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31_days2006-11-24 11:57 pm
sophiap.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2006-11-24 11:57 pm
[Nov. 24] [Avatar] Firebrand
Title: Firebrand
Day/Theme: November 24 - I bear your colours everywhere
Series: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Character/Pairing: Zuko
Rating: PG
"It's okay. The smell takes some people that way." The farm woman held out an earthenware cup full of cold water. It no doubt tasted of minerals and sulfur the way everything did in this part of the Earth Kingdom, but Zuko took it anyway.
He didn't say anything, but he did give her a curt nod, both in thanks and in acknowledgement of the unspoken assurance that apologies were neither necessary nor expected.
Uncle had volunteered them to help with chores at a farm in exchange for a night's food and shelter on their way to Ba Sing Se. At first, Zuko thought they'd gotten off lucky. Instead of hours of back-breaking labor for a meal of watery porridge or gray stew, he was only required to count cattlepig weanlings as they were ushered from pasture, barn, and feedlot into a paddock. They had to be marked, the farmer explained, before they were turned loose into the forest for summer foraging. They'd wander back when the weather became cool, but the local herds inevitably mingled, and some animals didn't always wind up back at the right farms.
So, he'd spent a pleasantly dull summer's afternoon leaning against a fence rail and making tick-marks on an old shingle as the small, grunting animals scurried past. To make things even sweeter, an older calf had been picked out of the herd a few days back, and was now slowly roasting in a pit. Once the marking was done, he and Uncle were more than welcome to join in the feast.
He assumed the farmers would mark the animals with a splotch of dye on their rump, the way musk-sheep were marked in some parts of the Fire Nation. In the Earth Kingdom, apparently, the preferred method of marking was a brand.
"It wasn't the smell," Zuko said. He handed the cup back to the woman and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before standing up. His legs were much steadier now. An explanation seemed called for, so he offered one up.
He raised a hand to the ruin of his left ear, touching it as lightly as if the burn was still only freshly healed. "It was the sound."
The woman closed her eyes, and her face went ashen in what might have been sympathy, or maybe even horror. "I am sorry. I am so, so sorry."
What he said was true as far as it went. If you were a firebender, you either got used to the way things smelled when burnt, or you stopped bending. That's all there was to that. Training accidents--his own and others--had quickly inured Zuko to the smell of burning hair, clothing, and flesh. What he remembered--what he would always remember--was the sound of his father's fire rushing past his ear and the too-close sound of his own flesh crackling and dying.
The sound of a hot iron sizzling on fur and hide was nothing compared to that--it was barely audible over the animals' squeals of pain and outrage, and he'd barely even noticed it. That wasn't what had caused him to drop the shingle and run off behind the barn. It was something else that had driven him off and caused him to more fall down than sit down so he could fight off the wave of nausea in peace.
Zuko could barely remember what he looked like without his scar. It was the first thing his eyes went to when he looked in a mirror, and he knew damned well it was the first thing other people noticed about him.
He'd just never wondered until today if maybe his scar was not just a side-effect of the punishment his father had meted out to him. The fear, the searing pain of the burn, and the mind-twisting agony of healing (the usual remedies had, of course, been pointedly withheld)--maybe those were just the side-effects of inflicting a mark that would remind Zuko and all those who saw him that he was the Fire Lord's and that the Fire Lord would do with him as he pleased.
In a few days' time, once their brands had healed over and had been checked for signs of infection, the cattlepig calves would be turned loose in the forest to feed on mushrooms, ferns, and acorns, enjoying a life of seeming freedom until the cold drove them back to a place where they would be sorted out according to their owners' needs and whims.
It was an image he would try to forget, but that he suspected would creep up on him at odd times, the way the sound of burning would sometimes lick at his ear when he was caught between sleeping and waking.
Of course, he'd only had a few minutes to try to sort this all out before the woman had shown up with her water and her concern. Zuko wished he hadn't overheard that she had a son about his age, a son who had gone off to fight in the wars and who would never be coming home; it made him feel obligated in some way that he couldn't quite articulate.
"We just wanted to do something for you..." she said, turning the empty cup over and over and looking to him for some sort of absolution.
"I understand." She'd meant to spare their pride by offering them a trade, even a token one, rather than insult them with charity.
"After what you've been through, I wanted to do something to help." Her eyes were bright, and she was practically pleading with him.
"I know." Zuko turned and headed back towards the front of the barn. He could hear very clearly what she was not saying: please tell me it didn't hurt as much as I know it did.
"You'll still have supper with us, won't you? Please?"
Again, Zuko only answered with a curt nod. He didn't know what to make of her desperation, or how to answer it. As he rounded the corner of the barn, he focused on the sound of his feet on the gravel walk, hoping to drown out his thoughts. A couple of people looked up to see if he was all right, then turned back to what they were doing. The sun was low, and the yard was flooded with the rich light that turned everything firelit and golden just before it went dark.
A couple of the men looked up, and Zuko knew from the way they couldn't decide whether to stare or avert their eyes that they weren't looking at him, but rather his scar, red and angry in the afternoon light. One of them nodded at him as he passed by, and the look in the man's eyes drove Zuko's gaze back to the rocks at his feet. As with the woman's desperate invitation, he didn't know what to make of it.
Zuko rather suspected he'd be silently given an extra large share of meat that evening, despite the fact that he'd dropped the tally and his share of the work. Similar things had happened before, not always, not even most of the time, but enough for him to notice: an extra dollop of porridge, or a bowl of gray stew with a better than expected ratio of broth to meat.
