The Lunar Warrior [ATLA FF]

Book 1: Water | 8 | The Avatar Returns I

"This staff will make an excellent gift for my father." Zuko inspects the staff, intrigued by its odd design. The equipment and culture of the air nomads had been lost for a hundred years, seeing the real thing up close was something Zuko never thought he'd be able to do. Not giving the airbender a glance as he inspected it, he continued, "I suppose you wouldn't know of fathers, being raised by monks."

Putting the staff down, he gave his orders. "Take the Avatar to the prison hold," he handed the staff to his uncle, who was standing beside him, "and take this to my quarters."

Iroh gave the staff a glance before handing it to a soldier that was beside him, the prince having already left without looking back. "Hey, mind taking this to his quarters for me?" He asks casually. The soldier accepts the staff and Iroh walks away, heading to his own chambers for a much needed nap.

A while passed by peacefully, and Zuko sat in his room letting the events of the day sink in.

He'd just captured the Avatar. He was headed for home, a place he hadn't been allowed to go in the last two years. How many nights had he dreamt of this moment? How many times had he looked in the mirror in shame, disgust, and confusion? All of his searching, all of his shattered hopes with each failed mission, and finally... finally... he had him.

Even if he was just a child, he was real.

For the first time in two long years he felt like he could breathe.

He was going home.

But that thought was then followed by another. That tiny, sad excuse of a village he'd just left. The scarred water tribe warrior.

'He was strong.'

He was very strong. If their battle had lasted longer, Zuko was not sure who the winner would be. The very thought enraged him, the lit candles before him flaring dangerously at the mere thought of what could have been. But Zuko was not one who did not acknowledge skill. He may not be as experienced as others when it came to battle and weapons, but he was certain that the way that warrior used his spear was strange and unique.

And he could tell that he was avoiding any fatal injury towards him. That warrior, now that he was in a place where he was at liberty to think in detail about he events, had shown him mercy. How many opportunities did he have to strike him down? How many times had he been caught off guard by the fluidity of his spear movement and attacks?

'Too many.'

He could not excuse his own weakness. He could not allow it to exist. He had to train harder, smarter. He could not return home showing such weakness. To him, not being capable enough was an unforgivable sin. The candles continued to rage with his emotions, it was a common sight for him. But as they calmed, another thought came into his mind.

'When he saw my fire, he hesitated.'

There was fear in his eyes, only for a moment. The instinctual fear of feeling a familiar pain. Zuko would know that type of fear. He had experienced it himself, two years worth of nightmares of that pain. His hand glided to his scarred face, going across his eyes and then his ear. Vicious red and ugly burns that would forever stain his skin.

But not only was fear in his eyes, but there was rage. A deep seated rage that seemed to go past the prince and to something beyond him. Zuko only caught a glimpse of that emotion for a fleeting moment, but that was all he needed to know how much of it ran through the warrior.

'That warrior... he had impressive control over his emotions. Much more than I do.'

Zuko was no fool to his own shortcomings, but fixing that was not something he wanted nor needed in his hunt for the avatar. He was sure that the warrior's rage had something to do with that burn scar. It would make sense, they were at war with them, and everyone else.