Chapter Text
The gang’s been looking forward to this vacation to the Fire Nation for months now. Everyone was able to take some time off for a two week reunion as the Fire Lord’s honored guests. At least, everyone except for Suki, which had Sokka being much more “mopey” as Aang would put it, “whiny” as Toph would say, and “annoying! Sokka, would you please stop complaining? You’ll never enjoy this vacation if you keep missing Suki the whole time, which means I’ll never enjoy this vacation and —-!” in Katara’s words.
But anyway, most of Team Avatar was going to be reunited after months apart, and Aang had every idea to use the pitifully short amount of time they had with each other to the fullest. He planned for group events, and individual activities with everyone of his friends. A romantic picnic overlooking the kingdom with Katara; rock throwing contests with Toph; shopping with Sokka; and morning tea with Zuko.
Yes, this vacation is going to be absolutely perfect, if Aang had anything to say about it.
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To be fair to Aang, it really does start off as a fun trip. Everything is going according to plan. Even just being around his old friends makes him feel bright and weightless, like there’s a balloon of happiness in his chest. He’s not afraid to say that he’s dearly missed his friends. His family. It’s good to have them surrounding him, where he can keep track of them and see for himself that they are healthy and safe.
It’s not because he has nightmares about losing all of them to a horrible fire or anything like that. Of course not, because that would mean he’s thinking about losing people to fire, and he doesn’t ever think about any of that at all when he doesn’t have to, because he doesn’t hold onto grief like that. It’s like Guru Pathik said: the love of the airbenders is still inside him, so he really doesn’t even need to dwell on it.
So, for very nonspecific, very well-adjusted reasons, Aang is glad to see his friends safe and sound and happy.
Anyways, everything’s been going exactly according to plan during the first week of the trip. He’s enjoying a much needed break from the responsibilities of being the Avatar, and he can tell his friends are enjoying their time away from work as well. It’s when Aang decides to make a more thorough exploration of the palace that things start going downhill.
He would have taken someone with him (--in fact, he was going to take Momo, but Sokka bribed the traitorous lemur with some dried fruit so that he could have a cuddle partner for his nap); but everyone was perfectly content with simply lounging and basking in the sun of one of the courtyards, too full from breakfast to bother with being adventurous.
Perhaps Aang should have called it quits when he first walked through the grand doorway that led to the portrait room, but Aang is curious. He likes learning about other cultures, it’s basically his whole thing as an air nomad and the Avatar. He’s walking down the large hall, admiring the intimidating paintings of all the past Fire Lords, when he comes across a portrait that makes him trip over his own feet.
He probably should have seen it coming, but for some reason he didn’t expect to see a painting with the words Fire Lord Sozin emblazoned on a plaque beneath it.
Huh…
So that’s the man who… huh. He looks… normal, Aang thinks. Like a normal man, albeit a normal rich man, dressed in decadent Fire Nation finery. In all Aang’s nightmares (which he doesn’t even really have that many anymore, it’s honestly not a big deal at all), Fire Lord Sozin was a figure of black smoke with a terrible grin. He looks disturbingly human in this painting.
Aang doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at the painting, but eventually Toph comes to rescue him from the ache that’s starting to squash the happy balloon in his chest.
“Hey, Twinkletoes! Are you gonna stand there like an idiot all day, or are you gonna be coming back in time for lunch?”
He jumps at the sound of her voice, and his own comes out as an embarrassing squeak before he clears his throat to respond. “Oh! Sorry, didn’t realize it's gotten so late.”
Toph is quiet for a moment, eyebrows furrowed. “What are you even looking at anyway? You were standing there for a while, and I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that even you’re not stupid enough to stand staring off into space for no reason.”
Aang’s never been so glad that Toph’s blind, because he really just wants to forget about finding this room, and he doesn’t want to talk about any past Fire Lords or—
“Hey, wait! What do you mean ‘even I’m not stupid enough’?!”
Toph cackles and punches him in the arm, which hurts just as much as he remembered. She hooks her arm around his shoulders (a task which gets more difficult for her the taller he gets), and leads him back to the others, the unintentional savior that she is.
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Aang is jumpy for the rest of the day, and though he’s trying to hide it from everyone, he can tell that they’re starting to get concerned.
“Aang!” He startles from where he’s been sitting, spacing out and probably looking like an idiot for several minutes.
“O-Oh! Hey Zuko. Did you need something?” Zuko’s non-scarred eye squints at him in confusion.
“Didn’t you say you wanted to spar today?” Aang leans over to look past where Zuko is towering above him (he kinda looks like—Aang shakes the thought from his mind) and sees that everyone else is in the midst of stretching.
