Actions

Work Header

Towards the Sun

Chapter Text

They let Zuko out of his cell because the world is ending. The Fire Lord has been defeated, the guards tell him, even though the Fire Lord was here just this morning. Tall and strong, alive, gloating one more time on his way to burn the Earth Kingdom down.

 

That was yesterday, they tell him. It isn't the worst slip of time he's had, and it doesn't make their words any more believable.

 

"How?" His voice is raspier than usual. They didn't bring him water when they came. One of the guards cringes like he expects to be lit on fire for this oversight, which tells Zuko everything he needs to know about their expectations for him. They let him out anyway. This tells him something else.

 

It was the Avatar, of course. Somewhere over in the Earth Kingdom, and reports are conflicted on whether Ozai is dead or a prisoner or something inexplicably worse, but he is definitely defeated.

 

His father has been defeated, and his fourteen-year-old sister is—is banishing everyone, is insane, she hasn't killed anyone (yet) (today) but it isn't for lack of trying. They've abandoned a whole wing of the palace to her—

 

No one gave the order to set him free, Zuko realizes. No one wants him; they just need him. This takes him longer than it should to understand, but the guards are speaking so fast and no one has really talked to him in weeks, and—and he stops at the prison entrance, and doesn't hear anything for a while.

 

He hasn't seen the sun in weeks, either.

 

"Your Highness?" one of the guards tries on for size. Tries again: "...Your Majesty?"

 

Fire Lord Ozai has been defeated. Fire Lord Azula is insane. Fire Lord Zuko is crowned by sunset, the nation's fallback heir.

Chapter Text

They estimate two months at the earliest until the allied forces of Water and Earth can be on their shores again in any appreciable numbers. Four or five if they get lucky, and the typhoons start early enough to protect them. The Divine Winds have destroyed fleets in the past, but Zuko doesn't think they can count on the spirits of ocean and air to favor them this time.

 

The war can still be won, they tell him.

 

"Why?" he blurts out, because he's only been out of that cell for fourteen hours and he hasn't slept in—in awhile (bathing seemed more important than sleeping, and he will stand by that decision if it's the last he ever makes). "What was ever the point? There's not even anything in Ba Sing Se except for a million starving refugees." Personal experience. "They took it back, let them have it. We need to…" No one is challenging him, no one is trying to kick him out. So he keeps talking. He never did know when to shut up in war councils. "We need to consolidate power at the colonies, and the blockade. We already have the parts of the Earth Kingdom we wanted, we've had them for fifty years. The mines and the refineries and—" and still no one's interrupting him, it even looks like they're listening, so of course it's getting harder and harder to string words together coherently. "We… we already won the war. A long time ago. Now we need to not lose."

 

He'd attended one war council in his life; now he's taking three meals a day around that table and he and the senior ministers are going through a fiefdom's worth of candles at night, and he wakes up with troop movements inked backwards on his cheek.

 

And—and people are listening. To him. At first it's because so many ranking officers were on the destroyed airship fleet or are still out in the field, because in the shock of air rushing into that power vacuum they were startled to remember Ozai's other child. But then the first field commanders report in, the Admirals of the Northern and Eastern fleets and the Generals of Omashu and Gaoling and Ba Sing Se, and people are still listening. He's not really sure why. He's not insane or incapacitated, so those are points in his favor. But everyone knows he confronted Ozai on the Day of Black Sun, they know he was three feet and a pathetic failing of determination shy of assassinating his father with the man's own lightning, there's no way they actually want to listen to him.

 

Probably they're just sorting out the power dynamics between themselves. Getting their factions together. They'll overthrow him when they're good and ready, put him back in his cell where he can get some real sleep or execute him and then he won't be tired anymore. Until then, he'll just keep… being Fire Lord. And he'll put everything he has into it, because he doesn't know how to do anything less.

 

It never occurs to him that he's seen more of the seas than both his Admirals combined, fought against both halves of the Water Tribe. That when he looks into the Northern Admiral's eyes and the man looks into his they both see bodies floating on the waves. It's something you had to be there to understand, to comprehend, and Zuko was, and when the Northern Admiral insists that they consider the possibility of spirit involvement in any future Avatar-related battles and the Generals laugh at him for it, their new Fire Lord goes on his first tirade since those no-name guards decided to let him out of prison.

 

He apologizes for it once he gets a grip on himself, which is as good a place as any to break for lunch because by the looks on their faces he thinks he just broke them. Not with the yelling. With the apologizing.

 

Well. They already knew he was weak, so whatever.

As they plan troop withdrawals back to the colonies and the mainland, it never occurs to him that he doesn't just know every port along the enemy's coast, he knows how many slips at their docks can fit which classes of Fire Navy ships and which nominally Earth harbors might be willing to look the other way if troops were being onloaded instead of offloaded. That he casually names Earth Kingdom towns that aren't on his Generals' maps, and complains about terrain features he's had to personally walk. The Si Wong desert can kiss his ass, and they are not sending a division marching through it as a shortcut, have you ever tried doing double-time through a dry boiling sea full of thieving sandbenders, General Waido? It's faster to go around.

 

It never occurs to him that he's sitting at the head of the council table, not behind a curtain of flames. Or that as much as they're listening to him, he's listening to them.

 

Two months at the earliest, his advisors forecast, so of course it's one month and twenty-seven days later that the bison lands in his courtyard. The part of him that's been reviewing military resources in his dreams thinks actually that's not the worst move ever, it's not like we have air support to stop them from leaving again if this goes wrong and a small strike force of overpowered benders can do as much damage as an army, especially in the middle of our capital, no wonder Sozin hated airbenders—

 

He doesn't want to fight the stupid monk and his underage entourage. He… he'd wanted to join them. (How was that ever supposed to work? He'd had his swords and supplies and a war balloon hidden just outside the city, but he'd never had a plan.) This isn't how he wanted to meet them again. (Dressed like his father, who they already defeated. Not that the person under the clothes is any better, they hate him, he knows they hate him—)

 

His mouth is already turning down into a scowl. It's a natural reaction. "Avatar." And he can't think of anything else to add, because do you think we could have been friends doesn't seem like an appropriate follow-up.

 

All four nations are aboard: Air, Water, Earth. Fire steps down last, and willingly meets his eyes for the first time since Ba Sing Se.

 

"Uncle," Zuko breathes.

 

The Dragon of the West looks at the crown in his hair and the military commanders at his back, and still has nothing to say to his wayward nephew.

 

Well. One thing.

 

"Fire Lord Zuko."


Not Prince Zuko. Not nephew. He… deserves that.

Chapter Text

As narrated by Sokka, Warrior of the Southern Water Tribe, Inventor of the Airship Slice, You-May-Have-Heard-of-Him

 

This is the coldest family reunion Sokka has ever seen. No hugs, no smiles, no excitement, just a lot of side-scowling in Aang's direction from Prince Better-Than-Them, sorry, Fire Lord Better-Than-Them. Iroh is trying to play it cool and composed. He's got his Wise Old Man face on and his hands tucked in his sleeves and he's not running forward to sob into his nephew's shirt which Sokka was mildly concerned would happen. But this is just… worse. So much worse. Sokka can actually see the old guy's heart breaking with every second his nephew won't even look at him, and it is taking all of his willpower not to Sneak Attack his fist into the Prince's—sorry, the Fire Lord's face.

 

And can they please talk about how Zuko is the Fire Lord? More than they already have, because less-than-two-months is not enough time to process this. He did not just fight a war to play kingmaker for Prince Jerkbender, sorry, Fire Lord Jerkbender.

 

"So how long did you wait to get crowned after we kicked your dad's ass?" Sokka asks, breaking this stalemate of silence in the least appropriate way. It is a special talent of his, and all the old frowny-scowly guys standing behind Zuko bristle nicely and all the guards behind them look just a little more ready to have roast Water Tribe for lunch.

 

"A day," Zuko says, like someone gave him the same script for this joke that Sokka is reading from. But Sokka has to say, his delivery sucks. Guy is so hopelessly serious he can't even cut it as a straight man.

 

"I am sure it is quite the story," Iroh says mildly. Peaceably. We're-not-here-to-fight-ily, unless-you-make-us-ily.

 

"Umm," Prince Eloquent, sorry, Fire Lord Eloquent says, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's… it's not that exciting."

 

Iroh doesn't press for details and the world's worst nephew doesn't offer them. Sokka can tell it's killing the old dragon to stand here and not hug his least homicidal relative (and isn't that just the sliding scale to end all sliding scales). Hug him like he's hugged all of them in those days (those nights) before the comet and after, just wrapping them up in his warm ridiculously muscled but still squishy-comfortable arms and letting them know that it was all going to be okay. At least, Sokka's pretty sure that's what the old guy was telling them; he doesn't speak Proverb.

 

Worst Nephew, sorry, Fire Lord Worst Nephew definitely looks like he needs someone telling him that. And the associated hugs. Because what he actually looks like is someone held him down and punched dark circles under his good eye, then pulled him back to his feet and fixed his hair. Bastard has perfect hair, seriously, there's just this one strand artistically out of place on his forehead and Sokka does not know why this fills him with inexplicable rage. Mostly Zuko, sorry, Fucking Fire Lord Zuko just has that effect on him. It's kind of a whole package deal, and the hair is just the part of it that makes Sokka's own wind-mussed wolftail feel personally inadequate. He knew he should have finger-combed before he hopped down from the bison.

 

Aang's standing a little behind Iroh, the center of a supportive Katara-and-Toph sandwich. The friendly hyperactive chatterbox monk isn't saying a thing, even though this let's-see-if-talking-to-the-new-Warmonger-Lord-helps! shtick was supposed to be his show. He's just… staring. And Sokka knows Aang pretty much stopped having nightmares about Ozai after he beat his ass, but the kid has never stopped having them about Scarface, sorry, Fire Lord Scarface.

 

They would all probably just keep standing here being awkward forever. But then Zuko glances up just long enough to actually meet his uncle's eyes, and says it. Says it like he's twisting the knife of Stiff Formalities and using it to gut the one thing his uncle loves most, besides his own stupid self. Sorry, Fire Lord Stupid Self.  

 

"...Would you like tea?"

 

And sure the old guy likes his tea, but like they're really going to drink anything prepared by minions of the Fire Lord—

 

"We would be honored to accept your generous hospitality, Fire Lord Zuko."

 

—Okay, but Sokka is not drinking until that guy drinks first. Sorry. Fire Lord That Guy Drinks First.

Chapter Text

Zuko panicked. Zuko panicked, and now they're waiting for tea around a low table in some quiet side room off the bison-infested courtyard that he isn't sure he's seen since before he was banished. There are ink paintings of seaside villages on the walls and the cushions on the floor are blue, and somehow that makes the Water Tribe peasant (oh Agni what is his name) scowl even harder. He's not even sitting at the table with the rest of them; he's leaning against the wall by a window, keeping his weight off of one leg (did he hurt it? Isn't his sister a healer?), alternating between paranoid glances out at their six-legged mode of retreat and glares at absolutely everything else in the Fire Nation.

 

A servant brings in their tea on a tray. Zuko takes it without thinking, which puts both him and the servant into the extremely awkward position of realizing that the Fire Lord is going to pour. The servant holds onto the tray for one last moment of shock, then lets him have it. Retreats from the room, with a demure bow. Zuko takes the tray, and sets it on the table, and starts to serve. His form is as perfect as when he was a waiter in Uncle's shop, when he actually started putting effort into their new life. He didn't like the job, but that's never stopped him from doing things well. Or at least, with determination. He brings the cups around to each of them, including Water-Tribe-by-the-Window. The teenager glares at the porcelain like he expects it to crash a ship into his village. Zuko just… sets it on the floor. And takes his own seat at the table. And finally starts meeting their eyes, which is exactly as bad as he'd expected.

 

Uncle still has on his Quietly Disappointed With Your Life Choices face. The Avatar— Avatar Aang keeps looking between them. He's fiddling with his cup, running a finger around the rim. Zuko sees frost lacing over the tea's surface, then it steams, then the frost again. Toph (he's only met her once, why does he remember her name?) is looking vaguely unfocused and highly amused. She's somehow managing to not look at anything but smirk at everything. Katara looks somewhere between murderous and baffled.

 

"You really did work in a tea shop," she mutters.

 

Uncle smiles fondly at her, a You Should Have Believed Me, But I Forgive You As Always smile. Zuko looks away. Says, maybe more harshly than intended: "Why are you here?"

 

Which is the point where something further inside the palace explodes.

 

Immediately the Avatar's group are all on their feet, even Uncle, and pointing swords and water flasks and bending-ready fists his way, except for Uncle. And the Avatar's earthbender—she tilts her head and shifts her stance to face a wall in the explosion's direction. Uncle watches, and mirrors her. Zuko's shoulders stiffen, but he keeps his hands in sight and doesn't stand and hopes that not defending himself leads to world peace and not life-threatening injuries. He needs them to trust him. And... he did forget to warn them about the explosions. A little.

 

That leaves three people actively threatening the still-seated Fire Lord when his guards politely knock-and-enter.

 

"Your Majesty—" the first one through the door says, bowing low in that moment before the scene catches up to her. Then there are more swords and more bending stances and also shouting for backup until he raises a forestalling hand.

 

"Again?" he asks, ignoring all the near-violence and hoping the guards will follow his lead, he is too tired to deal with international brawls at tea time.

 

"...Yes, Your Majesty."

 

"Please excuse me," he tells the Avatar's group, taking in a deep breath that gives him enough energy to stand. "I'll…" Be back shortly? Probably not. "...I'll have someone send in lunch. Guardsman Izumi, our guests have free use of this room and the courtyard in my absence."

 

The guard bows again, dubiously, and waves her men aside as her Fire Lord steps past into the hall.

 

"Zuko," Uncle says, just Zuko, and Zuko's heart stutters a beat. "Was that lightning?"

 

"Yeah," he says. He can't look back, because what if Uncle has that You're Going Into Danger Without Me look on his face? ...What if he doesn't? "I'll handle it, Uncle. Enjoy your tea."

 

One of the guards slides the door shut behind him. Zuko unpins the crown from his hair, and goes to see his sister.

Chapter Text

Azula is no fool, contrary to what her brother and his new lackeys and all the palace servants and guards and flunkies and the nation and the world seem to think. She's also neither insane nor paranoid. Is it either insanity or paranoia when everyone really does betray you, Mai? Is it either insanity or paranoia when your so-called friends decide your other so-called friends are more worthy of loyalty, Ty Lee? Is it either insanity or paranoia to deal with people before they stab your heart out and feed it to you so down it goes back inside where they can rip it out all over again?

 

Azula is no fool. But she does keep one on retainer.

 

"...Azula?" Zuzu's timing is impeccable. It's taken some re-training since his return, but he's really coming along nicely. Just like training a dog-lizard, or bringing lightning to her hands: positive and negative reinforcement.

 

"You may enter," she allows. She's lounging back on a cushion by the window. The curtains above her are on fire, the wooden frame behind her shattered, the sky outside properly warned as to her general opinion on sending clouds to cross her path when she's enjoying a good sunbeam sprawl.

 

He curses—three years on a navy ship, such a mouth on him now—and scrambles to put it out. She examines her nails while he does, internally counting how long it takes him to go from manually trying to beat it out to using his firebending. And oh, what's that, his sleep-deprived chi is no match for hers? It takes him a full seventeen seconds to realize the curtains are getting neither more nor less on fire no matter what he tries. They're flaring rather nicely with her breathing, actually. Azula has never meditated with candles when property destruction would do.

 

" Azula," he sighs, and she can actually see him sag in place.

 

"Is that the proper way to address your Fire Lord?" She'll have to repaint her nails soon. It's not something she's used to doing on her own. Ty Lee— (Said she was concerned, said she cared, but while her mouth ran her actions were choosing Mai, Mai who'd chosen Zuko, Zuko who didn't even know because Azula had caught the pair of rat-vipers before they'd ever reached his cell. What did loyalty feel like, when you didn't even know it was given? Probably the same as never being given it at all.)

 

Zuko sighs, and kneels, and gives a perfunctory bow to the ground before rising back to a courtly seated position. She almost demands he stand again, because he makes sitting look just a slow exhalation away from falling asleep.

 

"Fire Lord Azula," his eyes flicker to the remains of the window behind her, "did you… request my presence?"

 

"Zuzu, if I broke a window every time I wanted you, I'd have to leave this wing."

 

She can actually see the terror grip his spine. She's no fool: she hears the hesitation before the scared scuttling servants call her Fire Lord. He always removes the five-pronged crown before he dares approach her, but he forgets to put the crown of a prince back in. And as the sleepless circle under his good eye has darkened, he's stopped remembering to shed his robes of office before running to her. Or perhaps he's just getting quicker at running. Her lips quirk at the thought.

 

"Perhaps I should go out," she says, tapping a sharp fingernail against her chin. "I imagine court business has gotten quite piled up, without the Fire Lord to approve matters."

 

"I—That's—There's been nothing that requires your attention, Fire Lord Azula."  

 

"Really." She smiles and watches his face, that delightful medley of all the lies he's too tired to even try. "What news of father?"

 

"Ozai—"

 

The curtains behind her flare blue. "Zuzu. Titles."

 

He grits his teeth. "The Phoenix King is still in the Earth Kingdom."

 

And there is a lie in there too, but she can't won't doesn't read it—

 

(Father has been gone so long.)

 

(Father left her here, left her with a golden cast-off crown he didn't want anymore and no one she could trust and a mirror that made her look so ugly that she had to break it into a hundred little pieces of her staring up from the floor, each as imperfect as the last, where did they live before she broke it?)

 

"Azula? Are you okay?"

 

His hand is hovering reaching for her the impertinence of him she should burn him banish him just go away don't look—

 

"That will be all, Zuko." The flames on the curtains behind her are snuffed, are smoke, are cold except for the sun.

 

He hesitates. His eyes look just like Ty Lee's when she said We're worried about you.

 

"Zuzu," she says, before he can make any particularly foolish mistakes, "if you hug me, I will immolate you. You are dismissed."

 

He lowers his hand. Stands, a lot less gracefully than he did before he was Fire Lord (before father took him and threw him in jail, and really, if they were going to do that every time Zuko did something stupidly treasonous in the name of their nation's honor, why had father even let him come home?)

 

(Because Azula had asked.)

 

He's still watching her, looking, peering but it's only Zuko. "Are the servants treating you right? Do we need to banish anyone else?"

 

She's seen the ones he's banished from her windows, smiling and walking through the palace grounds, still impertinently serving in other wings. She would go outside and punish them herself (but then they'll see her, a hundred little pieces on the floor that cut her hands as she tries to pick them up, they'll never fit together without seams never be perfect again, if she goes out they'll see ) but she really can't be bothered with peasants. It's far more entertaining to let Fire Lord Zuko handle them for her, her own royal secretary working himself down to ashes. "Zuzu, I hardly need your help managing my own staff."

 

He shifts his weight. "...You know you can call for me, right? Without lighting things on fire. I'd come."

 

He would, too. The Dum-Dum.

 

"What part of 'dismissed' do you not understand?"

 

She is no fool. She is neither insane nor paranoid. And she is not weak, she does not need her big brother who might as well be her little brother for all the sense he has, does not need him acting like he can protect her.

 

From what? She's the Fire Lord. She's just letting him handle the administrative details. She can have that crown of his back any time she wants, and he knows it. One little Agni Kai is all it takes for royalty to supplant royalty. They've equal claim to the throne: he the older heir and a known screw up, she the younger and the favored in the eyes of Agni and father and the Sages crowned her first. Or she could just kill him on one of these little visits. There's no one in the entire Fire Nation who could stop her.

 

He's at the door now, his back to her, and for one moment he looks like he might change his mind and stay. Fire Lord Azula rolls her eyes, and trails her arms in a purposeful circle.

 

"Oh, and Zuzu? Catch."

 

It's just enough warning for him to turn and root his stance. He does that little redirection trick of Uncle's, and for just one moment Azula is staring at her own lightning crackling white-blue and mirror-shard jagged, wreathing him as he moves his hands in, down, up, out and all he needs to do is point it straight back at her unwavering smile like any sane person would—

 

The lightning cracks against the ceiling. A smoldering splinter of the rafters falls and hits his shoulder. He rubs the spot, biting back curses that are creative even by his standards. "Goodbye, Azula."

 

She can hear him stomping all the way out of her wing. Always so dramatic. The ceiling is a bit on fire; she lets out a breath, and it turns cold, but the sunlight through the shattered window is warm against her back.

 

He never tries to kill her, even when she hands him the weapons herself. Doesn't poison her food or water, doesn't send in enough cannon-fodder guards to simply overwhelm her. Doesn't leave her, except when father banishes him or locks him away.

 

He's a hopeless fool. She'll have to keep him close for his own protection, even after she plucks back her throne. Agni knows what he'd do without her; probably run off and join the Avatar, or something equally ridiculous.

 

As long as Zuko knows where the real power is, he can keep his little crown. It pleases her, for now.

Chapter Text

Zuko can't stomp all the way back to the Avatar's group. It's not something a Fire Lord would do, it's not dignified and it takes too much energy, anyway. The guards who always trail him are doing that side-eyeing they do, like they're going to suggest that he take a break. They're getting really bold about that, they'd never be so impertinent with Ozai or Azula. But he's not Ozai or Azula. And when yesterday's meeting with General Daichi dissolved into a No you can't, Yes I can on the subject of marching troops straight through beaten-but-not-secured Goaling, and what part of don't provoke the Earth Kingdom further did the general not understand, his Guard Captain had cleared her throat and escorted the general from the room without his orders. He had let her presumption slide in favor of… just resting his head in his hands. For awhile.

 

The blanket over his shoulders when he'd woken back up had been crossing a line, though. Especially when none of them would admit to putting it there.

 

Zuko's going somewhere with these thoughts. He'll just… lean against this wall until he remembers where.

 

The courtyard is just around the corner, and the Water Tribe peasant is loud.

 

"This is some kind of cruel Fire Nation torture."

 

"Just eat, Snoozles," Toph says.

 

His name is Snoozles? Zuko blinks. He did remember it starting with an 'S'...

 

"Toph, spit that out! You know it's poison. Delectably aromatic meaty poison. It's probably too spicy, anyway. To cover the poison."

 

"Man, poison is delicious."

 

"Toph!"

 

"Should I tell them I'm a vegetarian?" Avatar Aang asks.

 

"What, so they can poison you too?"

 

"I mean, I wouldn't want to be left out…"

 

" Aang!"

 

Zuko pushes off from the wall and rounds the corner. "It's not poisoned. And I'll… send for something vegetarian." He looks at one of his guards. The man nods, and breaks off to find a servant. Captain Izumi is very clearly not pleased with having one less of her people around for backup as they approach those who were threatening her Fire Lord earlier in the hour.

 

"That is completely unnecessary," Snoozles says, splitting a glare between Zuko and the Avatar. "We don't need— What happened to you?"

 

Zuko stops rubbing his shoulder, and stands up a little straighter.

 

"Specifically, your hair. Not that I've been paying particular attention to your hair, but now you've got like twenty strands out of place and that's not artistic at all."

 

Zuko very self-consciously avoids touching his head. If it was really that bad, his guards would have said something. Probably. Scowling is the appropriate reaction, and Zuko employs it. The peasant scowls right back.

 

Their group is lounging by the bison, who apparently doubles as a sofa. The servants brought them a simple lunch of picken stirfry over rice. Toph has demolished her bowl and reaches for Snoozles', who makes a sad noise of almost-protest as he watches it leave him. Uncle is politely picking at his. Katara and Aang look mildly offended by their dishes, likely for very different reasons.

 

The bison is sniffing in his direction. Zuko takes a small step away from the ten-ton airbending master who's only seen him in times of high stress.

 

Uncle sets down his chopsticks. "Are you all right, Fire Lord Zuko?"

 

Zuko stops rubbing his shoulder. Again. "It's nothing."

 

The Dragon of the West has been cultivating his Dubious Look while traveling with these children. Either that, or Zuko's immunity to it has worn off.

 

"I just hit my shoulder. With the ceiling."

 

"What," Snoozles says.

 

"That's… not important," Zuko flushes. "Shall we continue?"

 

The bison is looking at him. It seems like it wants to come after him, but it's covered in children.

 

Zuko retreats inside and sits. He's relieved when they follow. The bison's head is too big to fit in the window; it's just a giant slowly blinking eye.

 

"Would you like for Miss Katara to heal you?" Uncle asks mildly, and Zuko drops his hand away from his shoulder.

 

The waterbender's glare is anything but mild, and promises that his shoulder won't hurt ever again by the time she's done healing him.

 

"...Thank you for your generous offer," Zuko thoroughly declines.

 

"Zuko," Uncle says. He's taken the seat nearest him this time, and now he reaches for one of the hands Zuko has been hiding up the long sleeves of his robes. Zuko starts to pull away but the bison distracts him with a whuff of grass-smelling breath that fills the room and puts at least five more strands out of place on his head, and now Uncle has his sleeve pushed back and can see the way his hand shakes, can see the burns on his fingertips. Zuko can't redirect Azula's lightning fully anymore. It's been getting worse, every time, and he's not sure if she knows and he's afraid to tell her, because there are two very different ways she could react to learning how close she's coming to really hurting him. " Zuko," Uncle says, like he still cares.

 

Zuko snatches his hand back. "It's not the first time I've redirected lightning, Uncle."

 

Which is news to the retired general. Most unwelcome news, by the dark look on his face. "Azula?"

 

Zuko turns his head to the side. And then suddenly Uncle is there and Uncle is hugging him, and Zuko's shoulder hurts from how stiff he's holding it, and the Avatar and his friends are right there watching—

 

Uncle loosens his grip. Just a little. He turns a smile towards his companions. "May I have a moment alone with my nephew?"

 

Nephew. Zuko tries really hard, he does, but he's sinking into Uncle's arms and Uncle's shirt before he's even sure they're gone. And the guards are right in the doorway, and this is not how a Fire Lord should act, but he's just—

 

"I'm so sorry, Uncle, I'm sorry, I betrayed you and I was going to make it right but I screwed that up, too—"  

 

Some of the words that come blubbering out make sense but most of them don't and the ones that do aren't even in order, this is humiliating. Uncle just holds him tighter even though Zuko's getting his shirt all wet and gross, even though he's a mess of a human being, even though Uncle could hate him forever and it still wouldn't be long enough.

 

One of his guards slides the door softly shut. Uncle keeps holding him, and doesn't hate him.

Chapter Text

Katara's been keeping track of water sources since before they touched down. There's a small pond in a hidden courtyard to the east, just at the edge of her range to feel but not touch; closer, there are water cisterns and basins and irrigation channels for the gardens, and the same pipes that were aboard the Fire Navy ship where she'd nursed Aang back to health, metal-wrapped water just waiting to be burst with a bit of help from Toph. There's the water skin at her hip. There's the dozen other skins hidden under their supplies on Appa, the ones Aang didn't want her to bring but got outvoted on.

 

Katara's been keeping track of water sources, which makes it very hard to ignore new ones. But she's trying her hardest and scowliest, because—

 

"Is anyone else fundamentally disturbed that Zuko, sorry, Fire Lord Zuko is in there sobbing gross sobby tears?" her brother eloquently puts it.

 

"Not just Zuko," Toph grins, digging her feet into the stone tiles of the courtyard. One of the guards frowns at the property damage.

 

"Thank you, Toph, for that skillfully painted mental image of Iroh and Fire Lord Angry Pants embracing their inner waterbenders."

 

"Anytime, Snoozles."

 

A servant steps into the courtyard, and bows. The Fire Nation bows a lot. "A vegetarian lunch for the Avatar?" He makes it sound like a question. Frankly, Katara's questioning why they're here, too. Besides Iroh, Aang, and Toph voting her and Sokka's objections down. At least they agreed to wait until Sokka's leg was out of the cast.

