Zuko is bedridden for days, fading in and out of consciousness. He doesn't recognize many of the faces he sees in his brief moments of lucidity, but his Uncle's visage is a constant throughout them. Constantly present and worrying, his voice carries into his dreams, and it's a soothing presence in the vivid nightmares. A dragon, dwarfing him with its power and immense size, looms over him with the threat of violence in its—father's—piercing golden eyes. He has no escape from the beast, but Iroh's voice is there. It forces back the dragon, its massive, deadly teeth snapping at the air in front of it as it's forced back by the invisible force. It won't be stopped so easily, though, and in the fraction of a second where Zuko thinks he's safe; fire explodes from its maw and engulfs him in agony.

Iroh looks down at him with worry as Zuko gasps awake, his throat feeling like sandpaper and the left side of his face nagging him with a dull ache. His brows attempt to shift inward with concern, and the bandaged side of his face protests violently, making him cry out.

"Shh…" Iroh murmurs comfortingly as he comes to Zuko's side at the cry, "Try not to move your face too much, Prince Zuko. The pain medicine can only do so much." It's the first time Zuko's been lucid enough to understand him, frowning without moving the rest of his face.

"What…where am I?" He asks hoarsely, eye flitting around the room to try and find anything he recognized. It was a bare room with metal walls and a low ceiling, nothing like any of the extravagant rooms of the palace.

"It doesn't matter." Iroh answers, the torch above them dims so less of the room is visible to him. Zuko scowls, annoyed.

"What happened, then?"

"That doesn't matter either." The Prince lets out an aggravated noise, turning his head from his Uncle. He makes the mistake of pressing the left side of his face into the pillows, the bandages grinding against the raw skin and drawing a sharp hiss of pain from him. He rights his head, raising a hand to gently touch at the edge of the bandages on his face.

"Prince Zuko—" He tunes Iroh out, his voice mere background noise as memories hit him like a wall. The Agni Kai. His father, looming and powerful and terrifying above him. The scorching heat and pain delivered from his fist. He'd thought it to be a nightmare during his spells of unconsciousness, but the pain was undeniable. It had all happened, and it was why he wasn't in his bedroom. He couldn't go back to his room, his home, or his nation. He feels tears prick at his eyes, and the left side of his face feels like it's being lit aflame again.

"My…my father, he…" Iroh is cut off from whatever he'd been saying, watching realization dawn on the banished Prince. There's nothing he can say to make this easier for him, so he says nothing. He simply lets Zuko process everything at his own pace; standing by if he needs him. The silence in the room hangs heavily before a sudden sob rips through the man—no, Zuko couldn't be called a man; he was just a child—lying beneath him.

Whether Zuko wants it or not, Iroh pulls him against his chest in a comforting hug and he only fights it for a moment before resting his right cheek on Iroh's shoulder. His body feels loose-limbed from disuse, but he manages to keep himself sitting upright.

"What am I supposed to do?" Zuko whispers. He'd heard his father's decree through his own whimpers of agony. If he was to return home he would have to do what Ozai himself, his father, and his grandfather had failed to do; capture the Avatar. It was considered a fools chase, most believing the Avatar cycle had been broken after the Air Nomads had been wiped out and no Water Tribe Avatar had appeared. The fact that the Fire Lord had made this the terms of his banishment gave him a clear message.

He wasn't expected or welcome back.

"Nothing." Iroh says softly, "Not right now. You need to heal." Zuko pulls away from his Uncle, wiping his cheek and trying to compose himself. Ozai had always told him weakness was unbefitting of a Prince. Then again, he wasn't even sure he still was a Prince.

"No, I-I need to find the Avatar. I need to go home." Iroh's gaze is pitying, and Zuko grips his sheets angrily as he settles back down onto the bed. He'd never taken well to pity.

"And you will, after you heal." The fact that Iroh doesn't simply tell him what anyone else would have—that it was hopeless, and he should just accept his banishment with some dignity—brings Zuko some kind of peace, enough peace for fatigue to suddenly claim him once again, at least.

When Zuko wakes this time, he can feel his room rocking back and forth. It reaffirms his suspicions that he was on some kind of Fire Nation warship, and he has to close his eye and breathe deeply to quell the nausea building deep in his stomach. He sits up, shrugging the sheets and sleep off. Whatever medicine he was being given for the pain made his limbs feel like they're weighted down with sand, and he struggles to get to his feet.

It feels good to stand again, even if his muscles take time to readjust to it. He shifts from foot to foot before testing walking, moving across the room to the small, bare table opposite his bed. He looks down at the few medical supplies littering its surface. He considers taking more of the pain medication as he feels the dull ache in his face ramp up to a painful throbbing sensation, but he's more interested in the reflective platter beneath it. He brushes the supplies off of it, lifting the tray to see himself. Thick bandages cover the entirety of the left side of his face, reaching all the way back to his ear and across his temple. The hair near the injury seems to have been shaved away, and he frowns at the now lopsided haircut he sported. He makes a mental note to fix that somehow. He won't embarrass himself by walking around like this.

