Zuko stood on the deck of the ironclad Fire Nation ship, looking out into the night. In a matter of hours, they would be in the Capital City and he would have to face the Fire Lord—his father. The thought made his insides tie in knots.

"Aren't you cold?"

Zuko looked to the side as Mai came up next to him with a small smile on her face. She was the only one on this ship that the prince felt remotely safe around. Everyone else was too under Azula's thumb.

"I've got a lot on my mind," Zuko admitted, letting his guard down a bit. "It's been so long. Over three years since I was home. I wonder what's changed." He gripped the ship's railing, looking off into the dense fog. "I wonder how I've changed…"

Mai yawned. "I just asked if you were cold. I didn't ask for your whole life story."

Zuko tensed. It seemed like Mai was making fun of him. He looked away, even as he heard her footsteps close in behind him. Suddenly there was an arm around his shoulders and a hand turning his face towards hers. "Stop worrying," Mai softly entreated with a laugh. She leaned up to kiss him and Zuko turned into it. The kiss was quick, and they looked into each other's eyes for a minute when it broke.

The prince struggled for something to say, but Mai had turned and gone before he could even think of a response.

He sighed deeply, looking back at the sea in resignation. Mai was the same girl he had grown up with, but for some reason it was harder to talk to her now. She gave him plenty of physical affection, but she didn't seem to understand what was going on in his head. Not that he expected anybody to understand or care. It would be unfair to force his personal concerns upon anyone in the Fire Nation. Their lives had gone on peacefully, completely uninterrupted by his absence.

And the person he wanted to talk to most had been taken on another ship ahead of their party. At least that's what Zuko had heard while eavesdropping on a pair of gossiping soldiers. The prince realized, only now, how much he had taken Uncle Iroh's company for granted. The older man had always listened to him, no matter how rambling and whiny Zuko must have been. And all those times his uncle had acted crazy and over the top and blasted everyone's eardrums with a tsungi horn…he'd been trying to cheer Zuko up. The prince felt like a complete idiot for not realizing that sooner.

He looked down into the murky depths of the ocean, watching waves crash against each other as the ship's bow cut through them like a…

…knife. Zuko's eyes widened and his hands did a pat down of his clothes, looking in vain for an object he knew wasn't there. His pearl-handled dagger from Uncle Iroh! Where was it? It hadn't been in his discarded Earth Kingdom clothing either. He must have lost it during the battle with Azula. Or after he'd been captured. Either way, it was gone.

Zuko braced himself against the side of the ship, feeling the loss like a punch in the gut. Uncle's gift was gone.

After his and Azula's presentation to the nobles that morning, Zuko expected to be taken to the Fire Lord immediately. Instead his sister left for training with Lo and Li and a servant quietly escorted the prince back to his old room. She extended him all the basic courtesies, but acted very tentative. She seemed to be gauging where he stood in the Fire Lord's favor. Not knowing himself, Zuko could hardly blame her.

The room hadn't remained untouched in Zuko's three year absence. The floor had been retiled and the pattern on the rug was different. All his personal possessions were gone. No one had been expecting him to return. Zuko flopped down on the bed, wondering how many people had slept in it while he'd been away.

He stared at the golden canopy for a long time before his stomach growled. He hadn't eaten since yesterday. Zuko considered ignoring the hunger pains, as he'd become accustomed to doing, but he didn't want his body making loud, rude noises when—if—he met with the Fire Lord.

Zuko pulled himself off the bed and slowly walked to the door, opening and closing it behind him without a sound. The halls were empty. The soft, plodding sound of his footsteps became louder as the rugs disappeared and the hallways became narrower on his way to the kitchen. He reached out and touched a gold and red wall. The palace was like a memory from a distant dream; it was familiar, but Zuko felt no connection with it.

He got turned around only once, ending up in a supply room. He went back to the fork in his path and went left instead. The aromas wafting down the corridor drew more sounds from Zuko's stomach. His face colored red and he put a hand on his abdomen, glaring in disapproval as if that would silence it. Finally finding the kitchen door, Zuko took a deep breath before easing it open.

Several cooks were bustling about the kitchen preparing for the next meal. They were in their element: chopping and stirring and boiling without sparing a glance in his direction. Clearly they had a lot to get done, and Zuko hated to interrupt them. Seeing a tray of buns just a few feet away, the prince thought that maybe he could take one before someone noticed. If he could evade Zhao and Azula and scores of trained Fire Nation soldiers, a few chefs shouldn't give him any problem.

