Fic: Goodbye [Roku/Sozin]
Aug. 7th, 2008 12:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
foxysquidalsoCross-posting from Deviant Art! Here's a story I wrote for Roku/Sozin week. Also, I'm still working on everyone's drabbles--don't worry, I haven't forgotten! Sometimes I just get distracted by Sozin's gay love.
Title: Goodbye
Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Wordcount: 2,725
Pairings: Roku/Sozin, hints of Mai/Zuko
Rating: PG
Spoilers: for the finale
Summary: When going through his father's papers, Fire Lord Zuko finds another kind of secret history.
Goodbye.
"Fire Lord Zuko."
He looked up from his work to see a young scribe standing in the doorway, bearing another decidedly weighty box filled with scrolls. "Yes, what is it?" he asked, although he already knew the answer.
"More of your father's papers, your highness." The scribe gave an apologetic smile as he set it down with the rest.
Zuko thanked the man and dismissed him. He sighed. Deciding to go through his father's documents had seemed like a fine idea initially, but now it struck him as--rather less fine. He could easily have assigned the task to some clerk or minor official, but he had felt like it was his duty. Or perhaps a kind of penance--for what, he wasn't certain. Maybe it was simply that penance was needed. It did not matter whose it was.
The new box was as large as the previous boxes. Zuko rose from his desk. A lock of his hair had fallen loose from his topknot, and he tucked it back behind his ear. He was exhausted. The weeks since the coronation had been a storm of activity. There was so much to do now that the war was over. He couldn't remember the palace ever having been so busy before. Mai had told him several times already that he needed more rest, but he didn't want to rest. Not yet.
He seated himself beside the newest box. Going through a lot of old papers was almost a respite. There should be no difficult decisions for him to make. He had only to look at the scrolls and decide where they should go. He was planning to preserve most of the papers. He was reluctant to have anything destroyed. It was important to have a complete record of what had happened.
The scrolls in this newest box were old--older than the rest. It comforted him to think that they must be in some kind of order. He selected a scroll at random and glanced over it. It was interesting in that it dated back to his great-grandfather's reign, but otherwise there was nothing to hold his interest. Some kind of trade report. He glanced at the door. He'd wanted to work alone, but perhaps he shouldn't have dismissed the scribe so quickly. Perhaps he shouldn't be doing this at all.
He put the scroll down at his side and reached for another. This one felt brittle in his hand, so he unrolled it very carefully. He was already starting to think he was ill-prepared for this task. But sitting cross-legged on the floor, the dusty, musty smell of old papers in his nose, he was reminded of his childhood. He used to love looking through the scrolls in the library. He'd preferred looking at the pictures to reading the words at that age, but it had been more than a little like this. The smell of the paper was the same.
He began to read the scroll in his hands.
It was not an official document. It took only a moment to ascertain that its tone and script were informal. More and more these days, it read.
Zuko paused, frowning. The handwriting was familiar. It took him only a moment to realize who must have written this, and his frown deepened. If this was one of Fire Lord Sozin's own letters, it should be in an archive, not decaying here among his father's papers. He almost put it aside at once. He had read enough of his great-grandfather's writing. But--he did wonder why it was here. Could it have been put aside by accident, lost? Or had it been kept where it was for a reason?
He rubbed the paper gently with a fingertip. It was strange to think that Sozin himself had once held that same paper. The man was related to him, and the effects of his actions on the world were undeniable, but in some ways he didn't seem real. More of a figure than a person. It was difficult to imagine what it would be like to sit with him, talk to him. Not that Zuko would have had much to discuss with his great-grandfather.
He began to read again. The scroll read like a letter, although there was no salutation.
#
More and more these days, I find myself with the desire to speak to you. For all the talk of my long life and how the fire of the comet must have extended it, my health is failing. Every man has a death waiting for him, and I have lived a long time, longer than most. All the same, it feels like only a short while has passed since we were young together. The shorter the days grow and the more difficult it is to breathe, the closer those times seem. Writing this almost makes me laugh--in those days, I hated to write. Remember? I tried to get you to write my assignments for me, but our tutor could always tell. You were the one with the neat handwriting.
