Chapter Text
The crowd had cheered when they’d watched his father kill him.
It’s what Zuko remembers most from that day. Most would assume that his mind would hold onto the menacing image of Ozai as the Firelord had stared down at his son, how he raised a hand to deliver one final horrifying blow, the pain that erupted and threatened to consume him as his face began to burn. It might make more sense for him to fixate on how hard his knees dug into the ground as he submitted to no avail. The last words his father ever said to him - you will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher - should play on a loop in his mind, and he should lie awake at night thinking of how he responded with only screams.
Zuko does remember all that. As his father intended, he is intimately familiar with his pain, but none of it haunts him more than the crowd. When he is alone, at his lowest, it is their cheers and roars of approval at their Prince’s death that rings through his ears.
The stadium was full of his own people, and they could not hold back their delight at his demise. A thirteen year old boy was killed in front of them and all they did was shout their approval.
Of course, in his more rational moments, Zuko knows this isn’t actually the case. He knows that if they had done anything else, if they had stayed silent or expressed any hesitations, then Ozai would have simply struck them down after he was done with his son. Contrary to most’s beliefs, the Fire Nation was not made of fools. Many know the horrifying reality of their Firelord’s actions, but that doesn’t change the fact that speaking out would, at best, result in the loss of their home, of all they’ve ever known.
Zuko knows this loss well. It’s not something he would wish on anyone. Still, when the memories of the crowd’s cheers resurface, knowing this does not do much to ease his pain. It would have been nice if his sister, if those he’d known from childhood, if anyone had risen to his defence.
Ozai didn’t actually kill him on the floor of the Agni Kai - but he might as well have. After all, hardly anyone ever saw him again.
He stayed only two days in the palace’s infirmary before he’d had to face his father yet again. For most of it he’d been delirious, sick with fever and spending every waking moment in agony, but he remembers the bone-chilling fear that had run through him when Ozai walked into the room. That time, he didn’t beg. He didn’t plead. I am still your loyal son died on his tongue before he could say the words, because as his one good eye looked up at the man, he knew with absolute certainty what was to come.
You were lucky to be born, his father had told him once. Ozai had always loathed him. A man of action, it seemed now that after all these years, he was finally doing something about it.
In a matter of moments, his title was stripped from him right along with his top knot that someone cut off without him even noticing. His actions in the war room, speaking out against the general’s plan to lead their own people to slaughter, was branded as treason. Banishment from the Fire Nation was to be his punishment, and if he ever stepped foot on its soil in his lifetime, he would be put to death. It was a stretch, even for Ozai, but the palace staff knew better than to question it.
For almost the entire nation, that was the end of it. He was carted away to a sparsely manned ship that immediately set sail for the Nation’s borders, still barely able to hold onto coherence, and his banishment began. Nothing else was ever heard about their former Prince. Any images of him were removed from where they hung, his name was blotted out from Fire Nation history. After a while, he’s sure they forgot he ever existed in the royal family at all, especially after Azula was named the sole heir to the throne, a fire-bending prodigy since birth.
Sometimes, a small part of him wishes that his father had simply executed him, right then and there, like he’s sure a good part of the Fire Nation believes that he did. It’s not a thought he likes to entertain, but it would have prevented - no, it would have saved -
Zuko sighs, shaking his head to clear it. It’s been three years, but he still can’t bring himself to think about Iroh.
It does him no good to dwell on the past, anyways, not when he’s come this far despite it. For the briefest time after his banishment, he was sure that his father would change his mind, and that he’d be allowed back home before too long - but that never came to pass. It hurts to think about even now, like picking at an old wound, but the Fire Nation is not his home.
In the end, he knows that it’s better that there never will be a way for him to return there - if there had been a way, if Ozai had given him even a sliver of hope that he could regain what he’d lost, Zuko’s pretty sure he would have done anything to make that happen. It might very well have driven him mad. Coming to terms with the cruelty of his roots and the loss of everything he’d ever known all at once had hurt far more in the moment, but at least he knew the truth through and through, and he could move on without fooling himself that it would ever change. He will never return to the Fire Nation, not in this lifetime.
No, home for him is whatever spot on the map he finds himself in at any given time. He carries hardly anything with him, allowing himself to travel down the backroads of the world quickly and easily, without detection. As he travels he collects spare amounts of coins from doing odd jobs, only as he needs to, and only ever enough to sustain him until the next one comes along.
All he carries that harken back to his former life are dual broadswords sheathed on his back, and the harsh scar on half his face. Still, neither of these two things give rise to much suspicion. The swords are common enough in the Earth Kingdom that nobody looks twice, and as for the scar, well - there is at least one advantage to the Fire Nation removing all image and history of him. His bright amber eyes might draw people to look closer at him, but the scar takes any of their suspicions away. Really, his father gave him the perfect disguise. While the colonies and beyond may know that there was a Prince who was now as good as dead, the reality of the Agni Kai never breached the stadium walls, and the sight of his scar draws nothing more than pity from those who know what it must mean.
