The Warrior's Gambit (Zutara)

XXV

He thought that perhaps he preferred it this way.

Ozai was a shadowy figure behind him. Zuko was not even sure he'd noticed his daughter in the room with them, poised on the red chair. If he did see her when he arrived, he's made no acknowledgment of her presence. His entire focus was on Zuko, and he regarded his son with a sense of pride, though through his smile, it seemed twisted and black.

Zuko could not help but to jump entirely when Ozai places a hand on his shoulder. He felt ill now, and not because he did not want to be in these clothes saved for the prince. He was not sure he wasn't going to hurl right now. Ozai's grip tightened and Zuko forced himself to stop shaking.

He wondered if he was ever going to be able to be in the same room as his father again without wanting to scream or cry or kill him.

Oh, the dark things that went through Zuko's mind terrified him sometimes.

Ozai nodded, finding his appearance acceptable. Zuko dropped his head, biting the inside of his cheeks so hard he tasted blood.

What his father said to him next was something he'd always said. It wasn't an uncommon phrase, though whenever others said it, it always seemed so comforting. Whenever his father had said it to Zuko – and it was indeed something Ozai seemed to like to say specifically to Zuko – it had always seemed vaguely like a threat. Zuko was always left wondering if there was a shadowed part to it that he'd picked up on, or if he was simply imagining villainous things where there were none.

Now, however, Zuko was absolutely sure that Ozai was capable of such awful things, and when he spoke this commonly-used motto, it was not meant to comfort Zuko.

It was a chilling reminder.

Ozai's warm hand, much too warm, was at his throat.

"Chin up, son, or your crown will slip."

The memory was corrupted. It wasn't Ozai's voice that spoke, but Sokka's.

Zuko was thrown back to the dressing room. He was not thirteen and scared anymore, he was nearly twenty-one and fit his costume perfectly. And Sokka was physically lifting his head up.

"What did you just say to me?" Zuko hissed, sure that someone put him up to it.

"I said 'chin up', dude, or I can't finish your coat," Sokka said, entirely unaware of the phrase he'd just uttered. And why should he be? It was perfectly innocuous.

Zuko swallowed hard and raised his chin, allowing Sokka in. He trusted Sokka, more than he'd ever trusted his father. When Sokka's fingers brushed his windpipe, he did not feel the quickening fear and his thudding heart like he did in his memories.

"Damn, this is tight. How do you Royals even breathe?" Sokka laughed, pinning the last bit at the top of his neck.

"We don't," Zuko deadpanned, but he couldn't help but smile a bit. Zuko's costume for the masquerade was not his choice, though he was mostly neutral about it. It was modeled after a black dragon, specifically, so he did not match nor clash with any of the ladies and their costumes. It was heavy and very ceremonial, to make a statement, and Zuko supposed that he looked fine enough in it.

His fingers brushed the mask lying on the table beside him. He didn't think he was fooling anyone in terms of his identity with this, but then again, perhaps that wasn't the point.

Sokka, Hahn, and Arrluk were all in the dressing room, too. Hahn was much too smug about the fact that he was allowed to be there, while so many other boys were told to wait in their rooms. He got to get ready with the heir apparent, as he told any lady who would listen. He was a step above the rest, having lived at the palace for months on end. If Zuko could choose, he'd throw Hahn to the patio. Arrluk, though still a bit jumpy, was nice enough. He could stay. There were some other sons of dignitaries from Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom also floating around, but none that Zuko had made such close connections with. However, they were all good people to keep in his back pocket, and most of them were at the far side of the room, partaking in the drinks and food for the pre-party here.