“Oh, yeah! Yeah, of course. I don’t know how I forgot. Let me just do some quick warmups first.” He feels frantic, and he’s sure it shows on his face because Zuko’s own pulls into a deep frown of worry.
“Aang, are you…” He hesitates a second, before seemingly finding his resolve. “Are you okay?”
“What? Yeah, obviously. I’m on vacation, surrounded by my family, why wouldn’t I be?” Aang can tell that Zuko’s not completely convinced, but his expression softens like it always does when he hears Aang call him family.
“Well, alright then. Come on, I think Sokka’s antsy to get his butt kicked.”
Aang laughs, and his delight at hearing a rare joke from Zuko makes him forget his bad mood.
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Unfortunately, the delight does not last long. Sparring is a good distraction for a while. He likes a good, friendly fight. He also likes watching a good, friendly fight. They take turns pairing up for matches, and he can’t make up his mind about who to cheer for when he’s just watching, so he cheers for everyone. At least until he distracts Toph with his shouting, and Sokka’s boomerang hits her directly on the head.
(He gets an earful for that one. Sorry, Toph.)
It’s all going normally until he’s up against Zuko, and a bit of fire gets too close to his face for comfort. He wonders, unbidden, how many air nomads experienced this kind of heat in their last moments. Did they suffer long? Did it surround them on all sides, giving them no opportunity for escape? He can’t help the spontaneous rage that takes hold of him, putting way too much of his power into his next attack. His wind sends Zuko careening into the wall of the palace, landing with an emphatic oomph!
Guilt grips at Aang’s stomach immediately, and just as quickly as it came his rage is gone. He’s close to tears when he repeatedly apologizes to Zuko, who seems more shell shocked than anything else. “It’s alright Aang! I just wasn’t expecting it, it’s really okay!” The breathless way he reassures him makes Aang think he’s downplaying things. It takes Sokka reminding him to “--breathe, just breathe Aang. Zuko’s gonna be fine” for him to really calm down while Katara checks Zuko over for injuries.
“He’s just got some bruising, should heal easily.”
Aang finally feels his heartbeat slow to normal, but he can’t stop the guilt. Guilt for overreacting and hurting Zuko; guilt for needing to be comforted when Zuko was the one who needed help; guilt for being angry.
“I’m sorry Zuko,” he says for the fifteenth time, “I don’t know what got into me. Maybe… I think I’m just gonna go take a walk.” Before anyone can say anything else, he’s slipping out of the training area, desperately trying to hide his shame.
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He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking for. Or even where he is, if he’s being honest. He’s been walking through the palace halls in random directions for a while now. A left here, a right there. He keeps thinking about that portrait. Was that really the last face the air nomads saw? Was that the face they saw, growing ever closer, ever more ominous—?
He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. No. No use fixating on the past. What would Gyasto say? He’d tell him to feel, and let go. Well, he’s felt it. He’s feeling it right now, and he’s ready to let go.
Let go.
Let go.
Let. Go.
Let go let go let go let go let go let go letgoletgoletgoletgoletgoletgoletgoletgoletgoletgo—-
He’s in the middle of his (very effective) letting go strategy when movement in his periphery catches his eye. He’s reached the outside of the palace while he was letting go, and the first thing he notices is a Fire Sage walking into the middle of a circle of slate gray tiles. He’s tempted to say hello, but he’s still not sure how the Fire Sages feel about him. Technically they’re supposed to like the Avatar, but Aang hasn’t forgotten the last time he was in one of their temples.
Obviously they aren’t allowed to hurt him, what with the whole end of war, world peace thing going on, but maybe he shouldn’t intrude on someone’s day if they’re not big fans.
He’s so busy trying to decide whether or not he should say hello when the Sage kneels in the center of the circle and firebends into a hole that Aang hadn’t noticed was there until that moment. The tiles opened up one by one, revealing a spiral staircase that went deep underground.
That… might be fun to explore. Maybe… maybe he’d feel better if he went on a little adventure. That definitely looked like a cool staircase…
Excitement starts building in his veins, and even the idea of going on a small adventure has him feeling better. He’s not sure if he’s allowed to go in there, just like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to be friendly with the Fire Sages, but Aang’s never been one to let the consequences of trespassing stop him from going where he wants.
