avatar?”

“What,” it inquired, with a sort of rustling tree sigh, like it was already disappointed in his answer, “is the Avatar?”

Oh. So… no.

“It’s just, there was this picture in a scroll, of the Avatar’s patron spirit. And they looked like you, except without the tree, and white—”

“Raava,” the tree hissed.

Which had probably been the kanji that he hadn’t recognized. But neither had the sage, so it must have been a really hard one.

“Tell me about this… Avatar,” the tree said.

And maybe Zuko should have gone back to the training grounds to practice his katas more. Or read over the next chapters in his textbooks again, so he’d actually understand them when his instructors went over them tomorrow. But he was still sore from the extra sets his master had assigned as remedial instruction after Zuko had embarrassed them both in front of father. And sometimes when he read ahead he thought too much and got all the wrong ideas in his head, like the time he’d asked why Sozin hadn’t formed a coalition of other nations against the threat of the Air Nomad army. And that just made more work for his instructors to fix, so.

So Zuko sat down, on the stream bank nearest his escape route, and talked to an evil tree.

“They’re the master of all four elements,” he said. “The last one was an enemy to the Fire Nation, and the new one’s been hiding, probably because he’s too much of a coward to face us—”

* * *

He brought an extra loaf of bread next time. One for the ducklings who needed it, and one for the duckling who just thought she did. The ghost duckling tugged and tugged against his grip, before grudgingly clambering up to eat in his lap.

She was really soft.

She bit really hard.

“How many of these… Avatars… have there been?” the evil tree asked.

* * *

“How many Avatars have there been?” Zuko asked the sage.

“Nigh uncountable,” the man said. “Have you had more dreams, my prince?”

“Um,” Zuko said.

* * *

“A lot,” Zuko told the tree. “The sage in the archive said the histories don’t go back that far. He guessed there were at least a hundred.”

“...And how long does your species of mortal live?”

“Avatar Kyoshi lived a really long time. But most of us don’t live more than seventy or eighty years. And some of the Avatars probably died a lot sooner than that, if people resented their meddling as much as the textbooks say.”

“Seven thousand years,” the tree said. “At least.”

And then it got really quiet, for a long time. Which was natural for a tree, but not for an evil tree. Zuko sat with it. He’d brought his homework, so he wouldn’t be wasting his study time.

…Except he kind of did, because apparently ghost turtleducklings could sleep—or at least, dream of sleeping?—and this one did it right in his lap.

* * *

They had flambéed quail-shark for dinner, and Zuko had almost been late, but father was too busy watching the flames to notice him sliding onto his cushion. Azula did.

“Look,” she whispered, “a dead bird can firebend better than you.”

* * *

“Flambé,” Zuko scolded, trying to pull half a loaf of bread out of the mouth of a ghost turtleduckling intent on choking herself.

“...What is ‘flambé’?” the evil tree asked.

And, after Zuko was done with that explanation: “What is… ‘taste’?”

* * *

“I need a recipe book,” Zuko told the sage. “With pictures.” 

“I… of course, my prince. But first, would you like any of these?”

The man had set out a whole table of toys. Most were wooden. They all looked really old. There was another sage there, one of the ones from the high temple. He was just kind of standing there, watching them for some reason. 

“Thanks,” Zuko said. “But I’m too old for toys.”

They both watched him leave.

* * *

“Which turtle do you hail from?” the tree asked.

“I… don’t know?”

The tree sighed. “Air. Water. Earth—”

“Fire!” Zuko said.

“Yes,” it said drily, “that is the final option.”

“No, that’s… that’s what I bend. I’m from the Fire Nation.”

“Ah,” the tree said, in its oil-slick voice. “The element of power. A fine fit, for such a promising young larva.”

So today was going to be one of those days.

Zuko crossed his arms. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said, “but if you keep trying to make me evil, I’m going to go back and practice my bending some more.”

“No need for anything so dramatic,” it said. “But I would wager that there’s something you need more power for. Some task to do, or someone to impress. Perhaps someone to… surpass?”

Azula was two sequences ahead, now. Father had rewarded her with an even better tutor. They were very famous, or something. 

“Perhaps we can help each other,” the tree said.

“Do you want more water?” Zuko asked. Because he’d been sitting here day after day thinking how dry the ground was, even with the stream, and the stream was actually really far from the tree’s roots. Maybe that was why it looked so dead. Maybe it wasn’t evil, it was just really thirsty. “I could dig the stream closer. I saw farmers doing that, when mo— When we toured the countryside, when we were younger. They said it was good for the plants.”

“I…” the tree said, like that was not the response it expected. “No, larva. I do not require more water.”

“What else do trees need?” Zuko asked.

“...I am not the tree. I am inside the tree.” 

“Oh. Oh. …You can come out, if you want. I’ll try not to be scared.”

It was silent again. And then it was laughing, but not a funny laugh. And then it was shouting, and Zuko knew better than to talk back when someone was shouting at him. 

“I cannot simply come out. I have been trapped here, alone, for millennia beyond your comprehension, and…”

The spirit stopped, and took in great big breaths, which wasn’t a thing father or his tutors did until they were done yelling. The spirit had stopped itself early, without Zuko apologizing even once. 

“...Is that why you’re lonely?” He’d thought it was because it was a tree, and evil trees without many leaves probably didn’t get many visitors. But being inside a tree probably wasn’t any better.

“I am not lonely,” the not-a-tree growled. “Listen, human larva. I will grant you power beyond your mortal imagining. You can be that Avatar you speak of, if you join with me. All I require in exchange is to not be in a tree.”

* * *

“Could someone who isn’t the Avatar learn the other elements?” Zuko asked the sage.

“...I suspect,” said the man, looking somewhat tired, “that the most likely explanation for such a phenomenon would be that this person was the Avatar. I happen to have a book here, with select personal accounts of how those who came into the knowledge prior to their sixteenth birthdays adjusted to the situation. If you would be interested.”

Zuko scowled, because that wasn’t helpful at all.

* * * 

“You’re never going to catch up, Zuzu,” Azula said. “But I suppose you could come train with me, if you asked nicely. My new tutor believes in the benefit of sparring, even against lesser opponents. We don’t even need to ask father, so long as you can refrain from embarrassing us both.”

“Mmhmm,” said Zuko, who was thinking.

“Well?” she snapped.

“Sorry, what?”

His sister stomped away.

* * * 

She wouldn’t talk to him at dinner, which was normal, because she always talked with father then.

She wouldn’t talk to him at any other meals, either, which wasn’t. Father wasn’t even there for those, it was just them and the servants who silently scurried in and out.

She didn’t even barge into his room to read his essays over his shoulder and laugh. …Or read the play scrolls they’d smuggled out of mother’s room before the servants had cleaned it, and laugh together. 

* * *

The servants were polite, but father hated for them to waste time on idle chatter.

Uncle was still missing. 

The sage in the archives kept looking at him funny.

“Could we spar sometime?” Zuko asked Azula, because he missed training together.

For some reason, that made her ignore him even harder.

* * * 

Flambé nibbled at his pant legs, then bit his ankle, then waddled petulantly away. Zuko hadn’t brought any bread, this time. 

“I don’t think power would help me,” Zuko said. Not unless it could make him smart enough to learn faster, or help him find mother, or fix whatever in him was so broken that father didn’t even like to look at him. “But… would you like to see the rest of the turtleducks? The not-dead ones.”

Flambé quacked derisively from the side.

“No,” the probably evil spirit said. “I do not desire to see more turtleducks. One is quite enough.”

“...Maybe the garden? It’s nice.”

“No, I—” it said. And then it paused. And got out its oily voice again, like that was something that it needed with Zuko. Maybe it didn’t know how else to talk when people were being nice to it. “...Yes. Yes, I would enjoy seeing your delightful little garden. Simply place your hand into the tree, and…”

“And?” Zuko asked.

“…This is a permanent thing, larva. Beyond even your single miniscule lifetime, as your so-called Avatar discovered. Are you certain?”

“Yes,” Zuko said. And stepped past the banks of the stream, and marched right up to the tree itself. He pushed his hand into his friend’s prison. 

Someone that wouldn’t ignore him, who couldn’t leave him. Zuko had never been more sure in his life.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Vaatu,” whispered the oil-slick voice, inside his own mind.

[reinerispretty]

just a little jealous. (sokka x f!reader)

hi i really love your work and i was wondering if you could do a sokka (or zuko cos it could work) that takes place right around when zuko joins the gaang and reader starts spending more time with zuko and sokka gets jealous cos he's lowkey had feelings for you for a while and his jealousy turns into anger to you but then it ends in like soft uwu fluff. i hope this made sense lolz!

thank u for requesting this!!!! i am very very excited about it ehehe

Their faces were just barely apart. He let his eyes flutter shut and leaned in further to press his lips to hers, but instead of being met with a kiss, (Y/N) shoved him backward so he fell into the river.

“You’re such an idiot!”

Sokka was unhappy. The whole group could tell. Ever since Zuko had joined their group, a frown had been permanently etched into his features. “Your face is going to get stuck like that,” Aang had joked, but Sokka just gave him a sour look and stalked away. Everyone had decided to avoid him from that point. 