It's an odd thing. I can't seem to stop writing now. I write about many things: the time we spent together. The years that came after. So many long years. I don't particularly want to write, but I can't seem to stop. Yet for all the writing I do, there are always more words. I begin to think that if I find the right words to put down, finally, I can stop writing. I can rest. Maybe it is not the comet that has kept me alive so long. Maybe it is those words, caught up inside me. I can't say them out loud. But perhaps when I finally write them, I will die. I only have to decide: am I ready to die?
Do you think a man could live a hundred years on bitterness alone? I think that it is possible. More than that, I think it is likely. There is nothing that sustains like bitterness. You didn't learn that lesson, but then, it wasn't yours to learn. It was mine.
#
Zuko was only aware of the fact that the scribe had returned when the man set yet another box of papers down beside him. "Your highness?" he asked in a careful tone that told Zuko it was not the first time he'd spoken since entering the room.
"Yes," said Zuko. "Thank you. You've done an excellent job."
"I think that's the last of them, your highness," the man said with a polite bow. "But if any more are found, I'll have them sent here."
"Yes, I'd appreciate that." Zuko found that that lock of loose hair had fallen forward again, so he pushed it back behind his ear with one hand. Then, using both hands, he cautiously rolled up the scroll. "But that's enough for today." He gave a small smile as he stood. "Take a rest. I think we all need a rest."
As he made his way back to his chambers, he looked down at the scroll still in his hands. Sozin had not specified who his words were addressed to. Yet it was clear to Zuko, who had read the so-called secret history, that this letter must have been addressed to Roku, although it had been written years after Avatar Roku's death. It was--a strange letter. The tone was different than the one Sozin had used in writing the history. If he had to make a guess, he would have said it had been written later.
As it was an odd time of day--the middle of the afternoon--and his personal rooms were empty. No one could have expected to find him here now. He almost put the scroll down and left in search of Mai. Since he had suddenly decided to have a rest, that seemed like a good idea. But the scroll was here, in his hands, and it wouldn't take a great deal of time to finish reading it. He crossed the quiet chamber and sat on the edge of his bed. It felt more right to read it here. It was a personal letter.
He unrolled it again. Such an old piece of writing. It had been stored safely, in a dry, dark place, but no special effort had been made to preserve it, and it was crumbling at the edges. He would have to decide what to do with it. At this rate, it would fall apart if it was handled too much more.
Zuko easily found the place where he had left off, but he hesitated before he began to read again. The letter was almost too personal. As if it wasn't meant to be read. But that was also the reason he decided to keep reading. He had read Sozin's history, but it had not brought him any greater understanding of the man who had been his great-grandfather, who had begun the war that he had helped to end. Everyone already knew that history.
As he began to read again, he tried to imagine what Sozin's voice must have sounded like. Was it like his own voice? Or like his father's?
#
Maybe I am ready now. Do you think this could be the time? My son thinks that I am growing soft, that I am losing my mind. Yes, I have a son at last. My heir. You used to joke with me that I'd never have an heir, I showed so little interest in girls. I would roll my eyes at you and say that I didn't have time for girls. I was going to be the Fire Lord. Somehow, that logic made sense to me then. It's easy to look back at such statements and smile fondly, although I do my younger self an injustice. I was not without cares, although I was a little callow. But I tried to hide the cares from you. I didn't think you'd understand.
Let me try to tell you. I wonder if the words will sound as foolish as I always imagined they would.
We grew up together. I used to think that we would live all our lives like that: together. To me, it was simply a fact, a natural truth. Night followed day, the sea followed the moon, and I would be with you. I considered that the most important law of nature. We would play together in the courtyard and in the gardens and in all the halls and rooms of the palace. The entire world was ours.
