[Even as Minato speaks, Zuko still keeps his eyes averted, staring out the window but paying close attention to his words.
It was as if the blonde man had read his mind. The difference between adults and children... the difference between a banished prince and the Firelord. Balance. Uncle liked to use that word a lot, but it wasn't a concept Zuko found easy to understand. He'd been in turmoil, inside and out, for so long that balance seemed an impossible concept. Even now... He thought he'd grown, but Minato's words reminded him. He had a lot to learn still.
He listens, saying nothing, unmoving, and he can tell how hard it is for Minato to tell him his story as he continues. He can tell the other man is saying these words for the first time. Trusting Zuko with one of his greatest secrets.
And when Minato begins to tell him how he'd felt, when he gets to the part about what it was like to feel his life draining away, it hits home. Because even though, unlike Minato, Zuko had had the tiny, unproven hope that here, he'd come back, he hadn't been sure. Even though it might not be permanent, he'd been afraid. To be so weak, useless, unable to fight or defend. He told himself it was frustrating, annoying, but that was a lie. It was terrifying.
He was only seventeen. He hadn't wanted to die. And even now that he was back, the feeling of helplessness remained in vivid memory, a weight in his chest. Breathless, blinding, incapacitating helplessness. He hadn't been able to do anything. And so he'd died, weak and useless and having accomplished nothing.
What if that happened at home? What if he died and let everything unravel, left the world to its war once more and his nation in the hands of rebels? Had he always been this helpless? There'd been nothing he could do...
Minato finishes speaking, and Zuko realizes belatedly his breath is caught in his lungs, chest tight. He chokes a little on it, fighting the lump in his throat and unable to speak past it. By the time he realizes what he's doing, he looks over. He doesn't mean for Minato to see the moisture clinging to his eyelashes, the wide-eyes fear in his eyes. He shifts slightly, biting his lip without realizing it, then starts as his shoulder brushes Minato's arm, still draped over the back of the couch.]
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timeasmymeasure
[commentlog \o/] /novel novel~
Date: 2009-08-25 03:48 am (UTC)It was as if the blonde man had read his mind. The difference between adults and children... the difference between a banished prince and the Firelord. Balance. Uncle liked to use that word a lot, but it wasn't a concept Zuko found easy to understand. He'd been in turmoil, inside and out, for so long that balance seemed an impossible concept. Even now... He thought he'd grown, but Minato's words reminded him. He had a lot to learn still.
He listens, saying nothing, unmoving, and he can tell how hard it is for Minato to tell him his story as he continues. He can tell the other man is saying these words for the first time. Trusting Zuko with one of his greatest secrets.
And when Minato begins to tell him how he'd felt, when he gets to the part about what it was like to feel his life draining away, it hits home. Because even though, unlike Minato, Zuko had had the tiny, unproven hope that here, he'd come back, he hadn't been sure. Even though it might not be permanent, he'd been afraid. To be so weak, useless, unable to fight or defend. He told himself it was frustrating, annoying, but that was a lie. It was terrifying.
He was only seventeen. He hadn't wanted to die. And even now that he was back, the feeling of helplessness remained in vivid memory, a weight in his chest. Breathless, blinding, incapacitating helplessness. He hadn't been able to do anything. And so he'd died, weak and useless and having accomplished nothing.
What if that happened at home? What if he died and let everything unravel, left the world to its war once more and his nation in the hands of rebels? Had he always been this helpless? There'd been nothing he could do...
Minato finishes speaking, and Zuko realizes belatedly his breath is caught in his lungs, chest tight. He chokes a little on it, fighting the lump in his throat and unable to speak past it. By the time he realizes what he's doing, he looks over. He doesn't mean for Minato to see the moisture clinging to his eyelashes, the wide-eyes fear in his eyes. He shifts slightly, biting his lip without realizing it, then starts as his shoulder brushes Minato's arm, still draped over the back of the couch.]