Especially (Y/N), which hadn’t been his intention at all. It was just...(Y/N) was Fire Nation as well. She had joined through group a long time ago, as a runaway military recruit, and it had taken Sokka a bit to warm up to her but once he had, she was all he thought about. And now since Zuko was here, the two of them had started bonding over Fire Nation things that Sokka had no idea about. He didn’t know what half the things they were talking about were and it made him so upset. (Y/N) was his friend, not Zuko’s! Zuko was a recently reformed bad guy, while Sokka had always been the good guy! Why couldn’t she see that? 

He knew he should be happy for her. He imagined that she had felt a little isolated in their group, since she had no one else to share her culture with. At the beginning, they had each rebuffed some of anecdotes about her time in the Fire Nation, so eventually she stopped sharing them altogether. During their stay in the Fire Nation, she had opened back up again, and Sokka had been absolutely enthralled with her stories. The animated way she talked about her childhood absolutely captivated him. He could listen to her for hours. 

He hadn’t meant to push (Y/N) away, but he was just so frustrated and he wasn’t sure how to vocalize it. She had tried with him the other night. She had sat right next to him at dinner and smiled her sweet smile and he felt both elated and angry, because how many times had Zuko seen that smile? 

“Everything alright?” She asked him, noticing the annoyed expression on his face. Sokka didn’t answer, choosing to stare at his rice instead. “I’ve missed talking to you.” He scoffed. He had scoffed at her! 

“Sure doesn’t seem like it, with all the time you’re spending with your new best friend.” Her brows furrowed together, her bottom lip jutting out in a small pout. Sokka wanted to kiss it away. 

“What is this about?” She demanded. Sokka tossed his bowl of food to the ground and stood. Momo leapt forward to eat it up. 

“You Fire Nation are all the same. You stick with your kind, right? Even if they’ve tried to kill your friends?” 

“Sokka,” Zuko spoke up. “If you have a problem with me being here, you can talk to me about it. Don’t take it out on (Y/N).” 

“I’ll take it out on the both of you!” Sokka exclaimed, shocking the rest of the group into silence. “Your nation is full of privileged people who don’t care about anyone but themselves!” 

“That’s not true!” (Y/N) stared up at Sokka, her face contorted in an expression mixed with confusion and hurt. 

“I thought you were different,” Sokka mumbled, and then he walked off to the rooms within the Air Temple. He’s aware of how harsh he was. How unfair he was. But his thoughts and feelings were so tangled up at the moment that he wasn’t even sure what he was feeling now. 

His relationship with Zuko had repaired itself somewhat naturally. Zuko understood the torment the Fire Nation had put Sokka through. They took away his mother and caused him to grow up without his father around. They had caused Sokka nothing but pain for the majority of his life. So Zuko was a little more forgiving of his outburst. 

(Y/N), on the other hand, would not speak to Sokka at all. He thought this was much worse than her giving Zuko more attention than he liked. Every time they were within the same vicinity of each other, she’d stop what she was doing and find someone else to be around. She wouldn’t even look at him!

One day, while she was cleaning the laundry by the riverbank, Sokka tiptoed behind her and sat at her side. She looked away from him immediately, hurriedly gathering her clothes to take back up to the camp, but Sokka grabbed her by the wrists. “Please, (Y/N), just let me apologize!” 

“Is that what my people would do?” She snapped, and Sokka had never heard her voice so full of venom before. 

“I’m sorry,” He sighed. “I didn’t mean what I said. But I’m sorry for saying it and most of all I’m sorry for hurting you.” 

“If you didn’t mean it, why’d you say it?” 

“Because...because I was jealous.” 

“Of what?” 

“You and Zuko, you guys know all the Fire Nation stuff! You have things that you can talk about that I can’t even compete with, and ever since he joined you’ve been talking to him more and more and I guess I was jealous.” 

“Why would you be jealous because of me and Zuko?” She furrowed her brows and Sokka groaned. How was she still not getting it? 

“Because I love you, okay? I love you and I don’t like it when you spend more time with guys who aren’t me. I know it’s stupid but I didn’t want Fire Nation Prince over there to sweep you off your feet before I got the chance and-” Oh, (Y/N) was so close now. Their faces were just barely apart. He let his eyes flutter shut and leaned in further to press his lips to hers, but instead of being met with a kiss, (Y/N) shoved him backward so he fell into the river. 

“You’re such an idiot!” She shouted at him, before grabbing her laundry and storming back up to the camp. Sokka floated in the water. 

“I deserved that.” 

It was the next day that he and Zuko decided to fly to the Boiling Rock to perform their rescue mission. After many mishaps, they managed to rescue his father, Suki, and free another prisoner as well. When they returned, the rest of the group stared at them in awe as they hopped off of the war balloon. 

“Where have you guys been?” Katara asked, but she rushed forward as soon as she saw her father. 

(Y/N) stared disapprovingly at Sokka as he approached her. “I was worried,” She mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m glad you’re okay.” 

Sokka knew her well enough to tell that while he was gone, her anger had worn off. He smiled brightly at her. “Does this means you forgive me?” 

“This means I love you too, but don’t think for a second that I’m not still mad at you.” Sokka grinned, placing a hand at the back of her neck and pulling her toward him, sealing their lips together. She grabbed onto his shirt so that he would be as close as humanly possible. Sokka was content, and the best part was that they were in perfect view of Zuko, who would definitely step off (Y/N) now. 

---

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[sokkastyles]

idk if you've discussed this before, but do you have any thoughts on how Zuko's experience with the gaang at his family's old beach house compares to The Beach episode when he's with Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee? Maybe a silly question so feel free to ignore lol

I hadn’t thought about it before but this ask made me have thoughts about it, so here goes.

Like waves washing away the footprints on the sand, Ember Island gives everyone a clean slate. Ember Island reveals the true you.

The first difference that jumps out at me is that in “The Beach,” Zuko did not want to go to Ember Island. He was unhappy about being sent on a “forced vacation” because he’s just been allowed back home for the first time in three years, hoping for the approval of the father who burned him, and discovered that his father actually couldn’t care less about him and that being home doesn’t make him feel better, it makes him feel worse. Then he’s carted off to Ember Island on his father’s whim, and I do think Ozai is playing with Zuko by doing this, keeping Zuko insecure and making sure he knows who’s in charge. Ember Island itself also has significant meaning for Zuko, since it’s where his family spent a lot of time when he was growing up, so that’s another reason for him to be upset upon revisiting those memories, memories of a time when “our family was actually happy” that may or may not have ever even existed.

With the gaang, Zuko brought them there. The practical reason for going there is that it’s a good place to hide from the Fire Nation, but the thematic significance of Zuko bringing his new allies and friends to a place that held significant meaning for him in his childhood is that he’s inviting them in to his world, so to speak, just as they invited him into theirs. He’s sharing a part of himself with them, willingly, whereas before it was a part of himself that he was forced to revisit that was painful, and just reminded him of how miserable he was.

That’s where the statement about “giving everyone a clean slate” has the most meaning, I think. I wrote before about how this actually turns out to be a broken metaphor in “The Beach,” because although Azula, Mai, Ty Lee, and Zuko each have moments of revealing things about themselves, they don’t resolve anything and there’s no healing to be had, and the episode ends with them deciding to just burn everything that represents how broken they are.

But when Zuko goes back to Ember Island and he brings the gaang there, this does represent a moment of healing, and a clean slate. For Zuko in general, but also for Zuko and Katara, since she is the one he brings to Ember Island first, leaving her alone to sort through her own emotions after the confrontation with Yon Rha, and this is the place where she finally forgives him as well.

You have the significance of Zuko being with a group of people who bring out the worst in him vs a group of people who bring out the best in him. Speaking of which, I was looking at screenshots and I noticed this:

Which looks almost like an agni kai arena. I don’t think it is, because there’s a fountain in the middle, but it is a place where Aang and Zuko practice firebending, so you have an image of two people working together and enacting a firebending practice that represents harmony and life rather than trying to hurt each other.

Both times Zuko is on Ember Island there is also a scene involving old pictures.

I think it’s interesting that in “The Beach,” Zuko is looking at a picture of himself as a child with his father, and then when he goes to Ember Island a second time, Katara shows him and the others a picture of his father as a child, which she thinks is Zuko. Both pictures have significant meaning for him and both times the meaning is negative. 

In “The Beach,” Zuko burns the picture because it represents his confusion and pain over his relationship with his family. He says he doesn’t care about burning the picture but Ty Lee says he does, and her line, “I know you,” tells the audience that she is right. We also know that Zuko does care a lot about his family but he’s trying to hide his emotional turmoil.

In “Sozin’s Comet” when Katara produces the picture of his father as a child, Zuko immediately recognizes it and becomes upset. The fact that they thought it was Zuko initially and this makes him upset shows us that this is a part of himself that he would rather not share with his new friends. They ogle over the picture when they think it’s him because they want to know him, but they still don’t know about this part of Zuko’s life. Zuko also has a different perspective on his father than he did in “The Beach,” when he was looking at that picture of himself with his father’s hand on his shoulder, that image he’d idealized in previous seasons. 