 

"That's me!" Aang had been sitting back against Appa; now he hops to his feet with a puff of air. "I'm the Avatar." This does not seem to reassure the servant. There's a lot more bowing, and also holding a steaming bowl of presumably vegetarian stirfry out like a spirit offering.

 

Good. They should be scared. Aang already defeated their real leader, and probably their strongest firebender, too. Ozai is rotting under General Fong's gentle care, powerless in every definition of the word. It took the Avatar State to beat him, but Zuko? Katara could handle Zuko herself.

 

"Thanks!" Aang takes the bowl and bows back with a smile, Fire Nation style. The servant blinks. And returns the smile, hesitantly.

 

"Aang," Sokka says. "Aang, you are not eating that. That was specially prepared for the Avatar, that is what we call specially made poison Aang— Aang!"

 

"Hey, give that back!"

 

"This is for world peace, Aang!" Sokka holds the bowl out of reach, presumably also for world peace.

 

The servant's smile falters. He gives himself a little shake, then turns to the silver-haired guard who's been following Zuko around like an avenging hawk-lion. "The Fire Lord did not attend lunch with his councilors. The chef respectfully sends this to him, if His Majesty is not too busy."

 

Another bowl is offered, this time to the guard. She takes it with a quick glance to the closed doors behind her, a slight slumping of shoulders, and a polite nod. "The Fire Lord appreciates your concern."

 

"...I'll try again in an hour," the servant says.

 

They bow to each other. So. Much. Bowing. Then the servant leaves, after a bow towards the closed door and a bow towards their group and another bow and a few steps backwards as he re-enters the palace. (There's just a brief pause in that last one as he spots the cracked pavement around Toph's toes. Then a deeper bow, which hides his frown.)

 

"Hey," Sokka says. "So that one was specially made for your glorious Fire Lord right? And he's probably not going to eat it before it gets all cold and gross and that servant guy needs to bring a new one anyway, right? Which he's already planning to do, and I mean, we wouldn't want to interrupt uncle-nephew cry time for something as trivial as delicious non-poisonous stirfry, right?"

 

The silver-haired woman looks very close to dumping the bowl on him. Instead she holds it out with one hand and a bow.

 

Bows can be sarcastic, Katara learns. Sokka seems to miss this lesson as he grabs the food like a starving coyote-vulture and starts shoveling it down. He's still got Aang's lunch tucked protectively under one arm.

 

" Sokka," Aang whines.

 

"Fo' 'orld 'eace," Sokka manages to say through the disgusting half-chewed spitty mess in his mouth, eww. "Oww oww spicy oww—" His eyes water. This does not stop him from taking another bite.

 

"Hey, guard lady." Toph says. "Is Aang's meal poisoned?"

 

The guard gives the blind girl a look. Then visibly realizes that she's giving a blind girl a look. Then answers, in the most grudging monotone Katara has ever heard: "Not to my knowledge."

 

" 'Hat ish not a 'no'," Sokka points out. Swallows. "And anyway, we know how good the Fire Nation is at lying. Zuko fooled Katara under Ba Sing Se, and his sister is a purple platypus-bear. This guard is probably, what, a yellow catagator?"

 

The guard has gone back to standing at perfect attention, impassively staring just above their heads. Katara really can't blame her. Which is… not a sentence she generally applies to Fire Nation citizens, outside of Iroh.

 

Toph tilts her head, wiggles her toes, and busts up another few inches of royal property. A grin spreads over her face. "D'awww, platypus nephew just fell asleep on Uncle's shoulder. And"—another wiggle—"I think Uncle's arm is going numb but he doesn't want to move it. Like that time after the comet when Sokka curled up and complained about his broken leg and how heroes should get the girl but all he got was a missing moon girlfriend."

 

" Girlfriends," Sokka corrects. "Those are two different people and/or celestial bodies. And that was a private discussion! A private, manly discussion! That you should not have been— hey!"

 

Aang airbursts himself to Appa's head, already eating his re-stolen lunch. But he takes the time to chew and swallow before speaking. "To be fair, tent walls are really thin. I think we all heard that one. And… sorry about Suki. Hey, maybe Zuko knows where she is! Or he can ask Azula."

 

The thought of being in Azula's line of sight brings the usual shudder-pause over the group.

 

"Gotta admit," Toph says finally, "I am not seeing the evil angry assistant-Avatar-slaying prince. Fire Lord Cuddles is not living up to the hype."

 

"Please, Toph," Sokka says. "Please. Don't call him that. I will owe you an unspecified favor if you do not call him that."

 

"Done deal, Snoozles. You are going to regret that so hard." Toph wiggles her toes in the direction of the room, and d'awws again. Obnoxiously. Which is an adjective that is redundant when speaking of Toph.

 

Katara uncaps her waterskin, and streams out a small orb. The guards all watch her warily, the silver-haired one most of all, but she just… needs to freeze something into a tiny jagged spikes right now, and it's probably best if that thing isn't alive.

 

"Toph," she says. She keeps her voice low, so only their group can hear. "I know you only met him once, and he was almost being helpful. But you know we haven't been lying about the rest. He's dangerous, and he can lie just as well as his sister. Maybe even better; at least she comes off as a sociopath. I had every reason to hate him in those catacombs, and I did, but he… he managed to convince me he was this good, confused person who just needed a chance. He knows exactly how to play on your emotions, how to talk and act like someone who wants to be on your side if you would only let him. And then as soon as your guard is lowered, as soon as he's in position to get what he wants, he strikes."

 

And you spend the next few minutes praying that your best friend's heartbeat is just too weak to hear over your own, not that it's gone. The next few hours healing while on bison-back, your hands numb from wind and water but this isn't about you and you can't stop. The next few weeks caring for a coma patient, and Sokka said he'd handle the… the clean ups but it's two in the morning and Sokka's asleep and you can't leave Aang laying in that.

 

Toph digs her toes in deeper, and frowns.

 

Sokka finishes his bowl. Sets it down, and leans back against Appa. He speaks quietly, too. "This whole time, we thought Azula was the smart one. But think about it: she went from the favored princess to… what? We heard she got crowned, and she's almost definitely the one who was tossing around lightning just then, which means he's got her what, locked up in some room in the palace while he rules? And Zuko, he went from banished prince, woe is me, have you seen my honor to Fire Lord. In the space of a summer. When we know Ozai doesn't like him. It hurts my brain to say this, because Zuko, but it sounds like we're dealing with a master manipulator here. We know it runs in the family. If you just consider results and ignore the Zuko-ness, it looks like we got played. Hard. ...And Aang, if you drop dead after lunch, I'm going to go kick Hei Bai's statue until it sends me back to the Spirit World so I can say I told you so. And then I'm going to find your next incarnation, and name it Baby I-Told-You-So. And then—"

 

"I get it, Sokka," Aang snaps, setting down his bowl. "I don't think I'm that hungry, anyway." He gets so quiet, she almost can't hear what he says next. "Guys. If we can't trust him, how can we trust him?"

 

Which is a silly question on the surface, but… not really.

 

Zuko is the leader of the Fire Nation. If they can't trust him, they can't trust the Fire Nation, even if he miraculously decides to end the war and—and take Aang as his best friend, and embrace vegetarianism, and go around not kicking puppy-kittens.

 

Katara sees a simple solution to the trust problem. Several if she starts feeling creative, but two stand out. General Fong has a few empty cells next to Ozai's. And the ocean has a few trenches where a firebender would never be found.

 

She is not losing Aang. (Again.)

 

Toph flops back on the ground, her feet still rooted. As cavalier as she acts, Katara knows she's nervous about Iroh. They aren't in that room to protect him if something goes wrong, and there's no way he'd guard against his precious nephew.

 

"All I'm saying," the earthbender starts, "is if I didn't have your guys' stories, I'd think Zuko was the most easily read person I've ever met. And what I'm reading is a lot of sleep deprivation and a little probably-lightning-induced should-really-see-a-healer arrhythmia, but not a whole lot of cackle-while-the-world-burns. And Uncle's happier than I've ever felt him. So maybe let's give Fire Lord Needs-a-Nap a chance, okay?"

 

"Okay," Sokka says, with the least agreement possible. "...Could you just not give him a name, Toph?"

 

"Not enough unspecified favors in the world, Snoozles."

 

"Yeah," Aang says. "A chance. I mean, he's probably had a really stressful summer—"

 

"Aang," Sokka says, "do not even start on how Fire Lord Zuko had a more stressful summer than us—"  

 

"You're right, Toph," Katara says sweetly, freezing and refreezing the water between her hands. "Everyone deserves a chance."

 

She's already given Zuko his.

 

 

Chapter Text

Zuko lives in this room now. The Avatar and his group are still in the courtyard outside, and they know he'd been crying and probably figured out that he'd taken a nap, and Uncle hadn't even bothered to wake him up and now the sun is close to setting and Zuko is never leaving this room again. Not while they're outside. This, he realizes, is probably how Azula feels. Minus the tear tracks, he can't picture Azula crying.

 

...Even her breakdowns are better than his.

 

"Zuko," Uncle says. "If you do not want to continue this meeting today, I am sure that Avatar Aang—"

 

Which prompts a reflexive, "I'm fine, Uncle," which for some reason makes Uncle smile, and somehow that makes Zuko think maybe he really will be fine.

 

But he's still never leaving this room. Which is going to make it difficult to wash his face, or get un-rumpled robes, or fix his hair and why is he even paranoid about that. Stupid Snoozles.

 

Also, he's really hungry. Which is weird, since he definitely remembered to eat lunch.

 

...Yesterday.

 

Shit.

 

Uncle slides the door just slightly open and conveys a few quiet requests to Captain Izumi. Which is how a small wash basin and a new over robe (and a non-snotty shirt for Uncle) are shortly delivered to the room. Carried past the Avatar's group.

 

Zuko drops his head on the table. He's gotten enough sleep to feel feelings again. They're awful.

 

He and Uncle look presentable by the time another servant arrives with a tray of dinner for them. He eats it, even though his stomach is already twisting. And then they're finished, and another servant is hanging lanterns in the room as the sun sets outside, and there's no excuse to put this off any longer.

 

So he sits again at the table's head, for the third time today, and slips on a glower that feels just safe enough, and allows Uncle to welcome the Avatar's group back in.

 

They all take a seat this time, even Snoozles. Since the bison's furry side is blocking the last of the sunset from the window, Zuko supposes they don't have to be paranoid about its location. A servant enters with fresh tea, and very pointedly keeps it out of the Fire Lord's reach until he's poured for everyone. They wait for the man to leave. Then they begin. (Again.)

 

"Please forgive the interruptions, Avatar Aang," Zuko bows slightly, ruler to foreign dignitary.

 

"Ah, no problem?" the Avatar replies, scratching the back of his head.

 

"Are we all just going to pretend the gross sobby tears didn't happen?" Snoozles asks. And looks around. "Okay, I guess we are. Carry on— oww! Toph, no arm punching in front of the enemy!"

 

Zuko decides that a glower was far too conservative. This meeting deserves a scowl. "Remind me again why you're all here?"

 

They all look at the Av—at Avatar Aang. The small monk, why does he have to be so young, jumps a little where he sits. "We… we want to end the war."

 

Which is completely and utterly baffling to Zuko, and it probably shows on his face. The monk keeps talking, a babble of words about the four nations and restoring balance and harmony to the elements, and Zuko sits waiting for a good place to work in a reply but eventually he realizes he's just going to have to interrupt. He holds up a stalling hand (Avatar Aang flinches, Katara sets a thumb on the cap of her waterskin, Snoozle's hand twitches towards his sword. Uncle sips tea. Toph picks something out from between her toes, and flicks it over her shoulder.)

 

"I agree." Zuko's shoulders tighten under the force of their combined stares. He reaches habitually for one of the maps that's always been on hand in the past few weeks, but there aren't any in this room. Crosses his hands in his lap, and prays that the heat he's feeling in his face is not a blush, or that they don't notice, or that the earthbender will obligingly sink him into the ground now. "I've already ordered the troop withdrawals. It will take more time to fully organize things, but the Fire Nation will not be taking further aggressive actions. We've sent messages, have they... not gotten through?"

 

"The generals have been throwing them out," Snoozles, is that seriously his name? Now that Zuko's a little more awake he doesn't think so, it was Sokka or Soaka or something, but those are also stupid and Snoozles is the only thing anyone's actually called him by— Shit. Shit shit, he's still talking, refocus. "—So the next hawk, I made sure to get there first myself, and I was all like you know I'm a council advisor, just give it to me, I'll trot it right on over for you, which is how we finally got to read one. Gotta say, it sounded a little too good to be true. 'This is completely BS propaganda to delay you from pressing your advantage and give us time to rebuild our flying death fleet' levels of too-good-to-be-true. I wanted to just throw it out too, but certain air nomads who will remain unnamed thought it might be for real and you deserved to be heard out. So here we are. Hearing you out."

 

"...Thanks?" Zuko says. This is not the right answer, based on the silence that engulfs the table.

 

Toph breaks it with a roll of her too-pale eyes—wait, is she blind? "So, Fire Lord Hot Pants."

 

"What did you—?"

 

"Focus. Are you serious about ending the war?"

 

"Yes."

 

"No more fighting?"

 

"No. Well, yes, but there have been attacks on the withdrawing troops. We're not trying to start fights but I'm not going to let—"

 

"Got it. Say something false."

 

"...What?"

 

"A lie, Sparky. You know what those are?"

 

"I… yes? Why— Sparky?" Zuko has always known he's bad at reading people, but when he looks around the table expecting expressions of let's make fun of the teenage ruler and instead finds ones of intense concentration (and an encouraging nod from Uncle), he realizes he should just give up on trying entirely, people don't make sense. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and squeezes his eyes shut. They're still waiting when he opens them. "...I'm the Avatar?"

 

"Keep going," Toph says.

 

"And, uh, I fly around. On my bison. And do Avatar things." Is he supposed to just talk until she says to stop? "...Balance and harmony, yay?"

 

The earthbender goes from serious face to a small avalanche made of laughter.

 

"Well that was horrifying," Snoozles says.

 

"I don't know," the actual Avatar says, with a certain amount of friendly pity, "I thought it was pretty good. I do fly around and do Avatar things."

 

"He's not lying about ending the war," the earthbender says, when she can talk again. "And I can tell."

 

...She could? Zuko stares at her.

 

There's a porcelain clatter in front of him. When he looks down, his tea is sloshing in its cup and the Water Tribe peasant is far-too-casually sipping from his own. And Uncle is sighing his Nephew We Talked About This sigh (which he cringes slightly at, even though it's not directed at him), and the waterbender is dragging her hand down her face, and the Avatar just looks embarrassed.

 

"Did you just switch our cups?" Zuko asks, slowly. "Why wou—? Do you seriously think I'd poison you?"

 

"I don't seriously think you wouldn't," Snoozles replies, just as slowly. "Also I was thirsty. Your lunch was really spicy, and Katara won't let me drink from her combat waterskins, which is apparently now every waterskin."

 

Which is about the time Zuko loses his temper. He's had just enough sleep for yelling to seem worth it again. "If I was going to poison anyone here, it would be the Avatar, not his non-bending hanger-on!"

 

"Also true," Toph helpfully verifies.

 

"Perhaps we should all calm down, and enjoy our tea before it cools," Uncle suggests.

 

"I do not have time for this." Zuko's head is in his hands and he doesn't remember putting it there. But while his eyes are shut, maybe he can just take another quick nap, the last one felt really good— No. No, sitting up straight again. Even better: standing. "Thank you for visiting. It's been a pleasure."

 

"Lie," the earthbender sings.

 

Do not shout at the blind girl, do not. "I'm sure you can find your way back to the Earth Kingdom from here."

 

The earthbender wiggles her hand. "Kind of half-and-half. You really think we can't find our way back?"

 

"I've seen this group try to navigate," Zuko growls. "You got better when you added a blind girl."

 

Snoozles snarls. The blind girl in question throws back her head and laughs again. And Uncle's lips… twitch. Almost smile, before he looks away. Which is the only reason Zuko sits back down.

 

There's a lot of angry, awkward tea-sipping.

 

"So… the war is really over? The Fire Nation is going to stop attacking?" Avatar Aang asks, like Zuko hasn't already said exactly that. "That's… That's great. I was—well, I didn't know what to expect when we heard you were Fire Lord, but if you want to stop the war and we want to stop the war then we can just work together and make sure everyone else stops, too! I'll talk to the Earth King—well, once we find him, but it can't be that hard to find a man with a bear—"

 

What.

 

"—but until then I can talk to the generals and make sure they don't attack your troops as they retreat—"

 

It's not a retreat, it's a withdrawal. And back up, the Earth King is missing? With a bear? What kind of bear? Wait, is this the stupid bear that got a birthday party? The bear that was probably eating better than him and Uncle in Ba Sing Se? That bear?

 

"—And if you need help with the colonies, maybe we can ask the Water Tribes to lend extra ships—"

 

Zuko is still a little hung up on the bear, but he shakes himself out of it. "Stop. Just… stop. What were you saying about the colonies?"

 

Avatar Aang stares down at his hands as his thumbs chase each other in twiddling circles. "I know I kind of… broke a few of your ships. At the North Pole."

 

Sent over a thousand people into graves of steel and salt, yes.

 

"So you might not have enough for the evacuation. And I'm sure everyone would be happier if this got done as quickly as possible. Katara and Sokka know the man who leads the Southern Water Tribe's fleet, he's a friend of their dad. I'm sure he'd help."

 

"Help evacuate the colonies," Zuko repeats, and the tea between his hands is steaming again like it's fresh from the pot, or just about to boil.

 

"Yeah." Avatar Aang smiles. Everyone else at the table is distinctly not smiling, maybe not even breathing, as they look from the Avatar to Zuko and back again.

 

"We won't need help with that," Zuko says, "because we won't be doing it."

 

"Truth," the earthbender says.

Chapter Text

"The colonies are Fire Nation territory," Zuko says, a little slowly, because he's not sure why they don't understand this.

 

"You mean Earth Kingdom territory," Toph says, and she's not laughing anymore.

 

And Zuko is… baffled again. Worse than before, when the Avatar was going on and on about ending a war that Zuko had already ended two months ago. This is just… he doesn't know what this is. It's like they're talking about flowers but one of them is colorblind.

 

...That was not an intentional blind joke.

 

"Who do you think won the war?" he asks, with a pit in his stomach where their answer will go.

 

"Who do you think?" Snoozles says. "Last I checked, we've got your leader locked up, not the other way around."

 

"Ozai's alive?" That pit is dark and gaping, and maybe he shouldn't have eaten dinner after all.

 

The peasant preens. "Alive and powerless. Completely at our mercy. So you'd better—"

 

"What kind of precautions are you taking?" Zuko isn't breathing right, he's never breathed this wrong before, it hurts. "Does the Earth Kingdom have freezer cells?" He's on the brink of offering them one when he realizes what a terrible idea that is, the other nations do not need that technology. "You can make due with steel cuffs, as long as they're thick enough that they'd burn his wrists before he could melt his way through—" And he doesn't think about how he learned that, he doesn't, his wrists didn't even scar. (Nothing can really hurt him if it doesn't leave a scar.)

 

"Woah. Hold up. Don't you like your dad? Like, dedicated years of your life to pleasing him at great and frankly suicidal personal risk, with not even an 'adequate job, son' and an indifferent pat on the back to keep you going?"

 

Zuko's glad his breathing is so wrong, it just sounds like he's choking instead of laughing. "I'm done doing that."

 

"Now that you have your throne," the waterbender says. "Is that all family counts for, in the Fire Nation?"

 

The way she says that makes him stiffen. Worse, it makes Uncle stare into his tea without drinking it. Zuko takes in a deliberate breath, and another, and another, until a curl of flame between his teeth lets him know that even though his chest still aches his breathing is right again.

 

Then he takes another few breaths, to make sure he doesn't light anything on fire.

 

"There seems to be a misunderstanding, here." This sounds very diplomatic. He hopes. "I'm ending the war because it's the right thing to do—"

 

The waterbender snorts. This is Zuko's diplomatic scowl.

 

"—But we didn't lose. You beat one man. Won one battle against an untested new fleet. You didn't beat the Fire Nation. We can talk about terms for prisoner of war exchanges, and withdrawal of troops from contested areas, and even what exactly our final borders will be, but we're not going to talk about who won. Because you didn't."

 

"But…" the Avatar looks a little sick. And like he doesn't know how to finish that sentence. The earthbender is frowning in the general direction of his chest. The waterbender's hands are hidden out of sight under the table, along with her waterskin.

 

Uncle isn't saying anything.

 

Snoozles holds up a hand. It's not for Zuko's benefit, so it must be for his group's. "Prisoners of war. What terms are we talking?"

 

"Um, well…" This is something Zuko should really discuss with his councilors, but it's not like anyone's writing his words into a formal peace accord. "We want ours back. Obviously. And I… don't especially want to keep yours." He is terrible at using leverage, this is like when he tied Katara to a tree and just yelled at her instead of—of other things. Things he couldn't have done, not even to catch the Avatar, because having no honor was not the same as being honorless. "They'll probably have to swear an oath not to raise arms against the Fire Nation again, and we'll have to keep the leaders until—"

 

"Until what?" there was something almost hopeful in Snoozles' face that is gone now, closed off.

 

"Until we're sure they're not going to go right back to rallying people against us," Zuko snaps. "I'm sorry, is a term-free release of everyone else not good enough for you? Am I supposed to be an idiot, on top of generous? I know the Avatar hit me through a few walls, but I'm not brain damaged. Captured leaders will remain in the Fire Nation."

 

Zuko hears a cork pop. This doesn't immediately have meaning to him, except that his body knows that sound from half a year of fighting them and he's already dodging to the side before—

 

The waterbender is completely rigid. Uncle's hand is on her shoulder, holding her in place.

 

So Zuko just threw himself on the floor for nothing, it what just happened. Her brother is smirking at him. She… isn't. He picks himself back up, straightens his robes, and runs fingers through his non-artistic hair.

 

"I think," Uncle says, "we are all a little tired. Perhaps we can continue these discussions in the morning, Fire Lord Zuko? If we may be so bold as to presume upon your hospitality for another day."

 

"Yeah," Zuko says. "...Yeah. I'll have rooms arranged."

 

"Bison-adjacent rooms," the peasant is quick to clarify.

 

"Fine," Zuko snaps, with only a hint of snarl. "Did you bring enough supplies to avoid poisoning, or should I ask the servants to arrange for your meals, as well?"

 

"We'll take the meals, Sparky," Toph says, before anyone else in her party can decline.

 

"Good." Zuko stands, keeping his feet rooted and his eyes mostly on the waterbender, whose eyes haven't left him since she stepped off that bison this morning. "I—why would you even think you'd won? Can somebody please explain that?"

 

He shouldn't sound this close to begging. But. How did their minds even work.

 

"Well we beat Ozai," the Avatar says, "and then the troops started... withdrawing…"

 

Because Zuko ordered them to, the Avatar seems to be belatedly realizing. Which was related to Ozai's defeat, but not as much as they wanted it to be.

 

"Goodnight, Zuko," Uncle says, and Zuko realizes he's staying with them. Zuko… doesn't know why he'd ever thought otherwise. "May I have your blessings to visit the Fire Temple in the morning? It has been quite some time since I have been home. Well, home and unfettered from other obligations." He chuckles like his imprisonment was a joke.

 

Zuko swallows thickly, and refrains from rubbing his own wrists. "Of course, Uncle. You're… you're welcome here. Always. I'll make sure the guards know you have full liberties of the palace." He turns a scowl on the rest of the group. "Please make sure your companions remain in their assigned quarters."

 

He opens and closes the door for himself, which always leaves his guards and any nearby servants looking mildly affronted.

 

"Huh," the Water Tribe peasant says, too loud even through the closed door. "That will be useful. So I'm nominating Iroh as our palace spy, any objections?"

 

Zuko sighs, and goes to his room. The minutes for every meeting he's missed today and all the ones he would never have had time to attend anyway are stacked neatly on his desk. General Daichi still wants to march through Gaoling.

 

At least Zuko got in that nap earlier. This is going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

Iroh was up with the sunrise. There was nothing quite like the sun in Caldera—the way it climbed up the slopes of their mountain unseen, whispering power at the edge of his chi. Then the swift moment it crested the volcano's rim and spilled out over the whole of the city—

 

This was the sun of his childhood, the sun he had missed during those six hundred days in the flat expanses around Ba Sing Se. Curious that years later, he would learn that being inside those walls gave the sun a rather similar effect. Similar, but not the same, in a city divided by walls. Too many shadows, both literal and figurative, in very different proportions than Caldera's.

 

Iroh folded his blanket neatly, and stepped over his student. Avatar Aang should have risen with the dawn, but while he could firebend with great proficiency, Iroh would not yet call him a fire bender. The sprawled limbs of Sokka proved a slightly more difficult ground to pick his way across, but Iroh made it to the door without waking either of them. 

 

Judging by the very lady-like snores coming from the adjoining room, Miss Bei Fong and Katara were still getting their beauty rest, as well.

 

Several guards were positioned in the courtyard, as they had been all night. The one directly outside his door was already frowning at him. No, that would be an insult to her professionalism: better to say she was observing him with a distinct lack of smile.

 

"Captain Izumi," he inclined his head.

 

"Prince Iroh." Her bow was perfect, and perfectly perfunctory: exactly the right angle, held for exactly the right amount of time. Iroh would ask what he had done to offend the senior guard, but he suspected the list was rather too long to go over in one sitting. 

 

Iroh set his steps towards the Fire Temple. The gray-haired captain fell into step behind him.

 

He took the long way, of course.

 

"Miss Huian! I thought it was the sun that woke me, but truly it was your radiant beauty."

 

The servant bowed, laughing behind a sleeve. "Good morning, Prince Iroh. We were warned you were back in the palace."

 

"Warned?" he feigned a gasp. "Warnings are for rabbit-deer, running from the hunter. The tame mink-cat has nothing to fear. Ah, but perhaps you are not tame..."

 

"Perhaps the Honored Prince wishes to confer with my Lord Husband on this topic?" 

 

"Ah, perhaps not." Iroh coughed into his hand. "Is my nephew awake?"

 

The woman looked flustered, in a way his flirting had not achieved. She darted a glance over her shoulder, not towards the Fire Lord's rooms, but the rooms of the crown prince. "Not yet, Prince Iroh. Is the matter urgent…?"

 

"Only an old man's desire to have breakfast with his favorite nephew. He must be sleeping very well, if he can rest past the dawn."

 

"Just so." The servant's smile flickered. "May I do anything for you, Prince Iroh?"

 

"Only tell your Lord Husband to take great care of any mink-cats he should be so fortunate to find, tame or otherwise."

 

The servant hid another smile, and bowed; he inclined his head in return. Captain Izumi followed as he left.

 

Iroh was not looking for anyone in particular. But he was looking for a certain type of person. The training grounds at dawn proved excellent for this.

 

"General Daichi," he greeted, as the man took a break between sets.

 

"General Iroh," the man's bow was, perhaps, a bit too low for General-to-General. Even for General-to-Prince. But then, he had served under Iroh at Gaipan and Luoyang, when they were both new officers. That sort of thing is not easily forgotten, either in word or bows.

 

"It is good to see you well. I heard there was an unexpected number of talented benders in Gaoling."

 

The General scoffed. "Street rabble. Some kind of underground fighting ring that thought patriotism could substitute for discipline. They surprised us the first time; we made sure there wasn't a second. The worst part was listening to them boast."

 

"I can imagine," Iroh chuckled, thinking of a certain young traveling companion.

 

"Of course, now the Fire Lord's convinced there's a whole den of badgermoles under those streets just waiting waiting to boil up. Won't even let me march my men back through a city they've already conquered." Daichi always had been the sort of officer who needed to vent before his fires ran too hot. 

 

"It sounds as if he is concerned for your people."