Zuko's fingers were inches away from his prize when a hand came down and slapped his forcefully. Stunned, the teenager's eyes shot up at the person who'd caught him. It was an older man, whose years in the kitchen had given him sharp reflexes and keen peripheral vision. He'd sensed the prince and struck him without ever getting a good look at him. "Jung," the cook scolded in a harsh, loud voice, "if you try to pinch so much as a lychee nut from this kitchen again, I'll feed you to the tigerdillos."

"Sir…" A boy about Zuko's age—who must be Jung—stammered from the other side of the kitchen.

Perplexed to see his presumed suspect so far from the scene of the crime, the cook turned to see whom he had hit. The old man's eyes grew as they swept over Zuko's scar and red headpiece, and he dropped to the floor. "Your highness!" Suddenly every eye in the kitchen was on Zuko, and everyone abandoned their work and fell to their knees. The chef who had struck him was bending his head so low that his crooked nose was brushing the floor. "A thousand apologies, your highness. Please, have mercy. I never, in my wildest dreams, would have dared…"

"No. No. Please stand up." All the bowing and scraping made Zuko extremely uncomfortable. Way more than a little slap ever could. His hand stung, and there were white finger marks on his reddening skin, but it wouldn't bruise. It was hardly something to get worked up over. "It doesn't matter. Don't worry about it."

"You're far too generous, Prince Zuko. Please, let me redeem myself."

The young firebender squirmed. "Really, there's no reason for that. I didn't mean to cause you any problems."

"Problems?" The chef finally dared to look up from the ground, though his gaze didn't meet Zuko's. "Your highness, we're honored to have you here. This kitchen is at your service. Whatever you desire is yours."

The prince wanted to leave, but he was too conscious of the disgrace that would bring to these hardworking people. Plus, he was still hungry. "I'll just take whatever you can spare." Zuko wasn't used to having choices; he just ate whatever was put in front of him.

All the cooks seemed to snap out of their trance at once. They got up from the floor and begun working frantically to finish as many dishes as they could. Jung cleared a spot for Zuko at one of the preparation tables, shamefacedly avoiding the royal guest. He pulled up a chair, brushing flour off the seat and setting a cushion there to make it more comfortable. Zuko sat down carefully and whispered his thanks. Jung either didn't hear or chose not to respond.

Before long, the table in front of Zuko was spread with a miniature banquet: dumplings, komodo sausages, mochi, fried squid, and fruit tarts with rose petals. He tried to protest that this was far too much for him to eat, but the expectant faces of the kitchen staff stopped him. Zuko sighed, picked up the pair of chopsticks at his right hand, and started with the dumplings. He ate slow at first, but the more he consumed, the hungrier he became. His body, which had survived for three years on a soldier's rations and whatever he could scrape together on the run, was demanding the sustenance it had been denied so long. He ate more than half of the feast before he was full.

Zuko sat at the table while it was cleared away, sipping a cup of spice tea while his stomach settled. Something about the brew tasted off, but he couldn't say what. Uncle Iroh would have known. Maybe he could take something to his uncle in a little while. Prison fare was probably disgusting.

"Was the food to your satisfaction, your highness?"

Zuko looked up into the tanned face of a female cook. He nodded. "Yes, it was very good. Thank you."

She bowed. "We're honored to hear that. In the future, we would happy to just bring your meals to your room."

Zuko's cheeks colored pink as the her subtle meaning came through. They didn't want him coming back here, making things more difficult for them. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yes, of course." The prince stood, once more eying the buns on the counter as an idea came into his mind. "Would it be too much trouble if I took one of those?" he gestured.

"Of course not, your highness." The cook grabbed the tray and held it up for him. "Take as many as you wish."

"Thank you. I only need one." Zuko took a bun from the tray and bowed respectfully to excuse himself. The kitchen staff returned his gesture, not as excessively as before—to his relief.

Leaving the kitchen, Zuko retreated outdoors. The weather was nice: clear skies and a slight breeze, a welcome contrast to the confining walls and stale air of the palace. He walked down to the turtleduck pond and sat by the water's edge, tearing off small pieces of the bun to feed the animals one at a time.