He’s no longer that little boy looking for his father’s approval, as emphasized by denouncing Ozai as “the worst father in the history of fathers” in the scene in “Sozin’s Comet.” Zuko’s argument with the gaang about Ozai being “sweet and innocent-looking” and the idea that he will “turn good again” if they remind him of “happy memories” also shows how Zuko’s perspective has changed, because he once thought the same thing about Ozai. Or rather, he thought Ozai was always good, and was able to convince himself that he could return to a state of childish happiness and familial love if only he gained his father’s approval. But Zuko now knows that there is no going back to that state of childish innocence.

He’s also able to reconnect with his mother in a way the second time he goes to the beach house. In “The Beach” we see those lonely memories, but in “Ember Island Players” Zuko shares an annoyed but endearing memory of going to see the players with his mother, and gets to experience the childhood memory of going to see a terrible play with his new friends.

It’s also nice to see the image of Zuko with friends in the old house vs the image of him alone and dwelling over unhappy memories of the past in “The Beach.”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Kissing Dead Pearls (Part 32)

They fight more often than not. Over the stupidest things. He invited her into his room again for some movies and story swapping. She makes the mistake of picking up one of his old, outgrown shirts and, with a laugh, asking if he really needs it still.

“Yes I need that!” He had snapped. He doesn’t think that it was his words but his tone. He can still vividly see her roughly tossing it into his laundry basket with a muttered, “you really don’t but fine.”

She didn’t leave and he didn’t ask her too but she was silent until he mustered up the courage to ask if she just wanted to get to the movie. She hesitated before saying yes. And then he makes a mistake of his own. He suggested one of the few movies they always watch. It was innocent enough when she suggested a movie that he had never heard of. A movie that came out during his absence. She mentioned that it was a popular one and that it would probably help to see it so he can jump into conversations about it. She added that she would show him a few new songs too. He was already too disgruntled to appreciate that she’d mentioned that they were reggaeton specifically. In retrospect it is a good idea. He should have taken the offer. It would have been logical and smart. Instead he complained. Complained and insisted on one of the old movies until she sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose, and left with a final comment, “let me know when you’re ready to move forward.”

He overheard a hasty exchange of goodbyes between she and his parents. He had asked Katara to talk to her for him when she had the opportunity.

That was the first fight, there were several more over things so mundane he can’t remember what they were. The fighting grew more intense when school resumed. This is no surprise to him, the first week of school leaves her grumpy like clockwork. It always had since he could remember.

Currently they sit on the patio of the Cod Shack. Soft gusts weave around tables and chairs. They are a bit too strong for his liking and he has to set his soda on his napkins and menu to keep them from blowing away. He watches the patio lights sway and looks to the clouds. They are still white but the forecasters have called for a light but steady rain.

“So did you pick out any colleges yet?”

He knows that her senior year has only just begun, but he also knows that she is always prepared leagues ahead of everyone else.

She hums in thought. “I did…”

“But?”

“I was going to try to surf professionally and get a higher education on the side. I have something else in mind now.”

“Which is?” He presses.

“A surprise.” She smirks.

“Oh come on!” He throws his hands up with a laugh. “Don’t I get a hint.”

She ponders it. “During my high seas adventure I unlocked a hidden talent.”

“Another one?”

“There will be more to come, don’t worry.” She pauses. “I already know where I want to go so I can help you re-apply to some of the colleges. I actually already have a few ideas for when you begin applying for scholarships. You have quite a story to tell and…”

He doesn’t mean to but he tunes her out, her voice lost beneath a rushing current of unease. She has already done the hard work for him and yet he still feels horribly overwhelmed. College? Scholarships? Letter? He just got back. He doesn’t want to think about scholarships. He doesn’t want to think about the future at all. And Azula keeps smacking him in the face with it. A new feeling mixes in his belly with the fear. It takes him a moment to process it as anger. No; mild agitation.   Why can’t she just let him be and stop hounding him? If he were thinking logically, he would remind himself of who he is talking to. Would remind himself that she would--that she already has treated herself the same way.

He heaves the itching irritation aside and changes the subject. “Have you made up with Jet yet?”

Azula sighs. He expects her to steer the conversation back on track. “No, he won’t talk to me. Unless it’s surf team related.” She pauses. “But it’s fine, I have you and pretty much everyone else. Helping father with AA and the lighthouse keeps me busy enough after school…”

Again he finds himself zoning out. He doesn’t know how she does it; plans for further education, attends surf practice, manages the lighthouse, and helps Ozai with AA, all while attending school. His eyes wander to the scars on her arm and chin; a subtle reminder that she probably is pushing herself too far. Farther than he could ever know. And what is he doing? Working one lax, family run job.

He rubs his hands over his face. For all he knows she has done much more. He remembers her mentioning that she helped repair and remodel La-bsters. She’d already confessed that she’d let her mother die to save Zuko instead. He knows that he shouldn’t but he does. Curiosity gets the better of him so he asks, “I guess you’ve had an eventful summer then?”

Azula nods. She leans in and whispers, “Jet and I snuck out and had a few drinks.”

“That’s your big news?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m talking about the kid I stole from father after he told me to throw them out for him.”

Sokka blinks. “Oooh, those kinds of drinks…”

She nods and in his head he checks off one more thing that she has done before him. “Did you get…”

“Drunk?” She thinks for a moment. “No, not quite.” She backtracks, “maybe a little.”

“Is it because you have so much going on right now?”

“I’m not my father, Sokka, I have more control than that.” She picks up an onion ring. “It was a one time thrill. I just wanted to see what it was like.”

Just a simple life experience…

Simple and yet suddenly it feels like she is much older than he. His stomach turns again.

.oOo.

Things are forced more often than not. He always seems so uncomfortable around her when she isn’t faking. He watches the same movies over and over again and the more she pushes for him to give a new release a try, the more furiously he pushes back.

Everything is ‘remember this, remember that?’ Everything is a nostalgia trip and she wants to leave the vehicle. She wants to move away from the remember’s but she doesn’t want to move away from Sokka. She doesn’t think that he will leave her a choice if she doesn’t play along with his childish antics. He gets moody and frustrated and she is probably one more, ‘Sokka, let’s try something new�� away from a breakup.

So she forces a smile and bares another trip to the Cod Shack while Zuko and Katara meet Aang and Toph at the new arcade. He is blabbering on and on about how good it is to be home; she doesn’t mind this, this is actually rather adorable. But then the ‘I’m happy to be home’ spiel spirals into how great it is that she is willing to stick to ‘the good stuff’ and not that ‘stupid new arcade.’

She doesn’t have the heart to tell him that she goes to the arcade with Zuko and Katara when he takes up his shifts at La-bsters.

He pushes in their chairs, “let’s walk along the beach, I was thinking that we could build sand castles like old times!” He holds up a pail and a blue plastic shovel.

“Sure, Sokka.”

“Are you okay?” He asks. “You seem unhappy.”

“I’m fine.”

“In other words, something’s bothering you. Is it your dad?”

“No, father has been great. He’s getting his life together and moving forward.” She is too slow to keep the emphasis on ‘moving forward’ out of her voice. “I’m fine Sokka, let’s go to the beach.”

Sokka’s expression brightens so much that she almost doesn’t mind the prospect of building sandcastles like children. But that charm only lasts until they are on the beach and she spies Chan, Ruon, and most of the surf team.

Chan gives her a wave that she returns with a fluttering stomach. She takes the shovel that Sokka extends to her.

“What brings the two of you to the beach?” Chan greets.

Azula’s phone buzzes and Zuko’s name flashes across the screen; he is bragging about finally beating Toph at one of several of her favorite arcade games.

“We were just going to build sand castles!” Sokka declares proudly.

“Like kiddie sand castles?” Ruon asks.

“That’s right.” He is much bolder than he ought to be and her cheeks grow gently pink on his behalf.

“Actually, Sokka, father just texted. I have to go home and help him make a repair to the lighthouse.” The look of disappointment on his face leaves her feeling rather horrible. And the drive home seeps with an atmosphere of letdown. It only grows as they get closer to the lighthouse. “Maybe tomorrow, Sokka? Would that be fine.”

“Yeah, tomorrow.” His smile is as forced as her enjoyment of their dates.

“Alright, I’ll see you after surf practice.” She leans in for a kiss. She feels no spark. She hates to think it, much less say it, but it feels like kissing a kid or a little brother.

.oOo.

Sokka flops down upon his head and puts the heels to his eyes. He is potently aware that he is blowing it! He knows his options; he can cling to the way things used to be and lose Azula or he can embrace the changes with her.

Still, he isn’t ready to leave his childhood behind. Not when it was so bright and so happy. He isn’t ready to take on the world and leave the shores that he loved. Not so soon after he has gotten back. Not ever.

He picks up one of several pictures of he and Azula. They are kids, they are looking at the camera and smiling. She holds a fishing pole with the smallest fish he has ever seen. He is holding a tackle box.

He swallows. Fishing had been a new experience at one point. La-bsters had been new at one point. Going from swimming at the eastern beach to the western beach had been a change… He swallows once more. He supposes that he wouldn't have met Azula at all if not for one simple and subtle change.

One simple and subtle change that made him feel so much happier for years to follow. He rubs his hands over his face. Tomorrow is going to be an awful day.