It was as if something had marked him as being one of them, as someone deserving of their respect and their sympathy, and while he suspected he knew what it was and why, he preferred not to think about it.
Day/Theme: November 24 - I bear your colours everywhere
Series: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Character/Pairing: Zuko
Rating: PG
"It's okay. The smell takes some people that way." The farm woman held out an earthenware cup full of cold water. It no doubt tasted of minerals and sulfur the way everything did in this part of the Earth Kingdom, but Zuko took it anyway.
He didn't say anything, but he did give her a curt nod, both in thanks and in acknowledgement of the unspoken assurance that apologies were neither necessary nor expected.
Uncle had volunteered them to help with chores at a farm in exchange for a night's food and shelter on their way to Ba Sing Se. At first, Zuko thought they'd gotten off lucky. Instead of hours of back-breaking labor for a meal of watery porridge or gray stew, he was only required to count cattlepig weanlings as they were ushered from pasture, barn, and feedlot into a paddock. They had to be marked, the farmer explained, before they were turned loose into the forest for summer foraging. They'd wander back when the weather became cool, but the local herds inevitably mingled, and some animals didn't always wind up back at the right farms.
So, he'd spent a pleasantly dull summer's afternoon leaning against a fence rail and making tick-marks on an old shingle as the small, grunting animals scurried past. To make things even sweeter, an older calf had been picked out of the herd a few days back, and was now slowly roasting in a pit. Once the marking was done, he and Uncle were more than welcome to join in the feast.
He assumed the farmers would mark the animals with a splotch of dye on their rump, the way musk-sheep were marked in some parts of the Fire Nation. In the Earth Kingdom, apparently, the preferred method of marking was a brand.
"It wasn't the smell," Zuko said. He handed the cup back to the woman and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before standing up. His legs were much steadier now. An explanation seemed called for, so he offered one up.
He raised a hand to the ruin of his left ear, touching it as lightly as if the burn was still only freshly healed. "It was the sound."
The woman closed her eyes, and her face went ashen in what might have been sympathy, or maybe even horror. "I am sorry. I am so, so sorry."
What he said was true as far as it went. If you were a firebender, you either got used to the way things smelled when burnt, or you stopped bending. That's all there was to that. Training accidents--his own and others--had quickly inured Zuko to the smell of burning hair, clothing, and flesh. What he remembered--what he would always remember--was the sound of his father's fire rushing past his ear and the too-close sound of his own flesh crackling and dying.
The sound of a hot iron sizzling on fur and hide was nothing compared to that--it was barely audible over the animals' squeals of pain and outrage, and he'd barely even noticed it. That wasn't what had caused him to drop the shingle and run off behind the barn. It was something else that had driven him off and caused him to more fall down than sit down so he could fight off the wave of nausea in peace.
Zuko could barely remember what he looked like without his scar. It was the first thing his eyes went to when he looked in a mirror, and he knew damned well it was the first thing other people noticed about him.
He'd just never wondered until today if maybe his scar was not just a side-effect of the punishment his father had meted out to him. The fear, the searing pain of the burn, and the mind-twisting agony of healing (the usual remedies had, of course, been pointedly withheld)--maybe those were just the side-effects of inflicting a mark that would remind Zuko and all those who saw him that he was the Fire Lord's and that the Fire Lord would do with him as he pleased.
In a few days' time, once their brands had healed over and had been checked for signs of infection, the cattlepig calves would be turned loose in the forest to feed on mushrooms, ferns, and acorns, enjoying a life of seeming freedom until the cold drove them back to a place where they would be sorted out according to their owners' needs and whims.
It was an image he would try to forget, but that he suspected would creep up on him at odd times, the way the sound of burning would sometimes lick at his ear when he was caught between sleeping and waking.
Of course, he'd only had a few minutes to try to sort this all out before the woman had shown up with her water and her concern. Zuko wished he hadn't overheard that she had a son about his age, a son who had gone off to fight in the wars and who would never be coming home; it made him feel obligated in some way that he couldn't quite articulate.
"We just wanted to do something for you..." she said, turning the empty cup over and over and looking to him for some sort of absolution.
"I understand." She'd meant to spare their pride by offering them a trade, even a token one, rather than insult them with charity.
"After what you've been through, I wanted to do something to help." Her eyes were bright, and she was practically pleading with him.
"I know." Zuko turned and headed back towards the front of the barn. He could hear very clearly what she was not saying: please tell me it didn't hurt as much as I know it did.
"You'll still have supper with us, won't you? Please?"
Again, Zuko only answered with a curt nod. He didn't know what to make of her desperation, or how to answer it. As he rounded the corner of the barn, he focused on the sound of his feet on the gravel walk, hoping to drown out his thoughts. A couple of people looked up to see if he was all right, then turned back to what they were doing. The sun was low, and the yard was flooded with the rich light that turned everything firelit and golden just before it went dark.
A couple of the men looked up, and Zuko knew from the way they couldn't decide whether to stare or avert their eyes that they weren't looking at him, but rather his scar, red and angry in the afternoon light. One of them nodded at him as he passed by, and the look in the man's eyes drove Zuko's gaze back to the rocks at his feet. As with the woman's desperate invitation, he didn't know what to make of it.
Zuko rather suspected he'd be silently given an extra large share of meat that evening, despite the fact that he'd dropped the tally and his share of the work. Similar things had happened before, not always, not even most of the time, but enough for him to notice: an extra dollop of porridge, or a bowl of gray stew with a better than expected ratio of broth to meat.
It was as if something had marked him as being one of them, as someone deserving of their respect and their sympathy, and while he suspected he knew what it was and why, he preferred not to think about it.