Chapter Text
Hakoda had been too busy in his office to notice the commotion on the deck of his esteemed ship. They had departed from a port three or so days ago to restock on supplies and food, so when he no longer had to stress himself about getting the stuff needed on his ship, he found himself locked in more than usual (that is unless something is needed from him).
With all the commotion going on outside, it was blatant that they did need something, but it was as if no one cared enough to catch the Chief and inform him on what all this noise was about. The only man sensible enough to inform Hakoda was the ship’s healer, Kustaa. Though he was in no rush.
By the time Kustaa had opened the door to the small cabin-like office, Hakoda was already starting to catch on to the loud voices.
“You’re needed, Chief. Immediately.”
He spoke in a stern, rushed voice.
This, of course, was enough to get Hakoda out of his office to handle the dispute his crew had gotten themselves into.
Of all things, he had not expected to see a small fire nation soldier hacking up seawater on his deck. The hacking turned into retching, causing saliva to come out of his mouth in thick ropes between pauses.
The boy finished gagging up saltwater and seemed humiliated. Scared, even. He kept his head down, holding his stomach with one arm. He was completely unaware of his surroundings, refusing to even lookup.
Hakoda walked up to the boy to get a better look, propping himself on his knees. Before he could get a chance to stare, he stopped to silence his crew, who did not cease their booming talking.
“Enough out of all of you!” he shouted. The insistent chatter was giving Hakoda a migraine, pulling his attention away. He was so focused on the throbbing in his head that he didn’t notice a sharp flinch from the person on deck. He wouldn’t be able to guess what they seemed to have all been upset about, but he chose not to pay attention to any of it.
“Now, are you going to explain what is going on to me like men, or are you going to continue to bicker like boys!” He got small bits of what happened, the boy was in the water and they decided to help him up. But from what he was able to pick up, most were disinclined to the new appearance on deck. Hakoda wasn’t sure why until he took a good look at him.
He grabbed onto his chin to lift his head, revealing his eye, which was the sort of amber only a fire nation child would have. Eye, not eyes Hakoda thinks because the other eye was shut tight. A fresh wound made its appearance on his face and took over his ear, leaving it disfigured and shriveled. The deformity must have left the child’s hearing to become insufficient.
But the closer he got to the boy’s face, the more sickly the stench got. His face was infected. It couldn’t have happened too long ago, as it was fresh and barely started to heal over.
Under the touch, Hakoda could feel tremors. His body language made it hard to tell if it was because he was in utter terror, or suffering from acute hypothermia.
His hair was long, reaching as far as his lower back. It was silky jet black like it had been groomed often. The color emphasized his pale skin. It was discomfitingly stuck to the side of his face due to the wetness, and you could see the parts of his hair that continued to burn long after his face distinguished.
Kustaa walked over with an extra duvet they had collected from the earth kingdom to prevent him from getting colder.
“What is your name, son?” The boy didn’t move for a while, but when he did, his eyes were glazed.
“Zuko,” he whispered. Zuko’s voice was much too raspy and tremulous. “My name is Zuko, sir.”
But the quiver in his voice was that of a child who had screamed their throat raw, something Hakoda knew all too well. After a baby begins to fuss, they will usually let out an intense cry that over time, comes out gravelly. Or like a toddler screaming their throat raw until it hurts to make any more noise. The only thing that would stop them was exhaustion (or got the attention they wanted).
Hakoda opened his mouth to continue this small interrogation, but Zuko had more to say.
“Son of Ursa and Fire Lord Ozai. Prince of the Fire Nation and heir to the throne.”
The final parts were said in a hesitant whisper, getting quieter at the word prince as he glanced around like he had realized he was interrupting. After looking back and forth at all of them, he put his head down again to prevent them from seeing his face.
Hakoda looked back at his crew, attempting to see what their reactions might have been. It was a predictable view. Many had expressions on their faces that reflected dejection.
But Hakoda couldn't see anything but a frightened child, so he pushed on with their small talk.
“And how old are you, Zuko?” And once again, he hesitated. Almost as if he was trying to remember himself.