He waits a while, if only to build up some more anticipation, before he creeps up to the hole in the center of the tiles. Even if he is allowed down there, it makes it a lot more fun to pretend he’s not. It makes him feel like a little kid again, getting into all kinds of trouble with his friends. He firebends the lock, and the tiles slide back one by one until his entrance to the stairs is clear. He quickly descends, snickering the whole way down. It seems like he’s walking for forever before he finally gets to the very bottom, where the stairs lead to a big hallway.
The ceiling is high and curved, golden support beams weaving into the surface. There are torches covering the walls, all glowing with fire that casts ominous looking shadows on the walls. At the end of the hall he can see a door with a statue affixed to the front of it. He can’t really tell who the statue is of from so far away, so he carefully creeps his way down the hall. Something about the shadows on the walls dampens his excitement, but he pushes down the dread that’s starting to seep into his stomach.
The closer he gets to the door, the more his unease grows. It isn’t until he’s right in front of the statue that he realizes he’s seen that face before—Fire Lord Sozin looks just the same in statue form as he does in his official royal portrait.
Suddenly Aang is struck by a sharp stab of anxiety, and the fun adventure he was imagining before he walked down here seems laughably far from what the reality is. Still, he’s curious. This is a very official looking door.
Maybe… maybe it’s something super boring on the other side. Like, a bunch of old armor or something. Probably not even worth going in.
But Aang feels an awful, horrible curiosity tugging at his gut, and he can’t help but need to know what’s behind this door. Eventually, curiosity beats out that ever growing dread and he firebends the lock, the door creaking open in response.
He instinctively winces for a moment, and he wonders for a second if maybe he really will just turn around and leave. He stands there for a minute or two, and then slowly pushes the door wider.
It’s dark inside the room; clearly no one felt the need to add torches to the most important part of this place. He ignites a small flame in his palm and examines his surroundings. The room is smaller than he was expecting, with statues on each side, and chests crammed between them.
He’s immediately captivated by a small table at the back of the room, upon which four scrolls have been neatly placed. Just as he’s making his way towards it, he catches a glint of something in his periphery. One of the chests is open slightly, its lid kept from shutting by a string of beads.
He stops… glances back at the table. Then he makes his decision, and walks towards the chest.
It feels like it takes forever to reach it, even though he knows he only took five steps before he was in front of it. He hesitates, and slowly opens it…
Oh.
Oh no…
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Aang truly, honestly feels nothing. He’s sitting in one of the various Fire Palace courtyards; though he’s not sure which one. He doesn’t even really remember how he got there. It’s like one second, he was deep underground, and the next he was standing in the daylight of this cheery, lush garden.
However he got there, he finds that he doesn’t particularly care. He doesn’t care about anything. He’s not angry, or grieving, or feeling anything he probably should be feeling. He briefly thinks that maybe he’s a bad person for not feeling upset at all. But he’s also not happy, so maybe it’s okay. He doesn’t know, but it’s giving him a headache to think about, so he’s decided he won’t think anymore.
Aang’s decided he’s going to be one of the bright, beautiful flowers covering the bushes in this bright, beautiful courtyard. He’s not a person; he’s not an airbender; he’s not an air nomad; he’s not the last of his kind. He’s just a flower. Flowers don’t have feelings. Flowers don’t think. Flowers don’t picture their culture being burned to the ground, and they don’t hear their people screaming in agony, and they don’t smell the horrific stench of burnt bodies. Which is good, because Aang isn’t picturing, hearing, or smelling any of that. Because he’s a flower.
He’s a flower.
He’s a flower.
He’s a flower…
He’s a flower…
He’s a flower…
He’s a…
He’s…
He doesn’t know how long he sat there, but apparently it was long enough to cause his friends to worry. In the back of his mind, he’s pretty sure he can hear Toph’s voice yelling, “He’s over here!” but he’s a flower, so he really shouldn’t be hearing anything right now. Maybe he should tell Toph he’s a flower, that way she’ll know not to waste her voice yelling so loud at something that can’t respond.
Yeah, right. Toph, not yell? He can already imagine what she’d say to that: “You dunderhead! You think you can get out of sparring with me just cause you’re a flower now? If you’re a coward just say it!”
He’d laugh at his own imagination, but he’s a flower, so he can’t laugh, and he doesn’t feel anything anyway, so he wouldn’t laugh even if he could.
He hears and feels multiple sets of feet, all walking towards him with varying levels of urgency. “Aang, you couldn’t have told us you were going out to meditate? You’ve been missing for hours! You know how naggy Katara gets when she’s worried!” Sokka’s voice whines, and it’s much closer than Toph’s was just a few moments before.
