Fic: Homecoming (Roku/Sozin)
Jan. 11th, 2008 03:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
foxysquidalsoTitle: Homecoming
Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Word Count: 4,500
Characters: Azulon, Gyatso, Roku, Sozin
Pairing(s): Roku/Sozin
Rating: PG
Notes: At the end of a long life, Sozin finds himself in the Spirit World. But his journey is not over yet...
Warnings: Implied death and violence (but nothing graphic).
[All right, I should just be up front about it--I am a Sozin-lovin' fool, so my Roku/Sozin stories are fairly sympathetic to him. I admit my bias freely! <3]
Homecoming.
It was a bright, warm day, but every household had lit their fires. In every fireplace and firecradle, in every stone basin and every spot where a fire could be lit, flames blazed. Smoke rose skyward, dark but insubstantial, blown this way and that by the least of breezes. People were gathered in courtyards, in village squares. Some of them had simply stepped outside their homes to gaze up at the sky. No matter where they stood, throughout the Fire Nation and in each of the Colonies, they could see a fire or at least its smoke. The air was thick with it. It filled mouths, noses, and lungs. People stifled their coughs as best they could. Coughing from such smoke was said to bring bad luck.
Smoke from a funeral fire was said to be the soul of the deceased. In the royal palace, Fire Lord Sozin's body was burning. The smoke from that fire was the real soul, but all the other fires added to it, made his passing more auspicious, gave his spirit more strength. That was what the legends said. Not everyone believed such talk, but even the unbelievers came out to watch the smoke rise. The Fire Lord had been a great man.
Azulon, Sozin's heir, stood on the royal dais. Behind him was the rest of the royal court, kneeling with their heads bowed in respect for both the old and the new Fire Lords. Azulon stood with his head held high. In his twenties, he was young for the son of such an aged man. Sozin had waited until very late in his life to have a child. That suited Azulon, who could expect a long and happy reign. He watched his father's smoke rise without tears in his eyes. If he felt the urge to cough, he did not show it.
The old man, who had kept his wits even in his later years--when he had lived far longer than anyone had had any right to expect--had grown increasingly odd over the past few months. Not mad or senile, but seemingly weak-minded: quiet and moody as if in the grip of a strange melancholy. He had spent most of his time sequestered in his rooms, writing, with no companion but his brushes and his paper, barely eating and rarely speaking. Perhaps he had sensed the nearing specter of death. Or perhaps, in his last days, he had finally lost the fire that had kept him living for so long: fierce and endlessly hot. Whatever the case, at least that odd mood had not persisted for long. Sozin had died peacefully in his sleep yesterday. It was difficult to tell what time. Perhaps in the early morning, just as the sun was rising.
Azulon felt no grief as his eyes followed the ascent of the smoke. His father had been an old, old man. His life had been full. It had been his time to die.
#
The wood was dark and cold. Disoriented, he staggered to the nearest tree and leaned against its trunk, breathing hard. It was difficult to catch his breath, but he struggled with it until he succeeded. Once he was breathing more easily, he looked around. There was nothing to be seen but tall, dark trees and sparse undergrowth. He didn't know what those trees were called. He had never seen their like before. For that matter, he didn't recognize any of the plants growing between them. He didn't know where he was. He felt--not sick, but something approaching sickness, a lightness in his head and a ringing in his ears. As if he was about to come down with a fever. But he didn't feel warm. He put a hand up to his forehead. No, his skin was cool. He shivered.
He breathed in deep and then out again, trying to warm himself with his bending. But nothing happened. He frowned and tried again. It didn't work. There was not so much as a spark, not even warmth.
He didn't understand--how could this happen? It couldn't be an eclipse. Could it? He looked up. Through the branches of the trees above him, he glimpsed the sky. There was light, but it was pale and sickly, as if the sunlight was filtered through a thick veil of cloud.
He looked around again, wildly, beginning to panic. The wood looked the same on every side of him. It didn't seem to thin in any direction. He was all alone here: lost. He called out. "Hello? Is anyone there?"
The silence that answered him was nearly tangible in its weight. That was another thing about this wood that was strange. No noise, not of wind in the trees or birds chattering or small animals playing in the branches. There was an eerie quiet blanketing this place. It didn't seem natural. Fear tightened his chest. He cried out, desperately. "If you can hear me, answer me! Please!"
When the last word faded, the silence returned.
Or did it? He thought he heard--something. But maybe it was just an echo of his own voice. He squinted as he strained to hear. Yes, there was a noise. But it was so faint, he couldn't tell what kind of noise it was.
Should he move towards it? Part of him wanted to, but he couldn't leave his tree. he felt weak, and it was strong behind his back, holding him up. He half-feared that if he tried to walk away from it, his knees would give out and he'd collapse. He didn't want that to happen, so he stayed where he was for now. He could wait. His arms were down at his sides, and he pressed his palms against the bark of the tree. It was so smooth.
He waited. The noise grew louder, until he could identify it: footsteps and the crackling of undergrowth. Someone was coming. He didn't know what he should do. But since he didn't feel strong enough to leave his tree, the choice was taken from him. He could only hope that it wasn't an enemy, as he had nothing to defend himself with in the absence of bending and weapons and strength.
He glimpsed a scrap of moving color in the wood, obscured by branches: an orange that was made brighter by the grace of the dark trees surrounding it. The color belonged to a figure, and he watched intently as it drew nearer. As it neared him, he relaxed. It was a slight figure, approaching slowly. It didn't seem to be a threat.
The figure resolved into that of an old man, walking lightly on his feet. He was dressed in orange and yellow. His eyes were bright. He had a white mustache, but his head was shaved bare, tattooed with a blue arrow. Finally, something familiar, if not strongly so: one of the Airbenders.
