princeinexile: (Sad)
[personal profile] princeinexile
He works at the forge until his arms ache; it doesn't dull the ache that rests in other muscles, nor the pain that rips through him with each heartbeat that matches the clang of the hammer.

The work is ugly; not a single workable tool or weapon comes from it. He doesn't care -- it's all about the action, about doing something in the heat, about burning the feeling out of him in the crucible of the forge. He wants to hurt -- he wants to be sore, he wants his callused hands to bleed, he wants to be lead-limbed when it's all said and done.

It'll be the only way he'll get to sleep tonight -- when he drops into his bed in the apprentice's quarters and lets exhaustion drag him down into the dreamless dark.

He has things to do tomorrow, but he'll have to do them after he's slept, after he's gotten something akin to rest. He has to be strong enough to take the next step, and he won't be if he spends all night looking at the things he'd made for her, that he'd dared not give her yet, and remember: you just wanted me for sex.

Tomorrow, then--

Time to take out the trash.

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Prince Zuko

August 2008

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