His fingers edge at the bandage, wondering just how excessive they were. His father's strike had been intense, but it couldn't have caused that wide of a range of damage, not enough that he would need so much bandaging. It must be his Uncle simply being cautious, covering more area than necessary to ensure he'd be safe from infection. Nonetheless, he wanted to see his face.

The bandages stick from the healing balm alone, and he cringes as he slowly peels back the cloth. Each movement sends a sharp pang of pain through him, but he continues with his eyes clenched shut until it's gone completely. Blood and dead skin coats the back of the bandage—all of the bandage—and fear makes his blood run cold. He sets it aside, inhaling deeply and bringing the tray back up to view his face. His hands shake, and it's a struggle to keep from dropping the shining metal in his hands.

The bandage had been cut to be exactly the right size. His skin is an irritated red from just above his now hairless brow to halfway down his cheek, the entirety of the left side of his face consumed by it. It's somehow worse directly around the eye, his skin even more brightly inflamed and swollen so drastically that his eye is forced completely closed. It's all wetly glistening with the ointment and natural oils of his skin attempting to scab, and he finds the nausea in his gut isn't from the surf this time. The metal starts to warp and melt in his hands as his expression twists into one of horror and disgust. The door opens and closes loudly, but the sound is distant in his ears, ringing as if the door is an entire world away.

Iroh's hand covers his own on the distorted platter, slowly forcing him to lower it. Zuko's breath is ragged as he drops the platter, he realizes, backing away from his Uncle hurriedly and cupping his hand over the disfigured half of his face.

"Don't look at me!" He orders, the torch in the room going out completely and shrouding them both in darkness, "Just get away from me! My face—" Iroh lights a small flame over his palm, sighing tiredly.

"Prince Zuko, I've seen your face many times since…what happened. I'm the one who treated you." His anger doesn't dissipate, only growing stronger as he digs his fingers into the skin of his forehead as if he could physically rip the monstrous skin away, "It's nothing to be ashamed of." Zuko's back meets the wall and his legs give out, sending him to the cold metal floor. His breaths come quickly enough that it borders hyperventilation.

"Shame?" Zuko hisses, "I'm…it's disgusting, and it's nothing but a mark of my shame. Who could look at me now with any kind of respect?" He couldn't be a crown Prince like this. A Fire Lord was meant to be the model of perfection in every sense of the word, including physically. No one would bow to this face.

"It is not." Iroh responds, coming closer to Zuko. The Prince cringes away from him, and his blunt nails prick the skin of his forehead, "It is only a sign of what you can endure. It shows everyone what I already know." His breathing has slowed somewhat, and he swallows heavily as the adrenaline leaves him.

"That you are an unbreakable spirit." Iroh offers his hand to help him up, and Zuko slowly removes his hand from his injured eye. He braces himself against the wall, using it to push himself up instead of taking his Uncle's hand.

"Leave me, Uncle." He says, exhaustion crashing down on him as he returns to the discarded tray. He slowly returns the tray to its spot on the table, and the supplies to their places on top of it. He gingerly picks up the bandage, and presses the fabric back onto his face. He can feel the bumps and ridges of his mangled skin through it, his jaw clenching tightly. No matter how Iroh tried to reassure him, the visceral physical revulsion he felt at his own face was undeniable.

Iroh may believe him to be unbreakable, but as he falls back into his bed, he has never felt more broken.

Nearly a year passes before anyone sees Zuko's face. That morning, he rises from his restless sleep and finds a note resting on the table across from his bed. He crosses the room and curiously investigates it, reading it blearily as he rubs the sleep from his good eye.

Happy Birthday, Prince Zuko.

Zuko reads the characters several more times, obviously written in Iroh's handwriting, confused. He realizes it was in fact his birthday. He was fourteen, now, and the one year anniversary of that fateful Agni Kai was nearing in mere weeks. He recalls where he'd been just one year ago reverently, clutching the letter tightly.

Azula had never been kind to him on his birthday, even when their mother had been around to protect him in the years before. She was never able to handle when he got attention she felt she deserved, and she drew endless amusement from 'surprising' him, having been particularly cruel on his thirteenth birthday. It's your unluckiest birthday, Zuzu. Better be careful this year! Her voice rings in his head as if she's taunting in his ear now, and he can't help but physically look over his shoulder.

She'd nearly scarred him by bending the fire on the candles of his cake to explode outwards when he'd gone to blow them out. He remembers that she'd singed his left eyebrow and he'd spent the rest of the night trying to fill in the blank spot with charcoal from the fireplace. Looking back on it all, the universe had practically broadcasted his fate at him, if only he'd been able to read the signs.