"Hello," he greeted the stranger uncertainly, once the little man was almost at his tree.
"Sozin." The man did not smile, but he bowed his head, as in respect.
Sozin searched the man's face questioningly. But no, he didn't know him. "How do you know my name?" he demanded. "Where am I? Who are you?"
The man blinked. For a moment, his face wore no expression, and then he did smile. "That's a lot of questions," he said, instead of replying.
"Are you going to answer them?"
He didn't reply to this question, either. "Be a little patient. Why don't you follow me?"
"I can't," Sozin protested. The prospect of going anywhere else filled him with dismay. "I feel sick." Sick wasn't quite the word for it, but it was close enough. He still didn't know where he was, but whatever was happening, he knew it was something that had never happened before. And he was afraid. "Something's wrong, isn't it?"
"Wrong?" The man's eyebrows rose.
Sozin didn't quite know what he meant by his own words. He was still confused, lightheaded. "Something happened."
The Airbender nodded, quite seriously, as if he understood. "I see."
"How do you know me?" Sozin asked again.
The man held out his hand. "Don't worry," he said. It'll be all right."
Sozin hesitated. He pressed his hands back more firmly against the tree bark. He didn't want to go. Everything was alarming, puzzling. But at the same time, he couldn't stay here forever, in the middle of this horribly silent wood. The man kept his hand where it was, extended. After a few more moments of uncertainty, Sozin reached out and took it.
Instantly, he did feel better, strength from an unknown source flowing through him. He straightened and took a step. Once he was standing without support, the man let his hand go. "There we go," he said. "Now follow me."
#
The wood had seemed vast, but Sozin was perplexed to find, as he followed the man--who still had not given his name--that they left it behind them in a relatively short amount of time. Although once they had left it, Sozin was unsure of how long they had walked through it. After emerging from the wood, they found themselves on a bare plain. Earth stretched in all directions, marked by lonely pools of water. Sozin could see the sky clearly now. Yet it was changed from the sky he knew. There were no clouds, but there was no sun, even though there was light. Where was it coming from? It was as if the sky itself was luminescent.
The plain seemed equally as vast as the forest had, but he no longer trusted his own sense of perspective. Everything here--wherever this was--was askew. Or was he really coming down with a fever? He must have been seriously ill if he'd lost his bending.
"Where are we going?" he asked, not for the first time.
"You'll see when we get there," was the expected but unreassuring reply.
Sozin had had enough. How could he be expected to follow this strange person through this bewildering place and simply accept that that was how it had to be? He stopped short and stood facing his guide, defiantly. "I'm tired of this. I expect you to answer my questions. Now."
The man stopped as well. He regarded Sozin, his face grave, and then--with a movement so surprisingly swift Sozin almost missed it--he stooped, picked up a moist clod of earth, and threw it. His aim was impeccable: the earth clod hit Sozin full in the face. It was a loose chunk of soil, so it hit softly and crumbled into a rain of dirt rather than causing him any pain. Sozin stumbled back a few steps, then wiped his face angrily with the back of his hand. "What was that for?"
The man's grin made his eyes brighter and the lines at the corners of them deeper. "Laugh," he said. "You remember how to laugh, don't you?"
"That wasn't funny," grumbled Sozin, brushing dirt from his tunic.
"To be fair," said the man, waiting as Sozin cleaned himself off, "I'll answer one of your questions." He paused, for a moment, perhaps to decide which question would be the best to answer. "My name is Gyatso. Now follow me. Someone's waiting for you." He turned and continued on his light-footed way, as if he expected to be followed unquestioningly.
Sozin was all at once seized by the fear that he would be left behind. "I'm coming," he said, hurrying to catch up.
"Sozin," said Gyatso after they had traveled some time in silence.
"What is it?"
"How old are you?"
"Sixteen."
"So young. And who could be angry with you at sixteen?"
Sozin didn't know what that was supposed to mean, so he didn't say anything in reply, but he frowned. As he followed Gyatso, he tried to get his thoughts in order. He tried to remember what had happened to him before he'd found himself in the wood. When he concentrated, he remembered--cold. A freezing wind that pierced his very bones. The memory was so chilling that he shivered, the hairs on his arms rising.
"What was that?" he heard a voice and realized Gyatso was speaking to him.
"What? I didn't say anything."
"I thought I heard you say a long time passed."
"Well, I didn't," said Sozin stubbornly. He was still cold, so he folded his arms and hugged his chest. "Why can't I Firebend here?" he asked.
"I'm taking you to someone who can answer all your questions," Gyatso replied, not unkindly. "It won't be long before we're there."
#
Gyatso was telling the truth. They ascended a low hill, and when they reached the crest, Sozin was taken unawares by the sight of green. The valley below was protected on all sides by hills of earth. At its center was a small lake, and on the shore of the lake, Sozin saw, there was a building of some kind.
Until now, they had been walking across unmarked wilderness, but at the valley's edge, a narrow trail began, leading down to the valley floor, threading its way through the greenery towards the structure on the lake shore. The soil must have been rich: the grasses and flowers were lush and bright. Sozin had never seen so many shades of green. The flowers scented the air; their perfume was sweet but not too strong, and Sozin breathed it in deeply.
As they drew nearer to the lake shore, Sozin saw that the building was definitely a dwelling: a modest house with a wide door. At first, Sozin thought it was made of wood, but once they were almost there, he realized he was mistaken: it was made of stone, but intricately carved to give the appearance of being constructed of elaborately interwoven twigs and sticks.