He stared into the pool, scrutinizing his reflection through the ripples. When the bun was gone, he placed his hand over the disfigured skin on the left side of his face. The features of a young Fire Lord Ozai stared back at him with disdain. No wonder the kitchen servants had been so afraid of him. Disproportionate punishments were a family tradition, after all. For once, Zuko was grateful for the scar; it was the only thing setting him apart from the man the whole world feared.

So far, returning to the Fire Nation had brought Zuko nothing but discontent. Even this garden, which held memories of his loving mother, seemed cold and foreign. And his spirits darkened further when a shadow crossed the surface of the pond, sending the turtleducks swimming away.

"You seem so downcast," Azula noted in a taunting voice. "Has Mai gotten to you already? Though actually," Zuko's sister raised her hand to a chin in a pondering gesture, "Mai has been in a strangely good mood lately."

"I haven't seen Father yet," Zuko replied, changing the course of the conversation. "I haven't seen him in three years. Since I was banished."

"So what?"

Zuko was taken aback by his sister's blasé response. 'So what?' So what that he hadn't seen his sire in ages? So what that his entire future was in the hands of the man who had permanently scarred him? So what that Azula had probably already met with the Fire Lord, while every second spent waiting for an audience was tormenting the prince? For someone so notoriously skilled at reading people, Azula was acting as oblivious to his feelings as Mai. Or maybe it was an act, to get under his skin and make him say something that he shouldn't. Well, he was done giving his thoughts out so freely. Zuko averted his eyes from his sister and focused on the pale sunlight dancing across the water.

Not satisfied with her brother's muteness, Azula pressed on. "I'm sure that Father will send for you soon. I've already been to see him," she smirked, putting her hands on her hips, "and I made sure to put in several good words for you."

Zuko's jaw tightened. No doubt their definitions of "good words" were very different, and he was glad not to have been around to hear. He didn't know if his sister expected gratitude or some scathing retort, but he had nothing to give either way.

After a few more moments of silence, Azula frowned. Obviously she hadn't gotten her desired reaction. "Well. I'm sure you have nothing to worry about." Her shadow withdrew across the pond's reflection and out of sight.

Zuko sat in the garden until the sun had long passed its apex in the sky, breathing deeply and trying to find some peace. Yearning to feel anything other than deep loneliness. But it wasn't any use. In spite of the lingering phantom memories, this place wasn't home anymore.

Late that night, a servant came to his door. "The Fire Lord wishes to see you right away, Prince Zuko."

Zuko froze, both "fight" and "flight" instincts battling for control of his body. His fists clenched in his lap, nails making indents in his palms. His anxiety had been building all day, churning in his stomach, and was now spiraling into a full-blown panic. He couldn't do this. He couldn't face his father. But there was no choice; he knew that. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, letting the dread flow through him.

He rummaged through his mind for a pleasant memory. Few remained that hadn't been tainted by sorrow and regret. One grabbed his attention almost immediately, though, and Zuko was surprised at himself for thinking of it. Still, he held tight to the remembrance, letting himself be filled by a warm sort of strength. Afraid he may be, but Zuko refused to let the fear rule him.

In a minute, the young prince nodded and stood. His retainer helped him into a set of regal clothing and armor and replaced his red headpiece with a gold one. Zuko caught his reflection in the mirror; he looked every bit a prince, regardless of what he felt inside.

His walk to the throne room was excruciating. The sound of his footsteps was a whisper compared to the sound of blood pumping in his ears like a death march. Zuko felt small next to the looming shadows cast by the glowing lamps mounted on the walls and ceilings. This journey was one he'd taken many times, and it had intimidated him ever since childhood. But now, neither Mother nor Uncle Iroh were at his side. Even Azula's company would have been preferable to going alone.

He paused at the entrance to the throne room, looking up at the royal symbol emblazoned on the silk tapestry hanging there. There was no way to know what lay beyond the large draped doorway, and it would be too late to go back by the time he entered. Zuko sighed in resignation. He couldn't stand there all night, waiting for the moment to pass him by. Sooner or later, he had to face what lay beyond this entryway. And "sooner" would be better in the long run.

Gathering his courage, Zuko marched up to the silk door and pushed it aside with both hands. Across the black tiled room, past the obsidian and gold pillars and beyond a wall of tall fire sat Fire Lord Ozai on his throne. Zuko was rendered immobile for an instant, though he wasn't sure which memory of which Fire Lord had fixed him to that spot. But it hardly mattered; the feelings he held for his father and grandfather were largely the same.

