fic: Faith - Zuko/Aang (Avatar)
Title: Faith
Rating: K
Characters/Pairings: Zuko/Aang
Word Count: 890
Summary: Zuko and Aang have a quiet talk about what they believe in. Late Season 3, set before Sozin's Comet, drabble, Zuko/Aang if you squint.
Posted at FF.net, please leave a review there if you can. ^w^
~*~*~*~
As the last of the sky’s illumination faded, the sun just ending its trickling journey behind the grey mountains, only two people were left awake under it. As the warmth and light dwindled, so did the flickering embers in between them, a sign that they should probably very soon join their friends in turning in for the night. Still, neither of them moved. The implications of the days ahead weighed on each of their minds, caused each of their brows to crease slightly.
They had not chosen to sit together - they had merely been the last ones left. Occasionally there would be a shuffle or a gasping snore some way behind them, and sometimes a charred stick would lose its place in the little fire, making them both jump slightly. But their shoulders always sagged again, their expressions would return to a soft, almost hopeless frown.
“What do you believe in?” Aang asked quietly. When Zuko looked up, the arrow-tattooed boy was still staring forlornly at the distance - he followed his eyes to the horizon, where the sun was nearing a complete disappearance. He didn’t really understand the question. What did he believe in? He? Aang went on to clarify through the resounding silence; “Like, at home we believed everything was sacred. But now, everyone is fighting in the world.”
There was more beneath his words - Zuko could hear what was unspoken, that he, Aang, would have to fight. Everyone knew it. Soon the pressure would become much stronger -- he wondered whether there would come a time when Aang would just break.
“I don’t know,” Zuko replied slowly, swallowing. He resisted the urge to raise his eyebrows, even though his face couldn’t be seen unless one of them turned - to Aang, this was clearly a meaningful question, but it was difficult for Zuko to take it seriously. “I’m not… spiritual. I don’t really believe in anything.” When he looked over, Aang had something close to a tortured expression, which made Zuko turn his head away quickly as though looking at something personal and private, even though he didn’t quite understand it.
“I thought the other Nations all had their own practices,” Aang said. “When we went through the Earth Kingdom, there were many shrines and monasteries. The Northern Water Tribe believed in the Moon Spirit, and the two Koi fish. Do the Fire Nation really not believe in anything at-”
“Some people do,” Zuko cut him off, a deeper, less sub-conscious frown now on his face. “When I stayed… when I travelled through peasant villages, they would follow local spirits.” He then added, with a slightly sour tone, “They would blame anything and everything on demons, spirits, witches.” His scepticism was clear, and Aang remained silent.
“After much of our industrialisation, there was less need for spirituality. We have sages and the like, but they’re looking for something in people that no longer exists. I suppose eradication of faith makes them more obedient to the state… easier to control.” Zuko thought back to his childhood; there had barely been mention of the kind of thing they were discussing. He had been raised to view this kind of thinking as for the weak and the poor, those that needed delusions to cling onto. He had seen it a little more sympathetically than his father and all the war generals, but spirituality was never anything more to him than a factor that influenced the poor’s behaviour.
He had very little to say on the matter, too, he knew that. His own opinions and divine beliefs were as inconsequential to the others, Katara, Toph, and Sokka, as theirs were to him. It was not only private; it was something Zuko had nothing to offer towards other than perhaps polite and very quiet disagreement.
“I think…” Aang began, with a slight sighing intake of breath, “Faith… makes people stronger. Our practices tied us to the earth, to the sky. It didn’t just give us hope, it gave us life and strength.”
Once again Zuko was silent, and Aang seemed to accept this. He felt like he should mull this over; Aang occasionally did speak wise words, even if those occurrences were few and far between. But he didn’t have the time. He glanced over at the boy again, less dispassionately, noting the peaceful and careful way in which he sat, the sadness and confusion in his features.
“I believe in you,” Zuko said; it sounded sudden in the air, as he realised a few moments later, but it felt like a natural progression to him.
Aang nodded slowly. “We used to revere the Avatars, we had a statue of each that had lived-”
“No, I believe in you,” Zuko cut in, though his voice was still inexplicably soft. Not the Avatar. He had never believed in the Avatar. Who did at home? But he knew he believed in Aang.
There was a tangible, breath-filled silence, and then both of them turned back to stare at the horizon, where there was a single sliver of a line left to be called the sun. After a moment, that too vanished, and the world was finally cast into the darkness of night. Still, neither of them moved.