I don't know when my feelings began to change. It could be that they never did, that I had always felt the same way, but it took me time to grow aware of it. Sometimes we spent the night together. In my room or yours. When I was thirteen or fourteen, I lost the ability to sleep through those nights. I lay awake beside you in the dark. I listened to my heartbeat and your breathing. Every one of those nights seemed to last a hundred years. I used to burn in the dark. I felt I must be burning so brightly that my skin would feel hot, but when I touched my forehead, it only felt warm.
Once I tried to kiss your mouth, and you laughed, because you thought it was a joke. I tried to pretend that that was what it was. I made everything seem like a joke. At least it made you laugh--that was something I could do. But I wanted to try kissing you again. It was the only thing I could think about in those days. Kissing your lips, touching your hair. Even when you weren't in my room, making it impossible for me to sleep, I would stay up late, dreaming of you without sleeping.
When you left me, something happened to me. In my world, the night no longer followed the day and the sea no longer followed the moon. I don't know if you can understand what that is like. I don't know how to describe it. I lost something that I needed. I can never have it back.
I want to say goodbye to you. I want to explain why I did what I did. But there is no explanation. No more than what I have already said. I saw that you needed me, and I acted to help you. But in the end, I did not help. I had what felt like a thousand years of resentment built up in my body, and I could not shed them. Years are one thing no man can shed, not even with the comet's help. If I could shed years now, I would. I would go back again. There was only one time that mattered to me, and it is gone.
No one ever asked me if I regretted what I did, so I was never able to answer the question. I can do so now. I regret it every moment, every hour, every day every year, and in these last moments and hours of my life, I regret it more than I ever have before. I would like my life to end as it began. With you.
I see I was right to think this would sound foolish. But you are my friend, and you will always be my friend, because I will not let you go. I refuse. Even now, when some days I am too sick to stand, your memory burns inside me still. Perhaps that is what has kept me alive for so long. That fire.
We used to write secret missives to each other. Little notes on scraps of paper. I think that was the only writing I ever enjoyed. We were pretending to be soldiers in a war. There was no war then. Every one of those notes would end with the same words: "Burn this letter." We wanted to prevent the enemy from from discovering our secrets. I wish I had kept every one of those bits of paper, but I burned them all. I wish I could end this letter the same way, but you cannot read it, and you cannot burn it. So I will burn it myself.
#
The letter ended there. Zuko put it down on the bed beside him. This room had broad windows. It was full of light. He looked to the nearest window. He could see part of the courtyard from where he sat. The same green trees he had known in his childhood. He remembered Mai, sitting beneath one of those trees, keeping her gaze averted, pretending to be thinking of something else, although he knew now that she must have been thinking of him.
Zuko closed his eyes for a moment. He tried to imagine his great-grandfather as a child. Sitting under one of those trees, pretending to think of something else. So innocent. So small.
Sozin hadn't burned his letter. Had writing it been enough to kill him, as he had speculated? It was an odd idea, but Zuko had seen many odd things.
Zuko picked up the letter again, turning away from the window. He raised his free hand. Sozin had wanted the letter destroyed, and for the first time in his still-short reign, Zuko found himself with the desire to follow the wishes of that particular great-grandfather. He drew the breath he needed to make a fire--but then he let it out again. He couldn't do it. In spite of everything, there was something good in this letter, and it would have been wrong to destroy it. It was one of the few good things Sozin had left behind.
Zuko smiled sadly to himself. He rose. Taking up the scroll, he carried it to his personal writing desk. He opened one of the drawers and slipped the letter inside. All of the drawers could be locked. He had a key for them, but he had never had anything he needed to keep hidden away. This was different. It was a secret, and a more important one than the scrolls the Fire Sages kept hidden away.
Zuko shut the drawer and turned the key in the lock. He tapped the desk lightly with his fingers. "Goodbye, Sozin," he said.