 

"He's a General doing a Staff Sergeant's job. That kid needs to learn to delegate before he snuffs his own flame." General Daichi seemed to recall, very suddenly, that he was speaking to that kid's uncle. "No disrespect intended, Gen—Prince Iroh."

 

"General will be quite fine, General," Iroh winked. "My nephew has had some issues with delegation in the past. Is he getting very far behind in his work?"

 

" No," Daichi growled. And began gesticulating, with a few flames for emphasis. "He's at every meeting, he reads the Agni-cursed minutes for every other meeting, he comes to the next meeting with records and annotated notes, he has the archivists and the clerks researching every idea anyone says that he thinks has merit, and if we, his trusted advisors say it then he assumes it has merit even when it's that idiot admiral and his spirit tales—" 

 

"I have heard the Fire Lord has, perhaps, not been getting much sleep."

 

"He sleeps?"

 

Ah.

 

Daichi was tugging at his goatee. Iroh was mildly charmed to see that the grey-haired General still had the nervous habits he'd picked on him for as a young lieutenant. 

 

"And why does he trust us at all? We're his father's advisors, not his. Waido and Kwang-su and I were on that council that got him challenged to the Koh-forsaken Agni Kai, but he just sits across the table every day and doesn't execute any of us."

 

The General had quite a bit of venting saved up, Iroh inferred. 

 

"If he's smart, he'll clear court before we turn on him. Install his own advisors. People he can actually trust, not—not us."

 

" Would you turn on him, General?" Iroh asked, as mildly as such a question could be asked.

 

Daichi blinked like he'd been slapped. "Fuck no."

 

"Perhaps he is right to trust you, then."

 

The General looked thoroughly baffled by this concept. He literally threw up his hands. "But he shouldn't!"

 

It was, perhaps, the most reassuring thing Iroh had seen since watching all of his children return from the day of the comet, with only a broken leg and a few burns between them.

 

"I'm not even sure he does," Daichi said, much more quietly. "He just… doesn't care, as long as what we're doing is in the interests of the nation."

 

They exchanged lighter pleasantries after that. Brief ones; Daichi was very intent on punching more fire around before the day's meetings began.

 

Iroh bowed, General-to-General, and left the man to do so. Captain Izumi followed, all the way to the kitchens. 

 

"Don't you even start," the chef barked. 

 

Iroh retracted his hands back into his sleeves, and positioned himself somewhat farther away from the delicious morning dishes already lining up on the counter. "Ah, Master Jae-Jin. I see you are as generous as ever."

 

The chef aimed a cleaver his way, more as a gesture than a threat. Presumably. "You've got a reason for being here. Otherwise you wouldn't be bothering my staff in the middle of breakfast."

 

"Of course. I just wished to make sure you knew that all the Avatar's meals should be—"

 

"Vegetarian. I dug the Air Nomad recipes out of the archives yesterday. If you've got a point you'd better get to it."

 

Iroh winced at the death of subtly, but acquiesced. "I hear my nephew is favoring work over sleep. Is he eating?"

 

"More than he did when they first dragged him out. I'll get the meat back on him." 

 

"It was very unfortunate, how—"

 

"You're about to dance around the point." The meat cleaver struck the cutting board, and did what meat cleavers do. The tuna-pus looked just a little more dead. "Don't."

 

Iroh fought the urge to wince again. "Dragged out of where, exactly?"

 

The chef paused. Narrowed his eyes. "Don't hear much Fire Nation politics off wherever traitors hide, do you?"

 

Wincing, it seemed, was Iroh's new hobby. "Not as such."

 

"Prison. Now get out of my kitchen. And if I even think you're here to hurt the Fire Lord, poison's the best you'll get." 

 

"Thank you for your concern for my nephew," Iroh replied, with a humble bow.

 

"Your nephew." The cleaver took off the tuna-pus' head, with somewhat more aggression than culinary ends demanded. "You been earning that, Uncle Iroh? His Majesty has been the whole summer without an ally in this roach-snake nest. Before the comet and after. Way I hear it told, his uncle choose the Avatar over him. Before the comet. And after."

 

Iroh was almost certain that a tuna-pus did not need to be gutted twice, particularly not so… thoroughly, but he did not think it wise to mention this to the chef. With another bow—much more silently, this time—Iroh left. Captain Izumi followed, exactly the appropriate amount of steps behind him.

 

"I know what you're doing, you old dragon," the guard captain spoke. "Stop snooping and talk to your nephew."

 

"Would he answer?" Iroh asked, without turning around.

 

The captain replied very neatly by saying nothing at all.

 

"Why was Zuko in prison?" This received a similar reply. "Was it house arrest?" He looked back for this question, and caught a single murderous glance directed his way. 

 

"This isn't the way to the Fire Temple."

 

Neither were their other stops, but she had not commented on them.

 

"It's the way to the Fire Lord's rooms. I had thought to see if Zuko is awake now." Iroh smiled. "Unless, perhaps, there is something I should know? The Fire Lord did give me full use of the palace, I am quite sure he would not mind—"

 

"Princess Azula is in the Fire Lord's suite." 

 

"We heard she was crowned," Iroh said. "She and my brother sent out quite a few hawks: Fire Lord Azula, and Phoenix King Ozai. Did Zuko challenge her for the throne? ...Did the Fire Sages revoke her claim? ...Did she step aside for him?" Though he turned to watch closely, her expression remained the same for all these options. "I am simply trying to understand the situation, Captain Izumi. You can see how this would look quite strange to an outsider."

 

"Are you an outsider?" she snapped. Then she took in a deep meditative breath, and let it out. With her next breath came her default answer: "Ask the Fire Lord."

 

"Which one?" Iroh smiled benignly. The guard captain continued her meditative breaths. It was, perhaps, a good time to actually visit the Fire Temple.

 

Captain Izumi followed him inside. She did not, however, follow him into the family shrine. Iroh knelt, and looked for the first time in three years upon the ashes of his wife and son. 

 

"I'm home," he said. "It has been a very eventful summer. Ah, but you would want me to start further back than that. Zuko—you remember your cousin Zuko—did… something foolish. Something that I allowed him to do, to my regret. And I think I have continued to allow him and allow him, and it is only when I have left him to himself that he has found his way. But I am skipping to the end again…"

 

There was nothing quite like the sun in Caldera. He knew the angles of every shadow outside, simply by the feeling of it above this roof. Approximately thirteen degrees had passed by the time he'd given his dear wife and Lu Ten the basics of the situation; about an hour, in Earth Kingdom terms. They listened quite respectfully. He promised to visit again soon, presuming Sokka did not get them kicked from the Fire Nation today. He would tell them all about his unique young friends the next time. Lu Ten would have liked Toph. And he would have liked Katara.

 

(It was hard to picture Lu Ten as he would be now: a grown man, no doubt already married, and much too old to be flirting with pretty Water Tribe girls no matter how compatible their tempers. Then again, perhaps he would have taken after his father with regards to flirting...)

 

"I hope I am not interrupting, Prince Iroh," a man said. Though he already knew he was not, for he had timed his arrival in the alcove for the moment after Iroh had risen from his final bow to ancestors and god. 

 

"Not at all, Sage Fujio."

 

The man was old—older than Captain Izumi, who had been a young guard in Azulon's court when Iroh had been running around leaving spark-marks on the shoji doors. When he had been an only child wishing foolishly for a little brother to play with (and, perhaps, to blame certain fires on). Sage Fujio had known Sozin. And what must that have been like, to be the moral counsel of the world's most effective murderer?

 

Sage Fujio was old. Too old to waste breath on small talk, he had once heard the man tell Ozai to his face, after Ozai was already Fire Lord. Iroh was surprised the man had lived to see the next Fire Lord crowned. This surprise was unrelated to his age.

 

"Prince Iroh," the sage said, "do you still support your nephew?"

 

"I do."

 

This too the man had already known the answer too, because it was abundantly clear that Iroh's conversation had been between himself, the spirits of his family, and this man lurking in the shadows. The sage inclined his head, by the barest of acceptable margins.

 

"The boy needs a regent. Talk him into it, and take the role. You have our support."

 

"As I did when my father died?" 

 

The sage stared down at Iroh, where he still knelt in front of the shrine. "If you had wanted the throne, you should have challenged for it. We cannot support those who will not support themselves."

 

For the fourth time that day, Iroh fought the urge to wince. "Why has a regent not been chosen already? Zuko is only sixteen."

 

"The age of majority for the royal family is fourteen."

 

"How—? Ah. Azula. Ozai changed the laws for her." This was not a question.

 

"It appears the Phoenix King did not wish for a regent to stand behind his daughter."

 

"Likely he intended that position for himself," Iroh agreed.

 

"The girl crumbled on her first day. The boy will follow, unless someone shares his burden. But we cannot force a regent on him unless he himself first changes the law. Convince him to do so."

 

"My nephew is stubborn, and independent. If he refuses?"

 

"Then do what is right for your country and your family, for the first time in your life. Take the throne, and let that boy sleep. A few years training as your heir and he might even survive this. We are running out of viable heirs, Prince Iroh; I do not want to break this one. He's… not his father. He's not you, either."

 

Yes, Iroh was very surprised that Sage Fujio had survived Ozai's reign. But then, his brother never had spent much time consulting with the spirits.

 

"You have our support," the sage repeated, and turned to leave. Their small talk was over.

 

"Why?" Iroh asked. "Some are saying I chose the Avatar over my own nephew. Would I make the sort of regent you want?" Or would the sages take the changed law, and place someone else besides Zuko?

 

"He still trusts you," Sage Fujio said. "You are, perhaps, the only one he trusts."

 

It was not a burden Iroh was ready to pick back up. Not when he had failed the boy for three years, and all the things he had not said had split them apart under Ba Sing Se. It was a city where he lost sons.

 

Zuko had apologized to him. Had welcomed him back into the palace, unquestioned and—aside from one unsmiling guard captain, who Iroh sincerely doubted was acting on her Fire Lord's orders—unrestricted. It was too much trust for a new ruler to have, particularly in an old man who'd earned his traitor posters. Iroh had never prepared Zuko for court, because the boy was never supposed to return. The Avatar was gone; and then he wasn't. Zuko was never to set foot in the Fire Nation again, never even to join his family's ashes in the shrine; now he was Fire Lord, and Iroh still did not know how. 

 

Avatar Aang was very nearly a master of fire. It was time for Iroh to return to his family.

 

He bowed once more before the shrine, then left. Captain Izumi followed him back to the courtyard.

Chapter Text

Zuko woke up in a sunbeam, feeling cold. Why was the sun even over here? ...Because he'd slept in late and his servants hadn't woken him. Again.

 

He sat up with a sigh, blanket still tucked around his shoulders. Waking up late meant no time for meditation. That was… okay, it was fine. It wasn't like his inner fire was raging out of control since the eclipse. He wouldn't have time to stop by Azula's room either, though, and that meant she'd probably light something semi-important on fire by the end of the day. What was even left in her rooms to burn? 

 

She'd find something. She always did. 

 

What else? He could still have breakfast. He'd just order it into his first meeting; no one ever complained about food trays appearing, they just thanked him for his generosity and emptied the dessert plate before he had a chance to get there. What was his first meeting? He felt like he was forgetting something really important, like— 

 

Like a bison landing in his courtyard yesterday. Like uncle, who hadn't said he'd forgiven him but hadn't shoved him away, and maybe that was good enough. Like the Avatar wanting their colonies just because. Also, apparently Toph could tell when he was lying? That would be more impressive if everyone couldn't tell when he was lying. But if it was a general skill, how much would it take to get her in his staff…? He probably shouldn't start the peace negotiations by poaching the Avatar's earthbender. Probably. 

 

...Wait, had they taken her along because they'd assumed he'd be lying? No, of course not: they must have brought a blind twelve year old for her amazing fighting prowess. 

 

Zuko knocked his head back against the bed stand. He briefly considered asking the servants for another few blankets, and just going back to sleep in a warm little bundle. But he wouldn't have gotten away with that when he was five, and he certainly couldn't now. 

 

He settled on the next best thing: slipping out of bed so quietly that he could get dressed without anyone offering to assist him. He managed to get his hair done without stepping on a single creaky board between the wardrobe and the mirror, too. He'd done his own hair for three years: shaving a perfect diamond on choppy seas was a lot harder than tying up a basic topknot, he didn't know why the servants got so fussy when he did it on his own. Even if that one stupid strand always ended up coming lose. Putting in the crown was harder: if he didn't get it just right, it got all lop-sided and floppy, and then he got all cursy, and then— 

 

"Are you awake, Your Majesty?" 

 

—And then he got caught.

 

"...Yes."

 

"Do you need any assistance dressing?"

 

The answer was always going to be no. Except for those super-formal robes, which had too many layers for any one man to keep track of. "...Just with my crown."

 

Lady Huian opened the door, bowed, shut the door. Somewhere in there, she managed to cast an eye over every minor wrinkle and marginally unstraight seam, and radiate disapproval at all of them without ever saying a word. She simply walked over, took the crown, and had it perfectly positioned with one stab of its pin. He'd didn't even have time to finish flushing. 

 

"Your esteemed uncle was looking for you," she said. "He wished to know if you would have breakfast with him."

 

"He did?" 

 

She smiled at him, which was when he realized he'd smiled first. "Yes, Your Majesty. He stopped by on his way to the Fire Temple."

 

"And you didn't wake me up?" Smile gone.

 

"He did not ask me too, Your Majesty. My impression was that he had other errands to attend to." She fussed with his robe collar, giving it a tug that had no visible effect but suddenly it felt completely different. Like everything fit just a little bit better. Before he could bat her hands away, she'd also evened his hems and re-knotted his belt so it didn't crease the fabric underneath. "I believe he's back in the courtyard by the guest rooms, if Your Majesty wishes to take breakfast there."

 

"Yes. That would be… yes." He tried not to twitch too much as she brushed invisible lint from his shoulders. "Please have food brought. For the Avatar's group as well, if you haven't already." 

 

"At once, Your Majesty." She bowed, and opened the door, and very pointedly didn't stop bowing until he'd given up trying to out wait her and walked through it. She shut it behind him.

 

Captain Izumi was waiting for him outside. Zuko's shoulders slumped, just a little, as she fell into step behind him. Guarding him in a brightly lit hallway of his own palace, within sight of three other guards. He didn't address her, which meant she couldn't politely address him— 

 

"Your Majesty. If I may have a word?"

 

But the senior captain had been wrangling Fire Lords before he was born.

 

"Yes, Captain Izumi?"

 

"With respect, sir, Prince Iroh should not be given full freedoms during his visit. His ' trip to the Fire Temple' took him to nearly every corner of the palace."

 

"You followed him." It wasn't a question; more of a sigh. "Did he do anything to warrant your suspicion, Captain?"

 

"He asked a lot of questions. About your circumstances, Your Majesty."

 

He would. Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose. "...I'm not hiding anything, Captain. And Uncle belongs here. You'll need to get used to him, if he stays." If. He… probably didn't want to. Zuko would understand, if he didn't. "Don't you have actual work to do?"

 

"That's what junior captains are for, Your Majesty." Captain Izumi never smirked, but she had a certain extra confident way of walking that served the same purpose. "If you'd like, I can show you how I organise my staff. I imagine delegation at the palace is somewhat different than on a navy ship."

 

"I… might take you up on that. When I get time. It must be nice having people you can trust."

 

Her stride lost its smirk.

 

"I didn't mean— I trust you, Captain Izumi." 

 

He did. And so had Azulon, and Ozai, and Azula (Well. Maybe not Azula.) So would whoever came after him. But until… that happened, he trusted her. The palace guards were one of the few things he didn't have to worry about managing. And it didn't really matter if he still wasn't sure whether she'd ordered her guards to bring him up from the prison or they'd just done it, or whether her face had closed down when she first saw him because she was appalled by the state he was in or appalled at having an untrained ruler dropped on her. He just… wasn't going to ask. It didn't matter. If he went around not trusting everyone who'd spit at him when he was unwanted or banished or an outright traitor, there wouldn't be anyone left.

 

They were almost at the courtyard. Someone was firebending; the sound was distinctive, and something in him wanted to join in and feel what they must be feeling, the rush of fire that would actually make him warm and the ingrained movements that didn't take any thought and wouldn't get him killed if he messed up because it was just practice. The rest of him was already steeling for what he knew he'd find. 

 

Uncle was training the Avatar. 

 

(Not waiting to have breakfast with him.)

 

He stood and watched for only a moment. Long enough to see how effortlessly the monk moved; still the airbender grace, but with a solidness to it, a flow to it, a readiness to charge forward to it—his stances were all firebending, but the way he moved between them was a mix of all four styles that shouldn't work but did and made it look like they'd belonged together to begin with, that it was stupid to ever treat them as separate. 

 

(They were practicing an advanced set, one that Zuko had only just started to learn before… before finding the Avatar. Another prodigy. How had Zuko ever thought he could be a worthy teacher for him? Of course it had to be Uncle.)

 

Zuko didn't interrupt them. He just skirted the outside of the veranda behind them, past the bison who was lumbering to its feet and looking at him really intently, into the room they'd used yesterday where a servant seemed to have been waiting for the express purpose of opening the door before the Fire Lord could. Zuko made a point of bowing his thanks, which seemed to leave the man even more chagrined than if he'd just let Zuko open it himself. 

 

Then he ignored—tried to ignore—the wooshes of fire and occasional laughter and the sounds of the Avatar's other companions waking up. He opened his work folder, and… worked. Some of his councilors were going to join them today, and he needed to have at least some idea of what his own thoughts on the peace process were or he'd end up agreeing to research a dozen suggestions that he knew he was against but didn't feel comfortable turning down on the spot because they would make them sound so reasonable.

 

Outside, the Avatar laughed sheepishly. Uncle gently corrected him on some form.

 

(Zuko had never been good at firebending, never. It was good he woke up late so he didn't waste any time on it, it wasn't going to help him come up with plans to retrain excess troops for civilian jobs anyway, and what were they going to do about the factories at Aizuwakamatsu and Sendai? If they were cutting back on production of tanks then they didn't need both, but that was a lot of jobs that would be lost for civilians, did they need to retrain them too? And where was the money for this coming from, if they weren't getting payoffs from the smart Earth Kingdom kings who'd been funneling in please-attack-somewhere-else money for a hundred years?)

 

Captain Izumi cleared her throat in warning. This was the only reason he didn't jump when Uncle spoke. 

 

"Good morning, Zuko. Did you sleep well?"

 

"Yeah," he said, focusing on the paper in front of him. "More than I should have."

 

"Would you care to join us? We are about to begin the Phoenix-Crane set." 

 

...Zuko knew he knew that one, knew he was supposed to, knew Uncle considered him proficient in it, but he suddenly couldn't remember what the opening kata was. It had been awhile since he'd been able to meditate, and even longer since he'd gotten a chance to bend. And the last time he tried, still weak from prison, his chi had… not responded how it should. 

 

(He was not going to let out pathetic weak puffs of flame next to the Avatar's firestreams, not going to prove in front of everyone-and-their-bison that the Avatar was a better firebender than the Fire Lord.)

 

"No thank you. I… have some things I need to catch up on. I ordered breakfast, if you wanted to eat together." 

 

"What an excellent idea. I'll let the others know." 

 

The others. Right. "...I should really get this done. Before we eat."

 

Uncle paused a moment more, his shadow in the doorway. Then he made one of those agreeable sounds of his that might mean I admire your work ethic nephew or you are making poor life choices right now nephew, but Zuko had never been able to tell them apart. Maybe because it had always been the second, and he'd just never realized it. 

 

A small swarm of servants brought breakfast not long after. One of them put together a plate for him before he could even protest, either on the principle of the matter or on how did they expect him to eat all that. He wasn't that hungry. Was it physically possible to be that hungry? 

 

Snoozles carefully watched what the servant put on his plate, then put twice as much of the same dishes on his own.

 

Another servant started to slip Zuko's work folder to the side. A slammed elbow caught it, and a glare sent the servant bow-scuttling away. It was patently obvious that none of the Avatar's group knew what to say to him. He needed that folder, so he had something to stare at, so they had the excuse that everyone wanted not to talk to him at all. ...Though he was going to watch Snoozles out of the corner of his eye. His bad one, so it was a little blurry but less obvious.

 

"Appa looks really lonely, so…" the Avatar edged towards the door, and fled. The waterbender and her brother followed without even pretending to have an excuse.  

 

Uncle stayed. So did the earthbender; she sat down next to Zuko at the head of the table, distinctly ignoring the lack of another seat cushion or the existence of personal space.

 

"Is there a reason you're smirking, Sparky?"

 

"I'm not. And you're blind."

 

"Uh-huh. Your heartbeat picked up when Snoozles grabbed his food, and you've got this hum to your chi."

 

She was smiling like she already knew there was a joke. Like she wouldn't spoil the punchline, she just wanted in. And it wasn't like he was trying to poison the stupid peasant, he hadn't even done anything, Snoozles had done it to himself. 

 

"...He's eating the same things I am."

 

"Yeah?"

 

"The things the servant thought I'd like."

 

"...Yeah?"

 

"Does Water Tribe cuisine have ghost-pepper-chillies? Because that's what's on the fire-salmon."

 

She cocked her head to the side. A grin slipped over her face. "And here I was starting to think you weren't evil."

 

He didn't know quite how to take that. But… it didn't seem to be a bad thing. And he didn't really mind that she was sitting so close, it was just weird that she'd want to. 

 

"Hey, did I put any of that stuff on my plate?"

 

He helped her find safer options, as outside the peasant made a sort of gurgling scream. Zuko did not laugh, he absolutely did not, in the interests of international relations he confined himself to a snort. But Toph and Uncle and the Avatar did, and when the waterbender rolled her eyes it wasn't at him.

 

"No, I am not healing your tongue."

 

"But Katara—" the peasant whined.

 

And before Zuko quite knew how it happened, he'd actually eaten all his food. And maybe he didn't quite need to ask the servants to pass his compliments to the chef, particularly for the excellent fire-salmon, but it made Toph snicker. And Uncle smiled behind his teacup, Zuko was almost certain he did.

 

"Send my compliments, too!" the Avatar shouted, from his bison-adjacent seat in the courtyard. "That was amazing. I haven't had coconut-melon tofu in a hundred years!"

 

Somehow Zuko was taking seconds, too. The tuna-pus sashimi was extremely finely sliced, but really good. Not as chewy as usual. Almost… tenderized?

 

"You should try some of this, Uncle," he said.

 

Uncle… winced? "Tuna-pus does not agree with me, I'm afraid."

 

"...Oh. I'll, ah, talk to the chef—"

 

"I am quite certain the chef already knows."

 

This wasn't exactly the conversation he'd wanted to have with Uncle. He didn't know what he'd wanted to say, but… not this. 

 

But he hadn't pictured the entire Avatar circus (minus one lemur) being within hearing distance. Maybe Uncle hadn't either. Maybe that was why he was being so watching-thoughtful without actually saying anything.

 

"Sparky, grab me more of those bean things."

 

"They're called—"

 

"Bean things. Grab."

 

Zuko served-not-grabbed her another helping of snap-edamame before one of the servants could beat him to it.

 

The peasant stomped into the room and sat down. On Zuko's other side. Which was a lot less comfortable to have in his personal bubble than the twelve-year-old non-combatant who didn't seem to hate him. Zuko leaned back. Just a little. And found the twelve-year-old's elbow in his spine.

 

"Hmm," Snoozles said, leaning in even closer. 

 

"Can I… help you?"

 

" Hmm. You are not lighting me on fire yet."

 

"...Did you want me to?"

 

"I thought it was just a fluke yesterday, with the complete sleep deprivation and the trying-to-poison-us-instead-of-fight-us—"

 

"I wasn't trying to—!"

 

"But you're still doing it today, and it's creepy. How did becoming the worst person on the planet, aka Fire Lord, mellow you out? More importantly, is that spicy?"

 

Zuko didn't even know where to start on that, especially when the peasant had just answered his did you want me to light you on fire question with a resounding yes please. He grit his teeth, for world peace. "No. It's not spicy; it's not seasoned at all, it's just fish-alopod. Would you like some?"

 

"Yeah, sure." And the peasant stole a piece off his plate. And put it in his mouth. Using his fingers, the barbarian. And then he talked with his mouth full. "I notice I am still not on fire."

 

"You just need to ask," Zuko snapped. 

 

"No thanks," Snoozles said, and did it again. 

 

Zuko snatched away his plate, and shoveled tuna-pus into his mouth. He set the empty plate down with a pointed ceramic click.

 

A servant promptly refilled it, and set it back between them.

 

"Heh," the peasant smirked. His fingers twitched. 

 

He got half a slice, and a near impalement on Zuko's chopsticks. 

 

The servant refilled the plate again. "It's good to see you eating, Your Majesty," she smiled serenely. "And it's so nice to have a poison taster again."

 

She bowed, and retreated to the corner of the room she'd been waiting in. 

 

Zuko felt the blush creeping up his face. At least the peasant didn't look much better. They both pointedly ignored the plate, even when Snoozles'—it had definitely been Snoozles'—stomach growled.

 

"You know," the peasant said, making a token attempt to keep his voice down for possibly the first time in his life, "your servants are a little less servant-y than I'd expected. They act like that with your dad or Blue Fire?"

 

"...Azula?"

 

"Yeah, Crazy Blue."

 

Zuko winced, but let that go. It wasn't like he knew. "No. This is just… with me." Because they knew he was barely a ruler at all. Un-banishing half the staff on his first day as Fire Lord was not a good way to instill a proper sense of fear.

 

"Huh." He stole the tuna-pus plate so casually, it was like grabbing food was just an unconscious reflex. "I think they like you."

 

If that's what audacious disrespect meant, then Snoozles must be his biggest fan. Zuko snatched the plate back, and tried to make this conversation a little less ridiculous. 

 

"The prisoners. Is there—you looked—" He couldn't exactly say the peasant looked upset over it, yesterday. He wasn't the one trying to be rude. "Are there certain people in particular you're concerned about?"

 

Snoozles narrowed his eyes. "Oh, so you can specifically target them? Get yourself some hostages?"

 

"No! Just… do you even know if they're alive?" He was pretty sure that cut deeper than any insult he'd actually tried to give. "I'm not trying to threaten you!" And that came out louder than he meant, and now the Avatar and the waterbender were looking, and the bison was getting to its feet. "Just… if you get me a list, I can have the clerks look into it. Make sure they're okay." 

 

"Hmm. Hmm. Hmm." 

 

The peasant's hand suddenly snapped out, and Zuko was hunkered over the plate before he realized the actual target. Snoozles grabbed paper straight from his work folder, and Zuko's favorite brush and he wasn't even holding it right, there was no elegance in the characters he drew (and no formal schooling in the Southern Water Tribe, so it was actually impressive he wasn't outright illiterate but that wasn't the point—)  

 

"Hey!" Zuko made a grab for the paper, which left his plate undefended from little blind girls, how did she even know where it was, and why weren't the servants or the guards helping. He snatched it back from her grabby fingers and rage-ate his fourth helping of tuna-pus, and started to remember what being full felt like.

 

The peasant was scrawling a short list. A short list that was going to make his clerks wish he'd left them Azula-banished.

 

Everyone captured from the Southern Water Tribe ever

Northern too I guess

Why not the Kyoshi Warriors while you're at it

All invasion troops from the Day of Black Sun

 

The peasant looked immensely pleased with himself. 

 

"Any—" Bad manners were contagious. Zuko shut his mouth and chewed and swallowed, then tried that again, which somewhat ruined the sarcasm. "Anyone else?"

 

"That'll do," the peasant said. "For starters."

 

Zuko folded the paper and held it out to the servant. "Have the clerks prepare two lists. Names and status should be delivered to Ambassador Snoozles. Names and locations for those still alive should be delivered to my office." 

 

She bowed, and left. 

 

"What." the peasant said. " What?"

