Zuko saw things. They drifted past him through the pain before he could grab onto them. Time passed like melted stone. Time didn’t exist, not for him.
(Ozai turned his back and walked away from the arena, and it took hours for anyone to summon the courage to lift his son, to hurt even to scream, up from the floor and carry him back into the palace.)
Sometimes, Zuko thought his mother was there, but then other times, he thought his mother was there instead. He heard his father’s voice, cold and dismissive, and he heard Uncle’s voice, angry and loud, but that couldn’t be right. Uncle was never angry anymore.
(Iroh closed the door to his chambers and watched the somber little procession winding its way down the hall. “What is going on?” He grabbed his nephew’s hand. “He’s not...” He felt the pulse and closed his eyes, the sick wave of terror spilling away for just a moment. There were so many things to still be terrified of for Zuko’s sake.
“Firelord’s orders,” one of the doctors mumbled. “He’s not allowed to stay in the palace.”
Iroh’s eyes widened, and then narrowed into slits. He opened the door behind him. “Take him into my room. I’ll talk to Ozai.”
He snuck his nephew into the war meeting. He could sneak him into the palace.)
But he saw things. He knew he did. Even when his eyes were closed.
(The Firelord’s guards smashed the doors open so hard they slammed against the walls. Ozai pinched his lips together hard enough to force away all of the blood. “You have no right, Iroh-”
Iroh leapt to his feet. “I have no right?” he snapped, and grabbed his brother’s arm. The guards moved to stop them, but Iroh just looked at them and they backed away.
“You aren’t the first in line for the throne anymore, Iroh,” Ozai snarled, trying to jerk his arm away, but Iroh’s hands just gripped tighter.
“This is your son,” Iroh whispered.)
He kept his eyes closed as much as he could, because every time they opened, he saw the creatures that had poked and cut at them, and tried to take them away from him. He could hear them in his dreams, and his eyes hurt, even through the strange haze over his body. Whenever he tried to reach them, to cover them, someone pushed his hands away. Uncle’s voice accompanied the hands that pulled his ams down and tucked them back under the stifling blankets. But it should’t be Uncle. Why would it be Uncle? Uncle was a ghost. Since he had come home from Ba Sing Se. He kept to himself and almost never spoke, and Zuko didn’t...
His eyes hurt so much.
Uncle never wanted anything to do with Zuko’s father. He shouldn’t be there.
(The doctors held held Zuko down. The smell rising from the wound filled the room. They held his eyelids open. His eyes weren’t eyes anymore. The heat had boiled and burst them. Pus oozed out. The knife slipped into their socket and cut them away. The doctor’s fingers swept them out.
The glass eyes rolled around on the table and watched until the doctor with the knife put them inside the sockets.)
The floor moved under Zuko’s body, tilting from side to side, rocking him back to sleep each time he floated up above the sticky, numbing fog. Sometimes, he heard whimpers, and screams, but he couldn’t tell whose they were, and it didn’t really seem important.
(They carried him up the gangway and into the belly of the tiny ship and laid him on the futon before he even woke up. Iroh followed. As soon as they left, he ran his fingers through what was left of his nephew’s hair.)
Zuko saw things. He knew he did.
~*~
Zuko sat up on the futon and pushed away the cup his uncle offered.
“It’s just tea.” Uncle told him, and curled his nephew’s fingers around it.
Zuko touched his closed eyelids with his other hand. “I don’t want it.”
Iroh picked up the new, thin reed cane from off the floor and curled his nephew’s hands around that too.
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branchandroot
Quiet Shadowed Places: Zuko finds out he’s blind
Date: 2010-10-14 11:47 pm (UTC)(Ozai turned his back and walked away from the arena, and it took hours for anyone to summon the courage to lift his son, to hurt even to scream, up from the floor and carry him back into the palace.)
Sometimes, Zuko thought his mother was there, but then other times, he thought his mother was there instead. He heard his father’s voice, cold and dismissive, and he heard Uncle’s voice, angry and loud, but that couldn’t be right. Uncle was never angry anymore.
(Iroh closed the door to his chambers and watched the somber little procession winding its way down the hall. “What is going on?” He grabbed his nephew’s hand. “He’s not...” He felt the pulse and closed his eyes, the sick wave of terror spilling away for just a moment. There were so many things to still be terrified of for Zuko’s sake.
“Firelord’s orders,” one of the doctors mumbled. “He’s not allowed to stay in the palace.”
Iroh’s eyes widened, and then narrowed into slits. He opened the door behind him. “Take him into my room. I’ll talk to Ozai.”
He snuck his nephew into the war meeting. He could sneak him into the palace.)
But he saw things. He knew he did. Even when his eyes were closed.
(The Firelord’s guards smashed the doors open so hard they slammed against the walls. Ozai pinched his lips together hard enough to force away all of the blood. “You have no right, Iroh-”
Iroh leapt to his feet. “I have no right?” he snapped, and grabbed his brother’s arm. The guards moved to stop them, but Iroh just looked at them and they backed away.
“You aren’t the first in line for the throne anymore, Iroh,” Ozai snarled, trying to jerk his arm away, but Iroh’s hands just gripped tighter.
“This is your son,” Iroh whispered.)
He kept his eyes closed as much as he could, because every time they opened, he saw the creatures that had poked and cut at them, and tried to take them away from him. He could hear them in his dreams, and his eyes hurt, even through the strange haze over his body. Whenever he tried to reach them, to cover them, someone pushed his hands away. Uncle’s voice accompanied the hands that pulled his ams down and tucked them back under the stifling blankets. But it should’t be Uncle. Why would it be Uncle? Uncle was a ghost. Since he had come home from Ba Sing Se. He kept to himself and almost never spoke, and Zuko didn’t...
His eyes hurt so much.
Uncle never wanted anything to do with Zuko’s father. He shouldn’t be there.
(The doctors held held Zuko down. The smell rising from the wound filled the room. They held his eyelids open. His eyes weren’t eyes anymore. The heat had boiled and burst them. Pus oozed out. The knife slipped into their socket and cut them away. The doctor’s fingers swept them out.
The glass eyes rolled around on the table and watched until the doctor with the knife put them inside the sockets.)
The floor moved under Zuko’s body, tilting from side to side, rocking him back to sleep each time he floated up above the sticky, numbing fog. Sometimes, he heard whimpers, and screams, but he couldn’t tell whose they were, and it didn’t really seem important.
(They carried him up the gangway and into the belly of the tiny ship and laid him on the futon before he even woke up. Iroh followed. As soon as they left, he ran his fingers through what was left of his nephew’s hair.)
Zuko saw things. He knew he did.
~*~
Zuko sat up on the futon and pushed away the cup his uncle offered.
“It’s just tea.” Uncle told him, and curled his nephew’s fingers around it.
Zuko touched his closed eyelids with his other hand. “I don’t want it.”
Iroh picked up the new, thin reed cane from off the floor and curled his nephew’s hands around that too.