“Thirteen, sir.”
The moment Zuko muttered the first syllable of his age, Hakoda’s blood went cold. He already knew the grappling effects of this war, but this made his stomach churn. The guileless look carried in Zuko's permanently doleful expression tore his chest in half.
He was just a boy, someone who could have been boisterous at one point (just like Sokka), but was now just a pitiful, dispirited boy far from home.
He was similar in age to Sokka, if not a slight bit older. Zuko has been entrapped by the cold clutches war has to bring, holding him in an enclosure and sharing it with the world. His title as the prince had made him an open target, but his willingness to share his heritage was enough trouble.
It shined a light on vulnerability.
But it not only affected Zuko. This war had taken Sokka and Katara’s mother away. It trampled over every single person imaginable to obtain its goal of gruesome barbarity. There hasn’t been at least one person in this entire universe so far that hasn’t experienced the pain of losing loved ones to this war. Zuko seems to have lost something equally as great.
“Where is home, Zuko?” he talked to Zuko as any person would when encountering a lost child. He was not asking out of curiosity. He knew where the palace is located, he just wanted to get Zuko’s mind off being so far from his home.
“Used to be Caldera city.”
Hakoda paused for a moment. “Used to?” He solemnly thought. That couldn’t be right.
Hakoda’s silence must’ve caught on because Zuko started to elaborate. “I no longer live in my nation.”
“But you’re their prince, heir to the throne. Why do you not live in your nation?”
“I’m… forbidden.”
“From going back to your place of birth?”
“Banished. Not allowed,” his voice began to quiver again.
Zuko was speaking to Hakoda like he hadn’t even processed being banished from his own home himself as if he was trying to recount the horrid explanation of what banishment meant.
“Why would your father allow that?”
“The one who wanted me gone,” he mumbled. All his answers come out too quiet to hear certain words over the waves of the ocean, despite being up close to him.
Hakoda took his hand to Zuko’s head and gently stroked his hair as a way to tell him to cooperate with what was going to happen next, and that everything was going to be okay.
“Everyone back to their rightful duties, Kustaa I need you to care for this boy in your infirmary.”
As Chief, Hakoda is tasked with the difficult parts of any situation, and it is his duty to be prepared for what is going to happen next. This title of leadership is not just handed to anyone.
Although, nothing could have prepared him for any of this, especially not a royal prince ending up on his ship.
“I’m going to pick you up, okay? I’ll take you to the infirmary. It’ll be warmer there.”
Zuko did nothing to show that he had been paying any attention to what Hakoda had said. His head was heavy, and his face was throbbing white-hot pain. He didn’t even have the energy to move anymore, much less speak.
Hakoda slowly lifted him off the deck and walked behind Kustaa into the infirmary, looking down at the boy who still hadn’t shown any signs of life. His working eye was half-open, and the glossy effect still hadn't left.
There had been no reasonable explanation for Ozai, the fire lord, to banish his son, heir to the throne. They had heard people with chatty habits who shared stories they heard, talking about how the fire lord banished his son for being selfish and impertinent.
But of course, Hakoda knew better. He wasn’t some credulous visitor, and wouldn’t have believed such a lie anyway. But now that he was face to face with a boy claiming he is the prince who had been sent away from home, he was starting to wonder if any of it was partially true.
He knows the fire nation to be cruel, but to send away a boy to fend for himself in this humanity full of miserable callousness was barbaric.
He couldn’t think of any situation where this should ever be the outcome. No punishment could ever be as worse as this one, and no mistake could ever result in this, especially when it came down to someone as young as thirteen. Children grow, learn, and copy others to get what they want. What could a thirteen-year-old possibly do that was impertinent enough to get him to get kicked out of his own home?
By the looks of the boy’s face, it seems that they weren’t all too kind enough to have sent him away without any physical damage.
Perhaps his father had allowed this. Maybe it wasn’t an accidental wound. Because when Hakoda placed Zuko down on the bed and hovered his palm over him, the burn was the strongest near the outlines.