 

Zuko scowled. "If you seriously expect me to give you a list of prisons to break into—"

 

"Not that. Well that too, but— What?"

 

"...What?"

 

"Ambassador Snoozles?"

 

Zuko realized he'd made a horrible mistake. It came with its own creeping feeling of dread tingling up his fingertips. Like the moment before Azula threw lightning, or the instant he caught the indescribable glee on the earthbender's face.

 

"You don't know his name. You've been trying to figure it out from listening to us but you don't know his—" She lunged across the table, across Zuko's lap, and slapped a hand over the peasant's mouth. "Do not tell him. If you wreck this for me, I will wreck you. Are we clear, Ambassador Snoozles? That goes double for you, Sugar Queen. And I will train you into the ground, Twinkletoes." 

 

Out in the courtyard, the rest of their group had never stopped paying attention. Zuko should have never hoped they would. 

 

"Ambassador…" the Avatar started.

 

"...Snoozles?" the waterbender finished.

 

The blind girl lowered her hand, and sat back up.

 

Her victim's shoulders were slumped in defeat. He stared balefully at Zuko. "Are you just really bad with names, or something?"

 

Toph grinned. "Hey, what are the rest of us called?"

 

"Um. Toph, Katara. Avatar Aang." The bison groaned, and took an alarming two steps closer to the room that he knew it couldn't fit in but that wouldn't stop wind, and he'd never been clear on how much speech the Avatar's spirit animal could understand. "Uh… Appa?"

 

"How about our lemur?" Toph's grin was alarming. "He's in the Earth Kingdom right now, but you remember him, right? The Team Avatar MVP. Everyone knows his name."

 

...It was a fruit. Ume? Nashi? "Momo!" Too excited. He slapped a hand over his mouth. Which looked idiotic, so he dropped it to his lap. And just... resigned himself to blushing. Forever.

 

"The Fire Lord seems pretty good at names to me, Ambassador Snoozles."

 

"...You're never not going to call me that, are you."

 

"A brilliant deduction, Ambassador Snoozles."

 

Zuko shifted his gaze between them all. Nobody… nobody was actually mad. There was some more yelling, but it was friendly yelling. Which wasn't the kind Zuko was used to. He didn't smile, he didn't, he was very practiced at not smiling. But he relaxed a little, and his heartbeat slowed back down to pre-he'd-messed-up levels, and then the blind girl laid off the peasant for just long enough to smirk at him. 

 

"...What?"

 

"Not a thing, Sparky." She reached out and stole his half-full rice bowl. He stole it back, and shoveled the last grains into his mouth. 

 

The servant was back from handing off not-Snoozles' note, and the servant smiled, and the servant refilled his bowl like she was trying to encourage this behavior. They'd dress him and open every door he so much as glanced at, but they wouldn't defend his breakfast from vulture-wolf children? 

 

"Could you please bring more food before one of them chews my hand off?" Zuko snapped.

 

"At once, Your Majesty."

"Man," Toph said. "Your people really do like you."

 

"...Are you metaphorically blind, too?"

 

It wasn't a joke. She laughed anyway.

Chapter Text

Toph met Sparky yesterday. Today, they were friends. Maybe tomorrow she'd let him know.

 

Eh, maybe not. 

 

Point was: Toph liked Sparky. Which was weird for a lot of reasons, up to and including 'the last time she was in this palace she'd come to kill his dad, but ended up fighting his baby sister instead.' Made her wonder what he'd been up to that day. But not enough to ask, because he didn't seem the type to answer unless she got him good and threatened-with-boulders first. Probably should wait until this peace thing wasn't so fragile. Or at least, until she got him somewhere his guards couldn't hear him yelp.

 

Because really. The kind of person who called becoming Fire Lord 'not that exciting' and meant it, while the people around him were having minor heart attacks just thinking about it, that was the kind of person who had stories. And she was definitely going to get her grubby mitts on them, sooner or later. Probably after he realized they were friends, too.

 

So yeah, she liked the guy who'd made her friends miserable for months. Liked him, because she got him. What she didn't get was why everyone else... didn't. Sighted people were always pretty constrained in what they saw—letting things like walls and complete darkness stop them, pssh—but Zuko was right there and the sun wasn't as warm as it had been, but it was definitely still up. So why wasn't anyone else seeing him? 

 

"Fine! Go through the city!" Sparky growled, over in the corner of the courtyard where one of his advisors had cornered him as soon as they took a break from negotiations. "But I expect your troops to behave, General Daichi. If I hear one report..." 

 

"You have my word of honor, Your Majesty." The guy's weight shifted really far forward; a bow. His voice was steady, boring-ish, but his heartbeat had just gone from medium-fast to humming-gazelle for a few beats. Judging by context, Toph was betting that was an internal fist pump of ' Finally.'

 

Sparky stomped back to the empty meeting room and his pile of rustling papers. Which made him the only one not out in the courtyard hobnobbing, or at least grabbing things off the food trays for dinner. As soon as he was away from everyone else and focused on something else, his heartbeat smoothed out and slowed down. Sparky, Toph was learning, needed to always be doing something. Downtime stressed him out almost as bad as Katara did. Toph didn't know exactly what was going on there—it was a facial expression thing, and she didn't get those—but she had a feeling Sugar Queen had been shooting him looks.  

 

Toph didn't know what made a look intimidating, but whatever it was, Katara had it. So did Toph, which was a sign that all was well with the universe. She could make Twinkletoes stop chasing butterflies and get back to practice just by lifting an eyebrow; she could make Snoozles gulp so loud she heard it through his feet with the right grin. She was smaller than the others, but she was scarier.

 

Odd thing was, whatever look she had, it didn't work on Sparky. 

 

"What city?" she asked. She hadn't tried to sneak up on him, but she hadn't tried not to, either. He twitched, and his heart did that really unhealthy off-beat thing she'd been picking up on since her feet touched the courtyard stones yesterday. She hadn't heard something like that since Aang was freshly zapped and comatose. She'd tried to talk about it loud enough that his guards would hear, but none of them seemed to be doing anything about it, and Katara didn't seem in the healing mood. So Toph did the only thing she could do right now: she grinned the same grin that made Momo fly screeching of to Appa, and made Uncle pause mid-tea-sip. 

 

Sparky paused, too. And relaxed.

 

It was bizarre, but she kind of liked it. People hadn't been this calm around her since they thought she was a helpless blind kid shuttered up in her parent's home.

 

"Gaoling," he answered. She liked his voice: a lot of people had generic ones, voices that would blend in with a crowd. Sparky's was gravel-rough, like ground just waiting to get kicked up and punched at someone's face. Which was a compliment. There was probably some fire-and-smoke metaphor that would suit him better, but eh. 

 

"Gaoling, huh." She sat down next to him. Kept on the grin, and tossed in crossed arms. "Hey. Guess where I'm from." 

 

His weighted shifted forward; less on the ground, more on the table. His elbows knocked against wood, softly. If that wasn't a head-in-hands with bonus repressed groan, she didn't know what was. 

 

"Good guess," Toph said.

 

"...I didn't say anything."

 

"Didn't you, though?" She almost gave him enough time to reply, because it had become abundantly clear from the first time Sokka insulted him that Sparky didn't get rhetorical questions. As hilarious as it would be to see how deep he would dig this hole, she took pity, and walked over whatever he was about to say. "So you're sending troops. Through my hometown."

 

"...Yes?"

 

She pushed him (...verbally), just a little harder. If there was one thing she'd learned in twenty-four hours with this guy, it was that his fire just needed a little stirring to flare. "You're sending troops through my hometown."

 

"I don't want to!" There he went. Weight back on his butt—sitting up straight again—and the little wooshes of air and micro shifts in weight as he gestured way too wildly to be socially acceptable. "But I've looked at the maps, and General Daichi's right —it's either the city, or the caves, or the mountain passes, or the swamp. I can't risk my people in caves or passes, not with the Earth Army rallying behind them. And that swamp is just— no."  

 

"So you're sending troops. Through my hometown." 

 

Weight all the way forward and a single thunk. She reached out a hand to confirm it and, yep, that was him slamming his head on the table and just kind of leaving it there. She gave him a pat-pat. 

 

...Whoa, nice hair. 

 

Meanwhile, every guard in what she was going to assume was 'sight' tensed where they stood. Heart rates shot from base rate to the brink of action. Because her hand was on their Fire Lord's head, and she'd broken a few bones when she'd come through here on the day of the eclipse, and the guards reacted to her grin like normal people. 

 

"I tried," Sparky said, mostly to the table. That nice voice of his was all muffled. "I couldn't find another route, not without sending them through more dangerous territories. And I can't… I can't do that. They aren't going to fight, they're just going to… march through. Nobody should be hurt. Umm, nobody else. This time. Unless they fight back, which they probably won't, because they already did… last time. And. It didn't work?" 

 

Her parents had been visiting her dad's brother-he-didn't-really-like over in Jinhae when the fighting started, inspecting their newest warehouses. They were safe, which made it safe for Toph to feel a little bit amused by this instead of a lot a bit of rage. The rage was still there, sure, because all the servants she'd grown up trying to run away from had been in town, and all the guys from the Earth Rumble who were her personal punching bags, not the Fire Nation's —but. But Sparky hadn't been on the throne when all that went down. She had a rule about only punching people for what they'd done. Or when she liked them a lot, and their guards were looking the other way, which his stubbornly weren't.  

 

"Thanks for not keeping us as a colony, I guess." She patted him one more time, just to prove she could. (And made a note to talk her dad into importing whatever Sparky used for shampoo. There were middle-aged women and more than a few gents in the Upper Ring of Ba Sing Se who would pay a fortune to have hair half that silky. The colonies, too, if they marketed it as the Fire Lord's own stash.) 

 

...And okay, she was taking her hand off the Fire Lord for real now. His guards relaxed again, if just barely. Weird thing was, he didn't care either way. Mostly. He'd kind of tensed with the first pat, like he'd expected a hit . And then he'd… ' given up' seemed a little dramatic, but it was the phrase that came to mind. There was this way his heart beat—when Uncle hesitated around him, when Aang instinctively stayed out of grab-the-Avatar range, when Katara popped her water cork under the table just to watch him jump. An uptick in speed, then one of those purposeful firebender breaths, and then it just… leveled back out. But not in a good way. More of a he'd expected to get hit, but he hadn't tried to dodge her hand kind of way. 

 

Toph really hoped she was reading that wrong, but hope was more Sugar Queen's thing. So was asking what was wrong. Toph didn't talk, she got things done.

 

"Are you done guilt tripping? Because I'm pretty sure your servants are going to force-feed you if you don't go grab some food."

 

His weight shifted back to sitting, and there was the brisk silk rustle of him straightening out his robes. She had a feeling he was giving her a look. Judging by how all her friends reacted to him, Uncle included, his looks were the best. Too bad for him she'd been born immune.

 

"Sparky, go grab some food so I can steal off your plate. Or are you going to leave the little blind girl to paw her way through that whole buffet trying to find something that won't burn her face off?"

 

That got a reaction. The way his heart started hiccuping was painful just to listen to. She didn't get it, which meant either she'd missed something or it was a sighted person thing.

 

"...Blind. Right," he said, like he was talking to himself. And he didn't quite calm back down, but at least Toph didn't think she had to earthbend Katara over here right now and make her heal him. "I'll, uh. I'll go get something for you."

 

There was at least one nearby servant who heard that, because they started walking just a hair too fast to be polite, all the way across the courtyard. They managed to have two plates ready before their Fire Lord could even get there. And, of course, insisted on carrying said plates back to the room for him. Sparky was left standing by the food platters, being rather firmly warded off by another servant who was asking him if she could Get something else for you, Your Majesty?

 

Poor guy wasn't allowed to serve himself. Toph remembered that particular joy, from twelve-years-minus-the-last-few-months as a Bei Fong. 

 

Sparky grumbled a no, and then kind of stood there, acting like if he stayed long enough they'd let him have freedom and choices. That wasn't how being rich worked. 

 

"Could you not get all buddy-buddy with Fire Lord No-Concessions?" said Sokka, who'd come over as soon as he'd seen the Fire Lord's plate undefended. 

 

"Why don't you leave the nicknames to me, Ambassador Snoozles. And do you really think the food is poisoned?"

 

"It's more the principle of the matter," he said, and she could hear him chewing. Snoozles had many good points, none of which Toph would ever admit to, but his eating etiquette wasn't one of them. Toph had ditched a lot of her rich-girl etiquette lessons, but not sounding like a komodo-rhino chewing cud was one she'd kept. That noise was just… ugh. Snoozles kept talking, which at least helped cover some of the sound. "There's just something really satisfying in stealing Zuko's food. Also in stealing the Fire Lord's food. And apparently these are both the same person now, which is still fundamentally upsetting to me, so I'm going to take my petty revenge where I— oww spicy oww."

 

Sparky was across the courtyard. His feet were pointed towards them, and he was probably watching them, but he wasn't coming back to the room. His heartbeat and breathing were doing that he'd-given-up thing again. It was better than the needed-imminent-healing thing, but also… not. 

 

Toph turned her palm up, and flicked a wrist. A pebble from the courtyard obligingly decided to not be in the courtyard anymore.

 

" Oww!" Sokka said, for reasons unrelated to spice levels. "What was that for?"

 

"Go get your own food, Ambassador."

 

"Are you seriously taking his side?" 

 

"I am seriously thinking that stealing the Fire Lord's food is not helping. Do you want peace?"

 

"He's not giving us peace. He's giving us ultimatums. Keeping all the colonies? Building more strongholds in the Earth Kingdom, along the shiny new Fire Nation border that, oh right, they get to pick?" 

 

"It's the first day, Ambassador Snoozles."

 

"The first day. And every day he can drag this out is another day in the Fire Nation's favor. He's consolidating his hold on the land they already have, and he's hoping we're too stupid to attack before he's got whatever crazy politics are going on here sorted out, and probably rebuilt their airship fleet, and oh hey built strongholds in the Earth Kingdom. Which is now part Fire Nation. What part of this sounds like peace, Toph? If we let them have toe-holds, they're going to toe all over us! Even if he's completely sincere—and seriously, do we need to get your feet checked? —then whatever evil little children he leaves behind to inherit are just going to restart the war in a few decades, from an even stronger position. That's not what we fought for. ...And now I'm picturing Zuko-children. Which implies Zuko-sex. And do you think you could just go ahead and hit me with a boulder now, I do not need that mental— oww! I wasn't serious!"

 

It had only been another pebble. Baby. If he talked less, maybe he wouldn't have the most easily targeted head in their group.

 

Still. Sokka wasn't stupid, even if he was great at acting the part. He'd… made some good points. He'd also kept his voice low, and the guards and the servants and the old guy advisors and even the rest of their Gaang weren't reacting to anything he'd said. But Sparky had really good hearing, apparently. Really good. Almost-as-good-as-hers good. Either that, or he felt about three times heavier on his feet for reasons completely unrelated to this conversation, despite the fact that he hadn't started talking to anyone else. And nobody else had started trying to talk to him, or even really stepped closer. 

 

"All I'm saying," Sokka said, chewing on Sparky's food again, "is I have always been in favor of Katara's plan. The one with the ocean trenches, specifically."

 

He was only half joking, and Toph didn't think the joke half was the killing Sparky part. And… they'd talked about this back before they left, when Uncle and Aang were very not-in-the-same-building. Because she and Katara and Sokka, they hadn't been expecting Aang to come back from his part of the comet fight with Ozai still breathing. And yeah, killing people was terrible, and no one should force kids like them to do things like that—but what did Aang think they'd been doing, up in the airship fleet? Why did he get to stay all clean but they had to—  

 

And Ozai. Why did he get to live, when all those low-level soldiers, the guys just steering the ships or working in the engine rooms, the ones whose heartbeats had been so scared and their shouts had sounded so young, why'd they have to die? Was it only royalty that got special no-kill attention from the Avatar? She loved Twinkletoes, he was like the flighty loveable annoying awful amazing brother she'd never wanted but suddenly had, but—but he could be such an airbender, and knowing someone's name, being able to put a face and a history to them, didn't make them more worthy of living. A lot less worthy, in Ozai's case.

 

So it hadn't seemed too crazy to her when Katara and Sokka had pulled her aside, and asked if she'd be up for doing what needed doing on this trip, if it… needed doing. Because they couldn't just keep putting Fire Lords in prison, someone was going to come along and break them out, Ozai was still a problem and he was going to keep being a problem until Aang let the man be executed. And Zuko was his dad's angry-violent son, the one who'd been first in line to drag a twelve-year-old pacifist off to face lifetime imprisonment and probably maiming in the Fire Nation, and he'd attacked any place that even looked like it had Aang in it with no regard for civilians, and sure Iroh had told them about how he'd gotten that scar but even if he hypothetically still cared about people and Ozai hadn't burned it out of him, it was Fire Nation people he cared about. Which was not exactly a good thing for the whole balance and harmony, yay thing. So yeah. She'd been in. If… if. And Fire Lord Zuko was making it really easy, with how close he kept letting her get. Letting all of them get, even Katara, even though he might just save them all the ethical dilemma and have a heart attack from mere proximity to her.

 

Toph hadn't really met Sparky, back when she agreed to… to that. And now he was standing over there listening to Sokka joke about sinking him in the sea, and his heart rate was slowing. Like he just expected it, like this was something he understood, like it was nothing to argue over. There was something really, really wrong with that. With him. 

 

She didn't think it was the kind of wrong that needed killing.

 

"I think he's really trying, Sokka," she said. Because he and Zuko both needed to hear it. 

 

Sokka paused to actually think. He always did, when she used his real name. That was why she saved it for special occasions. 

 

"...Yeah, well. If he actually wants this to work, he needs to try harder."  

 

Sparky turned away, and his breath hitched, and he laughed. Just the one laugh. Which the servant by the food didn't seem to know what to do with, because she couldn't hear what he was laughing about. 

 

"Can I please just make my own plate?" Sparky asked. "I don't need help."

 

And wasn't that just the worst lie ever, in every single area except picking out his own dinner. Maybe there, too—it was hard to judge weights that light from this distance, but she didn't think he was putting nearly as much food on that plate as the one the servants had made for him. The one Snoozles was so helpfully eating, and while the servants had liked that little bait-Sparky-into-eating game they'd played at lunch, she wouldn't be surprised if Sokka's food did end up poisoned if he tried this again.   

 

Zuko finished grabbing enough food to starve a kitten-bunny, and just kept… standing there. Kind of poking at things, giving that poor servant false hope that he was going to take more. Toph thought he was staying away because of Sokka, but then Sokka finished his one-plate conquest of the Fire Nation and went off to save Katara from some old guy. Or save some old guy from Katara. And Zuko… kept standing over there. 

 

He really liked his eavesdropping, didn't he. 

 

Uncle was in a circle with three of Zuko's advisors. One of them was the let's-march-through-Gaoling guy, and she was pretty sure the other two had been introduced as generals, as well. Which made sense, because Uncle was one too. A Fire Nation General. And the way they were talking and laughing, these guys were probably war buddies of his. And Toph realized something she'd always known but didn't like to think about, that Uncle had killed people. Her people. Probably a lot more than anyone else here. The Dragon of the West had been good at his job, and those guys laughing with him… they all remembered that, because it really hadn't been that long since the siege of Ba Sing Se. There was respect in their voices, in the way they deferred the conversation to any story he started, in the way their bodies slanted more towards him than to anyone else in the circle. They liked him. And there stood Fire Lord Zuko, far enough away that they probably thought he couldn't hear them, and Sparky's heart rate was up again and he was taking those deep breaths that both he and Uncle used. Uncle used them to meditate, but Sparky… Sparky just used them. All the time. Like he needed them just to get by. He'd felt the same way yesterday when Azula had lightninged something and they'd almost attacked him; he felt the same way whenever one of his servants or his guards or his advisors got too close. Or her: he'd felt that way when she patted his head.

 

And Toph was starting to figure out that that was what trust felt like in him: that trust and trying not to panic had become the same thing for Sparky, somehow, and he trusted Uncle the most of everyone here but he still… needed those breaths. He stood there poking at the food platters for another moment, another breath. Then he turned away from Uncle reacquainting himself with the court, fitting with them more naturally than Sparky did, and he made the choice not to eavesdrop on them. Which was the most trust she thought it was physically possible for him to give. He walked back towards her, and she could tell by the nervous uptick in his heart when he couldn't hear them anymore. But she still could. A little. 

 

Uncle clearly knew exactly how good his nephew's hearing was, because it wasn't until Zuko walked away that the old general steered all that talking and laughing to serious politics. And… and Toph, for the first time ever, wanted to hit him with a rock. Because Sparky was trusting him not to do that. And yeah, all the talk she could make out seemed to be for Sparky's benefit, but there was an undertone to the others' voices and stances like maybe they appreciated having an older royal back in court. Bei Fongs were just up-jumped merchants, but it didn't take a proper noble to know that was dangerous.  

 

Sparky sat back down. A little further from her than she'd sat from him, which she quickly scooted over to fix. This was her personal space, not his. He'd learn. 

 

And she grinned, upping it to levels that could make even Appa shuffle his feet when he looked at her. Sparky let out a breath, and she was pretty sure that fabric rustle was a relaxed shoulder slump, and seriously, were his survival instincts so bad they'd wrapped back around the other side? Because Toph was scary. She knew she was. 

 

"...Do you not like the food? I'm sure the servants would love to get you something else." A little bitter there, Sparky?

 

She'd forgotten she'd had a plate, actually. Not that she'd admit it. "Just waiting for you."

 

"Thanks?"

 

So they ate together. Or at least, Toph ate. She was hearing a lot more paper rustling than chewing from Sparky. 

 

"What are the the penalties for force-feeding the Fire Lord?" Toph asked. "Hypothetically."

 

"Sorry. I just… I have to get this organized. There's a lot of things I need the clerks to research before we meet again tomorrow. Like some of Sn—of, uh. Of the Water Tribe Ambassador's suggestions."

 

Since Snoozle's suggestions had primarily been on where Sparky could shove it, Toph wasn't really sure what research that required. She gave him that unblinking blind girl stare that seemed to freak people out so much. He either wasn't looking, though (and seriously, what was with sighted people and only being able to look in front of them?), or he was as weird about that look as he was about everything else. Toph took a grudging bite of something fishy, and— 

 

And realized maybe the servants hadn't liked her stealing Sparky's food at lunch, even if it had just been a game to get him eating, because she was pretty sure this was that fire-salmon with extra fire-sauce that had gotten Snoozles earlier. 

 

The words that came out of her mouth were appropriate for an Earth Rumble. Not so much for the daughter of a Bei Fong. 

 

"...Huh." Sparky said.

 

" What? Did I burn your virgin ears?" Apparently Toph's growly voice didn't scare him anymore than her look, because for the first time in hours she felt his chi give a little stir. A smug one.

 

"I've heard worse," he said, finally. And though she didn't know what a smirk looked like, she sure knew what one sounded like. "I think I said worse, when I was your age. Uncle, ah… Uncle yelled at the crew for that. A lot." 

 

Oh yeah; sailor at thirteen. She'd forgotten what Fire Father of the Year had done to him. 

 

It hit her with a jolt: she'd forgotten what the Fire Lord had done to him. Uncle had told them about the Agni Kai and the scar, and she'd… she'd joked about faces burning off right before she sent him to get food. Because she'd forgotten something that no one else having a conversation with him ever would. Sometimes, very rarely, being blind sucked.  

 

She should probably apologize.

 

...Ha, no.  

 

Toph leaned over the table, making sure her elbows ended up right on top of that paper stack of his. "So I've been wondering why people suck so hard at reading you. Do you just have a really good mahjong face?"

 

"What?"

 

"Or, what, are you wearing a mask?"

 

"I… no?" And that was a not-right-now blip in his heartbeat and twitch of his arm like the one Snoozles did when he was reaching for his sword. And wasn't that interesting. Something to follow up on later. For now:

 

"So what, does the scar just make you super scary?" Oh boy, that was a yes. And there were all his chi paths, lighting up with fire. "Well you don't scare me." 

 

"You're blind." His voice was half-way between a snarl and a laugh, but not the good kind of laugh.

 

"So let me see." She wiggled grubby fingers towards his face, and she made sure she was grinning her best grin, the one that made Snoozles shove Aang towards her as a meat shield and run. And she moved slow enough so he could run, so he could flinch or jerk away or yell at her to stop. If he wanted to. But what he did instead was take in a breath, and hold it, and let it out. And shift himself around so he was sitting up just as straight and regal as any proper Fire Lord, even though his heart was doing bad things inside his chest. And he… let her touch him. Wow. She… she'd agreed to help Katara and Sokka kill this guy if it came down to it, and he was just… he…

 

Maybe she didn't get Sparky, after all. Maybe that was why she liked him. 

 

She set her fingertips on either side of his face, and just gave him a second. For those measured breaths of his to kick in, for him not to kick the bucket on her right now. His heart rate evened back out: trust.  

 

He really, really wanted to trust her. And Uncle. And his generals, and his guards, and even Twinkletoes and Snoozles and Sugar Queen, though maybe he really shouldn't with Katara. He wanted to trust, but it wasn't the same as actually trusting, and she could feel the difference trying to hold really still under her fingers, but still shaking, just a little. She probably wouldn't have noticed it if she wasn't used to noticing everything.  

 

She touched his face, and she was gentle. It was a thing she could be if she tried. 

 

"Oh," she said. The first thing she said, before she could stop it. Because when all the stupid sighted people around her said scar, she thought scar like the places on her legs where rocks had ricocheted back at her, or the weird slick-smooth spot on her arm where Katara couldn't quite heal a burn after the comet. They were the only scars she'd ever really seen. This was… not like that. "Oh," she said, and a few words Uncle wouldn't approve of either of them knowing. Sparky started to jerk his head away, but she slapped her hands to both his cheeks and well, so much for gentle. "Hey, I'm not done!"

 

I give up, his heart said. Or I know you're going to hurt me. Or I want to trust you. Like those were all the same, for him.

 

Maybe he wasn't so easy to read, after all. 

 

Toph went back to being gentle. And… looked. At all of it, left side and right, the contrast between what he should have been and what he actually was. When she was done she sat back, and crossed her arms, and she was pretty sure he couldn't see her shaking. But he might have been able to feel it through her fingers there, at the end.

 

He'd been a year older than her when his dad did that to him. Why weren't they killing Ozai, again?

 

"Huh," she said, blowing a bang off her nose. "That explains it. I hear faces are important or something. The scar makes everyone half-blind to you, doesn't it?"

 

"...I guess?" he said, and she was pretty sure he was running a hand over his own face, but she wasn't sure he knew he was doing it. 

 

"It's all right, Sparky. I can see you."

 

And wow, he did not know how to handle anything even approaching a compliment. That right there was a full-body splutter. 

 

Out in the courtyard, Aang and Katara and Sokka and Uncle and all the advisors really didn't know how to deal with watching her paw at the Fire Lord's face. Even less than his guards did, and that was saying something.

 

"I have a proposition for you, Sparky," she said. "For every blind joke you make, I get one burn jab."

 

"...What?"

 

"Come on. The navigation joke, 'better with a blind girl'? You've been dropping them at least once a conversation." 

 

"Sorry. I didn't mean—"

 

"No no no. No wimping out on me. Do you know how many people blind joke around me? No one, because they wimp out." Which might or might not have been related to her ability to immediately inflict pain on them. Like she'd said: wimps. 

 

"I. Um. I'd just… rather not make any more blind jokes?"

 

"Wiiimp. Fine: then for every burn jab I make, you get one blind joke." 

 

"Doesn't that mean you're just going to keep insulting me?

 

"Should have taken the first deal. Too late now. Burn jokes for blind jokes, and you'd better not cry like a little boy about it. Do we have a deal?"

 

"Can I stop you?"

 

Toph grinned. And for once, he did feel a little scared about it. 

 

Oh yeah, they were friends.