.oOo.

Azula takes a seat on the lighthouse patio and watches for Sokka’s car. She tries to prep herself for a night of silly activities and pretending to enjoy them. She wonders if she should skip the faking and feeling sparing and break things off. She has already broken Jet’s sensitive heart, she may as well continue her streak.

She spies his headlights and hears the pops and snaps of the gravel. Hears the car door slam and the sound of Sokka’s sneakers shuffling up the driveway. He gives a sheepish wave and a, “hey.” Maybe he knows what is coming.

“Hello, Sokka.” She pauses and opens her mouth to speak.

“Uh...so I left the pails and shovels at home.”

Her chest floods with relief. Though it quickly fades as she processes what that likely means. She guess that she will let him rip the bandaid. “Then what are we supposed to do?”

“I was hoping to maybe just go to the boardwalk or something. Or we can stay here. I just want to talk.”

She hears the door creak slightly ajar. “We can stay here and talk if father will give us some privacy.”  She hears the door shut once more. “He has been a little board without the bar.”

Sokka laughs. “He knows that he can go to the bar and order a soda or something, right?”

“He isn’t ready to be that close to the bar yet.” She shrugs. “Anyways, let's get this talk over with.”

He gnaws on his lip. “I’ve been gone for kind of a long time.”

“Yes. What of it.”

“So I missed a lot.”

“We’ve established this, yes.”

“And I was wondering, are you still willing to help catch me up?”

She thinks for a moment. “No.” She replies. His world seems to fall apart. “I’ll help you get ahead.”

He still tears up but she is certain that it is with relief and joy. “I looked up some of those movies that you mentioned. Or maybe you can show me some of the new restaurants on the boardwalk.”

“How about the arcade.”

“I don’t like arcade games.”

She rolls her eyes. “Let’s go see a movie. If you would like, we can rent one and watch it in your room like we usually do.”

[esmeralda-anistasia]

#Baby Zuko is making good life choices early and often#Meanwhile Iroh in the spirit world: …I sense a sudden need to return home#sure hope I haven't missed anything#this was part one: Zuko’s happy childhood#who wants to ask for part two: Zuko’s unhappy childhood#they are not paying that fire sage enough

So, how does Zuko wind up at the Tree of Time in Chaos Avatar to bust Vaatu out? Didn't you say the start is pre-banishment, post-mom gone? What, does he, as a descendant of Roku, have enough of a knack for spirit stuff to fall into a meditative trace while hiding at the turtleduck pond and missing his mom or whatever, and poof! He's at the Tree of Time?

FINALLY someone asks for the START. You are correct that the turtleduck pond is involved. <3

* * *

The turtleduckling had disappeared the day after mother did, but at least Zuko knew where it had gone. But he still wasn’t talking to Azula. 

“You have to talk to me sometime, Dum-Dum,” she said.

He crossed his arms, and stared at the remaining ducklings as they hid under a bush on the opposite side. There were four left.

“It was an accident, I didn’t even see it, and anyway it should have moved. You have to forgive me for accidents, moth—”

Mother said so. But they didn’t talk about mother anymore. 

Azula sat down next to him. She crossed her arms, too. And puffed out her cheeks, and glared, and he did not look like that. Not that he was paying attention to her. 

He was paying attention to the turtleducklings. Because… because there were five.

Azula went very still next to him.

The fifth turtleduckling had a darker shell and feathers, like it had been rolled in ashes. It waddled into the water, heedless of its parents' warning quacks and the two children the rest of its siblings were hiding from. 

Quack, it said, and paddled merrily along. 

Quack, it said, and disappeared like it had swum behind a screen. Except the screen was a normal patch of water and air, and he could see straight through it still. No fifth turtleduck.

“Is our pond… haunted?” Zuko asked.

“I thought you weren’t talking to me,” Azula said, but it was more of a reflex, as they both stared. Then, more sharply: “What are you doing?”

Zuko was standing up. He found a pebble and, without a mother to re-advise him against throwing rocks into certain ponds, launched it towards the spot they’d last seen the ghost duck. 

Quack, quacked an extremely offended quacker, who was still out of sight. The rock had disappeared, too, with no ripple on the water to show it had ever landed.

“...Dare you to go in,” Azula said.

“How stupid do you think I am?”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Azula said. “But a coward? That remains to be seen.”

Zuko glowered. Azula smirked. …Zuko started rolling up his pants.

“I wasn’t serious,” she snapped. “And I take it back, you are stupid,” which meant that now he was definitely going in. “Father is going to be angry when he sees you in wet robes,” she said, as he toed off his shoes. “And I’m not covering for you,” she said, as he caught his balance on the first slimy algae-covered stones, “and I’ll demand the servants attend me so they won’t be able to help you change, and—”

By then he was near the center of the small pond, and poking at air. His hand disappeared.

“I hope it hurts,” Azula said. She was on her feet now, with her arms crossed even more firmly over her chest.

“It just feels… normal? Maybe a little cold? It doesn’t—oww!” 

He jerked back his hand, complete with one ghost turtleduckling clamped over his palm. 

“Oww oww oww,” he shook it, and shook it, but it wasn’t coming off, and then he tripped on a stupid slimy rock and fell sideways—

“I’m not coming after you!”

—into somewhere that wasn’t the palace gardens at all. He’d fallen in water, but it was a shallow stream now. The day was colder, the wind stronger and drier. And there was a tree, up ahead.

The duckling dropped off his hand, and paddled away. Zuko barely glanced after it.

That was a very, very big tree. A purple light pulsed at its bulging, split-barked core.

“Hello, mortal,” the tree said.

At which point Zuko scrabbled backwards until he splashed back into the stiller, warmer, deeper water of the turtleduck pond.

“Evil tree,” he told Azula.

“Dum-Dum,” she said, and stomped off. 

By the time Zuko got inside, the servants were busy drawing their little princess a warm bath. He was made to wait his turn.

* * *

“I am unaware of any records pertaining to… evil trees,” the sage in charge of the royal archives said. 

“What about the spirit world?” Zuko asked.

* * *

The ghost turtleduckling swam with impunity between realms. And stole entire loaves out of Zuko’s hands, before fleeing on its tiny paddling feet to the safety of the other side.

“Hey!” 

It had learned that Zuko wouldn’t follow. Neither would its equally hungry siblings.

* * *

A place of death could form a rift, if the spirit did not realize its own passing. If it still desired to return, and was unaware of the general impossibility of the task. Spirits worked mostly on not realizing they couldn’t do a thing. 

“Oh,” Zuko said, to the scroll.

As this was a more common occurrence with animal spirits than with humans, who tended to overthink things even in death, it did not help Zuko narrow down his mother’s location.

* * *

Azula had stopped coming to the pond. And they had different bending instructors, now; father said a private tutor would stop her from being held back by… others. She preened.

Since Zuko was left alone at his lessons, he had a private tutor now, too. It didn’t feel like a reward.

* * *

“...Hello again, mortal,” the tree said, its voice oozing like a courtier’s. “Do come in. No need to be shy.”

“Are you evil?” Zuko asked, only his head poking through the rift.

“Such terms rarely apply to spirits,” the tree said, exactly like an evil tree would. “Consider our meeting, rather… an opportunity. Is there something you require assistance with? You would not have found yourself in this part of the spirit world, if I could not help. Perhaps we could— Mortal, come back here—”

Zuko pulled his head back out. It was definitely evil. But he’d gotten a better look at the patterns on the glowy purple part, so he sat down on the pond’s edge, and drew them before he forgot. He’d brought paper this time.

Maybe he wasn’t a good bender. Or heir. But there was an evil tree in the royal turtleduck pond, and he wasn’t a coward. He’d take care of it.

* * *

The sage in charge of the archives blinked. Took the paper from him, and blinked again. 

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I believe I have seen something like this. Come.”

The scroll was old. So old it wasn’t even the original: it had been copied, and had time to grow old all over again. The sage fretted over every crackling inch they unrolled.

“Where did you say you saw this design?” the sage asked.

“...I, uh. Dreamed it?” Zuko said.

They stared, together, at an inked drawing of the Avatar’s patron spirit. 

* * *

…If Zuko found the Avatar, father would definitely like him better than Azula.

* * *

“Mortal,” the evil tree greeted, much less cordially.

“Are you the Avatar?”

“What,” it inquired, with a sort of rustling tree sigh, like it was already disappointed in his answer, “is the Avatar?”

Oh. So… no.

“It’s just, there was this picture in a scroll, of the Avatar’s patron spirit. And they looked like you, except without the tree, and white—”

“Raava,” the tree hissed.

Which had probably been the kanji that he hadn’t recognized. But neither had the sage, so it must have been a really hard one.

“Tell me about this… Avatar,” the tree said.

And maybe Zuko should have gone back to the training grounds to practice his katas more. Or read over the next chapters in his textbooks again, so he’d actually understand them when his instructors went over them tomorrow. But he was still sore from the extra sets his master had assigned as remedial instruction after Zuko had embarrassed them both in front of father. And sometimes when he read ahead he thought too much and got all the wrong ideas in his head, like the time he’d asked why Sozin hadn’t formed a coalition of other nations against the threat of the Air Nomad army. And that just made more work for his instructors to fix, so.

