So over on ZK Underground on DA, the March prompt of the month is "Muse". I saw that and thought "pfft, as if I could ever think of anything to write about that." Within, oh, about an hour this popped into my head. sableambiguity, you are my muse and for that I thank you.

Muse

"Hey Grandpa, what's this?" Kuzon called out. Fire Lord Zuko came up behind his 13-year-old grandson sitting in the middle of a storage room amongst piles of things that had belonged to the Fire Lord in his younger days. The boy had one of the many books opened and was flipping through the pages. Zuko watched in remembrance of each scene that was drawn on the pages.

"Did you draw these?"

"A long time ago," he replied his older voice more gravely than in his youth.

"Wow! You were really good."

"Thanks," he brushed off the compliment. Kuzon continued through the pages, squinting in the light at the faded images on the paper. Then he came to pages with a young woman on them.

Kuzon blew out a low whistle, "Ah man, she's pretty. Who is she?"

Zuko turned his eyes from the pages. He couldn't look at her image. "Just a woman."

Turning the pages, Kuzon found there were many images of the woman. Some were her sitting and sewing, some were of her in mid-move in what must have been bending though it varied from the firebending he knew. There was several of her in mid-dress, holding a sheet across her voluptuous body, a playful smile on her face. After the image of the woman with a very swollen belly and the brightest smile Kuzon had ever seen then another of the same woman with an infant the sketches simply stopped.

For being "just a woman", she must have meant something to his grandfather to have drawn so much of her. "But there are so many pictures of her. Why did you draw her?" he wondered aloud.

Where to begin? In the simplest of terms, "It started with a necklace."

…

51 years ago aboard a Fire Nation ship…

During the evenings when sleep wouldn't come and meditation only went so far, he would bring out his paper and ink. It was his relief from the pain of his life. Something he hid away since his mother left. Father had found his drawing books and ridiculed him for his stupid hobby. "Only an idiotic weakling wastes his time with such nonsense." However, on many days, it was his only way to keep his sanity.

He would draw the homeland he had been banished from three years prior- the palace, the turtle-duck pond he and his mother would sit next to, the beach on Ember Island where he and his sister and older cousin would play. He would paint landscapes of places he'd seen aboard this ship- Earth Kingdom villages, the sun rising over the horizon of the ocean, the icebergs littered across the Water Tribe waters, the people at ports around the world. Sometimes he would draw fictional beasts and women and men from fairy tales he recalled from childhood or from song's Uncle would sing.

But that night, a full moon outside the great ship, nothing he painted seemed right. Rising from the desk, he found the box that held the charcoal sticks. Again, nothing he drew gave him that sense of satisfaction he was looking for. As almost an afterthought, his hand reached inside his shirt pulling the handkerchief out. Unfolding the silk fabric, the necklace of that cursed waterbender lie within. Just days prior he had found it at that prison lying forgotten on the ground. Now it was between his thumb and forefinger. Taking in the fine details of the charm and the smooth coldness that opposed his warm fingers staring at that simple piece of jewelry attached to a meager blue ribbon he became entranced with the fluid design. Picking up the charcoal in his right hand while the necklace hung from his left, he makes the first sweep with his fingers and the circle of the charm is on the paper. Soon the circular waves are added then the lines below them. Part of him wonders the meaning behind these, granted the lines of the water are obvious, but the others he's not so sure of. As he stares at the paper, he finds the lone charm in need of the matching ribbon so the lines are drawn and the necklace stares at him from the paper. Feeling like a proverb that Uncle would say he found a necklace should not be without a neck and so from the black charcoal and empty parchment a slender neck is formed and from it a chin and jawbone. As meticulous as he is with all he does, from forth the memories of his battles, her face appears, large doe eyes staring at him, tanned cheeks on either side of the strong Water Tribe nose, plump lips with a slight smile at the edges, two strands of beaded hair fall then are swept behind the ear pinned back. All this from memories of the cursed waterbender and his desire to trap her companion. It was the only face he could imagine to match the necklace.

When he completes, he leans back and takes in the image. The rational side of him, the hard side of himself engrained from years of scolding from his father and teachers, demands that he burn evidence that he drew the girl. But the wistful side, the soft (one could almost say romantic) side that enjoyed the fairy tales from his mother and romantic songs his uncle would sing out, couldn't let the rational side ruin such a beautiful picture (regardless of who the drawing was of).