 


 

 

This would have gone in the endnotes, but pfft, endnotes must be less than 5000 characters? Silly AO3. 

A reply to an anonymous FF comment on ch 7 (the Katara POV) that folks over there seemed to enjoy reading (the comment was something along the lines of "why does Katara even feel betrayed in the show, Zuko was never on her side and never made any promises in the catacombs"):

 

Oh man. Oh man oh man, I could write entire essays on why I think Katara felt betrayed after the catacombs (and why I think Zuko had equal claim to the feeling, but ends up turning all that hate inwards like an abused puppy gnawing the fur off its own tail. For the purposes of this reply, we'll focus on Katara). 

 

My take on it is this: Katara and Zuko both started that scene as enemies with zero reason to trust each other. Negative a million reasons, really. Zuko had attacked Katara pretty much every time he'd ever seen her. Meanwhile Katara has actively tried to kill Zuko at least once (something I really don't think could be argued in reverse), and would have succeeded at the North Pole if Aang wasn't such a bundle of every-life-has-value. 

 

So here we have two people with every incentive to hate each other, tossed into a highly stressful situation with minimal supervision and no room to retreat, and if it happened at the start of season two the Dai Li might have reopened that door on a messy murder scene. But Zuko's changed just enough that his first reaction is not to engage in a shouting match… and so things don't escalate as they always have in the past. And two kids who've maybe never stopped to humanize this particular enemy find a piece of common ground. And in the space of a few ridiculously well scripted and voice-acted and animated minutes, there is the first trace of hesitant trust—not real trust, not yet, but something that might grow into it. Katara's offer to heal, Zuko's willingness to not flip out or bolt to the other side of the room when she touches his scar—he just closes his eyes and bows his head and holy crap I can only imagine how panic-fear-hope fast his heart was beating as he waited to see what she would do with all that vulnerability. Because let's face it, Zuko hasn't had the best experience with life not kicking him in the teeth whenever he tries to be a good boy.

 

You are completely correct that there are no promises or compromises, obligations or incentives, no side-switching in the least. But there's an emotional connection there that never existed before, and the first hint of opening up to each other when they had every reason not to. When, in fact, it was an objectively bad idea for either of them to let the other get that close, physically or emotionally. They both let down their walls just a smidge, and they both reached out tentatively—and then friggin' Uncle and Aang crash into the scene, and someone *cough Uncle cough* decides it's a good idea to leave Zuko alone with Life Choices again, and ten minutes later Zuko fights on his side of the war and Katara fights on hers. And technically that's not betrayal at all, it's exactly what an outside observer would have rationally expected if they weren't privy to Zuko's and Katara's personal POVs. 

 

But before that, they both had a very real moment where they knew, where they felt that they could have been friends. Two very vulnerable kids let each other in just far enough that when the walls came back up, they left a piece of themselves behind like a car door slamming off the tip of your finger. There are a million and one fanfics about Zuko choosing differently at the Crossroads of Destiny because viewers sense exactly what Katara and Zuko did—that there was a future there, another path, and it was so close and so real and they were literally touching it, and it was something that would have healed them both and I ain't talkin' about Zuko's face. 

 

Katara wasn't betrayed by the Zuko who chased Aang up from the South Pole, but she was betrayed by the Zuko that might-have-been. So when Towards-the-Sun!Katara sees this new Fire Lord who is acting like that almost-friend she might-have-made, she knows it's fake. Because that shy-broken-awkward boy she offered to heal under Ba Sing Se died when Zuko decided to keep on being the same jerk he's always been.

 

And that jerk, ladies and gentleman? Katara already decided that killing him was acceptable, long before lightning struck Aang. 

 

(Do not leave Towards-the-Sun!Katara alone with Fire Lord Zuko, is what I'm saying.) 

 

(She is still angry that boy died and it was this Zuko who killed him.)

 

(And a part of her knows they're the same person, and that is the part that won't stop hurting.) 

Chapter Text

Dinner was over. No one had killed anyone. His ministers were unhappy that he was sitting down to any kind of serious talk with a group of children (specifically, a group of children who didn't even technically speak for their respective nations, and who were very clearly aligned against the Fire Nation.) (Also technically, children who had taken down a small army on their own and who the rest of the world seemed willing to listen to.) 

 

The Avatar's group was unhappy with everything else. So. Negotiations were starting on equal ground, at least?

 

Zuko ran a hand over his face. He paused, his fingers ghosting over where a little blind girl had decided to see him. Toph was… an interesting kid. Had a great intimidating look on her, but he'd grown up with Azula. His sister had more teeth behind her smiles at two than Toph did at twelve. It was actually kind of cute, how scary the earthbender was trying to be. 

 

Had she said Sokka's real name on purpose, or had she just not realized he could hear her? 

 

...Was Sokka his real name, or just another nickname she was trying to trick him into saying out loud? Ugh.

 

Zuko dropped his hand. Took in a breath, let it out. Okay. Back to organizing his notes. There were… a lot of things he needed his clerks to research. Not right now; it was too late, he couldn't ask them to work through the night. But if he got things ready for them, they could start on it first thing. 

 

This would be easier to focus on if there wasn't a very quiet verbal scuffle happening outside his door.

 

"I'm still awake," he snapped, which made both participants pause.

 

"Your Majesty," one of his guards said, "Prince Iroh is here to see you."

 

Zuko's heart skipped a beat. In… kind of a literal way. His physician said it was nothing that bedrest and avoiding lightning strikes wouldn't cure. His physician had a much better intimidating face than Toph, but since the man couldn't run a country or redirect lightning for him, enforcing doctor's orders was more like a wish list than a to-do.

 

"Send him in, please." Zuko straightened his robes, but left the crown off. Made his papers a little neater. Should he stand? That might be too formal, but it would show respect, and he had years of disrespect to make up for— 

 

The door opened while Zuko was half-way out of his chair. He hurried to straighten.

 

"Good evening, Zuko," Uncle said. "I hoped you would have time to speak?"

 

"Yes; of course. Take a seat. I'll, ah, send for tea. Guardsman Chan-ri, would you please see to it?"

 

The guard frowned at Uncle's back. And she didn't quite shut the door until Zuko used his intimidating look.

 

"Thank you, nephew." Uncle took the seat opposite him. Zuko sank back down, too. The crown and a pile of notes sat on the table between them. Uncle's gaze flicked over both before settling on him. "I'm glad we finally have a chance to speak alone."

 

"Yeah. Me too." He was fidgeting with his robe hem under the table. He stopped that, it was just Uncle, he didn't need to be this nervous.

 

"How are you, nephew?"

 

"I'm okay. Just… adjusting. How are you? Did you… did you get hurt at all? The reports say you fought with the Avatar against the airship fleet—-Which, which isn't an accusation, you did what you had to do, I—" He wished he'd been there, too. Or he had wished it. He might have been, if his own plan hadn't… hadn't.

 

"I was quite safe, nephew," Uncle interrupted, with just the start of a smile. "Thank you. And you?"

 

"I, uh. I didn't fight. I didn't even see the comet, actually."

 

"Because you were in prison?"

 

Zuko jerked up just a little straighter. His bruised shoulder shot a jolt of protest. "You… know about that?" Of course he knew about that, he was Uncle. And Captain Izumi had warned him that Uncle had been uncling this morning.

 

"Only second hand. Nephew, why were you imprisoned?"

 

Because he'd somehow thought that standing up to Ozai would be a good idea, instead of running as fast as he could the moment he couldn't look his father in the eye and say I am your loyal son. Because he'd tried to save Uncle, but Uncle had already saved himself.

 

Azula had a lot of fun the first few days, coming down to mock him. I see your time as a peasant has made you more considerate of others, Zuzu. How nice of you to walk yourself into prison. She'd gotten bored pretty quickly, though. And the last time he'd seen her—the last before he was Fire Lord—she'd been angry. Really angry. She wouldn't tell him why, but she'd stood with blue flames on her fists and asked him what loyalty was. He hadn't answered. Without fire of his own to defend him, trapped in a cell small enough she could just flood the whole thing with flame if he said the wrong thing, when he didn't even know what she was talking about, it… hadn't seemed wise. 

 

His cell hadn't been as nice as Uncle's. It wasn't the kind of thing he should compare, and it wasn't a good thought to have. But Uncle had… kind of trashed his level of the prison, and pointed out a few security flaws. They'd been more careful, with Zuko.

 

Which was to say: Uncle had gotten a window. 

 

"...Is something funny, nephew?"

 

He swallowed back a laugh. "No. Sorry. I'm just… a little tired. What was the question?"

 

"Why were you in prison?"

 

"Oh. I, uh. Said some things fath—Ozai didn't like." He couldn't tell Uncle he'd gotten imprisoned trying to save him. He just… couldn't. Couldn't tell him that he couldn't even rescue his own Uncle right. And maybe if Uncle knew he'd been coming that day, he would have waited, or they could have met somewhere and left this all behind together, and maybe if Uncle knew about those maybe-ifs it would hurt him. 

 

(And maybe he wouldn't even believe Zuko, not without his living lie detector around to verify that Zuko wasn't just trying to play for sympathy.)

 

(Seriously, they'd brought a blind twelve year old to keep him honest? A blind. Twelve year old.) 

 

For just a moment, Zuko felt warm again. His inner fire was there, and ready to burn something-anything(-anyone).

 

"What things, Zuko?"

 

They were still having this conversation. Zuko didn't want to be. 

 

"Does it matter?" he snapped. "It was just another stupid plan I didn't think through. Like always." 

 

Uncle looked at him long, and steady enough to make him squirm, like he was thirteen and raging at another failed Avatar lead again. "Zuko. How did you become Fire Lord?" 

 

Zuko shrugged. His shoulder didn't like it, but his fire didn't mind the pain. "Azula had some kind of breakdown. Ozai was gone. So they dug me out." 

 

Maybe if they hadn't been across the table from each other, Uncle would have hugged him then. He looked like he might. Zuko didn't know if he'd have let him, and was glad he didn't have to find out.

 

"Do you work this late every night, nephew?"

 

"...Not every night." 

 

Uncle made his I know that you are being creative with the truth face, and Zuko tried to keep the other half of that sentence off his own: Not every night. Usually even later.

 

Uncles closed his eyes, and let out a long breath. "Nephew. You are not alone in this."

 

"...What?"

 

"I had… much time to think, in my own prison cell. And after. If I had known that you would oppose Ozai, perhaps…"

 

The end of that sentence was everything Zuko did and didn't want to hear. Uncle didn't finish. But he did keep talking.

 

"If you would have a foolish old man, I would like to remain in the palace, even after my companions depart."

 

I'm nominating Iroh as our palace spy, the Water Tribe boy's voice echoed in his head. But Uncle wouldn't do that. Well, he would. And already had. But… but only because he cared. 

 

Zuko had to swallow before he could answer. "I'd like that. If you… don't need to be anywhere else."

 

"Zuko," Uncle said. And there was such warmth and admonishment in his voice that Zuko knew for sure he'd have hugged him then, if the table wasn't there. And… yeah. Zuko wouldn't have minded. 

 

They talked about other things then, about how the Fire Sages were apparently plotting behind his back to get a regent in, but the generals who kept second-guessing his every idea were… surprisingly pleased with his performance. More than they thought they'd be, with Ozai's least favorite and child. Which was… a compliment? 

 

(Uncle didn't say anything about General Waido's little remarks as they'd stood chatting at dinner, the polite surprise he'd expressed that General Iroh—my apologies, Prince Iroh —had not returned to the palace sooner. That his experience would be an invaluable asset for a Fire Lord…

 

"For a Fire Lord to call upon, you mean," Uncle had replied, with a smile just as benign as the general's own.

 

"Of course, my Prince."

 

And Zuko knew how bad he was with people, but even he could catch the catch the subtext there, and the way that General Kwang-su stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Waido and, oddly, the way Daichi stood a step further away. And the way they were all doing this right in front of him, because either they thought he couldn't figure it out or they knew it didn't matter what he heard. 

 

...Or, if he was being generous, they just didn't realize he could hear them. His bad ear had been turned to them and he'd technically been pretty far away.

 

But Uncle knew how good Zuko's hearing was. So… Uncle had to know he'd heard. That was why he didn't bother saying anything now. And he hadn't done anything, he'd only supported Zuko, he was… Zuko could trust him. He could.) 

 

But.

 

"I don't need a regent," he frowned. 

 

Not when Uncle kept being quiet while the Avatar's group talked. Not when Zuko didn't know what he thought about the colonies or the war. Zuko knew he wasn't doing the best job, but he wasn't going to roll over and give up what power he had unless someone better for the nation came along. 

 

"I will not force the matter if you do not wish, Zuko. I will be here for you, in whatever way you need me. As your uncle, as your regent, as your counsel."

 

"Could we just… start with 'uncle'?" Zuko asked.

 

Table be damned, Uncle did reach across to hug him. It felt warm and safe, so warm and safe that Zuko didn't realize his own inner fire had doused itself again until Uncle pulled away. 

 

"Thank you, Uncle," he said. And tried not to look as cold as he felt. 

 

Uncle still saw something. Something that made him smile fondly, but not sit back down. "Why don't you get some sleep, nephew?"

 

Why? A lot of reasons. A lot. But it wasn't the sort of why that expected an answer. 

 

"I will," he promised. And he would, as soon as he was done with this. "...Uncle? What's the Water Tribe boy's name?"

 

Uncle's eyes twinkled. "Oh, you mean Ambassador Snoozles?" He chuckled. "Forgive me, nephew. I fear you are underestimating the terror Miss Bei Fong represents."

 

...Uncle was no help at all. But maybe that was what uncles were for. Zuko rolled his eyes, and stepped out from behind his desk to open the door for him, because that at least was something he could do right. Uncle looked surprised, but thanked him. Guard Chan-ri looked surprised, and didn't. 

 

She'd never sent for tea, he belatedly noticed. He wasn't sure which of them the insult was intended for.

Chapter Text

The Head Clerk looked like he was about to pass out, either from pride or embarrassment. His Fire Lord—the first Fire Lord to directly visit his office during his tenure—didn't notice. 

 

"This is wonderful. Really, great work." Zuko paged through the report, right there at the desk of the lower clerk who'd been compiling enough copies for everyone at the negotiations.

 

"T-thank you, Your Majesty," the clerk had been sitting as stiff and proper as it was humanly possible to get, but she still managed to jump a little higher upon being addressed. 

 

"Did you get the projected trade numbers…?"

 

"Appendix E, Your Majesty."

 

Zuko flipped to the back, and read, and sagged in relief. Idly he rubbed at his arm, trying to work out a slept-on-it-wrong ache. That was what he got for sleeping in the first place. "This is exactly what I needed. Thank you so much. What about the Earth Kingdom…?"

 

Millimeter by millimeter, the lower clerk relaxed, and answered her young lord's questions. Centimeter by centimeter, the other clerks leaned over from their own desks to listen in. 

 

"Really, Your Majesty, you could have just sent a servant," the Head Clerk fretted. "It is beneath Your Majesty's notice to—"

 

"You've all been working on this for a week," Zuko scowled. "Of course I'm going to thank you in person." 

 

(The Head Clerk flinched, then schooled his expression blank. The lower clerks shared grins amongst themselves, then hurried to do the same before their superior noticed. Either of their superiors.)  

 

"Did you look at the third section yet? We ran a forecast on how different tariff levels would affect the treasury, and—" the lower clerk gave her boss a subtle smirk as she saved him from further compliments.

 

"This is... it's just… it's perfect. Thank you." Zuko didn't notice he was clutching the report to his heart. The clerks definitely did. Then Zuko bowed to the office at large, and the Head Clerk choked. 

 

"We should have the prison lists by next week," the lower clerk said. "Some of the older records on the Southern waterbenders were from prisons that already shut down, but we think we located the copies. They're getting shipped over now."

 

"Thank you," Zuko repeated. And bowed again.

 

He wasn't entirely certain the Head Clerk was breathing anymore, and he wasn't sure what he was doing wrong. Should he… bow lower? But he'd already worked his way up to young-royal-to-honored-elder when the man startled at his first simple royal-to-subject nod. It was like the more polite he got, the paler the Head Clerk became— 

 

The lower clerk winked. "Maybe you should leave before he faints."

 

"I… sure?"

 

A very confused Zuko was escorted from the room by a woman only a few years older than he was. She smiled, and slid the door shut behind him. After a somewhat cheeky bow. Then there was a riot of noise from inside the room. 

 

...Maybe he should send a servant, next time. His clerks were weird. But they did really, really good work. 

 

The Water Tribe boy had been right, at that dinner a week ago—Zuko wasn't trying hard enough to make this peace work. So he'd tried harder, and now he was ready to show the Avatar's group how serious he was. 

 

"What is this." Snoozles poked his copy of the report with a skeptical finger. 

 

Zuko scowled, and fought the urge to drag the papers back out of the ungrateful peasant's reach. "I had my people researching potential trade deals we could offer the Water Tribes. The Earth Kingdom, too. We would be willing to offer favorable tariffs on construction materials and staple foods for five years, with open passage for registered passenger and merchant ships through Fire Nation Waters." The peasant wasn't looking impressed. Zuko scowled harder. "That means the western routes to the North Pole. Don't you want open communications with your sister tribe?"

 

Snoozles held up a hand to interrupt. (At least one of Zuko's advisors drew in a sharp breath at the casual insult.) "Back up. Fire Nation waters?"

 

Zuko had remembered to bring a map this time. 

 

"You can't just claim the entire western ocean!"

 

The map didn't please the peasant or his sister or the Avatar, but he was starting to think nothing would. At least his admirals were nodding, looking vaguely insulted that anyone had dared disagree.

 

"It's the ocean," Zuko said, "between our islands," he tried to break this into peasant-accessible words, "and our colonies. It's our ocean. We're already ceding you back the southern and northern seas, and the Earth Kingdom can have the waters up to twenty kilometers from shores they still control. What more do you want?"

 

That was not a question he should have asked.

 

"You have to admit," the Avatar put in, several demands and immediate rejections shouted down by generals, admirals, and advisors alike later, "it's a little worrying to have the country that started the war controlling so many places that would, ah, make it easy to keep going with the war. Not that I'm saying you will! But I'm pretty sure the Earth generals aren't going to believe you like we do. And the Northern Tribe's been salvaging your fleet to build—"

 

" Aang!" Snoozles interrupted, but not before both of Zuko's admirals started trying to catch their Fire Lord's eye and give him we need to raze the North Pole to the ground NOW stares. 

 

"No," he told them, which left them looking disgruntled and the Avatar's people looking confused, except for Uncle, who was still reading the report and being quiet. He'd carefully taken a seat in the exact middle of the two groups, as he had every day since he'd agreed to just be Zuko's Uncle again. And though he was perfectly happy to discuss strategies during breaks or after the meetings ended for the day, his support at the table generally took the form of not actively disagreeing with his nephew, even though he clearly did. Zuko had forgotten how annoying Uncle could be. It was familiar and infuriating and nice and ugh.

 

Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose, and resolved to send his clerks some kind of gift and to never let them know how little their work had helped. It wasn't their fault; he'd just… had them researching the wrong things. Apparently. Zuko would... keep trying. These were just the preliminary talks; as long as the Avatar left here not actively hostile towards the Fire Nation, it was a win. Even if they accomplished literally nothing else with the extravagant amounts of time they were wasting on this. They just needed to show enough good faith so that next time the other Nations would feel comfortable sending representatives that weren't legal minors. That would be… that would be great.

 

And then they could start this all over again, in a room full of unhappy adults, where he'd be the youngest person at the table and the focal point for a hundred years worth of hatred. Yeah, great.

 

He rubbed at his fingers under the table, trying to work a little feeling back into the tips. Azula was another great part of his life. That he'd taken to visiting her when he needed a break from this maybe said everything.

 

"Hey, Sparky," Toph said. "How about we stop for tea? My ears are sick of people shouting the same five things."

 

Zuko's entire side of the table bristled at the little girl's presumption. Zuko… felt pathetically grateful for the excuse. Maybe he could sneak off somewhere private and bang his head against a wall. The blind girl winked towards him, like she knew exactly what he was thinking. Winked. Who'd even taught her what a wink was?

 

Before Zuko could agree, Uncle was talking. 

 

"I am not certain the Earth Kingdom will be able to afford these prices, Zuko."

 

Uncle, who had been carefully paging through his proposal since he'd been handed a copy. 

 

But still didn't approve. 

 

"What do you mean?" Zuko turned to the same page in his own report, and completely failed to see the problem. "It's not like we'll allow the merchants to price gouge, not if they want to buy from the central stores. That's just… what it's worth." There were benefits to a hundred years under effective military rule: a fairly complete government control over critical food supplies was one of them. 

 

"Do you know how much of the Earth Kingdom burned, nephew?" Uncle didn't usually call him nephew at the table, but he didn't usually miss someone saying the word tea, either.

 

Zuko tugged his map out from under the peasant's elbows. "The airship fleet came in from the coast at the Wulong Forest, and continued inland until they were stopped outside Yangzhou, though the fires kept spreading until—"

 

"And what type of land is in that prefecture, nephew?"

 

Thirteen years of tutor drills came spilling out of dusty corners of his mind. "Jiangsu prefecture's primary exports are rice, grain, and other… agricultural projects."

 

They'd burned an entire prefecture of food. At the end of summer; before the harvest, and with no time to replant before winter. 

 

Shit. 

 

He'd known that, but he hadn't… known that. It had only been two months, he'd been focused on getting his own people somewhere safe, not on how another country's peasants would eat this winter.

 

"How bad of a famine are they facing?" Zuko asked, trying not to picture Earth Kingdom villages where food had already been scarce before Ozai had decided to just burn things to the ground, and a boy who'd invited him into his home and a family who'd shared their food with him anyway. People who'd hated him for being just a half-starved banished prince. How many curses had they sent to their dusty gods when they heard of the new Fire Lord? They probably wished they'd let him starve.

 

He knew what it felt like, to starve. 

 

"Bad. Many will die, Zuko. If the Fire Nation makes no reparations, the war must continue; the Earth Kingdom will not allow itself to starve while the colonies eat. Returning even some of the land would put food back into Earth Kingdom hands, and show how serious you are—"

 

"Displace our citizens, and give enemy troops our harvest?" One of the advisors snorted. Better for him to say it than Zuko; it gave the Avatar's team someone else to glare at, for a change. Zuko rubbed at his arm, still trying to make that lingering ache go away.

 

They were all arguing again, and he just wanted to cover his ears and block them out, why did they all have to be so loud, this wasn't helping.

 

" Stop it," he cut in. "If anyone has concrete suggestions, please speak them. Those who wish to bark like albatross-seals, the guards can escort you to the harbor."

 

His guards didn't move. Zuko hadn't really meant them too, but it still would have been nice if they'd at least twitched. They wouldn't have assumed his sister was joking.

 

"Well, maybe you can find a way to share…" the twelve-year-old said. Not the one he was starting to honestly like; the one who'd fought his father and somehow stayed ridiculously naive.

 

"Share," Zuko deadpanned. "Great idea. I'll just tell my farmers that this year we'll be paying sub-standard rates, and shipping their food off to feed people who hate us, so that in the spring they'll be healthy enough to attack. I'm so glad the Avatar returned, world peace is so easy with your ancient wisdom to guide us—"

 

"I'm just trying to help—"

 

"Maybe we can trade," Snoozles put in. "You've got daddy issues, we've got your daddy. How many kilograms of rice is he worth to you?"

 

"Why would—" Zuko drew in a deep breath and did not try to convince the peasant, again, that bringing Ozai back into the capital was literally the last thing he wanted. "How is that even safe, giving him back to us? Do you seriously think he wouldn't just take the throne and immediately restart the war? Would you rather deal with him?"

 

"I hear you people have a thing about your bending superiority," the peasant smirked. "Hard to be a Fire Lord without any fire."

 

Another deep breath, because it was always hard to get air when they were talking about Ozai. "...What?"

 

The monk rubbed the back of his bald head. "I, uh. Took away his bending?"

 

Zuko didn't understand, for a moment. No one on his side of the table did. The words were clear enough but they— how— that couldn't be—

 

Uncle nodded, just slightly.

 

Zuko had never felt so cold in his life, like whatever embers of flame he had left just banked themselves down to coals, trying to hide from what he was hearing.

 

"You can take away bending," he heard himself saying. "Agni's gift. You can just… take it away." 

 

The airbender was chattering something back, looking sheepish but a little proud, but it was just… buzzing in Zuko's ears.

 

The Avatar could take away bending. 

 

Maybe somehow that wasn't as horrifying to waterbenders or earthbenders or airbenders, because the Avatar's group looked a little uneasy (the non-bender still looked smug, of course he did, he couldn't understand), but the Fire Nation side of the table had stopped breathing.

 

And then they were breathing very carefully, the kind of breaths that stoked inner flames.

 

Inner flames. Not the earth under their feet or the water of their seas, not the air around them. Inner flames. Agni's gift was their heart, their life, it couldn't be snuffed without killing the bender. Even Zuko's little embers were still there, could still flare if he could just figure out how. To be completely gone— 

 

How was Ozai still alive.

 

Why would he want to be alive, to be this cold for the rest of his life?

 

How could the airbender sit there talking of peace when he'd ripped Agni's hand from one of His chosen? The Avatar was the World Spirit, but Agni was the Sun God. The sun shone on his people and kindled flames in the strongest. Death was death, but to have their souls ripped out and their bodies kept living, beyond the sight of their god— 

 

For the first time, Zuko thought of his father not just as a human being, but a frail one, a pitiable one. One who'd been subjected to a twelve-year-old's mercy instead of an honorable death.

 

Zuko was going to be sick. Or pass out. But he couldn't, because the Fire Lord was Agni's will on earth made manifest, the one who protected the flames. He squeezed his arm and took too-shallow breaths and ignored his people's glances of concern and… got through it.  

 

Was that what the Avatar intended for every firebender who disagreed with him, who he couldn't control? It—it honestly wouldn't make much difference for Zuko, his flames were almost gone, but what about his generals, his admirals, his captains and lieutenants and common soldiers? There weren't many men and women in his armies that the other nations couldn't call war criminals. For many they'd even be right. Zuko had known there would have to be justice along with any talks of peace, but he'd—he'd pictured imprisonment, he'd pictured executions. He hadn't in his worst nightmares imagined a monk with good intentions.

 

"Sparky," Toph said. "I really think tea time is a good idea—" 

 

Her voice reminded him to breathe. 

 

"Avatar. I must respectfully request that you leave my palace. Now." 

 

"Are you serious?" the peasant squawked.

 

The waterbender crossed her arms "Told you. They don't do families like the Water Tribe—"  

 

And his own people were shouting back, and the earthbender's face was screwing up like she was about to act her age, and he just couldn't.

 

"You came to see if we were serious about peace. We are. I have welcomed you into my home, and you have…" Insulted him at every turn. And through him, the Nation and the God he stood for, but he'd tried to be welcoming and polite and not strangle them. "But we aren't getting anywhere, and you're... you're not even designated representatives of your Nations, you're children."

 

"You're a teenager," the Avatar snapped. 

 

Zuko had heard that one before; less than a year ago, with snow under his boots and the polar wind trying to freeze him and his inner fire warm enough to keep it at bay. It was… easier to remember the snow than the flames. 

 

"I am the Fire Lord." Not the banished prince who'd chased them. But he didn't think the people that needed to hear that would listen to weak protests like I'm not that person anymore. "Leave; when you find representatives who can speak for your nations, please send word. I'll meet with them. But Avatar, you—you don't even know what you did. You are not welcome in Fire Nation lands until you do." 

 

Stay away from my people. He wanted to shout it, but he didn't have enough breath and the monk wouldn't have listened, anyway.

 

Besides. The airbender was doing plenty of shouting for him. "I spared your father's life."

