Chapter Text
Zuko has always known he’s adopted. His family never hid it from him, never hesitated to bring it up. He can’t remember a time when he didn’t know, honestly. It’s one of a few basic facts he has no memory of learning. Like Agni rising in the east, or tortillas being made of corn.
Even if they had kept it a secret, it would be hard not to notice—not least because of his eyes, which are a strange, striking gold rather than the muddy browns or dark ambers of the rest of the tribe. Mom and Dad certainly don’t have eyes like that. Mom and Dad don’t look like him at all.
He asks them, once, who his real parents are.
“We are your real parents, noquetzallé,” Mom says. “Just because I didn’t have to go to battle to get you doesn’t make you not ours.”*
“That’s not what I meant.” He isn’t trying to replace Mom and Dad—he’s never known any life beyond them and he doesn’t particularly want to. The question isn’t about that, it’s about…about… “I just want to know where I came from,” he finally settles on.
“Zuko, I’m so sorry to tell you this,” she replies, “but we don’t know, either.”
“You—” His voice catches. “You don’t?”
He hadn’t realized just how much he wanted to know until now. The questions burn under his skin, all the worse now that he understands he will never get answers. It feels rotten.
Dad kneels down and presses a hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “I promise that if we ever find anything out, you’ll be the first to know. But even if we don’t…” He hesitates, as though preparing to say something very important. “I want you to know, whatever happens, you won’t be alone. You’ll still have me and your mother and Aunt Ixchel and your grandparents—”
“—And the turkeyaxolotls?”
“Well, turkeyaxolotls in general, maybe. These particular turkeyaxolotls are going to die a long time before you.” Dad stands up. “The point I’m trying to make is that we’re all in your corner, kiddo.”
The rotten feeling subsides, if only a little.
He still doesn’t know who he is or where he came from. But he knows his parents love him, and maybe that’s enough for now.
Aunt Ixchel hoists the digging stick up over her shoulder. “I think we’ve done a good job for today, haven’t we?”
Zuko glances at the rows of freshly planted beans, then turns west, where the sun just sank beneath the mountains. “I guess so.”
He’s a little surprised it went so fast. Planting time’s not as bad as harvest, but it still isn’t much fun. Then again, he’s never planted with Aunt Ixchel before. Usually she stays home to help Mom with the garden and the turkeyaxolotls while he and Dad go to the field together. But Dad wasn’t feeling well this morning, so Aunt Ixchel it was.
“Mind giving us some light?” she asks. “I’d perfer not to trip and break my neck.”
It isn’t really that dark yet, but whatever. He holds out his right hand and pulls the fire from the chi pulsing beneath his skin.
Aunt Ixchel hums appreciatively. “You’re a real strong firebender, kid. I wouldn’t be surprised if they put you in calmecac.”
His face burns almost as hot as his palm. “That isn’t funny.”
“It wasn’t a joke.”
“It should be.” Calmecac is the school nobles’ kids go to. To be a commoner and get in, you have to be crazy good at bending. Better than most of the nobility, even. Zuko holds no such illusions about himself.
Aunt Ixchel just shrugs, and says nothing.
There’s a stranger inside the house. An old man, short and portly and clothed in fine silks, who smells faintly of ginseng. Where he came from, Zuko doesn’t know. He opens his mouth to ask—then catches himself just in time. Whoever this man is, he’s almost certainly a noble, and Zuko can’t remember the rules regarding how to talk to them. In any case, he has a habit of putting his foot into his mouth on the best days; better not to risk it.
“I brought your son back,” Aunt Ixchel says. “I’m leaving now.”
A little blunt, but she’s always been like that. He supposes it’s something they have in common. True to her word, receding footsteps ring out behind him. Zuko is left to stand awkwardly in the doorway and squirm under his mother’s sharp gaze.
“How in Agni’s name did planting take you two all day?” she demands.
He averts his eyes in deference. “It…we…we started a little late.” More like a lot late, actually, considering Aunt Ixchel didn’t wake up until noon and then took her own sweet time getting them to the field, but he senses it would be a bad idea to say that.
Mom opens her mouth as if preparing to yell at him more, but Dad speaks first.
