Author's Note: This is my first A:TLA fic, so if course it's about my favorite angsty Firebender! It really isn't all that great. . . especially considering the fact that it's got a fume section. Dunno why, but that one scene from episode 12 ("The Storm") made me angry. My empathy acts up at strange times, and for strange characters. Anyway, please review, and enjoy!

"Please, Father! I only had the Fire Nation's best interests at heart!" the dark-haired boy pleads with the man before him. "I'm sorry I spoke out of turn!"

The man, whose face is not shown, walks toward the boy, saying, "You will fight for your honor."

The boy throws himself to the ground in a bow. "I meant you no disrespect; I am your loyal son!"

"Rise and fight, Prince Zuko," the man snarls.

"I won't fight you," the boy replies, his voice wavering.

"You will learn respect--"

The boy looks up, tears forming shining streaks on his cheeks.

"--and suffering will be your teacher."

The boy's sister leans forward, smirking in wicked anticipation while his uncle looks away.

I watch but I do not see. All my anger, though not hatred, is directed at one person. I can hear his voice in my head, the boy's, begging for mercy, forgiveness. His soul-rending screams of agony reverberate within my skull. Can you hear them, Ozai? Do they haunt you at night? I scoff. Probably not. Ozai is no more than an animal in human guise.

Who could be so heartless? Who could be so deadened inside that he would scar his own son with the same amount of, if not more, ferocity as he would his most hated enemy?

Even though it is not shown, I can see what happens in my mind. . .

The man meets the boy's betrayed golden gaze with his own fierce glare. He steps forward and punches the air in front of the boy's face, a ball of fire blossoming before his clenched fist. Propelled by his energy, it strikes the left side of the boy's face, toppling him forcefully onto his back.

The boy cries out in anguish, both physical and emotional, the side of his face a bloody mess of seared flesh.

The man walks slowly over and kneels by the boy's side, bending down to breathe in his son's ear, "You should count yourself lucky I didn't kill you, Prince," he spits the word like an insult. "I cannot allow weakness, Zuko. You deserve this pain."

He rises and leaves, ignoring the healers awaiting the nod that would signal permission to begin tending the boy's wounds.

The boy, whose screams have subsided to sobs and groans, watches his father leave through his uninjured eye. He lies there for several minutes, unmoving. A single tear runs down his scorched face. He closes his eyes and surrenders to unconsciousness.