So Zuko sat down, on the stream bank nearest his escape route, and talked to an evil tree.

“They’re the master of all four elements,” he said. “The last one was an enemy to the Fire Nation, and the new one’s been hiding, probably because he’s too much of a coward to face us—”

* * *

He brought an extra loaf of bread next time. One for the ducklings who needed it, and one for the duckling who just thought she did. The ghost duckling tugged and tugged against his grip, before grudgingly clambering up to eat in his lap.

She was really soft.

She bit really hard.

“How many of these… Avatars… have there been?” the evil tree asked.

* * *

“How many Avatars have there been?” Zuko asked the sage.

“Nigh uncountable,” the man said. “Have you had more dreams, my prince?”

“Um,” Zuko said.

* * *

“A lot,” Zuko told the tree. “The sage in the archive said the histories don’t go back that far. He guessed there were at least a hundred.”

“...And how long does your species of mortal live?”

“Avatar Kyoshi lived a really long time. But most of us don’t live more than seventy or eighty years. And some of the Avatars probably died a lot sooner than that, if people resented their meddling as much as the textbooks say.”

“Seven thousand years,” the tree said. “At least.”

And then it got really quiet, for a long time. Which was natural for a tree, but not for an evil tree. Zuko sat with it. He’d brought his homework, so he wouldn’t be wasting his study time.

…Except he kind of did, because apparently ghost turtleducklings could sleep—or at least, dream of sleeping?—and this one did it right in his lap.

* * *

They had flambéed quail-shark for dinner, and Zuko had almost been late, but father was too busy watching the flames to notice him sliding onto his cushion. Azula did.

“Look,” she whispered, “a dead bird can firebend better than you.”

* * *

“Flambé,” Zuko scolded, trying to pull half a loaf of bread out of the mouth of a ghost turtleduckling intent on choking herself.

“...What is ‘flambé’?” the evil tree asked.

And, after Zuko was done with that explanation: “What is… ‘taste’?”

* * *

“I need a recipe book,” Zuko told the sage. “With pictures.” 

“I… of course, my prince. But first, would you like any of these?”

The man had set out a whole table of toys. Most were wooden. They all looked really old. There was another sage there, one of the ones from the high temple. He was just kind of standing there, watching them for some reason. 

“Thanks,” Zuko said. “But I’m too old for toys.”

They both watched him leave.

* * *

“Which turtle do you hail from?” the tree asked.

“I… don’t know?”

The tree sighed. “Air. Water. Earth—”

“Fire!” Zuko said.

“Yes,” it said drily, “that is the final option.”

“No, that’s… that’s what I bend. I’m from the Fire Nation.”

“Ah,” the tree said, in its oil-slick voice. “The element of power. A fine fit, for such a promising young larva.”

So today was going to be one of those days.

Zuko crossed his arms. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said, “but if you keep trying to make me evil, I’m going to go back and practice my bending some more.”

“No need for anything so dramatic,” it said. “But I would wager that there’s something you need more power for. Some task to do, or someone to impress. Perhaps someone to… surpass?”

Azula was two sequences ahead, now. Father had rewarded her with an even better tutor. They were very famous, or something. 

“Perhaps we can help each other,” the tree said.

“Do you want more water?” Zuko asked. Because he’d been sitting here day after day thinking how dry the ground was, even with the stream, and the stream was actually really far from the tree’s roots. Maybe that was why it looked so dead. Maybe it wasn’t evil, it was just really thirsty. “I could dig the stream closer. I saw farmers doing that, when mo— When we toured the countryside, when we were younger. They said it was good for the plants.”

“I…” the tree said, like that was not the response it expected. “No, larva. I do not require more water.”

“What else do trees need?” Zuko asked.

“...I am not the tree. I am inside the tree.” 

“Oh. Oh. …You can come out, if you want. I’ll try not to be scared.”

It was silent again. And then it was laughing, but not a funny laugh. And then it was shouting, and Zuko knew better than to talk back when someone was shouting at him. 

“I cannot simply come out. I have been trapped here, alone, for millennia beyond your comprehension, and…”

The spirit stopped, and took in great big breaths, which wasn’t a thing father or his tutors did until they were done yelling. The spirit had stopped itself early, without Zuko apologizing even once. 

“...Is that why you’re lonely?” He’d thought it was because it was a tree, and evil trees without many leaves probably didn’t get many visitors. But being inside a tree probably wasn’t any better.

“I am not lonely,” the not-a-tree growled. “Listen, human larva. I will grant you power beyond your mortal imagining. You can be that Avatar you speak of, if you join with me. All I require in exchange is to not be in a tree.”

* * *

“Could someone who isn’t the Avatar learn the other elements?” Zuko asked the sage.

“...I suspect,” said the man, looking somewhat tired, “that the most likely explanation for such a phenomenon would be that this person was the Avatar. I happen to have a book here, with select personal accounts of how those who came into the knowledge prior to their sixteenth birthdays adjusted to the situation. If you would be interested.”

Zuko scowled, because that wasn’t helpful at all.

* * * 

“You’re never going to catch up, Zuzu,” Azula said. “But I suppose you could come train with me, if you asked nicely. My new tutor believes in the benefit of sparring, even against lesser opponents. We don’t even need to ask father, so long as you can refrain from embarrassing us both.”

“Mmhmm,” said Zuko, who was thinking.

“Well?” she snapped.

“Sorry, what?”

His sister stomped away.

* * * 

She wouldn’t talk to him at dinner, which was normal, because she always talked with father then.

She wouldn’t talk to him at any other meals, either, which wasn’t. Father wasn’t even there for those, it was just them and the servants who silently scurried in and out.

She didn’t even barge into his room to read his essays over his shoulder and laugh. …Or read the play scrolls they’d smuggled out of mother’s room before the servants had cleaned it, and laugh together. 

* * *

The servants were polite, but father hated for them to waste time on idle chatter.

Uncle was still missing. 

The sage in the archives kept looking at him funny.

“Could we spar sometime?” Zuko asked Azula, because he missed training together.

For some reason, that made her ignore him even harder.

* * * 

Flambé nibbled at his pant legs, then bit his ankle, then waddled petulantly away. Zuko hadn’t brought any bread, this time. 

“I don’t think power would help me,” Zuko said. Not unless it could make him smart enough to learn faster, or help him find mother, or fix whatever in him was so broken that father didn’t even like to look at him. “But… would you like to see the rest of the turtleducks? The not-dead ones.”

Flambé quacked derisively from the side.

“No,” the probably evil spirit said. “I do not desire to see more turtleducks. One is quite enough.”

“...Maybe the garden? It’s nice.”

“No, I—” it said. And then it paused. And got out its oily voice again, like that was something that it needed with Zuko. Maybe it didn’t know how else to talk when people were being nice to it. “...Yes. Yes, I would enjoy seeing your delightful little garden. Simply place your hand into the tree, and…”

“And?” Zuko asked.

“…This is a permanent thing, larva. Beyond even your single miniscule lifetime, as your so-called Avatar discovered. Are you certain?”

“Yes,” Zuko said. And stepped past the banks of the stream, and marched right up to the tree itself. He pushed his hand into his friend’s prison. 

Someone that wouldn’t ignore him, who couldn’t leave him. Zuko had never been more sure in his life.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Vaatu,” whispered the oil-slick voice, inside his own mind.

[bayofalgecirascranes]

#Baby Zuko is making good life choices early and often#Meanwhile Iroh in the spirit world: …I sense a sudden need to return home#sure hope I haven't missed anything#Chaos Avatar Zuko#I will figure out a proper title for this tomorrow and probably get it up on AO3#this was part one: Zuko’s happy childhood#who wants to ask for part two: Zuko’s unhappy childhood#Avatar The Last Airbender#atla#Zuko#Azula#Vaatu#they are not paying that fire sage enough#ficlet

So, how does Zuko wind up at the Tree of Time in Chaos Avatar to bust Vaatu out? Didn't you say the start is pre-banishment, post-mom gone? What, does he, as a descendant of Roku, have enough of a knack for spirit stuff to fall into a meditative trace while hiding at the turtleduck pond and missing his mom or whatever, and poof! He's at the Tree of Time?

FINALLY someone asks for the START. You are correct that the turtleduck pond is involved. <3

* * *

The turtleduckling had disappeared the day after mother did, but at least Zuko knew where it had gone. But he still wasn’t talking to Azula. 

“You have to talk to me sometime, Dum-Dum,” she said.

He crossed his arms, and stared at the remaining ducklings as they hid under a bush on the opposite side. There were four left.

“It was an accident, I didn’t even see it, and anyway it should have moved. You have to forgive me for accidents, moth—”

Mother said so. But they didn’t talk about mother anymore. 

Azula sat down next to him. She crossed her arms, too. And puffed out her cheeks, and glared, and he did not look like that. Not that he was paying attention to her. 

He was paying attention to the turtleducklings. Because… because there were five.

Azula went very still next to him.

The fifth turtleduckling had a darker shell and feathers, like it had been rolled in ashes. It waddled into the water, heedless of its parents' warning quacks and the two children the rest of its siblings were hiding from. 

Quack, it said, and paddled merrily along. 