Gyatso continued to lead him onward, but once they were within several yards of the house, Sozin began to feel the tight grip of panic again, seizing up his chest. He didn't know why, but there was something about the house--that open door--he couldn't go inside. He balked and stood firm. "I don't want to go."
Gyatso went to his side. "Go on. It'll be all right."
"No, I can't." He felt weak again. "I can't go. I'm frightened."
Gyatso looked at him, his gaze soft and somehow sad. Why is he sad? Sozin wondered. He knew so little about the man, although they had walked together a long way--or had it been a short way? Gyatso rested a reassuring hand on Sozin's shoulder, and once more, Sozin felt a strength flow into him at the man's touch.
"You can go now," Gyatso said. "A long, long time has passed, Sozin. Longer than you know."
Sozin still didn't understand, but he took a step towards the waiting door.
#
The house was quiet and dark inside. At first, Sozin thought it was empty. Gyatso had said someone was waiting for him, but the old man could have been mistaken. "Hello?" he asked, tentatively. He had experienced so much strangeness recently that he didn't know what to expect. He took another step.
"Sozin." Light flared. He didn't know where it came from, as he didn't know where the light outside came from, when there was no sun.
Another old man stood in the center of the room. This one was taller, with long, white hair and a long beard. He wore red robes. So--he was from the Fire Nation, too. Although this man had supposedly been expecting Sozin, at first he seemed surprised to see him.
Sozin had been hoping that things would begin to make sense once he'd arrived at his destination, but nothing was any clearer now. He didn't know this man either. "Who are you?" he asked.
Before the man had a chance to answer his question, Sozin noticed the man's topknot. The clasp he wore there was Sozin's, own, meant only for the crown prince to wear. Sozin's hand went to his own topknot, but it was held in place simply, with a band of cloth. Yes, he remembered now--he had given it to Roku. But who was this man, and why was he wearing it? "How did you get that?" He pointed.
The man hesitated before replying. "Sozin," he said quietly. "you gave it to me."
Sozin took a step back. "What--what do you mean?"
The man took a step of his own, to make up for the increased distance between them, and Sozin did not retreat again, but stood staring. There was something--something familiar about this man. The sound of his voice. His dark eyes. But it was impossible. It couldn't be true. "No," Sozin said, his eyes widening. He turned away, angrily. "You're not him! I don't understand what's happening! I don't understand any of this!" As he spoke, he was aware that he sounded like a child throwing a tantrum, but he didn't care. This couldn't be happening. He had to be dreaming. Or else he was ill, very ill, and this was a delusion brought on by his sickness. He squeezed his eyes shut.
A hand settled on his shoulder. "Sozin."
He pulled away, eyes still closed. "No," he said again. "Roku isn't old."
"I'm not. Look at me."
The man's voice had changed, and Sozin dared to turn his head to look at him. There was his friend, the same age as he was, his eyes narrowing as they always did when he smiled. "Look," Roku said. "Sozin, it's me."
"Roku?"
"Yes, who else would it be?"
"What are you doing here? Where are we?" He turned the rest of his body to wrap Roku in a fierce embrace. He held him tight. "I was all by myself." He spoke into the fabric of his friend's tunic, his voice muffled. "I thought you were gone."
"It's all right now," said Roku. He settled a hand on Sozin's hair.
Sozin was embarrassed to feel his eyes stinging. He drew away and quickly wiped at his face with the back of his hand. "But where are we?" he asked again. "Is this part of your Avatar training?"
The expression that crossed Roku's face was one Sozin could not recall having seen there before. For a moment, Roku once again seemed old. "You really don't remember, do you?"
"No." Sozin moved, walking in a circle to examine the interior of the house, now that it was lit. The furnishings were simple to the point of nonexistence. The walls were bare. It was nothing like home. When he had seen what there was to see, he turned back towards Roku. "What am I supposed to remember?"
Roku was frowning. Sozin didn't know why. Again, he felt the fear that had gripped him in the wood, that had almost prevented him from entering this house. "Roku," he said softly, "did something happen?"
"Yes, it did."
"What was it?"
"I think you can remember if you try."
Sozin shook his head. "I already tried."
"Why don't you let me help you?"
Sozin regarded him warily. "What do you mean?"
"Come here," Roku said, his voice deepening. He seemed suddenly to grow taller, to give off light. But at the same time he was the same as ever--Sozin's friend. He couldn't be too afraid. He bowed his head and did as Roku said. "Close your eyes," Roku told him, so he did. He felt Roku's hand--cool and dry--settle on his forehead.
"You've been wandering a long time, Sozin," Roku said.
Sozin felt his heart beating--hard--and only then did he realize that it had been some time since he had last noticed his heartbeat, though the fear he'd felt should have made it quicken. "A long time?" Gyatso had said something like that.
Roku's voice deepened further. It sounded like that of a much older man, but Sozin did not open his eyes to see. "Remember," Roku told him.
#
The first thing he felt was an impossible fire. Hot and cold at once, it burned its way through him, through his mind and body--the most powerful thing he had ever felt. And everything fell away before him. There was only the fire. The fire. There was no need to think. Wind buffeted him, but he breathed out, and flames burst from his body, hotter than a dragon's fire and more deadly.
Cloth and skin and hair were burned away. The world was burned away.
"No." Sozin was in the little house by the lake again. He was on his knees. Roku stood above him, gazing down at him implacably. "It didn't happen."
"Farther back," Roku said.
The dragon carried him away, over the sea. He gazed down at the dark water. He did not turn around to see the molten column of the volcano's lava rise into the sky behind him. He did not feel regret, only an emptiness as quiet and cool as the lava was thunderous and hot. But why should he feel empty now when it had been this way for so long?
It had been necessary. It had been right.