“We have bigger things to talk about right now. Zuko, do you remember when you asked us about your birth parents?”
Zuko nods. He does remember, but he isn’t sure what point Dad sees in bringing it up.
Dad hesitates for a moment, a strange expression on his face. “We…we have some new information.” He gestures to the stranger. “This is Iroh. He says he’s your uncle.”
For a moment, the only thought Zuko can summon is an image of a male version of Aunt Ixchel. It’s stupid—he knows it is—but it’s the first thing that comes to mind when he hears the word uncle. Because that’s what an uncle is, right? Like an aunt, except a man instead of a woman. Only he has experience with aunts, whereas an uncle is still a huge unknown—
“It warms my old man heart to finally meet you in person, nephew. I am sure you must have so many questions for me—”
“Questions?” Zuko snaps his eyes upward and meets his supposed uncle’s gaze, trying his best to ignore how close that shade of gold is to his own irises. “Yeah, I got questions. For a start, where the hell were you for the last thirteen years?”
Iroh closes his eyes. “I have made many mistakes over my life,” he says quietly. “So many mistakes I wish I could take back. But only a fool would count this as one of them. I stayed away to protect you, Zuko. If someone caught me traveling here, you and everyone else in this tribe would be in grave danger. And someone would have caught me, had I tried. I was being watched too closely back then.”
It’s an obvious bullshit excuse if Zuko ever heard one. “You can’t possibly be that important.”
“Until three years ago,” Iroh says, “I was first in line to the Dragon Throne.”
Zuko’s heart jumps into his throat. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he sputters. “That…that would make me…” He doesn’t finish the thought. He doesn’t want to finish it.
“You are the firstborn son of Ursa and Firelord Ozai.”
His hands shake. The ground feels soft, as though any minute it will collapse and Zuko will fall into a brand new cenote below. Which doesn’t sound so bad, really, now that he thinks about it. Certainly better than listening to this crap.
“I know it must be a difficult thing to hear…” Iroh trails off, perhaps realizing what a gross understatement that is.
“No kidding.” Zuko barely recognizes his own voice. It’s a low, harsh tone, devoid of any warmth. Maybe he inherited it from his warmongering ancestors.
Mom and Dad exchange a look. They must be disgusted. Zuko can’t blame them; he’s a little disgusted with himself.
Dad opens his mouth. Zuko leaves before he has a chance to speak.
His stomach rumbles as he lies on the ground. The stars shine as brightly as they did they night before; the grass feels just as soft. It makes sense, he supposes, in a twisted way. Of course everything would be the same. He’s the only one who changed.
I didn’t change, he reminds himself. I was always… (His mind shies away at the thought.) I just didn’t know it.
There’s a rustling sound from behind him, like someone is walking nearby. “Zuko, are you okay?”
He sits up, turns around. Mom is standing about half a land rod away, holding a small orangey-yellow flame in her hands that casts shadows over her face.
Zuko tears his eyes away. “Is that a trick question or what?”
She hesitates. “Can I sit down?”
He doesn’t reply. She seems to take that as a yes and kneels down beside him.
“Do you know why I never had a child before you?” Her voice is so…normal. Like she’s just talking to a kid, and not a direct descendant of the man who ordered the dragon hunts. Zuko isn’t sure what to make of it.
”Aunt Ixchel told me a little,” he admits. “She said you tried to have a baby once, but it”—Agni, how does he phrase this?—“it wasn’t alive when it came out.”
Mom nods. “When that happened…” She blinks twice, quickly. “I didn’t think I would ever have another child, not the regular way. No matter how much I wanted one. But then you showed up…and it was like all my dreams had come true.”
“Yeah,” he mutters. “I bet you used to fantasize all the time about raising Sozin’s great-grandson.”
“Do you seriously think that’s all you are?”
Yes. No. I don’t know. “So, what, am I just supposed to ignore this? To pretend I’m not…” He gestures vaguely into the air.
“I’m not asking you to ignore anything,” she says. “But you can’t just live your whole life thinking you’re evil, or that nobody could ever care about you. Believe it or not, I don’t give a flying fuck who your birth parents are. You’re my son. I love you.”