 

"You destroyed him." He took a breath in through his nose, and out through his mouth, and very pointedly looked away from the child he didn't particularly like to the one he did. "Lady Bei Fong. If you ever feel yourself underappreciated, your services would find welcome in my court." 

 

"Huh," she said, looking honestly surprised for the first time since he'd met her. "Truth."

 

"Yeah, kick us out, that's great," the peasant said breezily. "But the Earth Kingdom generals don't want to talk to you, and the Earth King is missing, and you've got our Chief locked up or—or dead, and you killed the Northern Chief's daughter. Just who do you think you're going to find that wants to talk to you, Sparky? We are the peace process. Now give us some nice reparations to take back to the other nations so we can prove you mean this, and we'll see what we can do to open up some minds—" 

 

Zuko's breath was still short and his chest was starting to hurt, but he found enough air to shout. "You did not win the war! Uncle, can you please explain to them how coming to terms works? ...Uncle?"

 

"There will be no peace while the Earth kingdom starves, Zuko. They will have no choice but to attack."

 

"Let them," General Daichi scoffed. "We'll just beat them again."

 

Uncle frowned at his old war friend. "A hundred years of suffering is not remedied by—"  

 

If that was a proverb Zuko was going to light something on fire, even if he had to get spirits-damned spark rocks to do it. "They want Fire Nation food? Let them surrender to the Fire Nation. Otherwise, their own King can handle it. Once you find him and his bear."

 

That… made the table a lot quieter.

 

"You are not thinking this through, nephew—"

 

"Do you think you could do a better job?" Zuko laughed, but it came out more of a snarl-wheeze.

 

Toph pulled at Uncle's sleeve, insistently. "His heart is doing that thing again. Really bad. Really bad. I thought it was going to stop, but it hasn't—"

 

"My heart is fine," Zuko snapped. On principle. It certainly wasn't worse than it had been since this stupid meeting started, and his own people could just stop looking at him like that. 

 

Uncle was doing what he did best, and ignoring him. "Miss Katara…"

 

"Fine, I'll heal the Fire Lord." The waterbender stood, with an extravagant roll of her eyes, her thumb flicking the cork of her waterskin. 

 

Zuko's flinch was instinctive. " Don't touch me!"

 

He didn't know when he got to his feet, and he didn't know why he could see his arms shaking but couldn't feel them, but he did understand why Azula banished everyone. If that was the only way to make them leave him alone for five minutes (to maybe feel safe, for five minutes)—  

 

"Well, I tried." The waterbender sat back down. Toph punched her in the arm. Not one of the friendly punches he'd seen her give to all of them, even the lumbering bison, but a punch that almost knocked the girl over.

 

"Try harder, Sugar Queen."

 

"Perhaps a break—" Uncle's tone was so mild and conciliatory that Zuko wanted to scream.

 

He settled for shouting. "You are not my regent, Uncle. You can't tell me when to take a break."

 

"Miss Toph feels you should see a healer, nephew. If not ours, perhaps your own—"

 

"What good will that do? He'll just say I need to rest and avoid stress." And, oh, not get hit by lightning. Minor details. "Which would be a lot easier if you would all just leave."

 

"Nephew, it has been a long morning. A long week—"

 

Maybe they should have taken a break or moved this somewhere private, but if Zuko took the time to change rooms he might not be this angry anymore, and it felt… it felt good. He was warm, hot, his inner fire was roaring again. Not the guttering spark that could barely redirect Azula's off-handed attempts to maim him but real flame. The kind the Avatar could tear out of a person, and was willing to, and thought was better than death. 

 

"You don't get to play Fire Lord, Uncle. You didn't want to be Fire Lord." There were flame daggers in his hands; he hadn't meant to make them, but they'd come to him as easily as they had in any tantrum back on his ship. His breath control was shit, but they still flared in his palms like they belonged there.

 

"Zuko, you are ill, please—" 

 

" Fire Lord Zuko. I know no one wanted me to be. I'm just the person sitting the throne while you all figure out who you actually want. Father didn't want me, and you didn't even want me to go home, and Azula is probably just going to kill me, but—but I'm here now, and I'm going to do a good job at this if it kills me."

 

The resounding silence at that, the way servants and guards and advisors of every rank all looked like they understood something he didn't—it guttered his flames back down to coals. 

 

He didn't like this. Whatever was about to happen, whatever that shared silence meant, he didn't like it.

 

(The little earthbender was trying to physically shove the waterbender at him, but she'd frosted her shoes to the tatami floors and was refusing to move.)

 

Uncle stood.

 

"Fire Lord Zuko. Under Agni's sight and before the court, I challenge you for the dragon throne."

 

"Uncle?" Zuko thought he spoke but maybe he hadn't said anything at all, because Uncle wasn't answering, wasn't listening.

 

"This is my right as Iroh, son of Fire Lady Ilah and Fire Lord Azulon, Grandson of Mizura and Sozin, whose line is pure and descended from Agni."

 

"This… this isn't funny."

 

"The terms are until surrender. The time—"

 

He caught sight of the Avatar and his group behind Uncle, and their faces were— the waterbender was vindictive, the peasant grim, Toph open-mouthed, the Avatar sympathetic. And there was only one thing those looks could mean. They knew what this meant to him. His face burned with remembered heat and shame and how could Uncle— 

 

"You told them. You told them? ...Of course you told them."

 

"Hey, he was just trying to humanize you—"

 

"Why do I need— How much more human do you want me to be, Water Tribe?"

 

Zuko looked around, but… no one was stopping this, this no one was intervening, he was just as alone as he'd been last time he'd been at a meeting with Uncle and the words Agni Kai had come up, and he felt like this shouldn't be familiar.

 

"I'm the third Fire Lord this summer," he said. "The Sages will never—"

 

"The Sages have already given their blessings, Zuko." Uncle was making some weird face, like this hurt him as much as it did Zuko, but he didn't need to be an earthbender to call that lie. "...You could still accept a regent. Or forfeit the throne. Please, Zuko. You have been hurting yourself, and I will not stand by and lose another—"

 

I am your loyal son.

 

"Shut. Up." 

 

He didn't want to believe this. It was a nightmare, and he'd wake up and… and never tell Uncle about it, because it was too awful, it couldn't be real.

 

And if he was anyone else it wouldn't be. But Zuko had a lifetime of experience, and he recognized his shit luck. It had been saving up for this. Clearly. 

 

"That's why you wanted to go to the Fire Temple." 

 

"Zuko—"

 

"You literally asked permission before going behind my back. I should have seen this coming, right? if I was half the politician my father was, or Azula, or that I should be—"

 

"Please forfeit," Uncle said.

 

"I accept your challenge," Zuko said.

 

It wasn't even going to be a fight, but he couldn't just… Uncle was on the Avatar's side. Didn't anyone else see that? He didn't want his physician and he didn't want to lay down and he didn't want their fake concern or time to think this over, shut up leave him alone, he just— Wanted it done. 

 

It was done the moment Uncle said the words; the rest was just theater. Putting on a show for the court, and then he could go back to his jail cell or a ship or wherever else the new Fire Lord decided to put him.

 

Uncle set the time. It was either an hour later or the next day, but time was slipping again, like it had in prison. The sun was right there, he found himself just sitting and waiting for things to start, staring up at it, wondering why he couldn't feel it anymore than he had in the dark.

 

It felt about as real as a play when the servant slipped the gold bands up his arms, never meeting his eyes. It was the woman who always made sure his robes were straight. She did the same for his prayer shawl, and he realized he couldn't remember her name anymore. 

 

She wasn't his servant anymore.

 

She left him alone, which was her job. Zuko let the shawl fall to the ground and stood, which was his. He'd never thought there could be something worse than turning around and seeing father, but here it was. 

 

Zuko fought. He had to, because falling to his knees and begging never worked once in his life and he was sick of even trying. Because his country needed him. Because fucking never give up without a fight, Uncle taught him that. 

 

Uncle took him down gentle as an owl-cat scruffing her kitten. He held Zuko still as the scowling waterbender approached with her hand on her waterskin. Uncle had ordered Captain Izumi to stand ready to put out any flames, but they hadn't come for Zuko during the fight and they didn't come now. The guardswoman looked disgruntled at the order; probably she'd rather delegate to a junior captain, now that she'd been freed from babysitting.

 

The waterbender pursed her lips and knelt at Zuko's side. Whatever she did with that water-gloved hand over his chest felt wonderful, because apparently even his body was going to betray him today. 

 

He was laughing. Deep heaving laughs that got stronger after she healed him, thanks for that. He didn't know when that started, but it felt good, too.

 

"Come on, my boy," Uncle said. "You are going to sleep now, and we are going to talk in the morning. I know it does not feel like it now, but you will heal—"

 

Zuko slashed out a hand, breaking Uncle's kindly hold on his shoulders. He struggled back to sitting on his own.

 

"You said you thought of me as your son."

 

"I do, Zuko."

 

He managed to swallow the next laugh long enough to speak. 

 

"Thank you for the lesson, father."

You will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher.

 

And then he was laughing too hard to get up, and… It felt fucking fantastic, actually. The look on Uncle's face was almost as raw as Zuko's everything, it hurt and he couldn't stop laughing and it hurt.

 

He tried. He fought. He didn't give up. 

 

He still lost, like he always did.

 

Was it okay to stop now?

 

Chapter Text

The Head Clerk was having a lay down at his desk. Not an actual lay down, but clearly a mental one: he was looking at the same papers he had been since their Fire Lord left. Every now and then he would smile to himself, and then look vaguely horrified. 

 

The lower clerks were akin to a herd of buffalo-puppies left unsupervised outside their pen. Except with distinctly more staying at their desks. It was, after all, still work hours. 

 

"He was just so sweet," the young woman who'd talked their Fire Lord through the trade report said. "I knew he was young, but I didn't think he'd actually be young. I just…!"

 

"Oww, oww my ear. Could you please stop making high-pitched noises Jinza, they are not necessary for communication, and can we please get back to work—"

 

"You know you liked him, Takuya."

 

Takuya pushed his glasses a smidge higher up his nose. And lifted his chin, on general principle. "I don't really think it's either appropriate or safe to like a Fire Lord." 

 

"He seems… different," another clerk cautiously put in, with a glance all around to make sure no court spies had managed to infiltrate the closed room in the last thirty seconds.  

 

"He seems like we might get a raise," Gendou said, crossing his arms. " What? He does. Ozai never gave us one."

 

"Ozai never came down here," Jinza of the high-pitched noises pointed out.

 

"Can we all take a moment to appreciate that His Majesty Ozai never came down here?" Takuya said. "And I would be perfectly happy if Fire Lord Zuko similarly refrained from noticing us, this seems like a terrible precedent to encourage. It's fine when he's pleased, but what happens when—" 

 

There was a distant boom. They all instinctively flinched at the sound of lightning hitting something that was likely semi-important.

 

"I'm simply saying," Takuya said, "tigerdillo kittens are cute, but they grow up."

 

The echoes of Her Highness Azula's latest tantrum faded. It left considerable quiet behind.

 

"...So did anyone here get banished?" Gendou asked. He'd authored a paper on the consequences of burning an agricultural prefecture that one of the war ministers hadn't liked, and had gone to visit sick relatives for three months. Hadn't come back until he'd heard about the new Fire Lord. 

 

All the other clerks turned to Jinza. She held up her hands in surrender. "I was out delivering the budget report to Lady Huian. Her Highness seemed to think I was one of her handmaidens. 'Who authorized you to be in this hallway? You're banished!'" She tapped her chin. "His Majesty gave us back pay for that. Most terrifying vacation I've ever had."

 

"Can we all, please," Takuya said, "just take a moment to appreciate that we have a room to hide in? One that was, until this morning, royalty-free?"

 

"Can we all agree that the next time a royal is on the war path, Takuya's on budget-delivering duty?" Gendou said. 

 

The clerk's office was not a democracy, but this did not stop the vote from passing. 

 

It wasn't until lunch that any of them had cause to re-open their office door. They took their conversation into the hall (Takuya very firmly snatched his glasses back from Gendou, and finger-combed his ruffled hair, and—)

 

—And they realized the silence around them like rabbit-mice freezing in a too-still forest. Guards stood straight and attentive at their usual posts. Servants scuttled demurely about their duties. Everything ran with the perfect efficiency and familiarity of low-key terror. 

 

"Shit," Gendou said, and had Takuya and Jinza's hands clapped over his mouth before the word was halfway out. 

 

The clerks did not speculate on the atmosphere. They did not whisper or banter or chat. They walked calmly and respectfully through the hallways, stepping aside and bowing low to those of higher rank, nodding to those they knew, and otherwise blending as closely as they could with the floor and/or walls until they reached the safest place in the entire castle to find out what in Agni's name was going on, who or what had died, and had the nobles found a scapegoat for it yet or if they were still looking.

 

The kitchen doors opened onto carefully organized panic. 

 

%%%

 

"You need to leave," the sous-chef said, after checking who was coming through the door. Just the clerks; quiet kids who knew how to keep their heads down and their mouths shut. 

 

"I need to be here." The chef gutted another fire-salmon. Such work was beneath him, but he'd been doing a lot more of the stabbing prep since Prince—since Fire Lord Iroh's return.

 

"You insulted him to his face, Master Jae-Jin. You need to leave now." It was neither a plea nor a request. It was a fact. Between one fish and the next, the sous-chef took the cutting board and the fish basket away. 

 

The chef was left with only his knife and a shaking hand. This could have been a metaphor for his life, but was just reality. "I can't just run. That boy needs us to..."

 

"It's already done, Jae-Jin." The sous-chef took the knife, too. "Do you have somewhere to go?"

 

The chef nodded. He didn't say where, and the sous-chef didn't ask. He'd worked thirty-one years under Azulon and Ozai, his sous-chef for twenty-nine of them; they both knew how these things worked.

 

They both knew he should have kept his spirits-damned mouth shut, but he'd worked thirty-one years without as much hope for his nation as he'd had these past two months. 

 

The boy was too good for court. They'd known it when he was thirteen; it shouldn't have surprised them now.

 

%%%

 

Lady Huian called the servant to her office. The servant considered not coming. But… it was Lady Huian. And she didn't know where else to go.

 

"Please take a seat."

 

The servant carefully smoothed her skirts under her knees, and did so. She did not look up. 

 

"Do you have somewhere to go?"

 

She shook her head. Lady Huian reached across the low table, and squeezed her hand. "Let's find you someplace then, shall we?"

 

Crying was beneath a palace servant. But she wasn't a palace servant anymore, was she?

 

Five days ago, she'd been bold and thought herself clever when she was really just stupid, a fool who'd let her guard down. She had joked with His Maj—with Prince Zuko. Smiled and said It's good to see you eating, Your Majesty. And it was. And the young lord had blushed, and she hadn't been afraid at all that he would ever do anything more.

 

But she'd also called Prin—called Fire Lord Iroh's friend, the Water Tribe boy, a poison taster.

 

Jokes like that were not safe, and she could not risk staying to find out exactly how not safe they were, especially if anything did happen because then she would be the first blamed and the court sometimes found it inconvenient to investigate further— 

 

"Ssh. Quiet now, you sweet girl. It won't be forever. We'll call you back when all is forgotten." Lady Huian stroked her hair. "You had a family emergency, and had to leave very suddenly…"  

 

%%%

 

Lightning flashed above the palace, cutting through the cloudless sky. The crack of thunder came a moment later. Some in the square glanced up; the rest had better things to do.

 

Or better things to gossip about. A group of old busybodies veterans, too old or injured or both to fight, was clogging up the pavement in front of Old Sakura's fish cart ( spicy fire-salmon, hot shell-lobster, fried to order—)

 

"It's the shoes. Look, see? No, don't look -look, you're staring. But see? They changed their clothes, sure, but those are fancy little slippers they've got on. Palace servants, you mark me. Looks like Fire Lord Zuko's staff has got their first case of urgently sick relatives."

 

Old Sakura's useless fish gutter gutted his own hand. Again. "Boy. Stop staring and work."

 

"Sorry, ma'am." The young man ducked his head and tucked his shoulders, though he kept tracking the red-eyed girl with her too-nice shoes as an older woman led her towards the docks. 

 

The busybodies continued busybodying. And not buying anything, either. "So His Majesty's finally cleaning court? About time he showed his colors." 

 

"Do you think it's that? Or do you think the court cleaned him? Prince Iroh is back in town…"

 

One of them spit to the side. "Like anyone would stand for that traitor on the throne?"

 

"The boy's a traitor, too. What? He is. Though I guess he's probably rescinded that status by now. Perks of being in charge."

 

"How did he defeat his sister, anyway?"

 

"Poison, for sure. Slip her a little before the fight, and—"

 

"There wasn't a fight. They'd have announced it if he ascended legally. She was just Fire Lord one day, and gone the next."

 

"If you ask me, the Sages wanted the weaker heir on the throne. It's a power grab now that Ozai's gone."

 

"I heard she was betrayed by those Dai-whatsits—the Earth Kingdom traitors, you know the ones—"

 

" Oww!" the young man dropped his knife.

 

Old Sakura glared down at him. He didn't meet her eyes; never did. "You bleed on the merchandise, I'm taking it out of your wages."

 

"Yes, ma'am," he said, around the sliced finger he'd stuck in his mouth.

 

"Thought you said you knew how to do this."

 

"I do. In theory? I've seen it done."

 

Old Sakura sighed, and lamented the declining quality of day laborers. And busybodies who were still standing in front of her stall.

 

"—Clearly takes after his father. I mean really, trying to challenge for the throne at thirteen?"

 

"That's not what happened!"

 

"Oh, sorry, it was a training accident."

 

"You take that back! My cousin was in the 41st—" 

 

"Never took you for a conspiracy theorist."

 

"Say that again."

 

"Break it up, you two, the guards are right there—"

 

Old Sakura's fish gutter stared down at his still-very-bleeding finger, then flicked his gaze briefly up at her. Old Sakura gave him the ol' what do you expect me to do about it deadpan that had gotten her through five children and seemed fit to get her through the grandbabies, too. The young man looked around helpless as a salmon-eel flopping on the docks, then finally figured out he could tear a strip from his shirt and wrap it up himself. Did it a lot better than anything he'd done with that knife, and Old Sakura wondered what kind of life taught a man about bandages but not blades. But she didn't become Old Sakura by asking questions this close to the palace.

 

The busybodies hadn't even glanced at Old Sakura's menu.

 

"My sister's girl is a clerk up at the palace, and she says the guards say the boy came after his father with swords on the eclipse. Swords!"

 

"I heard he used lightning."  

 

"Com'on, how's the royal family's weakest bender pull off lightning during an eclipse?"

 

"You're all missing the point. Ozai is still alive. He's still our lord. Why isn't anyone getting him back? It's got to be a Fire Sage conspiracy—"

 

"The Fire Lord's the Fire Lord. Don't act like you care who's signing the war orders."

 

"Isn't His Majesty Zuko trying to stop the war?"

 

"Please stop buying into the propaganda. It's for the other countries, not us."

 

"I hope Prince Iroh does take the throne. We can't have a sixteen year old in charge, not when the other nations are getting bold enough to attack our capital. Definitely don't need a kid who's going to sit down for peace talks with the Avatar. Didn't he lead the attack? We need someone who knows war—"

 

"Someone who knows how to run from war, you mean?"

 

"Your cousin was in the 41st? I was in the 56th. Ba Sing Se was a bloodbath after we opened up that wall, he saved all our lives when he pulled back—"

 

"Should have slit his own stomach, the coward—"

 

" Say that again."

 

"Guys. The guards. Are right there.

 

Old Sakura's fish gutter swore, and stuck another finger in his mouth. It wasn't a Fire Nation swear, but at least it was quiet. Old Sakura flipped a tuna-pus on the grill. "You're going to get yourself burnt if you keep letting your mud show, kid."

 

He met her eyes. Just for a startled, scared moment. Green eyes in a Fire Nation face. "What do you mean, ma'am?"

 

"Colony brats don't last in Caldera. Especially not useless ones." She wasn't crude enough to say half-breed, but the way he always kept his eyes on the ground, she didn't need to. He ducked his head again. "And that's another thing—I don't know how it is in whatever backwater you washed in from, but in the Fire Nation, we have pride. Keep your head up, learn to use a spirits-damned knife if you can't bend, and if you lot aren't buying anything, move out!"

 

The busybodies took their near-brawl and their gossiping elsewhere. Old Sakura got back to selling fish.

 

Her fish gutter got back to practicing on himself. But he was swearing by Agni now, so he could learn.

 

%%%

 

The palace doctor ran a hand through his silvered hair as they stood outside the prince's room in the infirmary. Captain Izumi thought they'd both had less gray the last time they'd been here, but it was likely just her imagination. Three years wasn't much time to change, and they'd both been old lion-dogs for longer than she liked to admit.

 

"She didn't make it worse, at least," the doctor said. "But it's too soon to say if he's truly healed. The arrhythmia is gone for the moment, but it's always been better when he's resting. I simply don't know how a waterbenders' healing works."

 

"Keep me informed," she said. Not an order, but a request between friends. The doctor nodded tiredly. 

 

One of her guards slipped from the Fire L—the prince's room. "Captain? He's awake."

 

She took one look at the man's face, and set her jaw. "Did he attack you?"

 

"No, he…" The guard looked ill. His next word was a plea, more than anything. "Captain." 

 

The prince was kneeling on the floor when she entered the room. Kneeling, and offering his hands up to be bound, and looking puzzled by the way the other guard had retreated from him.

 

"Prince Zuko," she said, but didn't know how to continue.

 

"Captain Izumi," he said, his voice as carefully level and respectful as it had been since they brought him up from the dark. He probably thought it made him sound mature, but Izumi thought he sounded like a child drowning in his father's robes. "I'm ready."

 

She looked down at his offered hands, and wished she didn't understand. "Prince Zuko, please return to bed."

 

"I'd rather just sleep in my cell. It's… too bright here." He swallowed. "Or… am I banished?"

 

She couldn't talk. Not right then. Not with her prince on the floor. She took him by the arm (an inexcusable crossing of lines; a common guard handling the royal person like a son of Agni's line was a simple child in need of a friendly touch—) and she led him back to his bed. He leaned against the side at her urging, but he wouldn't lay down and her muscles locked at the thought of pushing him.

 

"You're not banished, Your Highness."

 

His eyes weren't entirely focused; the doctor had been trying to give him a few hours rest, but this particular son of Agni had the stubbornness of a mule-ox. "It's okay. You don't have to lie to me. I know how this works."

 

"Fire Lord Iroh has given no such orders, sir." She wanted to say that he wouldn't, that the prince was safe, but she'd thought him safe this morning and she wouldn't be made a liar again. "I believe he wishes for you to rest."

 

"You don't have to lie," he repeated, in the same dazed way a thirteen year old with bandages on his face had asked How long am I banished for?

 

And his uncle had sat by his bedside and explained, as Fire Lord Ozai's guards stood waiting to enforce the order.

 

Captain Izumi pushed the memory down. "I have no such orders, sir. I will report to you immediately if this changes."

 

He let his shoulders slump. It made him look even smaller. "Thank you, Captain."

 

His eyes flicked to the guard who'd backed away from him, and the other who was only now slipping back into the room. 

 

"They're here to protect you, sir."

 

"By order of the Fire Lord," he said, sounding precisely as reassured as the statement warranted. One of those horrible laughs slipped out of him again, but at least he had the presence of mind to clap a hand over his mouth. His shoulders shook, and Captain Izumi didn't know whether she'd rather it was with laughter or worse.

 

He'd never trusted them to keep him safe, even when he was the one giving orders. He'd as good as said he'd expected to be overthrown at the court's earliest convenience. Given that he'd never shared that concern with her, she could gather what side of the coup he'd expected her to fall on. He'd thought she wouldn't help him.

 

She hadn't. What did it matter that Fire Lord Iroh had done things the legal way, that it had been no place of hers to step in when sun clashed against sun; she hadn't done a thing to stop him. Hadn't done a thing to earn this boy's trust, or a thing to keep it. 

 

He'd been right about her. She just hadn't known it herself, until today.  

 

"You should... rest for now. Sir." 

 

"Okay," he said, but he was still sitting on the bed when she left. The doctor took one look at her, and prepared a second dose of sleeping aid for their former Fire Lord. 

 

%%%

 

Sokka wished for a lot of things. There were the ones he quipped about, the little papercuts in life: more meat, an Avatar-leash, his space sword back from whatever burned Earth Kingdom field it had dropped in. 

 

Then there were the wishes that cut a little too deep, and the scabs were prone to tearing: a hug that felt like mom's, his little sister at home sewing his pants like safe little sisters did instead of constantly hurling themselves at danger, a girlfriend that didn't turn into the moon or wind up otherwise gone-never-coming-back and it was already done before he'd even known he missed his chance to save her. 

 

Then there were the big ones, the amputated limbs he still felt but couldn't move: 

 

A childhood like the elders talked about, with summers split between the different camps where berries grew and salmon ran and seals slept on ice flows, not running between ice-bound secondary sites to avoid Fire Navy patrols along the coast. Winters spent around a fire in the central lodge, wrapped in furs and stories of the world's first tides rather than staring at the spaces that hadn't been empty last year.

 

A working relationship with their sister tribe in the north and the Foggy Swamp and even the knowledge of where other pockets of waterbenders might be tucked away (and why hadn't he looked that up in Wan Shi Tong's library, instead of going straight for the information that would get them kicked out? He wondered if Aang felt the same about Air Nomad hiding places, but didn't-couldn't ask. It went without saying that getting chased by a giant owl-snake meant he'd screwed things up for their whole team.) 

 

And a very relevant wish: for a father who'd stayed home, and the other fathers with him, and all the other tribes' fathers, so that Sokka could have had more than dim memories of how to act when different clans came together to trade. Because Sokka had been trying really hard to keep it together once the negotiations got serious, but he didn't know how to talk to these people. Just like he hadn't known how to talk in the Northern Water Tribe's court. Like he'd made of mess of things speaking with his father's troops before the invasion. And maybe these Fire Nation people would have always found some reason to take offense to a barbarian kid trying to talk sense into them, but at least Sokka might've had some idea of whether what he was doing was as rude as Zuko and his advisors acted. When he'd poked that report this morning and asked what it was, Fire Lord Anger Problems had looked ready to immolate him on the spot. It was a question! And an illustrative poke! He hadn't run over the guy's seal-kitten with his sled! The ministers scowled when he talked with his hands and glowered when he talked them through the other nations' views on things and just plain glared when he just plain talked.

 

He wished dad was here to deal with this instead, but dad was in one of their prisons (please, please be in prison; if no other wish of Sokka's ever came true let this be the one that did). He wished the Earth King wasn't an idiot who'd probably been eaten by his bear a dozen yards past Chameleon Bay, or that Long Feng could be trusted alone with an innocent civilian and a glowy light, or the Generals weren't holding their country together because each of them expected a piece of it at the end. He wished Arnook wasn't holed up in the North building a steel fleet and Kyoshi had any political pull of which to speak and Bumi wasn't wolf-batshit crazy. He wished there was literally anyone else who could have been handling these pre-negotiations that might open the door to some kind of actual peace, but 'willing' and 'capable' were alarmingly mutually exclusive at the national leadership level. Which, you know. Explained why a band of literal children had to end the war.

 

Essentially, Sokka wished adults didn't suck so hard. And if they could have gotten their shit together about a century ago, that would have been great. 

 

So yeah. He wished for a lot of things. But watching Iroh take down Zuko? Not on the wish-list. 

 

He'd have thought it was; replacing Fire Lord Perma-Scowl with Fire Lord Gives-Great-Hugs? That sounded like a very practical and achievable Sokka-wish. So it had come with some Sokka-surprise when he'd been sitting at that table wondering how to even start explaining that no one can own the oceans, what even was that map of Zuko's, what did owning an ocean mean and why would you want to and if this was about fishing rights, that was cool and they could set some general harvest limits and this-is-our-ancestral-seasonal-hunting-spot-not-yours rules like any reasonable tribe, when suddenly Zuko was standing and shouting and flame-daggering and when had Iroh decided to challenge his nephew for the throne, how was this a thing, goddamn it adults Sokka couldn't take you anywhere. They should have turned Iroh down and just kidnapped some random firebending child to teach Aang; it had worked fine for the other elements.

