Who: Zuko and Draco Malfoy When: Thursday -- very late night. Where: Draco's place. What: Zuko: dream narrative, and then talking Rating: TBD -- definitely a bit high for, uh, disfigurement. Status: In Progress.
Younger than he was now, he was standing in a tiled clearing in an expansive rock garden. His parents' mansion surrounded the place on all four sides -- everything was held up by important looking columns. He hardly paid his surroundings any mind though; he was used to them. The sun was bright and warm. It was mid-day.
Instead, he took a deep breath, and closed his eyes for just a short moment. Focusing. Then he moved: he was practicing martial arts. It seemed like a stylized version of Northern Shaolin, a very classic style. It wasn't until he got into it that the style changed for the more bizarre. Zuko punched-- right handed -- and fire was there, created from nothing but himself. He was not shocked. This is what he did. He was a fire bender -- and one day, he would be an absolute master at it.
He worked at it for another few minutes -- punching and kicking fire in every direction. He felt proud of himself. And even more so when someone from the side spoke:
"That was very good, Prince Zuko."
He only gave his instructor a blank face in return. He knew it was good.
----
He'd argued his way into the room. Zuko was a prince, and heir to the throne. Politics were something he had to learn. He promised he wouldn't speak, just watch.
A promise he broke. He spoke. He'd dishonored his father, and now he was going to pay for it.
Zuko hadn't expected it to be like this -- an agni kai -- a battle with his own flesh and blood. He was still young. He hadn't realized.
Refusing to fight had been a poor choice. Weak, they said. Dishonorable for his father, himself. The entire nation.
Ozai held no such reservations about fighting his teenaged son -- even when the boy refused to fight back.
And then there was fire. So much of it. Directly against his face. He felt the skin around his left eye burning, practically melting.
---
Zuko woke up with half a scream and a start -- sitting up straight in the bed. He felt hot and the sheets clung to him as he moved. Putting a hand to his scarred cheek, the Japanese boy let out a low, breathy moan. It was hard to catch his breath. He couldn't tell if his face actually hurt, or if he was still just remembering the vivid, horrifying dream.
So distraught and distracted was he, that he'd nearly forgotten he wasn't even in his own bed -- but instead Draco's.