Sighing, he blew the traces of charcoal dust that remained, not wanting to smudge his hard work, before rolling the parchment up and placing it in the secret compartment of his chest. Wiping his hands on his pants, not caring about ruining the material, he carefully tucked the necklace away and let sleep take him as the wash of accomplishment of a good drawing dulled the harshness of his failure in finding the Avatar.

One year later....Post war Ba Sing Se…

"Wow, you drew that?" Katara asked pointing to the painting drying on the desk in his temporary room. It was like the one Sokka had done in the tea shop, but, well… better. She had gone to his room to say good bye before he left to go back to the Fire Nation to begin his duties as Fire Lord.

"Yeah," he replied bashfully, running his hand through his hair, "Sokka's wasn't too great, so I thought I'd give it a try."

Katara nodded her head and appreciated the fine details that Zuko had done with the bending of the elements and the non-benders looking just as epic as the benders (not to mention that Suki wasn't firebending this time around and her hair loopies didn't look like Momo's ears, and well didn't look like it was drawn by an eight-year-old). "It looks wonderful. I never knew you could draw."

Zuko simply shrugged his shoulders, dismissing the positive feedback as he usually did. "Just something I do. It's no big deal."

"No big deal! But this is beautiful!" she cried out enthusiastically continuing her praise, "Oh, could you draw me?"

Zuko choked back the cough. Little did she know that he had drawn her many times over the course of first meeting her. "Yeah, um, sure," he pointed to the seat next to the window, and pulled out his parchments and charcoal.

Tilted her head up and placing her hand on her chin, trying to pose regally for him, Zuko let the laugh escape waving his hand dismissively at her, "You don't have to do that. Just sit there, okay?"

She giggled and relaxed her body waiting more patiently than Zuko thought she could as he moved his eyes between the paper and her. She squealed in delight when she saw the end result, commenting that Aang would love it. Giving a gentle kiss to his cheek she left, demanding however that he would have to draw her next time they saw each other.

And so their sessions began. Every time they would visit, he would draw her. Casual days would be spent of him painting with ink, illustrating with charcoal filling pages of her images, like she was his waterbending goddess. His secret muse. As their sessions went on, the intimacy bloomed from their initially fragile friendship to something more. Being his model, she would pose in various states of dress and undress, unbeknownst to their partners, until the afternoon that she lay across the chaise wearing nothing but the beads in her hair looking seductive as always sunlight casting envious beams across her smooth tan skin. It was on that summer day, after three years, they crossed the line between artist and muse to lovers. And it was from there that they realized they truly did love each other. On that following winter mid-morning she vowed to be his muse every day and he promised he would love her forever.

Being Fire Lord was stressful, but when he went to their rooms and bring out his paper and inks and she would be there, the stress would melt away. She was his salvation in many ways and it was through the drawings that he captured his feelings for her. Within the year of becoming Fire Lady, her belly began to swell and Zuko happily captured the changes her body made to accommodate their child growing within. Joy and pride overflowed as he drew his muse following the birth of their son. The child reminded him of his brother-in-law with the single line of hair down his scalp as if born with the Tribe's wolf-tail. He would doodle her nursing, her playing with him, his first trip to the beach. These were the happiest days of his life.

Weeks before the child's first birthday however, fate had a different plan. The illness swept across his land killings tens of thousands in its wake. Despite his rank, his wife and child were not immune to its effects and were stolen from him. In his fury, how the fates could take away something precious from him yet again, that Zuko angrily burned the the images of her and their child. Thankfully he stopped before destroying them all instead ordering the servants to pack away the remainders as if by getting rid of them would get rid of the memory of her and with it the pain. His heart however held onto the images drawn all that time ago. It was almost a decade before he remarried, encouraged of course by the counsel, and his childhood love became his wife and Fire Lady and gave him his heirs. And it was the son of their daughter that found his past.

"Grandpa, why don't you draw any more?" Kuzon inquired, looking up with his golden eyes that strangely reminded him of his first son.

"Because, Grandson," placing his aging hand on his grandson's black hair, "I lost my muse."

And my heart.

I have to admit, I really like this one. I hope you did too. And feel free to cry. I did. T_T