Title: Goodbye
Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Wordcount: 2,725
Pairings: Roku/Sozin, hints of Mai/Zuko
Rating: PG
Spoilers: for the finale
Summary: When going through his father's papers, Fire Lord Zuko finds another kind of secret history.
Goodbye.
"Fire Lord Zuko."
He looked up from his work to see a young scribe standing in the doorway, bearing another decidedly weighty box filled with scrolls. "Yes, what is it?" he asked, although he already knew the answer.
"More of your father's papers, your highness." The scribe gave an apologetic smile as he set it down with the rest.
Zuko thanked the man and dismissed him. He sighed. Deciding to go through his father's documents had seemed like a fine idea initially, but now it struck him as--rather less fine. He could easily have assigned the task to some clerk or minor official, but he had felt like it was his duty. Or perhaps a kind of penance--for what, he wasn't certain. Maybe it was simply that penance was needed. It did not matter whose it was.
The new box was as large as the previous boxes. Zuko rose from his desk. A lock of his hair had fallen loose from his topknot, and he tucked it back behind his ear. He was exhausted. The weeks since the coronation had been a storm of activity. There was so much to do now that the war was over. He couldn't remember the palace ever having been so busy before. Mai had told him several times already that he needed more rest, but he didn't want to rest. Not yet.
He seated himself beside the newest box. Going through a lot of old papers was almost a respite. There should be no difficult decisions for him to make. He had only to look at the scrolls and decide where they should go. He was planning to preserve most of the papers. He was reluctant to have anything destroyed. It was important to have a complete record of what had happened.
The scrolls in this newest box were old--older than the rest. It comforted him to think that they must be in some kind of order. He selected a scroll at random and glanced over it. It was interesting in that it dated back to his great-grandfather's reign, but otherwise there was nothing to hold his interest. Some kind of trade report. He glanced at the door. He'd wanted to work alone, but perhaps he shouldn't have dismissed the scribe so quickly. Perhaps he shouldn't be doing this at all.
He put the scroll down at his side and reached for another. This one felt brittle in his hand, so he unrolled it very carefully. He was already starting to think he was ill-prepared for this task. But sitting cross-legged on the floor, the dusty, musty smell of old papers in his nose, he was reminded of his childhood. He used to love looking through the scrolls in the library. He'd preferred looking at the pictures to reading the words at that age, but it had been more than a little like this. The smell of the paper was the same.
He began to read the scroll in his hands.
It was not an official document. It took only a moment to ascertain that its tone and script were informal. More and more these days, it read.
Zuko paused, frowning. The handwriting was familiar. It took him only a moment to realize who must have written this, and his frown deepened. If this was one of Fire Lord Sozin's own letters, it should be in an archive, not decaying here among his father's papers. He almost put it aside at once. He had read enough of his great-grandfather's writing. But--he did wonder why it was here. Could it have been put aside by accident, lost? Or had it been kept where it was for a reason?
He rubbed the paper gently with a fingertip. It was strange to think that Sozin himself had once held that same paper. The man was related to him, and the effects of his actions on the world were undeniable, but in some ways he didn't seem real. More of a figure than a person. It was difficult to imagine what it would be like to sit with him, talk to him. Not that Zuko would have had much to discuss with his great-grandfather.
He began to read again. The scroll read like a letter, although there was no salutation.
#
More and more these days, I find myself with the desire to speak to you. For all the talk of my long life and how the fire of the comet must have extended it, my health is failing. Every man has a death waiting for him, and I have lived a long time, longer than most. All the same, it feels like only a short while has passed since we were young together. The shorter the days grow and the more difficult it is to breathe, the closer those times seem. Writing this almost makes me laugh--in those days, I hated to write. Remember? I tried to get you to write my assignments for me, but our tutor could always tell. You were the one with the neat handwriting.