He pressed his palms against the scales of his dragon's back. The rough texture was familiar and reassuring, but it also reminded him of other days, much different days. Roku at his back and the warm, rough skin of a dragon's hide beneath him as they rose into the clouds. Sozin jerked his hands back sharply as if he did not wish to touch anything now. He bowed his head. He had never felt so old before. But it was the way of men to grow old, and there was no reversing the process.
"Roku, what are you doing to me?" Sozin cried out. Tears choked him, but he didn't shed them. He looked up, towards his friend's face, but he couldn't see anything except the memories flooding his mind. He put his hands over his eyes, but it did no good. He couldn't block them out. They pressed down on him. The weight of decades crushed him to the floor.
He looked out the window. It was very late. The skyful of stars would soon be fading before the sun's light. Roku was with his new wife. Sozin thought of that as he looked up at the stars. This had all turned out so differently than he'd thought it would. He'd been looking forward to Roku's return for months--years--and foolishly, he had imagined it would be much as it had been when they were children. The late night talks, the walks through parkland, the games.
No, those things were Ta Min's now, as they should be. He and Roku were adults. Sozin's father had died, and he was the Fire Lord. He had duties to fulfill, a nation to run. He closed his eyes, but he could still see the stars.
Roku had rejected his offer. It would have been wonderful--the two of them playing together at a greater kind of game, but Roku's refusal had been sincere and final. Sozin recognized that, even if he didn't understand Roku's logic. Why would he refuse the chance to bring so much good to the world?
It was so late. Why couldn't he sleep? Sleep was what he wanted, but something nagged at him. There was something important he had forgotten. Something...
He opened his eyes again. If it was so important, he wouldn't have forgotten it, would he? He turned away from the window. He felt a sharpness in his chest as he faced the darkness of the empty room.
"Roku, help me," Sozin pleaded. But Roku--whether he wished to or no--did not help him. No one came to help him. No one said a word.
He rested his head against Roku's arm. The night was alive with the songs and lights of firecrickets. Roku was wearing a short-sleeved tunic, and his skin was warm against Sozin's cheek. The two of them had not talked for some time. They were sitting together in silence, but the silence was a companionable one. He didn't always need words with Roku. Sometimes he imagined that Roku could read his thoughts. Maybe someday they wouldn't talk at all, just read each other's thoughts--though that didn't sound very interesting, when Sozin considered what it would actually be like. It wouldn't make any sense at all. He liked talking to Roku.
Roku shifted positions, but without displacing Sozin's head. Sozin wondered what would happen if he reached up and rested a hand on his friend's arm, slid his fingertips down the warm, smooth skin from the inside of Roku's elbow to his wrist. His chest hurt at the thought, and he felt instantly guilty. He kept his hand where it was, chiding himself for these foolish ideas.
He didn't know what was wrong with him, these days...
"Roku," he said again. Finally the memories had stopped rushing in, though they were still with him. They still hurt. But he could see again. He saw that his friend was kneeling beside him. Roku smiled. He laid his hand on Sozin's own.
"Roku," Sozin repeated. He seemed able to say nothing else. He looked up at his friend--always taller than him, that gangly boy--and not for the first time he wished that Roku could simply tell what he was thinking without him having to speak.
"What is it, Sozin?" Roku asked.
"You must hate me."
Roku smiled. Rising up on his knees and leaning forward, he put his arms around his friend. He didn't say anything. Sozin felt the cloth of Roku's tunic against his face. It felt so real, as if they were still alive, still young, but they were neither. Sozin remembered now: the last weeks, the days spent isolated in his chambers. His brush moving over the paper, faster and faster, as if racing after something, trying to capture something fast and bright and amazing that was running ahead of him, growing farther and farther away. He'd had his writing desk moved next to his bed, so that when he grew too tired at his labors, he didn't have too far to go to take a rest. But when he slept, his sleep was fitful. He remembered all the uneasy nights, the dreams that had come to him: Roku with his eyes blazing, a city afire, a young boy asleep in a tomb of ice.
I'm sorry, he wanted to say, and he strained to speak the words, but they seemed so inadequate, nothing before the enormity of what he had done. What emerged from his lips instead was a wordless noise halfway between a sigh and a sob.
But this time, Roku understood him. Roku didn't let him go. "I know, Sozin," he said softly. "I know."
#
The lantern Zuko had brought with him to the Dragonbone Catacombs flickered unexpectedly, and he glanced up from the scroll, half expecting to see someone standing there. But there was no one: only the shadows and the statues and the ghosts of his ancestors.
Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Word Count: 4,500
Characters: Azulon, Gyatso, Roku, Sozin
Pairing(s): Roku/Sozin
Rating: PG
Notes: At the end of a long life, Sozin finds himself in the Spirit World. But his journey is not over yet...
Warnings: Implied death and violence (but nothing graphic).
[All right, I should just be up front about it--I am a Sozin-lovin' fool, so my Roku/Sozin stories are fairly sympathetic to him. I admit my bias freely! <3]
Homecoming.
It was a bright, warm day, but every household had lit their fires. In every fireplace and firecradle, in every stone basin and every spot where a fire could be lit, flames blazed. Smoke rose skyward, dark but insubstantial, blown this way and that by the least of breezes. People were gathered in courtyards, in village squares. Some of them had simply stepped outside their homes to gaze up at the sky. No matter where they stood, throughout the Fire Nation and in each of the Colonies, they could see a fire or at least its smoke. The air was thick with it. It filled mouths, noses, and lungs. People stifled their coughs as best they could. Coughing from such smoke was said to bring bad luck.