He blinks, taken aback by the intensity in her voice. Mom getting angry is normal—it’s rare, in fact, for her to go more than a week without reprimanding him at all—but she’s never this loud. She certainly doesn’t swear.
Her words don’t make sense, either. What does she mean, she doesn’t care? He’s the latest product of a long line of monsters. His own blood family is responsible for the deaths of millions. How can she look at him and still…
“I love you,” Mom repeats, “and I swear by Agni and the sacred dragons that nothing is ever going to change that.” She reaches out and hugs him, warm and heavy like air in the wet season. It feels…nice. Familiar.
Safe.
(In her arms, Zuko finally lets himself cry.)
When he wakes up the next morning, he almost convinces himself last night was just a dream. That all he is is Zuko, adopted Sun Warrior kid from who-knows-where, and his mind made up all the rest to screw with him.
It’s a nice idea. Unfortunately, it doesn’t last very long—mostly because Iroh is still there.
He’s sitting cross-legged just outside the house, a few paces away from the garden. When he sees Zuko, he breaks into a smile. “Good morning, nephew. How did you sleep?”
“How do you think?”
Iroh sighs. “I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you so quickly.”
Almost without permission, a muffled snort escapes Zuko’s throat. “It was a little sudden, yeah.”
A pause. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to—”
“I want to,” Zuko says. “I mean, I don’t really want to. I just…I…”
“You have questions.”
“…Yes.”
“In that case, I promise I will do my best to answer them.” Iroh stands up. “But first I’d like to have a look around. Would you mind giving me a tour?”
Zuko almost laughs. A tour? Of here? He can’t sense any sarcasm in the man’s tone, but it seems absurd to believe that the former crown prince would be interested in a place like this. It’s no different than the other commoner homes scattered on the city’s outskirts—hardly impressive to a man who has lived his whole life in a palace.
Then again, it’s not like there’s very much work left to do today. The beans were their last batch of seeds. Now they just have to wait until something sprouts. “I guess I could show you a few things.”
Iroh’s smile broadens.
“…this is Tamalli, and that one over there is Pozolli.” Zuko tosses some old corns down for them to eat, since it’s about their feeding time anyway.
“You named them after food?”
He shakes his head. “Mom did. It’s…sort of a running joke.” Not that it’s ever been particular funny to him. Maybe humor, like eye color, is another thing passed on through blood, although Iroh’s loud belly laugh seems to suggest otherwise. Maybe Zuko’s just a freak, then. “So. I kind of wanted to ask a couple questions about my birth parents.”
“Very well,” Iroh says. “What do you want to know?”
Are they out looking for me is the first question on Zuko’s lips, but he reconsiders. He’s not sure either answer would make him feel better. Would he rather hear that the most dangerous man in the world is tracking him down, or that he has been entirely forgotten? He isn’t sure.
“What are they like?” he asks instead.
Iroh takes another sip of tea. “Your mother is a wonderful woman. She would not have given you up if it had not been the only way to save your life. Your father”—he sighs—“is not a kind man. I would give anything to ensure that you never have to meet him.”
That his birth father would apparently treat Zuko cruelly does not surprise him. Evil dictators aren’t exactly known for their gentle parenting. But his mother…he doesn’t know why, but part of him expected she would be just as terrible as the Firelord. It’s something of a relief to learn otherwise. He’s still not sure why a wonderful woman would be married to the worst man on the planet, but he finds he trusts Iroh’s words.
Iroh talks for a while longer, about palanquins and palaces and the faraway royal family that Zuko apparently belongs to. He asks Zuko questions of his own, as well—about Mom and Dad and Grandma and Grandpa and Aunt Ixchel and the turkeyaxolotls and firebending and the tribe. Seconds turn to minutes, minutes turn to hours, and before he knows it Agni has reached the top of the sky.
“I should be going,” Iroh says. “Promise me you will stay safe while I am gone.”
Zuko managed well enough for thirteen years, didn’t he? “I promise.” He hesitates, then adds: “Uncle.” The word tastes strange in his mouth.
Iroh—Uncle—hugs him tightly before he walks away.