It's an odd thing. I can't seem to stop writing now. I write about many things: the time we spent together. The years that came after. So many long years. I don't particularly want to write, but I can't seem to stop. Yet for all the writing I do, there are always more words. I begin to think that if I find the right words to put down, finally, I can stop writing. I can rest. Maybe it is not the comet that has kept me alive so long. Maybe it is those words, caught up inside me. I can't say them out loud. But perhaps when I finally write them, I will die. I only have to decide: am I ready to die?
Do you think a man could live a hundred years on bitterness alone? I think that it is possible. More than that, I think it is likely. There is nothing that sustains like bitterness. You didn't learn that lesson, but then, it wasn't yours to learn. It was mine.
#
Zuko was only aware of the fact that the scribe had returned when the man set yet another box of papers down beside him. "Your highness?" he asked in a careful tone that told Zuko it was not the first time he'd spoken since entering the room.
"Yes," said Zuko. "Thank you. You've done an excellent job."
"I think that's the last of them, your highness," the man said with a polite bow. "But if any more are found, I'll have them sent here."
"Yes, I'd appreciate that." Zuko found that that lock of loose hair had fallen forward again, so he pushed it back behind his ear with one hand. Then, using both hands, he cautiously rolled up the scroll. "But that's enough for today." He gave a small smile as he stood. "Take a rest. I think we all need a rest."
As he made his way back to his chambers, he looked down at the scroll still in his hands. Sozin had not specified who his words were addressed to. Yet it was clear to Zuko, who had read the so-called secret history, that this letter must have been addressed to Roku, although it had been written years after Avatar Roku's death. It was--a strange letter. The tone was different than the one Sozin had used in writing the history. If he had to make a guess, he would have said it had been written later.
As it was an odd time of day--the middle of the afternoon--and his personal rooms were empty. No one could have expected to find him here now. He almost put the scroll down and left in search of Mai. Since he had suddenly decided to have a rest, that seemed like a good idea. But the scroll was here, in his hands, and it wouldn't take a great deal of time to finish reading it. He crossed the quiet chamber and sat on the edge of his bed. It felt more right to read it here. It was a personal letter.
He unrolled it again. Such an old piece of writing. It had been stored safely, in a dry, dark place, but no special effort had been made to preserve it, and it was crumbling at the edges. He would have to decide what to do with it. At this rate, it would fall apart if it was handled too much more.
Zuko easily found the place where he had left off, but he hesitated before he began to read again. The letter was almost too personal. As if it wasn't meant to be read. But that was also the reason he decided to keep reading. He had read Sozin's history, but it had not brought him any greater understanding of the man who had been his great-grandfather, who had begun the war that he had helped to end. Everyone already knew that history.
As he began to read again, he tried to imagine what Sozin's voice must have sounded like. Was it like his own voice? Or like his father's?
#
Maybe I am ready now. Do you think this could be the time? My son thinks that I am growing soft, that I am losing my mind. Yes, I have a son at last. My heir. You used to joke with me that I'd never have an heir, I showed so little interest in girls. I would roll my eyes at you and say that I didn't have time for girls. I was going to be the Fire Lord. Somehow, that logic made sense to me then. It's easy to look back at such statements and smile fondly, although I do my younger self an injustice. I was not without cares, although I was a little callow. But I tried to hide the cares from you. I didn't think you'd understand.
Let me try to tell you. I wonder if the words will sound as foolish as I always imagined they would.
We grew up together. I used to think that we would live all our lives like that: together. To me, it was simply a fact, a natural truth. Night followed day, the sea followed the moon, and I would be with you. I considered that the most important law of nature. We would play together in the courtyard and in the gardens and in all the halls and rooms of the palace. The entire world was ours.
I don't know when my feelings began to change. It could be that they never did, that I had always felt the same way, but it took me time to grow aware of it. Sometimes we spent the night together. In my room or yours. When I was thirteen or fourteen, I lost the ability to sleep through those nights. I lay awake beside you in the dark. I listened to my heartbeat and your breathing. Every one of those nights seemed to last a hundred years. I used to burn in the dark. I felt I must be burning so brightly that my skin would feel hot, but when I touched my forehead, it only felt warm.