Smoke from a funeral fire was said to be the soul of the deceased. In the royal palace, Fire Lord Sozin's body was burning. The smoke from that fire was the real soul, but all the other fires added to it, made his passing more auspicious, gave his spirit more strength. That was what the legends said. Not everyone believed such talk, but even the unbelievers came out to watch the smoke rise. The Fire Lord had been a great man.
Azulon, Sozin's heir, stood on the royal dais. Behind him was the rest of the royal court, kneeling with their heads bowed in respect for both the old and the new Fire Lords. Azulon stood with his head held high. In his twenties, he was young for the son of such an aged man. Sozin had waited until very late in his life to have a child. That suited Azulon, who could expect a long and happy reign. He watched his father's smoke rise without tears in his eyes. If he felt the urge to cough, he did not show it.
The old man, who had kept his wits even in his later years--when he had lived far longer than anyone had had any right to expect--had grown increasingly odd over the past few months. Not mad or senile, but seemingly weak-minded: quiet and moody as if in the grip of a strange melancholy. He had spent most of his time sequestered in his rooms, writing, with no companion but his brushes and his paper, barely eating and rarely speaking. Perhaps he had sensed the nearing specter of death. Or perhaps, in his last days, he had finally lost the fire that had kept him living for so long: fierce and endlessly hot. Whatever the case, at least that odd mood had not persisted for long. Sozin had died peacefully in his sleep yesterday. It was difficult to tell what time. Perhaps in the early morning, just as the sun was rising.
Azulon felt no grief as his eyes followed the ascent of the smoke. His father had been an old, old man. His life had been full. It had been his time to die.
The wood was dark and cold. Disoriented, he staggered to the nearest tree and leaned against its trunk, breathing hard. It was difficult to catch his breath, but he struggled with it until he succeeded. Once he was breathing more easily, he looked around. There was nothing to be seen but tall, dark trees and sparse undergrowth. He didn't know what those trees were called. He had never seen their like before. For that matter, he didn't recognize any of the plants growing between them. He didn't know where he was. He felt--not sick, but something approaching sickness, a lightness in his head and a ringing in his ears. As if he was about to come down with a fever. But he didn't feel warm. He put a hand up to his forehead. No, his skin was cool. He shivered.
He breathed in deep and then out again, trying to warm himself with his bending. But nothing happened. He frowned and tried again. It didn't work. There was not so much as a spark, not even warmth.
He didn't understand--how could this happen? It couldn't be an eclipse. Could it? He looked up. Through the branches of the trees above him, he glimpsed the sky. There was light, but it was pale and sickly, as if the sunlight was filtered through a thick veil of cloud.
He looked around again, wildly, beginning to panic. The wood looked the same on every side of him. It didn't seem to thin in any direction. He was all alone here: lost. He called out. "Hello? Is anyone there?"
The silence that answered him was nearly tangible in its weight. That was another thing about this wood that was strange. No noise, not of wind in the trees or birds chattering or small animals playing in the branches. There was an eerie quiet blanketing this place. It didn't seem natural. Fear tightened his chest. He cried out, desperately. "If you can hear me, answer me! Please!"
When the last word faded, the silence returned.
Or did it? He thought he heard--something. But maybe it was just an echo of his own voice. He squinted as he strained to hear. Yes, there was a noise. But it was so faint, he couldn't tell what kind of noise it was.
Should he move towards it? Part of him wanted to, but he couldn't leave his tree. he felt weak, and it was strong behind his back, holding him up. He half-feared that if he tried to walk away from it, his knees would give out and he'd collapse. He didn't want that to happen, so he stayed where he was for now. He could wait. His arms were down at his sides, and he pressed his palms against the bark of the tree. It was so smooth.
He waited. The noise grew louder, until he could identify it: footsteps and the crackling of undergrowth. Someone was coming. He didn't know what he should do. But since he didn't feel strong enough to leave his tree, the choice was taken from him. He could only hope that it wasn't an enemy, as he had nothing to defend himself with in the absence of bending and weapons and strength.
He glimpsed a scrap of moving color in the wood, obscured by branches: an orange that was made brighter by the grace of the dark trees surrounding it. The color belonged to a figure, and he watched intently as it drew nearer. As it neared him, he relaxed. It was a slight figure, approaching slowly. It didn't seem to be a threat.
The figure resolved into that of an old man, walking lightly on his feet. He was dressed in orange and yellow. His eyes were bright. He had a white mustache, but his head was shaved bare, tattooed with a blue arrow. Finally, something familiar, if not strongly so: one of the Airbenders.
"Hello," he greeted the stranger uncertainly, once the little man was almost at his tree.
"Sozin." The man did not smile, but he bowed his head, as in respect.
Sozin searched the man's face questioningly. But no, he didn't know him. "How do you know my name?" he demanded. "Where am I? Who are you?"
The man blinked. For a moment, his face wore no expression, and then he did smile. "That's a lot of questions," he said, instead of replying.
"Are you going to answer them?"
He didn't reply to this question, either. "Be a little patient. Why don't you follow me?"
"I can't," Sozin protested. The prospect of going anywhere else filled him with dismay. "I feel sick." Sick wasn't quite the word for it, but it was close enough. He still didn't know where he was, but whatever was happening, he knew it was something that had never happened before. And he was afraid. "Something's wrong, isn't it?"
"Wrong?" The man's eyebrows rose.
Sozin didn't quite know what he meant by his own words. He was still confused, lightheaded. "Something happened."
The Airbender nodded, quite seriously, as if he understood. "I see."
"How do you know me?" Sozin asked again.
The man held out his hand. "Don't worry," he said. It'll be all right."
Sozin hesitated. He pressed his hands back more firmly against the tree bark. He didn't want to go. Everything was alarming, puzzling. But at the same time, he couldn't stay here forever, in the middle of this horribly silent wood. The man kept his hand where it was, extended. After a few more moments of uncertainty, Sozin reached out and took it.