 

And before he'd been able to figure out a non-maximally-insulting way of voicing any of that, it was already over. And Zuko—who sucked about as hard as the rest of them at this peace-talks thing but had been doing a fantastic job of shouting at his own advisors just as much as he shouted at them—was… was doing that crazy-laugh thing on the ground. And was no longer Fire Lord. Which Sokka would have thought he'd be okay with, but oh boy was he ever not, and he did not want to think about why but oh hey there went his brain anyway.

 

(Sokka's brain wondered why his side of the table couldn't have just walked out when Zuko told them to leave, and sent Toph back to drag him off to his own doctor. Zuko, like the suicidal moron he clearly was, had apparently decided he was okay with the World's Most Casually Abusive Twelve-Year-Old manhandling him. Sokka was not above taking advantage of that. Would have taken advantage of that. If he'd thought of it in time, dammit brain.)

 

(And Sokka's brain was really uncomfortable with how convenient it was for the White Lotus to have one of their grandmasters on the throne. Also on Sokka's growing list of discomforts: that the old dragon had been teaching him pai sho strategies, and some of them were coming to mind a little too readily. Like 'the best moves lead to victory on multiple fronts.' And 'never place a piece to win a round when there is the opportunity to take the game.' He wondered if Iroh had thought about any of that as he decided to escalate the situation rather than withdraw, or if playing to win was just years and years of instinct for him.)

 

(Sokka's heart trusted Iroh. But Sokka's brain had a feeling Zuko had trusted Iroh, too. And it would be nice, just once, to meet a Fire Nation royal and not feel like he was playing into their hands, however peace-loving and genial. Another item for the wish list.)

 

In conclusion, the Agni Kai had been two hours ago and Sokka's thoughts were primarily a long continuous scream of not okay with this on many levels that he had not yet even begun to process, and he was going to keep following Iroh around and not-asking-him-all-of-Sokka's-brain's-questions until his internal screaming had petered out some.

 

"Do we need to leave?" Sokka asked, sticking extremely close to the old dragon's side as Iroh sedately walked through the palace like he hadn't just overthrown its lord and his nephew. Which was, for the record, one of the things Sokka was not okay with. To a surprising extent he hadn't know prior to it happening. It was fundamentally unnerving to have the whole family doesn't mean as much in the Fire Nation thing thrown in his face from Iroh, when he'd been bracing for it from Zuko. It was kind of like cresting a snowbank and expecting the wind to blow at his front and getting his spear all braced, but nope, it was blowing from behind and now he was flat on his face and still not quite sure how he'd gotten there. 

 

The servants and the guards weren't giving them the stink-eye as they passed. They were stepping out of the way and bowing low in a way they distinctly hadn't for Zuko. Which should have meant that they respected Iroh more, but Sokka had this twisting feeling in his stomach telling him it was the exact opposite. 

 

"You should return to our rooms," Iroh said. "I assure you, this is quite normal for the palace. Things were… unusually rowdy under my nephew."

 

"Yeah. Because they liked him more, right? And they don't like us, right?" Crazy as it sounded, they'd seemed to find Zuko's inhuman persistence and occasional bouts of ineffectual yelling to be endearing.

 

Iroh didn't answer. He merely stopped in front of a door with his hands tucked up his sleeves, staring straight ahead as if expecting it to open itself. It did, because a servant ran over to get it for him. Which they'd also tried to do for Zuko, but Former Fire Lord Jerkface was really good at getting a head start and opening them himself. Which had been consistently funny to watch in a way that Sokka could almost respect, because it was really weird standing here and letting someone do basic life things for him. 

 

Inside the door was some kind of really fancy gold-inlays-on-the-wooden-ceiling infirmary and Sokka realized suddenly why they were here and okay, maybe he should have gone back to the room after all, because Zuko's laughter was still echoing around his head and… it was not okay.

 

That silver-haired guard captain was talking with a guy who was clearly a doctor, in the same way Yugoda up at the North Pole had been. There was just a kind of I know twenty ways to set bones and it goes the other way too so don't sass me young man look they shared, even though this guy was tall and pale and stern-faced and Yugoda was short and dark and smiling. The guy stood as Iroh entered, and everyone in the room whose name wasn't 'Sokka' bowed absurdly low. 

 

"How is my nephew?" Iroh asked. "Has he woken yet?"

 

"He's resting, sir," the guard captain said. Which was, Sokka noted, not an answer to either question. 

 

"I see," Iroh said, holding her gaze. And she held his. And they had a high-stakes blinking-contest, while Sokka's brain tried not to wonder how many palace guards it would take to bring Iroh down. He hoped that wasn't what the captain was thinking, too. Eventually Iroh turned to the doctor, like he hadn't just failed to assert his eyeball dominance. "I wish to be informed when my nephew is ready for visitors."

 

"Yes, Fire Lord Iroh." The doctor bowed again. "If I may, would it be possible to speak with the waterbender? It would be helpful in formulating Prince Zuko's treatment plan if I knew what she has already done."

 

"I will request that she visit you. In the mean time, I require a sleep aid. Four doses, I think."

 

Sokka could actually see the guy biting back his curiosity. Apparently one did not ask the Fire Lord why do you need that in the middle of the afternoon, or should I be concerned. Which was unfortunate, because those were definitely Sokka's questions. He'd rather not be the one asking them and looking like the idiot who didn't know what his own side was planning. Another thing that wasn't okay: Iroh's communication skills. They'd had this talk, the please tell us your plans before we are in the middle of them talk, but it had stuck about as well as the please don't flick dirt in the vicinity of the food preparations discussion had gone with Toph. 

 

The doctor prepared the doses from a container he'd already had on his desk, which pretty much told Sokka the state Zuko was in. Though having seen the teen walk through a blizzard after fighting Katara after drenching himself in polar waters, Sokka had to wonder how many doses it had taken to put him down. There wasn't any unhinged laughter from behind that closed door, so probably Former Fire Lord Couldn't-Have-Given-Sokka-Better-Nightmares-If-He'd-Tried really was resting. Or curled up on his side wheeze-chuckling quietly because he'd finally run out of breath and only then did anyone dare to touch him. 

 

How much more human do you want me to be, Water Tribe?

 

Sokka would have gladly gone his whole life without having a concrete answer to that. But he should have known that Zuko didn't do rhetorical questions.

 

Once Iroh had a little red packet of sleepy-time powder in his hands, he went to the door. And stared at it. The guard captain herself opened it for him, and Katara was right, these people bowed too much.

 

"I will require your assistance, Captain Izumi," Iroh said. Once the captain was done bowing and closing doors behind them and bowing again, she followed at their heels like a particularly stiff-tailed polar bear dog. 

 

Lightning boomed, off in Azula-land. That had been… happening a lot today. Sokka stared up at the ceiling as they walked.

 

"What are we going to do about that?"

 

"I will handle it. Please, return to the others." 

 

"Oh no. Oh no no no, you are not facing Crazy Blue alone. I know you don't want Aang with you in case you need to make with solving the problem, and Toph is acting weird, but Katara and I—"

 

"Water against lightning? Your sister's own element will conduct the cold fire to her heart." 

 

"Okay, so just you and me—"

 

"Azula is a bending prodigy." 

 

A part of Sokka's brain noted that Iroh always called her Azula, never my niece. The rest of him was finding newer, more alarming ways to be not okay with this. "I'm practically a swordmaster, if you round up—"

 

"Sokka. "

 

"I can help."

 

Iroh set a hand on his shoulder. All warm and familiar and comforting and still not okay. "Return to our rooms. I have tea to make."

 

For a second that statement joggled around Sokka's brain like a lose package on a sled, out of place and what even was it. Then his eyes focused on the little red packet, and it clicked home. 

 

"Oh. Oh. Tea," he said. "Right. ...I could still help. Just in case."

 

"She is a firebender, Sokka."

 

And he wasn't. And judging by the reactions around the table this morning, firebenders would literally rather be dead than be non-benders. And sure Iroh was friends with Master Piandao, but Piandao was a legendary swordsman and the only non-bender Sokka had noticed in the White Lotus' ranks. So. Sokka and his growing competence with the stabbity-stab probably looked like bad backup, from where Iroh was standing. Maybe not even backup at all, just a Water Tribe boy holding a literal lightning rod. 

 

He twisted all that bitterness around into a worried smile. "Be careful, Fire Lord. Team Avatar has some things they need you for, still." 

 

Iroh smiled, and went with his guard captain to make tea for his niece. And Sokka went back to the Gaang's room. No one even tried to assassinate him on the way there, though some clerk-y looking people scuttled to the side of the hall and bowed ridiculously low, like he was… the friend of their new Fire Lord.

 

He was friends with the Fire Lord. That was going to take some getting used to. 

 

%%%

 

In the back of the kitchen, away from where the sous-chef was sorting out his staff following his sudden field promotion, the off-duty guards were talking. As quietly as they could, because the kitchen staff were gossips, and this… wasn't talk they wanted getting around. It was just talk they needed to get out in the open, so they knew they weren't alone.

 

"This is wrong. We all know it's wrong but we're just sitting here—"

 

"He lost the Agni Kai. Two Agni Kais, to two Fire Lords. Maybe Agni's trying to say something."

 

One of the cooks scuttled past with a tray, and shoved it in the oven. And waited there, inhaling and exhaling to fiddle with the fire's temperature. And, in general, fooling no one. The guards stayed silent until the cook gave up and left. Then they re-huddled.

 

"The Avatar cheated, you all saw it—Fire Lord Zuko didn't make a single flame."

 

"Wait, what? What's that got to do with the Avatar?" 

 

"I was right outside the room. He admitted he can take away bending. Did it to Fire Lord Ozai, why not to his son?" 

 

"No. ...What. No. And he…? To the Fire L—to Prince Zuko?"

 

"The Avatar didn't even touch him. It was probably one of the generals poisoning him; he's been looking like shit all week. Worse than usual, I mean."

 

"He's been looking like shit because he's barely sleeping, we've all seen the light through his door."

 

The cook scurried back, peering in the oven like anything would be done two minutes after being put in. The guards turned as one, and glared. This proved sufficient to earn them a sheepish shrug and another few minutes alone. 

 

"I was in the room. He made flame-daggers right before Ir— Fire Lord Iroh challenged, strong as any I've seen. And he didn't eat or drink anything before the fight. It wasn't poison."

 

"But I'm telling you, the Avatar didn't touch him."

 

"Who knows if he needs to touch him!"

 

"If he doesn't even need to touch someone to take their bending away, how are we going to stop him? Not that we're going to, I'm not suggesting—shit, do I need to visit sick relatives?"

 

"I didn't hear anything." 

 

There were murmurs of agreement tablewide.

 

"...Someone needs to do something. It's not right."

 

More agreement. And no suggestions given voice. This was the Fire Lord's palace: for the last hundred years, mutterings had gone exactly nowhere. When Azulon ordered the dragons killed, when Ozai took the throne from under his grieving brother, when a thirteen-year-old had been burned and banished as an example of what place compassion had in the court.

 

Lightning cracked over the palace. Again. It was getting more insistent. 

 

Captain Izumi beckoned them from the doorway. "I need ten of you."

 

Ten more were already outside. There were very few people who warranted twenty royal firebenders. Given that Iroh was watching the proceedings and Zuko was already down, that narrowed things down significantly.

 

%%%

 

The water between her hands was too warm, like the rest of this country. Katara shaped it into a perfect sphere, a penguin-otter, a fish-urchin, and it was tepid and awful between her palms. She could have frozen it, but tepid and awful was how she felt.

 

Sokka shot through the half-open door that some servant was trying to open for him, and for just a moment she thought there was a fight, that they could win their way free and leave. But he just flopped on the floor cushions next to Aang and stared up at the ceiling and rubbed his temples.

 

"So Iroh's going to poison Azula," he said, like that was a normal conversation starter.

 

The water between her hands collapsed. She scowled, and coaxed it back up from the tatami mats. "He's what?"

 

"Not dead-poison, just sleepy-time poison. And I'm pretty sure they're keeping Zuko sedated." He pressed both hands over his eyes. "Is anyone else not okay with how that just went down?" 

 

Toph growled something incoherent. She hadn't uncrossed her arms since they'd hauled Zuko off and not let her come with. 

 

Aang had pretty much been hugging his legs since then. "...At least the Fire Nation is on our side, now." 

 

"Yeah," Sokka said. "Until one of those advisors dead-poisons Iroh. ...Man, what are we even going to eat."

 

"Is that really the most important—" Toph started.

 

Aang scooted a little closer to Katara. "Is Zuko going to be okay?"

 

"He'll be fine, Aang," Katara snapped.

 

"He looked really—"

 

"It's Zuko. He won't die that easily."

 

Toph rounded on her. "We both felt that messed up thing his heart was doing, Sugar Queen—" 

 

(Stuttering, stalling, trying too hard under her hands and not hard enough at all.)

 

"—I haven't felt that since—"

 

(Aang on the ship, those first few days of his coma, when she thought that just-one-more session would make everything okay again. She knew how to heal that, now. She was possibly the most skilled healer in the world when it came to lightning damage. And she'd used her knowledge on Zuko.)

 

"—And another thing! Why did you have to keep popping that stupid cork, you just about gave him a heart attack every time. Did you think that was funny?"

 

"What?" Katara raised her eyes from her water, and frowned. "I just… do that when I'm thinking." When she was nervous, she was absolutely not going to say. "I was doing it under the table. It's not like he knew."

 

"Don't even try it, Sugar Queen. He jumped so hard he fell over when you did it the first time."

 

"Yeah, when we were sitting right next to him, not a giant meeting table away! Not everyone has ears on their feet, Toph." 

 

"How did you not see him flinching? What is wrong with your sighted-people eyes? He's just trying to do the best he can—"

 

"Yeah, well," Sokka said, "while I admit either tentative belief in his sincerity or great admiration for his ability to con us while keeping up the shouty hot-head act, the guy needs to—needed to— take a nap and think things over, not throw together proposals every time somebody said something. I didn't need fifteen pages on why every idea I've ever had or will have on trade deals and tariffs is completely wrong. ...The graphs were nice, though. Does he just have people whose job it is to sit around and draw those?" 

 

Her fish-urchin was growing more spikes by the moment. By the heartbeat.

 

(Zuko, whose heart had felt exactly as weak and fragile as Aang's.)

 

"I keep telling you—" Toph was too loud, too close, and Katara didn't want to hear it.

 

She stood. And slammed the sliding door open so hard the guard stationed outside jumped. 

 

"Where are you going?" Aang asked.

 

She didn't turn around. "To keep Appa company."

 

"I'll come—"

 

She slammed the door closed behind her. 

 

"Probably a bad idea, Aang," her brother said, muffled only slightly through the paper screens. 

 

Appa whuffed a greeting. Katara sank down against his side, leaning back against too-warm fur in the too-warm sun. She bent her too-warm water, and tried not to think about how thin Zuko had felt under her hands, or how Iroh had to hold him down so he wouldn't crawl away from her. How breakable-scared he'd felt under her hands. 

 

(Or of the boy in the catacombs, whose heart had been scared-strong under her hand as she touched his face. What had happened to him?)

 

%%%

 

Huian did not startle as the door opened behind her. She simply set her cloak aside, like it was a perfectly normal thing to have been wearing on a warm autumn day. 

 

It was one of her staff. Fortunately. "Lady Huian, you're back. Prin—Fire Lord Iroh, he's... requesting we bring lunch to Her Highness." 

 

Huian did not freeze; it would never do for her staff to see her as anything but composed. A steady fire they could gather around, when they needed strength. "He is not going himself?"

 

Thunder rolled overhead. Again. As it had been for hours now, with no Zuko to calm Azula back down. Lady Huian's servants were not known for their skill in redirecting lightning. If she sent one in, they might very well die.

 

"No," the servant said. "He… he's gathering guards. I think we're the distraction."

 

It is the Fire Lord's duty to protect his people, a very old and unconscionably naive part of her whispered. A pretty lie she'd learned at her grandfather's feet, and set aside her first day working under Azulon, packed up and stowed away with the rest of her childhood.

 

(Where had Zuko learned it? Certainly not from his grandfather.)

 

"Tell him I'll be right there."

 

"Lady Huian?" her servant asked, not understanding at first. Huian moved to her closet, and picked out the very best of her serving clothes, to replace the rough-spun street clothes she'd worn to the dock. There was no excuse for poor style. "Lady Huian, you— you can't go—"

 

"I can't ask any of you to go, either." 

 

(When had she unboxed all these toys? Honor and duty and all the rest.) 

 

"Lady Huian…"

 

"I'll handle it," she said, the lie confident in her smile. "Go."

 

(The stupid boy couldn't even put his robes on straight, couldn't even last to his third month as Fire Lord; she'd known before he was ever burned that his father would cast him aside. Had distanced herself appropriately.)

 

(And then he had come back, the burn as horrid as she'd heard and his manners worse than she remembered, and all his pretty ideas on what a Fire Lord should be scattered about where anyone could step on them. Or trip over them.)

 

Lady Huian had adjusted a fidgeting boy's robes this morning and sent him into a fight this afternoon. She was no bender, but she thought she knew what an inner flame felt like.

 

%%%

 

Zuzu was late Zuzu wasn't coming Zuzu feared her hated her despised her scorned her ignored her had given up on her— 

 

The palace outside her burned window frames was as quiet as it had ever been under Ozai. Quiet and respectful as the Fire Lord's court should be. Not that undignified riot of smiles and chatter the servants had gotten away with under Zuko's lax rule. The servants scurried and scampered and left her when she called out to them, the only time she would call out to them, she didn't need them didn't want them she just (wanted) (needed)—   

 

Azula threw herself down on her nest of singed pillows, and resolved to punish her brother severely when he did dare to show his face. He knew the consequences of disrespecting his Fire Lord. 

 

(It had been hours.)

 

(It had been hours, hadn't it?)

 

A servant called out quietly. Azula ran fingers through her hair and seated herself prettily—though not so prettily as to give the impression she cared —and bid the woman enter.

 

It was an older woman. One of those head servant types, a concept she had always found amusing: a head rabbit-mouse, scurrying about a dragon's warren like they owned the dirt and scraps of bone. She bowed well enough, though, and Azula eventually allowed her to rise. 

 

"Where is my brother?"

 

"The Fire Lord has been very busy today," The woman laid out her lunch with quick efficiency and steady hands and Azula contemplated whether she preferred that or trembling. She snatched the tea cup straight from the woman, just to watch her flinch, but she didn't.

 

Perhaps there was something to this head rabbit-mouse business after all. She drank, long and slow, savoring the moment before the woman realized her mistake. 

 

She was too stupid to, of course. Azula really must do everything herself.

 

"You said 'the Fire Lord.' Am I not your Fire Lord?"

 

The woman took in a breath—a shaky breath, good, finally—and had the audacity to raise her head and meet her betters' gaze. 

 

"Fire Lord Iroh has been very busy today," the rabbit-mouse said.

 

Her cup broke itself on the ground, tea drops and porcelain shards scattering over floor and servant and Azula like they were all equal. The woman was sitting there in perfect seiza with her hands steady on her lap and her chin high and her gaze still on Azula's, watching her, seeing her, expecting something from her and she knew she knew it wasn't for herself that this thing was asked, the rabbit-mice all scurried away from her feet but Zuzu had always been appallingly tolerant of them, they liked him, they wanted to help him— (They wanted to help him.)

 

(She hadn't heard fire. If there'd been a fight for the throne, why hadn't she heard fire?)

 

(Unless he hadn't fought.)

 

(The rabbit-mouse held her eyes, and there was fight in them.)

 

"Twenty-one guards in the hall," the servant whispered. "And your uncle. Fire Lord Zuko is in the infirmary. He isn't injured but they have him drugged, and the Avatar may have taken his bending away—" 

 

Azula listened. And when the woman who was a lion-ferret, how had Azula ever mistaken her for a mouse, when she was done, Azula nodded her head in an appropriate show of gratitude and not a hair more. 

 

"I strongly suggest," she said, "that you go out the window."

 

The servant looked uncertain for the first time since she came into the room.

 

"I never did like that door," Azula clarified, blue fire on her hands.

 

The servant's eyes went wide. Azula gave her a very generous ten second head start. Then she breathed in, and out, and in, and did what she'd been wanting to do for the past two months (for the past fourteen years).

 

She started burning this palace to the ground.

 

%%%

 

Sokka and Toph and Aang all stared in the same direction. It had been a very loud direction. And... continued to be. 

 

"Uh," Sokka said.

 

" Azula," Toph said, which was about as helpful, and significantly more obvious.

 

Aang did his Aang thing, and raced off in a swirl of wind without waiting for the rest of them.

 

An Avatar-leash. Sokka wished for one.

 

%%%

 

Azula punched fire at her uncle's face and felt better for the first time in weeks. She would laugh, but cackling mid-fight was a rookie mistake that interfered terribly with breath control, she'd learned that when she was seven and Zuzu had won against her for the very last time. She smiled instead, vicious white sharp-toothed, and trusted her flames to carry her emotions. 

 

Uncle went on the defensive, and his guards took the offensive while he shielded them, and twenty-odd people could not fight effectively in a hallway. Azula kindly took down the walls for them, and leapt-rolled-smiled out of the way of the falling ceiling into one of the palace's many courtyards. A few less than twenty-one guards stumbled out of the burning wreckage to chase her. And uncle. He wasn't smiling at all, the big Frowny-Face. Aww, was he having a bad day?

 

His hands moved in a swift circle, faster than she ever could (yet), and lightning crackled her way.

 

Azula caught it, and redirected, and wondered why he'd ever thought that would work. Zuzu had been demonstrating the redirection form for ages.

 

Uncle caught the bolt. And redirected. And by the intense look on his face, he apparently saw nothing funny in playing lightning tag with his niece. Was this the first time he'd ever played with her? Hmm.

 

Bored now. Azula redirected the lightning into the chest of a handy guard, and trusted that Uncle would learn his lesson. No more of that, please.

 

She moved her own arms in a circle, and watched him brace for another redirect. Instead she called flame whips, and smiled ever-so-wide as he was forced to dodge, off-step and off-balance.

 

(He was fighting at full strength, not tired at all. Not like he would have been if he'd really fought earlier. Had Zuzu sunk to his knees? Had he begged?)

 

Azula dyed the courtyard blue. She was a daughter of Agni, her light closer and hotter than her ancestor's. 

 

Uncle's guards kept getting in the way of her perfect kill shots. Oh well; at least they weren't wasted. 

 

Uncle let them. Zuzu wouldn't have.

 

(Zuko was so trusting, just like those damn turtleducks he loved, willing to swim up to the first hand that showed kindness but those were exactly the hands that are close enough to hurt.)

 

"I must admit," Azula panted, into one of those little lulls that fights have, when one was holding a guard by the throat and one's uncle was hesitating adorably. "I'm impressed. Playing the long game, were you uncle?" That flicker in his eyes, yes, she was right. (She was right she was right she was always right, she should never have hidden away, this wouldn't have happened if she'd been on the throne.) "You knew you couldn't beat father, but you trained Zuko. Poorly, I might add. You took him from father and from me and you played the caring uncle. Set up the child-Avatar to take out our father for you. Set up Zuko to take his place. And then you broke him, just because you could. Because he's father's and you made him yours, and you didn't need him anymore. One last backhand to your brother. I can understand that."

 

The guard whimpered and clawed at her hand and it was really all quite undignified. Azula let the heat crawling under her skin bite and gnaw its way free, hotter and hotter and what would Uncle do, there were so many people around, would he still pretend like he cared about them?

 

"But Uncle. Zuzu is my brother. My toy. You do not. Get to break. My toys."

 

Uncle threw lightning again. A fair move, given that it took two hands to redirect, and one of hers was otherwise occupied. She jerked the guard into its path, and tsked. 

 

"Rude. Now, what was I saying?" Toys, something something. Oh well.

 

She brought fire to her legs and boosted her speed to close the distance. The fat old dragon was better at range than in close quarters. 

 

Should be better at range than in close quarters.

 

She should be better, but she missed a step there, and another, and— 

 

And Uncle was waving the guards away, now. Didn't need them, now. Was smiling, now. Just a little curling at the edges of his lips, and had it always been there or was she imaging things— 

 

(Was this really happening or was she imagining it?)

 

(Where was Zuzu?)

 

"Did you enjoy your tea, Azula?" the vindictive bastard asked, just before the world went dark. 

 

He assisted somewhat in hastening it along, and the last thing she saw was stupid nonsense her brain threw up, of the Avatar suddenly appearing and a no-name guard stepping between her and the child and her uncle like rabbit-mice could defend dragons— 

 

%%%

 

"Captain Izumi," Fire Lord Iroh said, the first he had spoken since this fight began. "Please step aside."

 

"I won't let you take her bending." Decades of loyal service compelled her to add, "Sir."

 

The Avatar clutched some kind of staff to his chest, and stared up at her with wide eyes. "I… I wasn't going to. I just wanted to help."

 

"Captain Izumi," the Fire Lord said. "We will not harm her. Stand down."

 

She lowered her gaze, and stepped to the side, and wondered when following her lord's orders had started to feel like treason. He caught her arm. Squeezed, gently. Spoke gently. His eyes were anything but.

 

"Can I expect your support, Captain? Or must you visit sick relatives?"

 

"...I serve the Fire Lord," she said. 

 

"Which one?" The princess on the ground giggled, and then laughed. She looked far too much like her brother as they forced another cup of tea down her throat and took her to the infirmary. Her guards went along, not as escorts but as patients. Far too few of her guards.

 

Iroh still gripped her arm. She was not sure she could pull free, even if she'd had the spirit to. "Now, Captain Izumi. You will tell me exactly what happened to my nephew this summer."

 

%%%

 

Another one of those not-so-disguised servants went hurrying past, expensive shoes flashing under the hem of her modest robe. The same one who'd been dragging a crying girl in her wake earlier, Shenji thought. And cursed. Because Agni-damned knife and fish with their dead beady eyes and he just wanted to go home.

 

"Boy," the fish cart owner scolded him. Just that. She'd run out of words for him, and now just… had a tone.

 

"Sorry, ma'am." He stuck his finger in his mouth, and tasted dirt and copper, fish slime and grill smoke, a hint of spices he'd started to like and he hated that. 

 

He was trying to decide whether to bandage it up—and how many more bandages his poor shirt could make —when the guards marched into the square, and a royal herald with them. They made an understated production of posting the announcement up. An equally understated one of reading it. But then, they didn't need to do much when the crowd had gone grave-silent the moment they'd appeared.

 

When the lightning that had flashed over the palace all afternoon had been replaced with thick curls of smoke.

 

"On this day, Zuko, son of Ursa and Ozai, stood before Agni and was found wanting; His hand and His blessing have moved to Fire Lord Iroh, son of Ilah and Azulon—"

 

Shenji set down the knife. Just… set it down, away from his shaking hands.

 

"Sick relatives, boy?" Old Sakura asked him. Quiet and low, barely moving her mouth, barely glancing at him. 

 

He didn't know whether to nod or not, to run or not. But he met her gaze—dangerous, stop, he couldn't do that, look back at the ground quick quick—and whatever was on his face in that instant was answer enough.

 

She paid him full wages for the day, which he hadn't expected. Even if he'd worked the whole day, he hadn't expected it; so many of the shops and ships and stalls short-changed day laborers. And she wrapped up a hot fresh-cooked fish for him, and didn't make any big show of it. Just shooed him away when he choked on his thanks.