Quack, it said, and disappeared like it had swum behind a screen. Except the screen was a normal patch of water and air, and he could see straight through it still. No fifth turtleduck.

“Is our pond… haunted?” Zuko asked.

“I thought you weren’t talking to me,” Azula said, but it was more of a reflex, as they both stared. Then, more sharply: “What are you doing?”

Zuko was standing up. He found a pebble and, without a mother to re-advise him against throwing rocks into certain ponds, launched it towards the spot they’d last seen the ghost duck. 

Quack, quacked an extremely offended quacker, who was still out of sight. The rock had disappeared, too, with no ripple on the water to show it had ever landed.

“...Dare you to go in,” Azula said.

“How stupid do you think I am?”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Azula said. “But a coward? That remains to be seen.”

Zuko glowered. Azula smirked. …Zuko started rolling up his pants.

“I wasn’t serious,” she snapped. “And I take it back, you are stupid,” which meant that now he was definitely going in. “Father is going to be angry when he sees you in wet robes,” she said, as he toed off his shoes. “And I’m not covering for you,” she said, as he caught his balance on the first slimy algae-covered stones, “and I’ll demand the servants attend me so they won’t be able to help you change, and—”

By then he was near the center of the small pond, and poking at air. His hand disappeared.

“I hope it hurts,” Azula said. She was on her feet now, with her arms crossed even more firmly over her chest.

“It just feels… normal? Maybe a little cold? It doesn’t—oww!” 

He jerked back his hand, complete with one ghost turtleduckling clamped over his palm. 

“Oww oww oww,” he shook it, and shook it, but it wasn’t coming off, and then he tripped on a stupid slimy rock and fell sideways—

“I’m not coming after you!”

—into somewhere that wasn’t the palace gardens at all. He’d fallen in water, but it was a shallow stream now. The day was colder, the wind stronger and drier. And there was a tree, up ahead.

The duckling dropped off his hand, and paddled away. Zuko barely glanced after it.

That was a very, very big tree. A purple light pulsed at its bulging, split-barked core.

“Hello, mortal,” the tree said.

At which point Zuko scrabbled backwards until he splashed back into the stiller, warmer, deeper water of the turtleduck pond.

“Evil tree,” he told Azula.

“Dum-Dum,” she said, and stomped off. 

By the time Zuko got inside, the servants were busy drawing their little princess a warm bath. He was made to wait his turn.

* * *

“I am unaware of any records pertaining to… evil trees,” the sage in charge of the royal archives said. 

“What about the spirit world?” Zuko asked.

* * *

The ghost turtleduckling swam with impunity between realms. And stole entire loaves out of Zuko’s hands, before fleeing on its tiny paddling feet to the safety of the other side.

“Hey!” 

It had learned that Zuko wouldn’t follow. Neither would its equally hungry siblings.

* * *

A place of death could form a rift, if the spirit did not realize its own passing. If it still desired to return, and was unaware of the general impossibility of the task. Spirits worked mostly on not realizing they couldn’t do a thing. 

“Oh,” Zuko said, to the scroll.

As this was a more common occurrence with animal spirits than with humans, who tended to overthink things even in death, it did not help Zuko narrow down his mother’s location.

* * *

Azula had stopped coming to the pond. And they had different bending instructors, now; father said a private tutor would stop her from being held back by… others. She preened.

Since Zuko was left alone at his lessons, he had a private tutor now, too. It didn’t feel like a reward.

* * *

“...Hello again, mortal,” the tree said, its voice oozing like a courtier’s. “Do come in. No need to be shy.”

“Are you evil?” Zuko asked, only his head poking through the rift.

“Such terms rarely apply to spirits,” the tree said, exactly like an evil tree would. “Consider our meeting, rather… an opportunity. Is there something you require assistance with? You would not have found yourself in this part of the spirit world, if I could not help. Perhaps we could— Mortal, come back here—”

Zuko pulled his head back out. It was definitely evil. But he’d gotten a better look at the patterns on the glowy purple part, so he sat down on the pond’s edge, and drew them before he forgot. He’d brought paper this time.

Maybe he wasn’t a good bender. Or heir. But there was an evil tree in the royal turtleduck pond, and he wasn’t a coward. He’d take care of it.

* * *

The sage in charge of the archives blinked. Took the paper from him, and blinked again. 

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I believe I have seen something like this. Come.”

The scroll was old. So old it wasn’t even the original: it had been copied, and had time to grow old all over again. The sage fretted over every crackling inch they unrolled.

“Where did you say you saw this design?” the sage asked.

“...I, uh. Dreamed it?” Zuko said.

They stared, together, at an inked drawing of the Avatar’s patron spirit. 

* * *

…If Zuko found the Avatar, father would definitely like him better than Azula.

* * *

“Mortal,” the evil tree greeted, much less cordially.

“Are you the Avatar?”

“What,�� it inquired, with a sort of rustling tree sigh, like it was already disappointed in his answer, “is the Avatar?”

Oh. So… no.

“It’s just, there was this picture in a scroll, of the Avatar’s patron spirit. And they looked like you, except without the tree, and white—”

“Raava,” the tree hissed.

Which had probably been the kanji that he hadn’t recognized. But neither had the sage, so it must have been a really hard one.

“Tell me about this… Avatar,” the tree said.

And maybe Zuko should have gone back to the training grounds to practice his katas more. Or read over the next chapters in his textbooks again, so he’d actually understand them when his instructors went over them tomorrow. But he was still sore from the extra sets his master had assigned as remedial instruction after Zuko had embarrassed them both in front of father. And sometimes when he read ahead he thought too much and got all the wrong ideas in his head, like the time he’d asked why Sozin hadn’t formed a coalition of other nations against the threat of the Air Nomad army. And that just made more work for his instructors to fix, so.

So Zuko sat down, on the stream bank nearest his escape route, and talked to an evil tree.

“They’re the master of all four elements,” he said. “The last one was an enemy to the Fire Nation, and the new one’s been hiding, probably because he’s too much of a coward to face us—”

* * *

He brought an extra loaf of bread next time. One for the ducklings who needed it, and one for the duckling who just thought she did. The ghost duckling tugged and tugged against his grip, before grudgingly clambering up to eat in his lap.

She was really soft.

She bit really hard.

“How many of these… Avatars… have there been?” the evil tree asked.

* * *

“How many Avatars have there been?” Zuko asked the sage.

“Nigh uncountable,” the man said. “Have you had more dreams, my prince?”

“Um,” Zuko said.

* * *

“A lot,” Zuko told the tree. “The sage in the archive said the histories don’t go back that far. He guessed there were at least a hundred.”

“...And how long does your species of mortal live?”

“Avatar Kyoshi lived a really long time. But most of us don’t live more than seventy or eighty years. And some of the Avatars probably died a lot sooner than that, if people resented their meddling as much as the textbooks say.”

“Seven thousand years,” the tree said. “At least.”

And then it got really quiet, for a long time. Which was natural for a tree, but not for an evil tree. Zuko sat with it. He’d brought his homework, so he wouldn’t be wasting his study time.

…Except he kind of did, because apparently ghost turtleducklings could sleep—or at least, dream of sleeping?—and this one did it right in his lap.

* * *

They had flambéed quail-shark for dinner, and Zuko had almost been late, but father was too busy watching the flames to notice him sliding onto his cushion. Azula did.

“Look,” she whispered, “a dead bird can firebend better than you.”

* * *

“Flambé,” Zuko scolded, trying to pull half a loaf of bread out of the mouth of a ghost turtleduckling intent on choking herself.

“...What is ‘flambé’?” the evil tree asked.

And, after Zuko was done with that explanation: “What is… ‘taste’?”

* * *

“I need a recipe book,” Zuko told the sage. “With pictures.” 

“I… of course, my prince. But first, would you like any of these?”

The man had set out a whole table of toys. Most were wooden. They all looked really old. There was another sage there, one of the ones from the high temple. He was just kind of standing there, watching them for some reason. 

“Thanks,” Zuko said. “But I’m too old for toys.”

They both watched him leave.

* * *

“Which turtle do you hail from?” the tree asked.

“I… don’t know?”

The tree sighed. “Air. Water. Earth—”

“Fire!” Zuko said.

“Yes,” it said drily, “that is the final option.”

“No, that’s… that’s what I bend. I’m from the Fire Nation.”

“Ah,” the tree said, in its oil-slick voice. “The element of power. A fine fit, for such a promising young larva.”

So today was going to be one of those days.

Zuko crossed his arms. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said, “but if you keep trying to make me evil, I’m going to go back and practice my bending some more.”

“No need for anything so dramatic,” it said. “But I would wager that there’s something you need more power for. Some task to do, or someone to impress. Perhaps someone to… surpass?”

Azula was two sequences ahead, now. Father had rewarded her with an even better tutor. They were very famous, or something. 

“Perhaps we can help each other,” the tree said.

“Do you want more water?” Zuko asked. Because he’d been sitting here day after day thinking how dry the ground was, even with the stream, and the stream was actually really far from the tree’s roots. Maybe that was why it looked so dead. Maybe it wasn’t evil, it was just really thirsty. “I could dig the stream closer. I saw farmers doing that, when mo— When we toured the countryside, when we were younger. They said it was good for the plants.”