Instantly, he did feel better, strength from an unknown source flowing through him. He straightened and took a step. Once he was standing without support, the man let his hand go. "There we go," he said. "Now follow me."
The wood had seemed vast, but Sozin was perplexed to find, as he followed the man--who still had not given his name--that they left it behind them in a relatively short amount of time. Although once they had left it, Sozin was unsure of how long they had walked through it. After emerging from the wood, they found themselves on a bare plain. Earth stretched in all directions, marked by lonely pools of water. Sozin could see the sky clearly now. Yet it was changed from the sky he knew. There were no clouds, but there was no sun, even though there was light. Where was it coming from? It was as if the sky itself was luminescent.
The plain seemed equally as vast as the forest had, but he no longer trusted his own sense of perspective. Everything here--wherever this was--was askew. Or was he really coming down with a fever? He must have been seriously ill if he'd lost his bending.
"Where are we going?" he asked, not for the first time.
"You'll see when we get there," was the expected but unreassuring reply.
Sozin had had enough. How could he be expected to follow this strange person through this bewildering place and simply accept that that was how it had to be? He stopped short and stood facing his guide, defiantly. "I'm tired of this. I expect you to answer my questions. Now."
The man stopped as well. He regarded Sozin, his face grave, and then--with a movement so surprisingly swift Sozin almost missed it--he stooped, picked up a moist clod of earth, and threw it. His aim was impeccable: the earth clod hit Sozin full in the face. It was a loose chunk of soil, so it hit softly and crumbled into a rain of dirt rather than causing him any pain. Sozin stumbled back a few steps, then wiped his face angrily with the back of his hand. "What was that for?"
The man's grin made his eyes brighter and the lines at the corners of them deeper. "Laugh," he said. "You remember how to laugh, don't you?"
"That wasn't funny," grumbled Sozin, brushing dirt from his tunic.
"To be fair," said the man, waiting as Sozin cleaned himself off, "I'll answer one of your questions." He paused, for a moment, perhaps to decide which question would be the best to answer. "My name is Gyatso. Now follow me. Someone's waiting for you." He turned and continued on his light-footed way, as if he expected to be followed unquestioningly.
Sozin was all at once seized by the fear that he would be left behind. "I'm coming," he said, hurrying to catch up.
"Sozin," said Gyatso after they had traveled some time in silence.
"What is it?"
"How old are you?"
"Sixteen."
"So young. And who could be angry with you at sixteen?"
Sozin didn't know what that was supposed to mean, so he didn't say anything in reply, but he frowned. As he followed Gyatso, he tried to get his thoughts in order. He tried to remember what had happened to him before he'd found himself in the wood. When he concentrated, he remembered--cold. A freezing wind that pierced his very bones. The memory was so chilling that he shivered, the hairs on his arms rising.
"What was that?" he heard a voice and realized Gyatso was speaking to him.
"What? I didn't say anything."
"I thought I heard you say a long time passed."
"Well, I didn't," said Sozin stubbornly. He was still cold, so he folded his arms and hugged his chest. "Why can't I Firebend here?" he asked.
"I'm taking you to someone who can answer all your questions," Gyatso replied, not unkindly. "It won't be long before we're there."
Gyatso was telling the truth. They ascended a low hill, and when they reached the crest, Sozin was taken unawares by the sight of green. The valley below was protected on all sides by hills of earth. At its center was a small lake, and on the shore of the lake, Sozin saw, there was a building of some kind.
Until now, they had been walking across unmarked wilderness, but at the valley's edge, a narrow trail began, leading down to the valley floor, threading its way through the greenery towards the structure on the lake shore. The soil must have been rich: the grasses and flowers were lush and bright. Sozin had never seen so many shades of green. The flowers scented the air; their perfume was sweet but not too strong, and Sozin breathed it in deeply.
As they drew nearer to the lake shore, Sozin saw that the building was definitely a dwelling: a modest house with a wide door. At first, Sozin thought it was made of wood, but once they were almost there, he realized he was mistaken: it was made of stone, but intricately carved to give the appearance of being constructed of elaborately interwoven twigs and sticks.
Gyatso continued to lead him onward, but once they were within several yards of the house, Sozin began to feel the tight grip of panic again, seizing up his chest. He didn't know why, but there was something about the house--that open door--he couldn't go inside. He balked and stood firm. "I don't want to go."
Gyatso went to his side. "Go on. It'll be all right."
"No, I can't." He felt weak again. "I can't go. I'm frightened."
Gyatso looked at him, his gaze soft and somehow sad. Why is he sad? Sozin wondered. He knew so little about the man, although they had walked together a long way--or had it been a short way? Gyatso rested a reassuring hand on Sozin's shoulder, and once more, Sozin felt a strength flow into him at the man's touch.
"You can go now," Gyatso said. "A long, long time has passed, Sozin. Longer than you know."
Sozin still didn't understand, but he took a step towards the waiting door.
The house was quiet and dark inside. At first, Sozin thought it was empty. Gyatso had said someone was waiting for him, but the old man could have been mistaken. "Hello?" he asked, tentatively. He had experienced so much strangeness recently that he didn't know what to expect. He took another step.
"Sozin." Light flared. He didn't know where it came from, as he didn't know where the light outside came from, when there was no sun.
Another old man stood in the center of the room. This one was taller, with long, white hair and a long beard. He wore red robes. So--he was from the Fire Nation, too. Although this man had supposedly been expecting Sozin, at first he seemed surprised to see him.