Passing four rows of columns, the prince had gone as far as he knew was allowed. He lowered to his knees and prostrated himself on the ground, head bowed low and palms pressed firmly against the cool tiles. His breaths came deep and quiet, and his eyes remained shut. He dared not look at his reflection in the polished floor, nor at the Fire Lord.

From behind the wall of flame, the rich, commanding voice Zuko could not have forgotten spoke. "You've been away for a long time. I see the weight of your travels has changed you. You have redeemed yourself, my son."

The words burned in Zuko's ears. 'My son.' It was a phrase of recognition he had waited so long to hear. The sound of rustling fabric signaled movement, and the prince looked up as the Fire Lord crossed the boundary between them, his large shadow casting itself on the floor. Ever so tentatively, Zuko raised his eyes upwards until he and his sire were staring at each other with locked gazes. The air was thick with tension—it reminded the young firebender too much of another moment he'd spent on his knees. The image flashing before his eyes like white lightning almost kept him from hearing what Ozai said next: "Welcome home."

No. Zuko's mind protested. This isn't right. This isn't at all how I imagined it would be. He seemed farther from home now than when he'd been on the other side of the world. But his misgivings remained sealed inside him. If he couldn't speak them to Mai or Azula, they certainly wouldn't be welcome here.

Leaving the dais, Fire Lord Ozai began to circle his son slowly. Zuko forced his gaze to remain straight ahead, not wanting to look intimidated.

"I am proud of you, Prince Zuko. I am proud because you and your sister conquered Ba Sing Se." The Fire Lord's statements were carefully measured and pronounced, as if he had timed them to the rhythm of his stride. Regardless of the chamber's pervasive heat, every sentence sent a chill through the prince's heart.

"I am proud because when your loyalty was tested—by your treacherous uncle—you did the right thing and captured the traitor. And I am proudest of all of your most legendary accomplishment: you slayed the Avatar."

It took every muscle Zuko had tensing at once to keep his body from trembling under the weight of shame and disgust. The cheers of the Fire Nation nobles over the demise of the Avatar and the fall of the Earth Kingdom were still fresh in his ears. The reception had sickened him. The people of his country didn't truly understand what conquering another nation meant. How could they? He hadn't known before witnessing the atrocities firsthand. Even so, cheering for the death of a child—even an enemy—was sick. Getting credit for destroying the world's peace made Zuko's humiliation all the worse.

But his guilt turned to rage when he thought about his uncle. 'Treacherous'? General Iroh, the Dragon of the West, was anything but. If he hadn't come along on Zuko's crazy worldwide goose chase, Uncle Iroh would be quietly enjoying a comfortable, well-earned retirement: drinking tea and playing Pai Sho without a care in the world. His uncle was a threat to no one, and Zuko hated hearing his guardian's reputation slandered that way.

None of these judgements made it to the prince's lips, however. "What did you hear?" he inquired of the Fire Lord, who was standing just behind him. The weight of his father's presence so near was crushing.

"Azula told me everything," Ozai's voice resonated loudly in Zuko's ears. "She said she was amazed and impressed at your power and ferocity at the moment of truth." The Fire Lord's voice carried just a hint of suspicion. Zuko wanted to reply that he was right to doubt Azula's claims, for they were lies. Every last one. He was no conqueror, and his loyalties were not nearly as concrete as his father believed.

"I only did what was right," Zuko declared candidly, lying only by omitting the context of his answer.

"And for your loyalty, you shall be rewarded," Ozai proclaimed in his sonorous tone. "I hereby revoke your banishment and restore your rank, privileges, and honor as Crown Prince of the Fire Nation. I look forward to seeing you at court." The Fire Lord finished his ring around Zuko and once more ascended to the throne. Taking his seat, Ozai's face was again obscured by shadow and the haze from the fire. "That is all for the evening. You are dismissed."

Zuko prostrate himself once more before climbing to his feet and silently leaving. He remained silent and emotionless all the way back to his quarters. Once the door to his room was closed tight behind him, he pulled the golden headpiece from his hair and let it drop to the ground. Zuko sank to his knees and wrapped his arms around himself. Seeing his father had been his last hope of filling the overwhelming emptiness he felt. But he hadn't felt a thing. Not when Fire Lord called him "son" or welcomed him home or praised him. Not when his honor had been restored or the invitation to court extended to him. Nothing but a hollow sadness occupied Zuko's heart.

He finally had everything he had wanted for three long years…after already letting it go.