“I…” the tree said, like that was not the response it expected. “No, larva. I do not require more water.”

“What else do trees need?” Zuko asked.

“...I am not the tree. I am inside the tree.” 

“Oh. Oh. …You can come out, if you want. I’ll try not to be scared.”

It was silent again. And then it was laughing, but not a funny laugh. And then it was shouting, and Zuko knew better than to talk back when someone was shouting at him. 

“I cannot simply come out. I have been trapped here, alone, for millennia beyond your comprehension, and…”

The spirit stopped, and took in great big breaths, which wasn’t a thing father or his tutors did until they were done yelling. The spirit had stopped itself early, without Zuko apologizing even once. 

“...Is that why you’re lonely?” He’d thought it was because it was a tree, and evil trees without many leaves probably didn’t get many visitors. But being inside a tree probably wasn’t any better.

“I am not lonely,” the not-a-tree growled. “Listen, human larva. I will grant you power beyond your mortal imagining. You can be that Avatar you speak of, if you join with me. All I require in exchange is to not be in a tree.”

* * *

“Could someone who isn’t the Avatar learn the other elements?” Zuko asked the sage.

“...I suspect,” said the man, looking somewhat tired, “that the most likely explanation for such a phenomenon would be that this person was the Avatar. I happen to have a book here, with select personal accounts of how those who came into the knowledge prior to their sixteenth birthdays adjusted to the situation. If you would be interested.”

Zuko scowled, because that wasn’t helpful at all.

* * * 

“You’re never going to catch up, Zuzu,” Azula said. “But I suppose you could come train with me, if you asked nicely. My new tutor believes in the benefit of sparring, even against lesser opponents. We don’t even need to ask father, so long as you can refrain from embarrassing us both.”

“Mmhmm,” said Zuko, who was thinking.

“Well?” she snapped.

“Sorry, what?”

His sister stomped away.

* * * 

She wouldn’t talk to him at dinner, which was normal, because she always talked with father then.

She wouldn’t talk to him at any other meals, either, which wasn’t. Father wasn’t even there for those, it was just them and the servants who silently scurried in and out.

She didn’t even barge into his room to read his essays over his shoulder and laugh. …Or read the play scrolls they’d smuggled out of mother’s room before the servants had cleaned it, and laugh together. 

* * *

The servants were polite, but father hated for them to waste time on idle chatter.

Uncle was still missing. 

The sage in the archives kept looking at him funny.

“Could we spar sometime?” Zuko asked Azula, because he missed training together.

For some reason, that made her ignore him even harder.

* * * 

Flambé nibbled at his pant legs, then bit his ankle, then waddled petulantly away. Zuko hadn’t brought any bread, this time. 

“I don’t think power would help me,” Zuko said. Not unless it could make him smart enough to learn faster, or help him find mother, or fix whatever in him was so broken that father didn’t even like to look at him. “But… would you like to see the rest of the turtleducks? The not-dead ones.”

Flambé quacked derisively from the side.

“No,” the probably evil spirit said. “I do not desire to see more turtleducks. One is quite enough.”

“...Maybe the garden? It’s nice.”

“No, I—” it said. And then it paused. And got out its oily voice again, like that was something that it needed with Zuko. Maybe it didn’t know how else to talk when people were being nice to it. “...Yes. Yes, I would enjoy seeing your delightful little garden. Simply place your hand into the tree, and…”

“And?” Zuko asked.

“…This is a permanent thing, child. Beyond even your single miniscule lifetime, as your so-called Avatar discovered. Are you certain?”

“Yes,” Zuko said. And stepped past the banks of the stream, and marched right up to the tree itself. He pushed his hand into his friend’s prison. 

Someone that wouldn’t ignore him, who couldn’t leave him. Zuko had never been more sure in his life.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Vaatu,” whispered the oil-slick voice, inside his own mind.

[darkladynyara]

#this was part one: Zuko’s happy childhood#who wants to ask for part two: Zuko’s unhappy childhood

*raises hand*

So, how does Zuko wind up at the Tree of Time in Chaos Avatar to bust Vaatu out? Didn't you say the start is pre-banishment, post-mom gone? What, does he, as a descendant of Roku, have enough of a knack for spirit stuff to fall into a meditative trace while hiding at the turtleduck pond and missing his mom or whatever, and poof! He's at the Tree of Time?

FINALLY someone asks for the START. You are correct that the turtleduck pond is involved. <3

* * *

The turtleduckling had disappeared the day after mother did, but at least Zuko knew where it had gone. But he still wasn’t talking to Azula. 

“You have to talk to me sometime, Dum-Dum,” she said.

He crossed his arms, and stared at the remaining ducklings as they hid under a bush on the opposite side. There were four left.

“It was an accident, I didn’t even see it, and anyway it should have moved. You have to forgive me for accidents, moth—”

Mother said so. But they didn’t talk about mother anymore. 

Azula sat down next to him. She crossed her arms, too. And puffed out her cheeks, and glared, and he did not look like that. Not that he was paying attention to her. 

He was paying attention to the turtleducklings. Because… because there were five.

Azula went very still next to him.

The fifth turtleduckling had a darker shell and feathers, like it had been rolled in ashes. It waddled into the water, heedless of its parents' warning quacks and the two children the rest of its siblings were hiding from. 

Quack, it said, and paddled merrily along. 

Quack, it said, and disappeared like it had swum behind a screen. Except the screen was a normal patch of water and air, and he could see straight through it still. No fifth turtleduck.

“Is our pond… haunted?” Zuko asked.

“I thought you weren’t talking to me,” Azula said, but it was more of a reflex, as they both stared. Then, more sharply: “What are you doing?”

Zuko was standing up. He found a pebble and, without a mother to re-advise him against throwing rocks into certain ponds, launched it towards the spot they’d last seen the ghost duck. 

Quack, quacked an extremely offended quacker, who was still out of sight. The rock had disappeared, too, with no ripple on the water to show it had ever landed.

“...Dare you to go in,” Azula said.

“How stupid do you think I am?”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Azula said. “But a coward? That remains to be seen.”

Zuko glowered. Azula smirked. …Zuko started rolling up his pants.

“I wasn’t serious,” she snapped. “And I take it back, you are stupid,” which meant that now he was definitely going in. “Father is going to be angry when he sees you in wet robes,” she said, as he toed off his shoes. “And I’m not covering for you,” she said, as he caught his balance on the first slimy algae-covered stones, “and I’ll demand the servants attend me so they won’t be able to help you change, and—”

By then he was near the center of the small pond, and poking at air. His hand disappeared.

“I hope it hurts,” Azula said. She was on her feet now, with her arms crossed even more firmly over her chest.

“It just feels… normal? Maybe a little cold? It doesn’t—oww!” 

He jerked back his hand, complete with one ghost turtleduckling clamped over his palm. 

“Oww oww oww,” he shook it, and shook it, but it wasn’t coming off, and then he tripped on a stupid slimy rock and fell sideways—

“I’m not coming after you!”

—into somewhere that wasn’t the palace gardens at all. He’d fallen in water, but it was a shallow stream now. The day was colder, the wind stronger and drier. And there was a tree, up ahead.

The duckling dropped off his hand, and paddled away. Zuko barely glanced after it.

That was a very, very big tree. A purple light pulsed at its bulging, split-barked core.

“Hello, mortal,” the tree said.

At which point Zuko scrabbled backwards until he splashed back into the stiller, warmer, deeper water of the turtleduck pond.

“Evil tree,” he told Azula.

“Dum-Dum,” she said, and stomped off. 

By the time Zuko got inside, the servants were busy drawing their little princess a warm bath. He was made to wait his turn.

* * *

“I am unaware of any records pertaining to… evil trees,” the sage in charge of the royal archives said. 

“What about the spirit world?” Zuko asked.

* * *

The ghost turtleduckling swam with impunity between realms. And stole entire loaves out of Zuko’s hands, before fleeing on its tiny paddling feet to the safety of the other side.

“Hey!” 

It had learned that Zuko wouldn’t follow. Neither would its equally hungry siblings.

* * *

A place of death could form a rift, if the spirit did not realize its own passing. If it still desired to return, and was unaware of the general impossibility of the task. Spirits worked mostly on not realizing they couldn’t do a thing. 

“Oh,” Zuko said, to the scroll.

As this was a more common occurrence with animal spirits than with humans, who tended to overthink things even in death, it did not help Zuko narrow down his mother’s location.

* * *

Azula had stopped coming to the pond. And they had different bending instructors, now; father said a private tutor would stop her from being held back by… others. She preened.

Since Zuko was left alone at his lessons, he had a private tutor now, too. It didn’t feel like a reward.

* * *

“...Hello again, mortal,” the tree said, its voice oozing like a courtier’s. “Do come in. No need to be shy.”

“Are you evil?” Zuko asked, only his head poking through the rift.

“Such terms rarely apply to spirits,” the tree said, exactly like an evil tree would. “Consider our meeting, rather… an opportunity. Is there something you require assistance with? You would not have found yourself in this part of the spirit world, if I could not help. Perhaps we could— Mortal, come back here—”

Zuko pulled his head back out. It was definitely evil. But he’d gotten a better look at the patterns on the glowy purple part, so he sat down on the pond’s edge, and drew them before he forgot. He’d brought paper this time.