Sozin had been hoping that things would begin to make sense once he'd arrived at his destination, but nothing was any clearer now. He didn't know this man either. "Who are you?" he asked.
Before the man had a chance to answer his question, Sozin noticed the man's topknot. The clasp he wore there was Sozin's, own, meant only for the crown prince to wear. Sozin's hand went to his own topknot, but it was held in place simply, with a band of cloth. Yes, he remembered now--he had given it to Roku. But who was this man, and why was he wearing it? "How did you get that?" He pointed.
The man hesitated before replying. "Sozin," he said quietly. "you gave it to me."
Sozin took a step back. "What--what do you mean?"
The man took a step of his own, to make up for the increased distance between them, and Sozin did not retreat again, but stood staring. There was something--something familiar about this man. The sound of his voice. His dark eyes. But it was impossible. It couldn't be true. "No," Sozin said, his eyes widening. He turned away, angrily. "You're not him! I don't understand what's happening! I don't understand any of this!" As he spoke, he was aware that he sounded like a child throwing a tantrum, but he didn't care. This couldn't be happening. He had to be dreaming. Or else he was ill, very ill, and this was a delusion brought on by his sickness. He squeezed his eyes shut.
A hand settled on his shoulder. "Sozin."
He pulled away, eyes still closed. "No," he said again. "Roku isn't old."
"I'm not. Look at me."
The man's voice had changed, and Sozin dared to turn his head to look at him. There was his friend, the same age as he was, his eyes narrowing as they always did when he smiled. "Look," Roku said. "Sozin, it's me."
"Roku?"
"Yes, who else would it be?"
"What are you doing here? Where are we?" He turned the rest of his body to wrap Roku in a fierce embrace. He held him tight. "I was all by myself." He spoke into the fabric of his friend's tunic, his voice muffled. "I thought you were gone."
"It's all right now," said Roku. He settled a hand on Sozin's hair.
Sozin was embarrassed to feel his eyes stinging. He drew away and quickly wiped at his face with the back of his hand. "But where are we?" he asked again. "Is this part of your Avatar training?"
The expression that crossed Roku's face was one Sozin could not recall having seen there before. For a moment, Roku once again seemed old. "You really don't remember, do you?"
"No." Sozin moved, walking in a circle to examine the interior of the house, now that it was lit. The furnishings were simple to the point of nonexistence. The walls were bare. It was nothing like home. When he had seen what there was to see, he turned back towards Roku. "What am I supposed to remember?"
Roku was frowning. Sozin didn't know why. Again, he felt the fear that had gripped him in the wood, that had almost prevented him from entering this house. "Roku," he said softly, "did something happen?"
"Yes, it did."
"What was it?"
"I think you can remember if you try."
Sozin shook his head. "I already tried."
"Why don't you let me help you?"
Sozin regarded him warily. "What do you mean?"
"Come here," Roku said, his voice deepening. He seemed suddenly to grow taller, to give off light. But at the same time he was the same as ever--Sozin's friend. He couldn't be too afraid. He bowed his head and did as Roku said. "Close your eyes," Roku told him, so he did. He felt Roku's hand--cool and dry--settle on his forehead.
"You've been wandering a long time, Sozin," Roku said.
Sozin felt his heart beating--hard--and only then did he realize that it had been some time since he had last noticed his heartbeat, though the fear he'd felt should have made it quicken. "A long time?" Gyatso had said something like that.
Roku's voice deepened further. It sounded like that of a much older man, but Sozin did not open his eyes to see. "Remember," Roku told him.
The first thing he felt was an impossible fire. Hot and cold at once, it burned its way through him, through his mind and body--the most powerful thing he had ever felt. And everything fell away before him. There was only the fire. The fire. There was no need to think. Wind buffeted him, but he breathed out, and flames burst from his body, hotter than a dragon's fire and more deadly.
Cloth and skin and hair were burned away. The world was burned away.
"No." Sozin was in the little house by the lake again. He was on his knees. Roku stood above him, gazing down at him implacably. "It didn't happen."
"Farther back," Roku said.
The dragon carried him away, over the sea. He gazed down at the dark water. He did not turn around to see the molten column of the volcano's lava rise into the sky behind him. He did not feel regret, only an emptiness as quiet and cool as the lava was thunderous and hot. But why should he feel empty now when it had been this way for so long?
It had been necessary. It had been right.
He pressed his palms against the scales of his dragon's back. The rough texture was familiar and reassuring, but it also reminded him of other days, much different days. Roku at his back and the warm, rough skin of a dragon's hide beneath him as they rose into the clouds. Sozin jerked his hands back sharply as if he did not wish to touch anything now. He bowed his head. He had never felt so old before. But it was the way of men to grow old, and there was no reversing the process.
"Roku, what are you doing to me?" Sozin cried out. Tears choked him, but he didn't shed them. He looked up, towards his friend's face, but he couldn't see anything except the memories flooding his mind. He put his hands over his eyes, but it did no good. He couldn't block them out. They pressed down on him. The weight of decades crushed him to the floor.
He looked out the window. It was very late. The skyful of stars would soon be fading before the sun's light. Roku was with his new wife. Sozin thought of that as he looked up at the stars. This had all turned out so differently than he'd thought it would. He'd been looking forward to Roku's return for months--years--and foolishly, he had imagined it would be much as it had been when they were children. The late night talks, the walks through parkland, the games.
No, those things were Ta Min's now, as they should be. He and Roku were adults. Sozin's father had died, and he was the Fire Lord. He had duties to fulfill, a nation to run. He closed his eyes, but he could still see the stars.
Roku had rejected his offer. It would have been wonderful--the two of them playing together at a greater kind of game, but Roku's refusal had been sincere and final. Sozin recognized that, even if he didn't understand Roku's logic. Why would he refuse the chance to bring so much good to the world?