He sets the letter aside, tying the sharp diamond of hair on the crown of his head into its traditional topknot. He moves on to changing into his uniform. The naval uniform is heavier than his traditional royal clothing, but he's grown used to it. He's gotten used to much of his new life, but one thing he never grows accustomed to is his reflection.

He secures his armor and catches his reflection in the basin of water as he moves to wash his face. The wounds have healed for the most part, only the burns closest to his eye still scabbing and forcing it closed, yet he can't stand to look at his face for long. The healed skin is rough and uneven to the touch, and is a shock of ugly matte pink on his otherwise flawless pale skin. The entire left side of his face still doesn't have much movement, only the area where his eyebrow used to be twitching a bit with the movements of the rest of his face.

The scar can't be hidden forever, though, and he's heard the suspicions of the men on his ship. They whispered when they thought he could no longer hear him, and he'd heard everything from the rumor that he simply had no left eye, to the theory that he wasn't injured at all and it was all some kind of great Fire Nation conspiracy that Zuko was a part of. He'd lay those rumors to rest today, he decided, as he returns the bandages to their drawer.

He ascends from his chambers onto the deck of the ship, sunlight striking him and making him squint into the light. Morning chatter fills the deck before he's seen, and it instantly dies as his crew catches sight of him. A few of the men are respectful enough to not stare, averting their eyes, but some are bold enough to outright gawk. Zuko scowls, clenching his fists before he releases a band of flames that force the entirety of the crew back.

"If anyone has anything to say, come say it to my face." Zuko orders authoritatively, looking at each man individually. They're all older and larger than him, but he feels more powerful than the total of them in that moment. He was bearing his shame without fear. He was sure he was one of the only men on the ship who could do that.

"No takers?" He asks mockingly, bearing his teeth as he glares at the ring of soldiers around him, "You all seemed to have a lot to say when you thought I wasn't listening." He can hear Iroh's heavy steps ascending the stairs behind him, "Cowards, all of you." He finishes, pushing through the men to get to the very front of the ship and glare at the water. He can feel eyes on his back, and hear a soldier murmuring nervous words to Iroh.

He ignores them, for the most part, instead watching the way the waves crest against the ship. They were headed nowhere. After nearly a year of travel, they'd scoured nearly every corner of the globe, and had come up empty handed for their troubles. He'd torn the Southern Water Tribe apart, being that he couldn't ever hope to breach the impenetrable walls of the Northern Water Tribe, and had found nothing there. Unsurprising, as nearly every Fire Nation General had done the same to no avail. He'd then turned to the Earth Kingdom, having to dock his ship and search the massive landmass on foot. They'd given up after several weeks, the group too low on food and supplies to survive venturing any further.

Everyone had given up hope months ago, and would often express how pointless they found this quest to be. He had no qualms about throwing insubordinate soldiers overboard.

He hears Iroh approaching, and Zuko's breath leaves him harshly in a small cloud of flames.

"Prince Zuko, are you alright—"

"I was thinking we should try the Northern Water Tribe again." Zuko interrupts coolly, his fists held tightly at his sides.

"The…what? You know we can't get through their walls; it's designed to withstand attacks. And beyond that, it's entirely made of ice. It's the deadliest climate for a firebender. But that's not the matter I want to discuss with you." Zuko's teeth grind in frustration.

"I don't want to talk about anything else, Uncle. All that matters is finding the Avatar, not how I'm feeling." He spits out the last word like it's filthy on his tongue.

"It healed better than we thought it would, you know." Zuko makes an incredulous noise, turning to face him finally. Better? How badly did they think he was going to be disfigured that this was considered better?

"I'm a freak, Uncle; don't try to pretend that I'm not. It won't make anything better." His elder shakes his head with disagreement, speaking kindly.

"This is no way to start your birthday." Zuko actually laughs, the sound strained and bitter.

"My birthday doesn't matter, all that matters is—"

"Finding the Avatar, I know." He catches himself in a childish pout, and quickly schools his face into a glare. How dare Iroh think he knows better than him?

"Leave me."

Iroh doesn't argue, turning from his nephew solemnly. Zuko looks up from him, seeing the soldiers have been staring at them for the duration of their conversation. He growls, flames exploding from his fists.

"Get back to work!" He exclaims, and they all scramble from the main deck. No one had any real work to do, but they all pretended in order to avoid the Prince's spontaneous bouts of fury. He was aware of this, but it made him feel like he had some kind of control to be able to order them to at least pretend to work. He's finds himself alone on the deck, only the sound of the waves keeping him company.

He thinks he might prefer their companionship to anyone else's. At least they couldn't see his face.