“Sokka, he’s obviously not meditating,” that’s Katara. He perks up just a bit. Aang likes Katara. In fact, he loves her. And he knows she likes flowers; he’s gifted her bouquets before, and she’s always been happy with them. If he could feel anything, he’d be glad that Katara was here, too. He’s sure that she would understand that he’s a flower now. She’d probably be delighted with the development.
Maybe she’d come visit him everyday, or as often as she could. She could water him, and tell him about her day, or just look at him, and he’d never have to talk or think or feel or hear or smell or taste ever again. She’d let him be a flower. She’d keep him safe from anyone who tried to burn him.
He flinches at his own thoughts. No, not burn. Not burn. Why would anyone want to burn me? I’m a flower. No reason to burn me at all. Yes. That’s good. That’s better. For a moment there, he almost stopped being a flower. That could have been bad.
He felt gentle hands grasp his shoulders. “Aang, honey, are you alright? You don’t look so good.” Ouch. She doesn’t think he looks good? That doesn’t bode well for his hopes that she’d come visit him in the garden.
“Hey, Twinkletoes. Time to get your head outta la la land.” If Aang wasn’t a flower, he might have sensed the slight unease starting to creep into Toph's voice. “Is this an Avatar thing, do you think?”
“No, he’s usually more glowy when that happens. Something’s gotta be wrong. Aang, what happened?” Sokka sounded serious now.
This would be a perfect opportunity to tell them he turned into a flower, but he can’t open his mouth.
“Does it have something to do with that scroll?” Zuko was quiet, his voice filled with the same kind of guilt it always had when he talked about his nation’s past.
Scroll? Oh…
He’s still holding the scroll…
He feels a pit in his stomach when he opens the chest and sees swaths of orange and yellow fabrics. The beads which caught his attention connect to a pendant decorated with the air symbol. Aang’s breath catches in his throat.
His hands shake as he gently, oh so gently, digs through the fabric, holding his breath against the amount of dust flying up at him (he feels like he’s gonna throw up when realizes it’s a nun’s robes—). He finds fans, more beads, a bison whistle, a few small sculptures and carvings…
The only thing that doesn’t look air nomadic is a scroll, decorated with the Fire Nation emblem and capped in red…
He didn’t realize he was still holding the scroll. He thought he’d left it down underground. Aang moves for the first time since his friends found him, and looks down at the scroll in his hand. He feels nauseous suddenly. He hates it. He hates having hands. He’s not supposed to have hands. Where are his leaves? He hates the scroll. He hates the texture of the paper on his skin. Skin that’s supposed to be green. Why isn’t he green? Why doesn’t he have any petals? He’s supposed to be a flower. He needs this to stop. He needs everyone to go away so he can be a flower again. He needs to get the feeling of parchment off of his skin.
He drops the scroll like it burned him, (and honestly, hadn’t it? Hadn’t it burnt him? And his mentor. And his friends. And all of his people. And the bison and the lemurs and their statues and their tattoos and their clothes and their relics) and scrambles away from it. He realizes belatedly he’s shaking, badly, and he grips at the grass in a poor attempt to make it stop.
He’s distantly aware that he’s breathing way too hard, but somehow he still feels like he isn’t getting enough air in his lungs. He looks at his hands clenching fistfuls of grass and fixates on the blue of his arrows.
Arrows, arrows… That must have been the most horrible detail in that awful scroll, and worst of all was how much Sozin seemed to relish writing down the story, of burning an elderly monk right on the marks of his spirituality—
Aang throws up, and the purging feels violent. His stomach hurts, his throat aches, his nose and eyes burn with it. He tries to focus on the physical pain of it, because even though it feels so terrible it’s nothing compared to this ache in his heart.
He knows someone is talking to him, hovering over him, but he can’t hear anything. He wants to go back to being a flower. He wants to scream and cry and die. He thought it was bad enough knowing his people were gone, but the gruesome details painted a picture in his mind that he knew would haunt his nightmares.
He’s not sure how long he’s there, with those awful pictures playing in his head, but eventually he collapses on the ground. His limbs feel tired. All of him feels tired. When he starts feeling the numbness from before, he gratefully lets it take him. He doesn’t want to feel anything anymore. Everything around him is blurry and dreamlike, and he himself doesn’t even feel solid. Almost like if he moved at all his body would start floating away in pieces.
He vaguely registers someone taking him into their arms, and he briefly thinks that maybe he should be more concerned about it, but he’s too tired to hold onto the thought. He wouldn’t be able to fight back anyway in the state he’s in, so why bother worrying. Besides, the arms around him are nice; grounding. They hold him close, and he lets himself drift off into nothingness.