It was so late. Why couldn't he sleep? Sleep was what he wanted, but something nagged at him. There was something important he had forgotten. Something...
He opened his eyes again. If it was so important, he wouldn't have forgotten it, would he? He turned away from the window. He felt a sharpness in his chest as he faced the darkness of the empty room.
"Roku, help me," Sozin pleaded. But Roku--whether he wished to or no--did not help him. No one came to help him. No one said a word.
He rested his head against Roku's arm. The night was alive with the songs and lights of firecrickets. Roku was wearing a short-sleeved tunic, and his skin was warm against Sozin's cheek. The two of them had not talked for some time. They were sitting together in silence, but the silence was a companionable one. He didn't always need words with Roku. Sometimes he imagined that Roku could read his thoughts. Maybe someday they wouldn't talk at all, just read each other's thoughts--though that didn't sound very interesting, when Sozin considered what it would actually be like. It wouldn't make any sense at all. He liked talking to Roku.
Roku shifted positions, but without displacing Sozin's head. Sozin wondered what would happen if he reached up and rested a hand on his friend's arm, slid his fingertips down the warm, smooth skin from the inside of Roku's elbow to his wrist. His chest hurt at the thought, and he felt instantly guilty. He kept his hand where it was, chiding himself for these foolish ideas.
He didn't know what was wrong with him, these days...
"Roku," he said again. Finally the memories had stopped rushing in, though they were still with him. They still hurt. But he could see again. He saw that his friend was kneeling beside him. Roku smiled. He laid his hand on Sozin's own.
"Roku," Sozin repeated. He seemed able to say nothing else. He looked up at his friend--always taller than him, that gangly boy--and not for the first time he wished that Roku could simply tell what he was thinking without him having to speak.
"What is it, Sozin?" Roku asked.
"You must hate me."
Roku smiled. Rising up on his knees and leaning forward, he put his arms around his friend. He didn't say anything. Sozin felt the cloth of Roku's tunic against his face. It felt so real, as if they were still alive, still young, but they were neither. Sozin remembered now: the last weeks, the days spent isolated in his chambers. His brush moving over the paper, faster and faster, as if racing after something, trying to capture something fast and bright and amazing that was running ahead of him, growing farther and farther away. He'd had his writing desk moved next to his bed, so that when he grew too tired at his labors, he didn't have too far to go to take a rest. But when he slept, his sleep was fitful. He remembered all the uneasy nights, the dreams that had come to him: Roku with his eyes blazing, a city afire, a young boy asleep in a tomb of ice.
I'm sorry, he wanted to say, and he strained to speak the words, but they seemed so inadequate, nothing before the enormity of what he had done. What emerged from his lips instead was a wordless noise halfway between a sigh and a sob.
But this time, Roku understood him. Roku didn't let him go. "I know, Sozin," he said softly. "I know."
The lantern Zuko had brought with him to the Dragonbone Catacombs flickered unexpectedly, and he glanced up from the scroll, half expecting to see someone standing there. But there was no one: only the shadows and the statues and the ghosts of his ancestors.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2008-01-11 10:55 pm (UTC)I love fictions about older Sozin and how he regrets his decision. Tales of kinda-sorta-redemption, good stuff.
And I really did like the tradition mentioned in the beginning. It seemed so Fire Nation. Is it actually a tradition in any of the real world countries/avatarverse, or is it something of your own invention?
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Date: 2008-01-12 05:04 am (UTC)There might be a similar funeral tradition somewhere in the world, but I made this one up for the Fire Nation. It seemed fitting!
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Date: 2008-01-11 11:56 pm (UTC)As Roku knows him. ♥
For the images, the long walk, for Gyatso, for the language of memory - thank you.
"I was all by myself." He spoke into the fabric of his friend's tunic, his voice muffled. "I thought you were gone."
Oh, Sozin.
(...now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.)
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Date: 2008-01-12 05:11 am (UTC)So happy you like the story! Thanks again.
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Date: 2008-01-12 12:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-12 05:09 am (UTC)Thanks so much for reading it! I am glad I evoked an emotional response, even if it was in tandem with my evil ally, PMS. :D
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Date: 2008-01-12 05:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-13 03:31 am (UTC)I tried posting it on DA, since you thought it was a good idea! Even though I always think that no one reads things there... :D
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Date: 2008-01-12 01:33 am (UTC)all sozin's memory flashbacks were so beautiful, and. and.
roku's empathy kills me.
such wonderful bff loveliness ;_______; <3
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Date: 2008-01-12 05:15 am (UTC)Oh, Roku. He's such a great guy. <3
BFFs forever!!
Thanks so much for reading, and for the great comment! I really appreciate it.
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Date: 2008-01-12 07:13 pm (UTC)I totally don't want to cry now *sniff*
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Date: 2008-01-13 03:31 am (UTC)And also, thanks for friending my journal! I really appreciate it. <3
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Date: 2008-01-13 12:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-12 08:33 pm (UTC)i'm right there with you on the Sozin sympathy. excellent story...thanks for sharing it.
♥
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Date: 2008-01-13 03:58 am (UTC)And it's good to know I'm not alone in Sozin sympathy, of course. <3
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Date: 2008-01-13 08:01 am (UTC)You know a story's lovely when you're not sure whether to smile or cry at the end. Guh.
(Also, I belatedly approve of your music choice!)
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Date: 2008-05-05 05:27 am (UTC)I can't really write an in-depth review right now, but that was lovely.
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Date: 2008-05-05 05:48 pm (UTC)Aww, I just had to write a forgiveness story for Sozin. I couldn't help myself.
<3