Chapter Text
He knelt before the burning throne, and the heavy gaze of the Dragon of the West settled upon his shoulders.
“You wanted to see me, Father?” said Lu Ten.
“Yes.”
His father's voice was gravelly and grave. Lu Ten had always thought it sounded like flames lurked just underneath his words. Indeed, some of the Firelord’s enemies had seen those flames spill from his mouth. They rolled in his belly like the fire of the great dragons.
“We’ve received a letter from the front,” said his father. “The siege of Omashu is over.”
Lu Ten bowed. “Congratulations, Father. The war—”
“No, my son. The siege is abandoned.”
Abandoned? He could almost hear the flames lick his father's words.
“Why?” he said. He came up from the bow, stayed on his knees. “They'd almost given in.”
“Ozai has lost his son,” said the Firelord. “Your cousin, Zuko, did not survive the battle.”
Zuko… what?
“Will he be alright?” said Lu Ten. Something seemed wrong about the question. But what else was there to ask?
“Listen to me, my son. He did not survive.” The flames crackled. “He is dead.”
Dead? Zuko?
His cousin was barely sixteen. He was a gifted swordsman. He had the brightest smile in the palace. There was no world in which he wouldn't be alright.
“What?” managed Lu Ten.
It was silent for a moment. Then, the light in the throne room began to dim. The flames surrounding the Firelord, usually so steady and bright, softened. They flickered lower and lower, casting the walls in deep oranges and reds, giving way to ink-blue shadows.
Lu Ten watched as his father, without any sense of ceremony, climbed down from the dais where the throne sat and let the flames all but extinguish themselves.
The Firelord wrapped his son in a hug.
“Don't worry, my son,” he said. “We will make them pay.”