Maybe he wasn’t a good bender. Or heir. But there was an evil tree in the royal turtleduck pond, and he wasn’t a coward. He’d take care of it.

* * *

The sage in charge of the archives blinked. Took the paper from him, and blinked again. 

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I believe I have seen something like this. Come.”

The scroll was old. So old it wasn’t even the original: it had been copied, and had time to grow old all over again. The sage fretted over every crackling inch they unrolled.

“Where did you say you saw this design?” the sage asked.

“...I, uh. Dreamed it?” Zuko said.

They stared, together, at an inked drawing of the Avatar’s patron spirit. 

* * *

…If Zuko found the Avatar, father would definitely like him better than Azula.

* * *

“Mortal,” the evil tree greeted, much less cordially.

“Are you the Avatar?”

“What,” it inquired, with a sort of rustling tree sigh, like it was already disappointed in his answer, “is the Avatar?”

Oh. So… no.

“It’s just, there was this picture in a scroll, of the Avatar’s patron spirit. And they looked like you, except without the tree, and white—”

“Raava,” the tree hissed.

Which had probably been the kanji that he hadn’t recognized. But neither had the sage, so it must have been a really hard one.

“Tell me about this… Avatar,” the tree said.

And maybe Zuko should have gone back to the training grounds to practice his katas more. Or read over the next chapters in his textbooks again, so he’d actually understand them, when his instructors went over them tomorrow. But he was still sore from the extra sets his master had assigned as remedial instruction after Zuko had embarrassed them both in front of father. And sometimes when he read ahead he thought too much and got all the wrong ideas in his head, like the time he’d asked why Sozin hadn’t formed a coalition of other nations against the threat of the Air Nomad army. And that just made more work for his instructors to fix, so.

So Zuko sat down, on the stream bank nearest his escape route, and talked to an evil tree.

“They’re the master of all four elements,” he said. “The last one was an enemy to the Fire Nation, and the new one’s been hiding, probably because he’s too much of a coward to face us—”

* * *

He brought an extra loaf of bread next time. One for the ducklings who needed it, and one for the duckling who just thought she did. The ghost duckling tugged and tugged against his grip, before grudgingly clambering up to eat in his lap.

She was really soft.

She bit really hard.

“How many of these… avatars… have there been?” the evil tree asked.

* * *

“How many Avatars have there been?” Zuko asked the sage.

“Nigh uncountable,” the man said. “Have you had more dreams, my prince?”

“Um,” Zuko said.

* * *

“A lot,” Zuko told the tree. “The sage in the archive said the histories don’t go back that far. He guessed there were at least a hundred.”

“...And how long does your species of mortal live?”

“Avatar Kyoshi lived a really long time. But most of us don’t live more than seventy or eighty years. And some of the Avatars probably died a lot sooner than that, if people resented their meddling as much as the textbooks say.”

“Seven thousand years,” the tree said. “At least.”

And then it got really quiet, for a long time. Which was natural for a tree, but not for an evil tree. Zuko sat with it. He’d brought his homework, so he wouldn’t be wasting his study time.

…Except he kind of did, because apparently ghost turtleducklings could sleep—or at least, dream of sleeping?—and this one did it right in his lap.

* * *

They had flambéed quail-shark for dinner, and Zuko had almost been late, but father was too busy watching the flames to notice him sliding onto his cushion. Azula did.

“Look,” she whispered, “a dead bird can firebend better than you.”

* * *

“Flambé,” Zuko scolded, trying to pull half a loaf of bread out of the mouth of a ghost turtleduckling intent on choking itself.

“...What is ‘flambé’?” the evil tree asked.

And, after Zuko was done with that explanation: “What is… ‘taste’?”

* * *

“I need a recipe book,” Zuko told the sage. “With pictures.” 

“I… of course, my prince. But first, would you like any of these?”

The man had set out a whole table of toys. Most were wooden. They all looked really old. There was another sage there, one of the ones from the high temple. He was just kind of standing there, watching them for some reason. 

“Thanks,” Zuko said. “But I’m too old for toys.”

They both watched him leave.

* * *

“Which turtle do you hail from?” the tree asked.

“I… don’t know?”

The tree sighed. “Air. Water. Earth—”

“Fire!” Zuko said.

“Yes,” it said drily, “that is the final option.”

“No, that’s… that’s what I bend. I’m from the Fire Nation.”

“Ah,” the tree said, in its oil-slick voice. “The element of power. A fine fit, for such a promising young larva.”

So today was going to be one of those days.

Zuko crossed his arms. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said, “but if you keep trying to make me evil, I’m going to go back and practice my bending some more.”

“No need for anything so dramatic,” it said. “But I would wager that there’s something you need more power for. Some task to do, or someone to impress. Perhaps someone to… surpass?”

Azula was two sequences ahead, now. Father had rewarded her with an even better tutor. They were very famous, or something. 

“Perhaps we can help each other,” the tree said.

“Do you want more water?” Zuko asked. Because he’d been sitting here day after day thinking how dry the ground was, even with the stream, and the stream was actually really far from the tree’s roots. Maybe that was why it looked so dead. Maybe it wasn’t evil, it was just really thirsty. “I could dig the stream closer. I saw farmers doing that, when mo—when we toured the countryside, when we were younger. They said it was good for the plants.”

“I…” the tree said, like that was not the response it expected. “No, larva. I do not require more water.”

“What else do trees need?” Zuko asked.

“...I am not the tree. I am inside the tree.” 

“Oh. Oh. …You can come out, if you want. I’ll try not to be scared.”

It was silent again. And then it was laughing, but not a funny laugh. And then it was shouting, and Zuko knew better than to talk back when someone was shouting at him. 

“I cannot simply come out. I have been trapped here, alone, for millennia beyond your comprehension, and…”

The spirit stopped, and took in great big breaths, which wasn’t a thing father or his tutors did until they were done yelling. The spirit had stopped itself early, without Zuko apologizing even once. 

“...Is that why you’re lonely?” He’d thought it was because it was a tree, and evil trees without many leaves probably didn’t get many visitors. But being inside a tree probably wasn’t any better.

“I am not lonely,” the not-a-tree growled. “Listen, human larva. I will grant you power beyond your mortal imagining. You can be that Avatar you speak of, if you join with me. All I require in exchange is to not be in a tree.”

* * *

“Could someone who isn’t the Avatar learn the other elements?” Zuko asked the sage.

“...I suspect,” said the man, looking somewhat tired, “that the most likely explanation for such a phenomenon would be that this person was the Avatar. I happen to have a book here, with select personal accounts of how those who came into the knowledge prior to their sixteenth birthdays adjusted to the situation. If you would be interested.”

Zuko scowled, because that wasn’t helpful at all.

* * * 

“You’re never going to catch up, Zuzu,” Azula said. “But I suppose you could come train with me, if you asked nicely. My new tutor believes in the benefit of sparring, even against lesser opponents. We don’t even need to ask father, so long as you can refrain from embarrassing us both.”

“Mmhmm,” said Zuko, who was thinking.

“Well?” she snapped.

“Sorry, what?”

His sister stomped away.

* * * 

She wouldn’t talk to him at dinner, which was normal, because she always talked with father then.

She wouldn’t talk to him at any other meals, either, which wasn’t. Father wasn’t even there for those, it was just them and the servants who silently scurried in and out.

She didn’t even barge into his room to read his essays over his shoulder and laugh. …Or read the play scrolls they’d smuggled out of mother’s room before the servants had cleaned it, and laugh together. 

* * *

The servants were polite, but father hated for them to waste time on idle chatter.

Uncle was still missing. 

The sage in the archives kept looking at him funny.

“Could we spar sometime?” Zuko asked Azula, because he missed training together.

For some reason, that made her ignore him even harder.

* * * 

Flambé nibbled at his pant legs, then bit his ankle, then waddled petulantly away. Zuko hadn’t brought any bread, this time. 

“I don’t think power would help me,” Zuko said. Not unless it could make him smart enough to learn faster, or help him find mother, or fix whatever in him was so broken that father didn’t even like to look at him. “But… would you like to see the rest of the turtleducks? The not-dead ones.”

Flambé quacked derisively from the side.

“No,” the probably evil spirit said. “I do not desire to see more turtleducks. One is quite enough.”

“...Maybe the garden? It’s nice.”

“No, I—” it said. And then it paused. And got out its oily voice again, like that was something that it needed with Zuko. Maybe it didn’t know how else to talk when people were being nice to it. “...Yes. Yes, I would enjoy seeing your delightful little garden. Simply place your hand into the tree, and…”

“And?” Zuko asked.

“…This is a permanent thing, child. Beyond even your single miniscule lifetime, as your so-called Avatar discovered. Are you certain?”

“Yes,” Zuko said. And stepped past the banks of the stream, and marched right up to the tree itself. He pushed his hand into his friend’s prison. 

Someone that wouldn’t ignore him, who couldn’t leave him. Zuko had never been more sure in his life.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Vaatu,” whispered the oil-slick voice, inside his own mind.