Zuko doesn’t need their pity, doesn’t want it, but it’s easier to deal with than fear.
Sometimes, he thinks about travelling further than he’s used to, perhaps braving the landscapes of the Northern or Southern Water Tribes, but he always dispels this thought before he can actually begin making travel plans. He would love to escape the constant threat of roaming Fire Nation soldiers, but the reality is that, as much as he’s tried to snuff it out these last few years, his inner fire still burns. Trying to live in places that cold might just - well, it might just do to him what Ozai clearly wanted to do for years, and if anything, Zuko’s living on pure spite at this point.
His father wanted him dead, and so he lives. He’d wanted him to be a ruthless commander just like him, and so Zuko risks everything by speaking up for the common man. Ozai had longed for him to master firebending, and so he swore to never use it again.
Fire has done nothing but burn him. He remembers once, a very long time ago, watching Azula streak blue fire across the sky, and thinking of how beautiful a gift that it could be - but he knows better, now. All he’s ever known firebending to be is that of rage, of power, of hurt. The fact that a fire just like that burns within him, that if he chose to, he could use his bending to hurt others just as he’s been hurt - that is the part of himself that Zuko will forever hate the most.
So - he doesn’t firebend. He never will, not again. The swords on his back are enough, should he need them, but otherwise, Zuko survives by moving through the shadows of the world, staying just far enough out of sight that no one can even realize he’s there. His father would say that there’s no honour in his decision, but as time goes on and he witnesses the cruelty firebending can unleash onto the world, Zuko’s pretty sure that refusing to be a part of that is the most honourable thing he’s ever done.
Now, practically three years after it all happened, he finds himself crouched on the edge of a rooftop in some Earth Kingdom village he can’t remember the name of. He’s been here for the past couple of days, but now that he’s earned some coin and gathered some supplies, he’s ready to hit the road again. Staying in the same place too long draws suspicion, but so does having to explain to the locals why he’s leaving, or explain that he doesn’t really know where he’s heading. It’s better to leave during the cover of nightfall, when no one will notice. After all this time in exile, he’s learned what’s necessary to keep his identity hidden.
He’s been careful, and it hasn’t happened to him yet, but Zuko is also haunted by the possibility that news of a scarred traveller will reach the Firelord’s ears, and then Ozai will descend on some innocent village and burn it all to the ground, just to make sure that no one made it out alive. Scarred travellers are not few and far between, not with the war raging on, but his father is no fool. He would be able to tell it was his son, still clinging onto life. His father already thinks that he’s dead, but if he were to find out it wasn’t true, he wouldn’t hesitate to finish the job.
Zuko’s not scared of dying, not really, but he knows that Ozai can’t resist putting on a show. He can take whatever is thrown at him, but knowing he’d get innocent people caught up in his turmoil is almost too much to bear.
A sharp gust of wind hits his cheek, once again shaking him out of his dazed thoughts. There are some nights where this happens to him. Sometimes, when he’s alone like this and only the stars are above him, the memories of his past threaten to overwhelm him. He tries to forget, but truly, he knows he never will.
Either way, it serves him no purpose to dwell on it. His past can be summarized succinctly - his father burned him, banished him, and left him for dead. He may never be able to face his father again, not in a way that matters, but he can defy him by carrying on living.
One day, the Fire Nation will win the Hundred Year War. There is no Avatar around or a rival nation that can stop him, and so when Ozai is crowned victorious and all the lands known to man belong to the Fire Nation, Zuko’s freedom will end. When that happens, it won’t be long before he’s found and killed, and so until then, all he can do is live the best that he can. This is as good of an ending as he could ever hope to get.
Below him, the village is quiet. Quietly, Zuko jumps from the roof and onto the road below. He doesn’t have a destination in mind, but he doesn’t let that stop him, nor slow him down as he slips out of the village, sticking close to the shadows and leaving it all behind. Maybe he’ll be back one day; maybe he won’t. Either way, no one will miss him, nor will they remember him if he ever did return. He leaves no mark as he makes his way through the world, forever destined to do nothing but exist on the sidelines.
He is not a Prince, he is not a Fire Nation citizen, and he is not a firebender.
He is just Zuko, and he is alone.
Without making a sound, he makes his way out of the village, leaving this one behind and heading for the next. The air hangs still, but if the sounds of the Agni Kai’s crowd cheering ring through his ears as he carries on through the night, well - that’s nobody’s business but his own.