Once I tried to kiss your mouth, and you laughed, because you thought it was a joke. I tried to pretend that that was what it was. I made everything seem like a joke. At least it made you laugh--that was something I could do. But I wanted to try kissing you again. It was the only thing I could think about in those days. Kissing your lips, touching your hair. Even when you weren't in my room, making it impossible for me to sleep, I would stay up late, dreaming of you without sleeping.
When you left me, something happened to me. In my world, the night no longer followed the day and the sea no longer followed the moon. I don't know if you can understand what that is like. I don't know how to describe it. I lost something that I needed. I can never have it back.
I want to say goodbye to you. I want to explain why I did what I did. But there is no explanation. No more than what I have already said. I saw that you needed me, and I acted to help you. But in the end, I did not help. I had what felt like a thousand years of resentment built up in my body, and I could not shed them. Years are one thing no man can shed, not even with the comet's help. If I could shed years now, I would. I would go back again. There was only one time that mattered to me, and it is gone.
No one ever asked me if I regretted what I did, so I was never able to answer the question. I can do so now. I regret it every moment, every hour, every day every year, and in these last moments and hours of my life, I regret it more than I ever have before. I would like my life to end as it began. With you.
I see I was right to think this would sound foolish. But you are my friend, and you will always be my friend, because I will not let you go. I refuse. Even now, when some days I am too sick to stand, your memory burns inside me still. Perhaps that is what has kept me alive for so long. That fire.
We used to write secret missives to each other. Little notes on scraps of paper. I think that was the only writing I ever enjoyed. We were pretending to be soldiers in a war. There was no war then. Every one of those notes would end with the same words: "Burn this letter." We wanted to prevent the enemy from from discovering our secrets. I wish I had kept every one of those bits of paper, but I burned them all. I wish I could end this letter the same way, but you cannot read it, and you cannot burn it. So I will burn it myself.
#
The letter ended there. Zuko put it down on the bed beside him. This room had broad windows. It was full of light. He looked to the nearest window. He could see part of the courtyard from where he sat. The same green trees he had known in his childhood. He remembered Mai, sitting beneath one of those trees, keeping her gaze averted, pretending to be thinking of something else, although he knew now that she must have been thinking of him.
Zuko closed his eyes for a moment. He tried to imagine his great-grandfather as a child. Sitting under one of those trees, pretending to think of something else. So innocent. So small.
Sozin hadn't burned his letter. Had writing it been enough to kill him, as he had speculated? It was an odd idea, but Zuko had seen many odd things.
Zuko picked up the letter again, turning away from the window. He raised his free hand. Sozin had wanted the letter destroyed, and for the first time in his still-short reign, Zuko found himself with the desire to follow the wishes of that particular great-grandfather. He drew the breath he needed to make a fire--but then he let it out again. He couldn't do it. In spite of everything, there was something good in this letter, and it would have been wrong to destroy it. It was one of the few good things Sozin had left behind.
Zuko smiled sadly to himself. He rose. Taking up the scroll, he carried it to his personal writing desk. He opened one of the drawers and slipped the letter inside. All of the drawers could be locked. He had a key for them, but he had never had anything he needed to keep hidden away. This was different. It was a secret, and a more important one than the scrolls the Fire Sages kept hidden away.
Zuko shut the drawer and turned the key in the lock. He tapped the desk lightly with his fingers. "Goodbye, Sozin," he said.
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Date: 2008-08-07 03:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-19 02:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 03:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-19 02:14 am (UTC)Thanks, Tammy!
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Date: 2008-08-07 09:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-19 02:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 11:40 pm (UTC)Hooraaaay for Rozin!
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Date: 2008-08-19 02:19 am (UTC)Three cheers for Rozin!