Rating: K
Characters/Pairings: Zuko/Aang
Word Count: 890
Summary: Zuko and Aang have a quiet talk about what they believe in. Late Season 3, set before Sozin's Comet, drabble, Zuko/Aang if you squint.
Posted at FF.net, please leave a review there if you can. ^w^
~*~*~*~
As the last of the sky’s illumination faded, the sun just ending its trickling journey behind the grey mountains, only two people were left awake under it. As the warmth and light dwindled, so did the flickering embers in between them, a sign that they should probably very soon join their friends in turning in for the night. Still, neither of them moved. The implications of the days ahead weighed on each of their minds, caused each of their brows to crease slightly.
They had not chosen to sit together - they had merely been the last ones left. Occasionally there would be a shuffle or a gasping snore some way behind them, and sometimes a charred stick would lose its place in the little fire, making them both jump slightly. But their shoulders always sagged again, their expressions would return to a soft, almost hopeless frown.
“What do you believe in?” Aang asked quietly. When Zuko looked up, the arrow-tattooed boy was still staring forlornly at the distance - he followed his eyes to the horizon, where the sun was nearing a complete disappearance. He didn’t really understand the question. What did he believe in? He? Aang went on to clarify through the resounding silence; “Like, at home we believed everything was sacred. But now, everyone is fighting in the world.”
There was more beneath his words - Zuko could hear what was unspoken, that he, Aang, would have to fight. Everyone knew it. Soon the pressure would become much stronger -- he wondered whether there would come a time when Aang would just break.
“I don’t know,” Zuko replied slowly, swallowing. He resisted the urge to raise his eyebrows, even though his face couldn’t be seen unless one of them turned - to Aang, this was clearly a meaningful question, but it was difficult for Zuko to take it seriously. “I’m not… spiritual. I don’t really believe in anything.” When he looked over, Aang had something close to a tortured expression, which made Zuko turn his head away quickly as though looking at something personal and private, even though he didn’t quite understand it.
“I thought the other Nations all had their own practices,” Aang said. “When we went through the Earth Kingdom, there were many shrines and monasteries. The Northern Water Tribe believed in the Moon Spirit, and the two Koi fish. Do the Fire Nation really not believe in anything at-”
“Some people do,” Zuko cut him off, a deeper, less sub-conscious frown now on his face. “When I stayed… when I travelled through peasant villages, they would follow local spirits.” He then added, with a slightly sour tone, “They would blame anything and everything on demons, spirits, witches.” His scepticism was clear, and Aang remained silent.
“After much of our industrialisation, there was less need for spirituality. We have sages and the like, but they’re looking for something in people that no longer exists. I suppose eradication of faith makes them more obedient to the state… easier to control.” Zuko thought back to his childhood; there had barely been mention of the kind of thing they were discussing. He had been raised to view this kind of thinking as for the weak and the poor, those that needed delusions to cling onto. He had seen it a little more sympathetically than his father and all the war generals, but spirituality was never anything more to him than a factor that influenced the poor’s behaviour.
He had very little to say on the matter, too, he knew that. His own opinions and divine beliefs were as inconsequential to the others, Katara, Toph, and Sokka, as theirs were to him. It was not only private; it was something Zuko had nothing to offer towards other than perhaps polite and very quiet disagreement.
“I think…” Aang began, with a slight sighing intake of breath, “Faith… makes people stronger. Our practices tied us to the earth, to the sky. It didn’t just give us hope, it gave us life and strength.”
Once again Zuko was silent, and Aang seemed to accept this. He felt like he should mull this over; Aang occasionally did speak wise words, even if those occurrences were few and far between. But he didn’t have the time. He glanced over at the boy again, less dispassionately, noting the peaceful and careful way in which he sat, the sadness and confusion in his features.
“I believe in you,” Zuko said; it sounded sudden in the air, as he realised a few moments later, but it felt like a natural progression to him.
Aang nodded slowly. “We used to revere the Avatars, we had a statue of each that had lived-”
“No, I believe in you,” Zuko cut in, though his voice was still inexplicably soft. Not the Avatar. He had never believed in the Avatar. Who did at home? But he knew he believed in Aang.
There was a tangible, breath-filled silence, and then both of them turned back to stare at the horizon, where there was a single sliver of a line left to be called the sun. After a moment, that too vanished, and the world was finally cast into the darkness of night. Still, neither of them moved.