 

Shenji bowed low, not sure if it was too low, his hands awkwardly sculpting the Fire Nation flame. And then he left, as swiftly as any palace servant. Which was so absurdly close to the truth he almost wanted to cry.

 

Iroh was Fire Lord. 

 

Iroh, who by all accounts really liked his nephew, and Shenji didn't know where today's announcement fit into that, but he had to get back to his master and let them all know, let them deal with this, find a way to keep them all safe. He was just an apprentice, he'd never signed up for this.

 

(Iroh's nephew, Zuko, who they'd kept locked up in a place that made Lake Logai look like it really was a vacation retreat.)

 

(Zuko, who'd extended a blanket pardon to any banished servants, Earth Kingdom ones included, but how stupid did he think they were?)

 

(Shenji had been debating being that stupid. Just… just to check. And if he got locked up or burned alive then at least everyone else would know, and it would be over and it wasn't like any of them could go home again they had to make this work—) 

 

But Azula hadn't lasted a day on the throne, and Zuko had only lasted two months, and Iroh had fought them under Ba Sing Se before they'd even been half the traitors they were now. The new Fire Lord was so far on the Avatar's side it was amazing his fire hadn't turned to air. 

 

The Dai Li. Continued to be fucked.

Chapter Text

Zuko had talked them into giving him a different room. It was still in the infirmary, but… not in the suite meant for royalty, not the part with dizzyingly large amounts of space around the bed, space that wasn't there for any reason except to make him feel small and windows so large he wouldn't have even had to duck to jump through them and just leave except they'd kept two guards inside with him the whole time watching to make sure he didn't. His new room was better. It was in some kind of isolation ward, for plagues or prisoners. Small enough he could reach out and touch the walls from his bed, and no windows, so the guards could stay outside. And there was a door, with a cold draft under it when he pressed his hand to the floor just to check. That was luxury enough.

 

They'd left him a candle, and a small stack of unlit ones. He… didn't know why. A joke, maybe? It should be after dark by now, probably a lot after dark, so he didn't need it. He should just blow it out, but instead he'd been diligently lighting a new one each time the flame on the last started to gutter. He'd been in this room for three candles. He didn't know how long that was compared to anything else, but it was a measurement.

 

Keeping track of time was a luxury, too. Uncle was already a better jailer than Ozai.

 

Zuko shoved his hand over his mouth, and did not laugh. It didn't work. He tried to regulate his breathing, to count to five on each inhale and exhale, he even stared at the little candle flame and pretended its flickerings were caused by him, but it didn't work. He even held his breath, but he was still—

 

Zuko kept holding his breath until it burned, but he could still hear the laughing. 

 

That… wasn't him.

 

He glanced at his door, and the guards he knew were right out there. But it wasn't coming from their direction, and it wasn't the kind of laugh a free person would make. He slid off the bed, his bare feet touching cold tiles (easier to scrub clean than tatami, easier to disinfect once he was gone), and pressed his good ear to the wall. He walked slowly, and listened, and slid down to a crouch in the far corner of his room. It was loudest here.

 

"Hello?" he whispered, and the laughing stopped.

 

"You don't sound like mother," a voice accused.

 

"...Azula?"

 

"Zuzu, get out of my head. It's too crowded, and I don't need your stupid."

 

She sounded… really offended. And really, really drugged. He knew that feeling, where the world spun slowly around his head and everything was too largesmall, too slowfast, and he had to fight not to sleep because that was what they wanted and nothing good ever came from doing what others wanted of him. (He'd refused a cup of tea… awhile ago. Asked the doctor if he could just try to sleep on his own, please, he didn't want it didn't need it he was calm now. The man hadn't called in the guards to force him to drink it like back in the room with the too-big windows after Captain Izumi and Uncle's voice had left. He'd just left it on the bedside table, next to the candle.) (The doctor also hadn't left any water in the room, and Zuko didn't know whether he was supposed to just ask the guards when he got thirsty or if this was how they were going to make him drink it anyway. He'd been a lot thirstier than this for a lot longer, so there wasn't any reason to find out.)

 

"I'm not in your head," Zuko said. "I'm on the other side of the wall."

 

"Hmm. Prove it."

 

Zuko cast a glance at his own shut door, then knocked quietly on the wood. 

 

There was a pause, and then she knocked back. 

 

"....So. You're out of your wing."

 

"Uncle escorted me," she said breezily. "He's very considerate, our uncle."

 

Zuko clapped a hand over his mouth, and knew he was the one laughing this time. 

 

"Quite," Azula agreed. "So. On your knees, or out fighting?"

 

It took him a moment to remember what she was talking about. It… felt like it was awhile ago, in some distant past he didn't think about anymore. "Fighting."

 

"Good." 

 

He didn't have to ask about her. Fighting, of course. "...How many people did you kill?"

 

"Do you really think I can count that high while the room is full of birds, Zuzu?"

 

...She was really, really drugged. Probably with something different than him, because sleep aids didn't cause hallucinations. "Um. They do get pretty loud."

 

"Their chirping is insufferable. Flitting and crowding and saying such nonsense, if they don't want us then what do they want from us."

 

"I'll let you know when I figure it out," Zuko said, and he wasn't sure they were talking about birds anymore. 

 

It was quiet for awhile. He settled down more comfortably. Wondered if he should grab the blanket off his bed (but then he might miss something she said). Wondered if she had any water in her room, or just a cup of tea on her bedside table. 

 

"Is father dead?" she asked. Suddenly, maybe lucidly, but still slurred-slow. 

 

"No."

 

"That was stupid of them."

 

He didn't tell her about Ozai's bending. It… probably wouldn't help her. "The Avatar is a pacifist," he said instead.

 

"Also stupid. If they'd killed the airbender off, in a few years they could have had a Water Tribe savage, shouting and waving an ice spear. Much more practical."

 

"I don't think the other nations think about tactically killing the Avatar. Usually."

 

"Must I keep repeating myself, Zuzu?" By which she meant, they're stupid.

 

Would father have been proud of him, if he'd killed the Avatar enough times to bring the cycle back to Fire?

 

...Would he ever stop having thoughts that started with 'would father have been proud of him if'?

 

"Probably not," Azula said. "Mother left us ages ago and she certainly never shuts up."

 

He'd been talking out loud. Or she'd been hallucinating that he'd been. There wasn't a functional difference, in this little room with its flickering candle. 

 

"I'm not sorry I did it," he said. "I hate father. I hate him so much. Why didn't grandfather protect us from him? The whole court had to have known what he was like, he didn't hide it—"

 

"Uncle never cared, you know," she said, which meant that either she was hearing a totally different conversation, or hearing this one exactly right. "He was playing you to get to father. He admitted it during our fight."

 

"Stop lying. He… he loves me. He said I'm like his son."

 

"Zuzu, he put his son in active battle like some expendable foot soldier, instead of ten miles back in a command tent. Being like his son is hardly a compliment. ...That laugh is appalling, stop it at once."

 

Zuko drew his knees up and pressed his face into the pants they'd given him. Silk for the former Fire Lord. It was as much a joke as candles for a former firebender. "Sorry, Azula."

 

"For Agni's sake, stop apologizing. If you want to laugh hysterically, laugh hysterically. You're a prince of the blood, no one has the right to shut you up."

 

"Except my little sister?"


"Of course. Stop laughing."

 

"Sorr—"

 

"Stop apologizing!"

 

He laughed into his knees, and it… felt like a real laugh, that time. 

 

"I don't know why the rabbit-mice all run to you," Azula groused. Which… probably meant something to her. "I'm better, anyone can see."

 

"You are," he agreed. "But I keep bread in my pockets."

 

She hmmed, as if seriously considering this statement. "So feeding the turtleducks has been a cover, all along? Devious," she finally replied, with a hint of respect. 

 

...Zuko realized he might still be a little drugged, too. Just a little. And thirsty. "Ozai never got fooled by the bread."

 

"No, father is far more carnivorous. He eats them down to the bones, even their children. You were too much mother's; he didn't recognize you as his."

 

Zuko wasn't laughing anymore. But he kept his head down on his knees, and just… breathed. "I was his, though. I… I always was."

 

"You're right," Azula said, which was the closest he'd ever heard her come to saying I'm wrong. "Zuzu, you are the most wasted resource in the Fire Nation."

 

So now he was a natural resource, not a chewed-up puppy-cub. "I… what?"

 

"Father burned half your face off and you were still loyal. He should have put you in the Home Guard, or given you a division to command somewhere far enough away that you wouldn't leak honor on the palace floors." She sniffed. He could imagine her raised chin, her imperious gaze at her own shadow-dark wall. "If he'd done that to me, I'd have killed him a year later."

 

Zuko laughed once, startled. "A year?"

 

"On the anniversary, of course. Long enough that he wouldn't suspect, clever enough that no one could prove it, but everyone would know."

 

"Why didn't I think of that," Zuko said, a little sardonically.

 

"Because you're a Dum-Dum who shoved his pockets full of breadcrumbs, like the rabbit-mice matter. They couldn't save you, Zuzu. This time or last time or ever. The lion-ferret roared but the dragon couldn't help; the nets had already tangled her wings even though she didn't see until she tried to fly."

 

"...That's rough," Zuko settled on, because he had to say something. She'd been really impassioned. 

 

"Loyalty is the scarcest commodity in court," she continued, perfectly lucid and perfectly reasonable, as if that last speech hadn't happened. "...I wouldn't have killed you. When I reclaimed my crown."

 

"That's… nice?" Less nice that she'd been actively thinking about it, but nice she'd decided on not killing him. He'd… been wondering. "I wouldn't have killed you, either."

 

"I know that, Dum-Dum."

 

"How?"

 

"You were already Fire Lord."

 

He wasn't sure that keeping the crown warm for a few weeks really counted, but he wasn't going to argue with a drugged fourteen year old. "So were you," he said instead.


"Congratulations," she drolled, "neither of us are as fratricidal as father and uncle."

 

He was laughing again. Great. "Thanks, Lala."

 

"If you speak that name where anyone else can hear, I will rescind my moratorium on fratricide."

 

Zuko smirked. "I think that's what makes you Lala."

 

"...Dum-Dum."

 

She hadn't actually said not to call her that. Just not while anyone else was around. "Lala," he said again, the smirk in his voice. 

 

"I will hurt you," she said. "I won't kill you, but I will hurt you." But she didn't light the wall between them on fire. Which might have been the drugs, but so far as he could hear, she didn't even try. "...It's difficult to picture you dead, Zuzu. That's not a privilege I can extend to most people."

 

"Thanks," he said, and wished he was from a family where he wasn't sincere about that. A family where she'd been joking in the first place. 

 

They kept talking. For hours or maybe days as the candle flickered on the table, lasting longer than it should. They talked like they hadn't talked since he was seven and having nightmares (and she was five, and stuck a foot out to trip him in the hall as he went crying to mother, and the guards found them in the morning curled up in one of the secret passageways, still in the pillow fort they'd built while playing Earth Kingdom Assassins.)

 

(He'd always been the one assassinated. She had been very insistent about that, so that she could avenge his death with fire and cackling and the casual destruction of each of his toy soldiers in turn as they served as elite earthbenders only disguised as Fire infantry. And she always promised it would be his turn to avenge her next, but it never was.)

 

He didn't know when he fell asleep. He woke to a gentle knock on the door, and a servant easing inside the room.

 

"Your Highness?" the man's eyes went to the bed, first. He looked incredibly alarmed to find it empty. Even more so, to find Zuko groggily huddled in a corner. "...Please come with me, Your Highness. We'll get you dressed. The Fire Lord wishes to speak with you."

 

Zuko glanced back at the wall. Wondered if he should say goodbye, or let her know where he was going. His persistent stare at a blank wall only put the servant more on edge. Zuko knocked twice, lightly, and stood up. He felt like walking should be hard—his legs shaky or weak or something —but he actually felt better than he had in… probably since Ozai had thrown lightning at him, and he'd redirected for the first time in his life, then run half-way across the city with the aftereffects still burning in his chest. The waterbender knew what she was doing, apparently. (She would have had to, to save the Avatar after Ba Sing Se.)

 

He followed the servant steadily, out the door and past his two guards, and tried to seem completely casual when he glanced at the room next to his.

 

It was open. And empty. 

 

"Your Highness?" the servant asked.

 

Zuko didn't feel like laughing. He just felt cold again. He could… ask. If Azula had really been there, if they'd moved her before he'd woken up. He could see windows again; the sun was higher than he'd thought. Closer to noon than sunrise. Uncle probably would have wanted her moved to an institution as soon as possible; if he'd wanted her staying in the palace he would have left her alone, she wasn't hurting anyone.

 

He could ask. But if they said no, he…

 

He didn't ask.

 

Zuko followed the servant. People opened doors for him and bowed to him, bathed him and dressed him, firebent his hair dry with warm hands because they knew he couldn't do it himself, everyone knew now. 

 

The woman who always fussed over his robes wasn't there. When he asked, they told him she had to leave the palace. Sick relatives. 

 

"I hope they get better soon," Zuko said. The warm hands paused in his hair, then finished tying off his topknot with clinical efficiency. It felt lighter, without the crown.

 

"...The Fire Lord is waiting, Your Highness," the servant said, and didn't meet his gaze a single time as they walked through the halls.   

 

Everyone was very respectful as they passed, just like they'd been when Ozai and Azulon ruled. A real Fire Lord was back on the throne. 

 

Zuko kept his head down, and followed where he was led.

Chapter Text

It was one of those sunny semi-formal tea rooms no one but Uncle really used. Uncle ordered everyone else from the room, servants and guards alike. They hesitated a moment, and the guard closest to Zuko glanced towards him (which was funny, a little. What did they think he was going to do, attack the Dragon of the West with his bare hands?) They left a little too slowly, but with less backtalk than they'd have given Zuko if he'd tried giving the same order. 

 

...He wasn't Fire Lord anymore. Uncle was. Zuko needed to... to bow or something, but before his mind could catch up with the thought and make him move, before this is your Fire Lord could override this is Uncle, before any of that, Uncle bowed first. Brushed his robes flat and lowered himself to the floor, to his knees, his forehead touching the tatami and now Zuko knew he was going insane because this was the Fire Lord (this was Uncle)—

 

"What I have done to you cannot be forgiven," Uncle said, "to ask would be an insult. But I am sorry, Zuko, so sorry—" 

 

Uncle's topknot wasn't as perfect as Zuko's, a part of his mind, a stupid part of his mind, noticed. Either he'd done it himself or it had been a long time since a servant retouched it. 

 

"—Miss Toph had warned us of your… condition, the damage Azula had done to you. I could not stand by, but I should have found another way—" 

 

Uncles robes fit perfectly in a way Zuko's never had, always too loose on his frame no matter how much the tailors chased him for fittings, but there was a place on Uncle's back where the belt had flipped over itself in a way that a servant would have reached over and just fixed on Zuko.

 

"—Captain Izumi has informed me of what Ozai—" 

 

His head spun and he knew he'd been missing words and if this kept up any longer, he might start losing time again, and he hated that hated that and he wanted to be angry so bad but it wasn't safe to be angry, this was his Fire Lord, and Zuko guaranteed that Captain Izumi hadn't told him the whole story because the only ones who'd been in that room had been him and Ozai. She'd know what happened at the prison and whatever Ozai said happened in the throne room, but Zuko hadn't told anyone.

 

"—hate me for as long as you need to, nephew. It is your—" 

 

"Please. Stop doing that. Just… just stand." 

 

Uncle didn't. But at least he sat up. And… Zuko sat, too. He needed to. He managed to do it smoothly, even, so it didn't look so much like falling. 

 

"Can I… would questions be too impertinent, Fire Lord Iroh?"

 

Uncle flinched, but nodded his permission.

 

"Where is my sister?" he asked, hands flat on his knees and back as straight and breathing as steady as he could make them. Because if the world was going insane today he needed to know how insane he was.

 

"I have moved her to an institution in Amigara. They… specialize in cases like hers. She will be safe there while they treat her, and you will be safe from her. She will not hurt you anymore, nephew." 

 

He said that like he thought it was Zuko's main concern. Amigara. That was… on the outskirts of Caldera, outside of the crater. A rural town. Not nice enough for the nobles to vacation in, but apparently good enough to hide away their undesirable relatives. 

 

He swallowed, and asked the question that had gone unanswered since last night. "How many guards did she kill?" 

 

Uncle looked slightly taken aback, like he had not expected that question, or not expected Zuko to know enough of the situation to ask that question. "Four. The others will recover; Miss Katara was able to help them in time. She is quite adept with injuries caused by fire, and quite possibly the only waterbending healer with such experience with lightning. We are fortunate to have her."

 

By which he meant Zuko was fortunate. Zuko let out a slow breath, trying to get the anger out before it even got started. It was nothing but hot ash in his throat, anyway. 

 

"Who?"

 

Uncle knew the names, at least. He recited them with the same solemnity that Zuko received them. They were… faces. People he'd seen in the hall or yelled at for being impertinent, who'd protected him until it was their duty to protect Iroh instead, who'd deserved to serve a royal family that wasn't tearing itself apart. There'd probably been a time when the Royal Guard could be loyal to the entire royal family without contradiction, instead of just the Fire Lord. It… would have been nice to have been born however many centuries ago that was. 

 

It would have been nice if Uncle understood the first thing about his niece. Azula… as much as she threatened, he'd couldn't picture her killing for fun, only for a purpose. It wasn't a morality issue. He wouldn't kid himself that it was, especially when those were four of their people she'd murdered. But her perfectionism abhorred waste; wasted energy, wasted actions, wasted lives that could have been grovelling in their rightful place at her feet instead of cluttering up her floor. Ba Sing Se had been the most bloodless victory of the war, even if the lack of casualties had probably made it easier for the Earth Kingdom and Uncle's group to take back in the end. ...Which was an observation he was never going to share with her. 

 

She must have felt really cornered by Uncle, or had something important he'd gotten in the way of her doing. Otherwise she'd have just gone around the guards, danced them in circles to prove not just that she was superior but that she was so far beyond them as to be untouchable. Uncle didn't get that. He'd… never really tried to get Azula.

 

Uncle was waiting for him, patient as he had always been. The only thing missing was a tea cup in his hand. A conversation was serious when Uncle forwent tea. 

 

Zuko held his breath until he was sure the laughter wouldn't come, then let the air out slowly. 

 

"How long were you working with… that group?" It was obvious they existed, they weren't hiding much since the day of the comet, but Fire Nation spies didn't last long around their main camp and outside their camp they were ghosts. They weren't sure of the group's exact name yet. They'd only known it existed for two months.

 

"The White Lotus," Uncle supplied. He touched his beard, stroked it like he was thinking, like it was a regular day on Zuko's ship and none of this had ever happened. "I joined after Lu Ten's death. When I realized how deeply this war was hurting us all, even the Fire Nation."

 

When his own son had died. Which was so much different than all those other peoples' sons and daughters who'd been dying under his command for years. Speared or crushed or buried under earth, still hearing the footsteps of battle above them while they suffocated.

 

Zuko focused on the wall behind his Uncle, fine gold-toned wood with carvings subtly burned onto select but seemingly random knots in the grain, the beauty-in-disharmony style that Grandmother Ilah had made popular in the capital when she set her artisans lose on the palace.  That wall was as far from stone as it could possibly be. He was in the palace, it was just after noon, it would keep being just after noon if he could focus on his breathing.

 

"You were with them when you were on my ship?" he asked. "You… did things for them?"

 

"Correspondence only," Uncle said, like there were degrees to this kind of treachery. "The Wani was unusually mobile; I was asked to transport messages that might otherwise have difficulty reaching their targets. Packages, occasionally."

 

So Zuko's ship had been some kind of communications center for a network of spies and backroom revolutionaries. Zuko focused on his breathing, even as a million little memories slid sideways in his head, fitting into a different picture than the one he thought he'd seen.  

 

Had Uncle actually lost that damn white lotus tile, or had he been rubbing the joke in Zuko's face before Zuko even knew there was a joke? And all those shopping trips, and the boxes Uncle made the crew truddle on board, bought with money from Uncle's estates because he wasn't banished, he still had titles and land and somewhere to go home to, had he really bought them or were they packages? Zuko had never looked past the first stupid hay-cushioned layer of tsungi horns and monkey statues, never wanted to. Had Uncle made him transport weapons? People? There had been that stowaway the bounty hunter found, and no one had ever known how he got on board, Lt Jee had hated having a sixteen-year-old commander but he'd run a tight ship, except when Uncle was distracting everyone with tea and pai sho and music night— 

 

Zuko breathed, and felt the sparks in him breathing with him, coals turning red and black with each inhale and exhale but too used up to catch flame. He was so cold.

 

"Would Ozai have executed the crew if he learned what you were doing? Or just us?" Father wouldn't have believed Zuko didn't know what was happening aboard his own ship. Even if he had, he might have executed Zuko for being too naive to live. 

 

He felt dirty. He felt used. He felt like the Agni Kai had started three years ago but it was only yesterday he'd turned around to see who was behind him.

 

(Azula said Uncle had used him to get to father, but Azula always lied.)

 

(Unless the truth hurt worse.)

 

"Zuko—" 

 

Uncle had been a traitor this entire time. He'd never wanted Zuko to go back, never thought he would or could or should even try, but—

 

But never told him there was another option, either. That they could do something different, something that would help.

 

"Why didn't you tell me? Didn't you trust me? Or… was I not good enough?" He'd spent three years on father's backhand insult of a quest. He wasn't stupid, he knew finding the Avatar was supposed to be impossible. He'd been going insane trying to do it anyway because it was the only thing he had and the ship was too small and no one talked to him except Uncle and half of what Uncle said were proverbs, and there was nothing to do but read the same scrolls over again and try to avoid making port try to avoid the laughter as much as he could and practice bending but Zuko was never good enough for Uncle, he'd been stuck on the basics for three years like maybe this time the frustration of doing the same set of moves would make his breath control better.

 

(He'd had to lock himself in his room and practice with his dao just to stay sane, to have one thing the entire world didn't know about him, and he got better and better until the thrill of being good at something almost let him forget the shame of being a better swordsman than a firebender.)

 

"You were not ready, Zuko. You were too angry, too set on pleasing your father—"
 

"Because I had nothing else! It was either chase the Avatar or grab a rock and jump in the ocean. Tea and pai sho weren't going to get me home, Uncle, not without knowing that they were secret fucking codes! When were you planning on mentioning that, when I'd been on the ship five years? Ten? When the Wani broke down and Ozai wouldn't let me have a new ship, and I… I had to follow you into the Earth Kingdom and set up a tea shop because I wasn't legally allowed to settle in our territories? I had to lie to everyone we met in that Agni-scorched country, Uncle. Even just standing there and letting them look at me was a lie, they saw the scar and the eyes and they thought they knew me. Thought I was burned by a soldier, thought I was a war child. I had to… to stand there and let them insult our troops, use someone else's pain to hide, had to—" Had to act like mother loved him and kept him in spite of his father, which was the grain of truth that sold the act and the part he hated hated hated, because even that wasn't fully true, because mother hadn't loved him enough to take him with her. "How did you expect me to live like that, Uncle? Hiding my name, my bending, lying about every-fucking-thing from behind the world's most recognizable face and—and I'm shit at lying, you know that, everyone always lies to me and I just— Do you know how scared I was, every time someone stared at me too long? Every time a guard came in? And you were… what, using the tea shop as a fucking spy headquarters while I was out front serving tea and suffocating? You could have told me you were doing something that had meaning, I could have… I could have helped, I could have..."

 

There was a knock on the sliding door. Uncle didn't grant permission, but a guard stuck his head in anyway. "Is everything okay, sirs?" his eyes flicked to Zuko. Again. Zuko stopped shouting at the Agni-appointed leader of their nation. He clenched his hands on his knees and stared at the etchings on the wall and breathed.

 

"I ordered you to remain outside, Lieutenant."

 

"My apologies, Your Majesty," the guard bowed, and closed the door again.

 

Zuko bowed, too. "Please forgive me, Fire Lord Iroh. I intended no disrespect. I did not mean to raise my voice to your person." He never did, but he always ended up like this. Maybe that was why Uncle couldn't trust him. 

 

"Sit up, Zuko. There is nothing to forgive. I know who you are." He was smiling gently, just at the corners of his mouth, like that was a compliment.

 

"Yes, sir," Zuko said, because it was his place to accept whatever offhanded insults the Fire Lord offered him. He straightened out of his bow, and kept staring at the wall. The etching was some kind of animal; a lion-ferret. It was half-curled around a knot in the wood, gold faintly inlaid on its mane. Maybe Azula had a carving like that in the room with her yesterday. It would explain some of the places her mind had wandered.

 

Iroh waited again. But questions weren't safe, and Zuko didn't like the answers anyway. After a quiet interval that probably seemed long to someone who still had a relationship with time, Uncle nodded, and brought their conversation back to where he wanted it to go.

 

"I am naming you my heir, Zuko. You will be crown prince again. When you turn eighteen, if you feel ready, I will abdicate the throne." (If he met Iroh's standards, he didn't say.) "I would like you to spend this next year taking on whatever responsibilities you are comfortable with, within reason." (The Fire Lord would decide what was within reason, he didn't say.) "You are welcome at every meeting—" (meetings the Fire Lord would lead) "—your voice and opinions are welcome—"  (unless they didn't match Iroh's, and then would he ever see his throne?) "I only want what is best for you." (Did Zuko even want the throne?) "And I… will try to be better at communicating. At explaining what I am doing, and why, and asking what you want."

 

(It wasn't about wanting, it was about what his country needed.)

 

Zuko bowed, forehead not quite on the floor but humbly close. A respect equal to the respect being done him. "Thank you, Fire Lord Iroh. When… when will the coronation be?"

 

Uncle looked disquieted, somehow, as he watched Zuko straighten again. "When you are ready. We do not need to rush things, Zuko. You should rest." His lips quirked. "A man needs his—" 

 

Zuko wanted to scream, but instead he just blotted out the rest of the old man's words and stared at the lion-ferret.

 

He had to do this. He had to be prince again, so that he could temper whatever damage the other countries were about to do to his, the Avatar and the White Lotus acting through Iroh like they always had even if Zuko hadn't known.

 

He needed to get out of this room. He was a terrible liar, he needed to not be here, not right in front of Iroh where the man could see just how deep his new heir's loyalty ran. 

 

"I'm… I'm tired, Uncle. May I be excused?"

 

"Of course. Would you consider having dinner with me tonight, Zuko? If you are feeling better?"

 

"...Just us?"

 

"Yes."

 

"I would like that," Zuko said, and somehow Iroh didn't catch the lie. He stood, and bowed, and almost made it to the door before he blurted his last question out. "Why was Lu Ten on the front lines?" 

 

Uncle stilled, and let out a slow breath. "He wanted to prove himself. It was not worth his life, Zuko. He had nothing to prove. Neither do you."

 

Zuko wondered if Lu Ten would agree. 

 

Another modest bow, and he opened the door for himself. The guards were way too close to the door, and looking less guilty than… anxious, maybe? Iroh wouldn't be able to see them from where he was sitting, and Zuko wasn't about to weasel-rat them out. Even if he was (almost) their crown prince again, and they had to have heard him coming, but they didn't even try to hide their eavesdropping. 

 

The servant was gone. One of the guards accompanied him instead, because of course. 

 

"Could I… may I go to the turtleduck pond, please? It's quiet. And there's turtleducks." He wanted to slap a hand to his face, but he was tired and the staff was already well acquainted with his eloquence. 

 

The garden also had walls high enough to feel safe, and enough trees for the guard to at least be discrete. Zuko wasn't sure if the man had been taking him back to his own room or to the infirmary. He'd like to put off clarifying that for just awhile longer, even if both were better than prison. He was… pretty sure he wasn't going there, unless Uncle saw through his act. So. He wasn't going there yet.

 

"Yes, sir," the guard said. "Uh. Would you like to stop by the kitchens, first? We could pick up bread."

 

"I would like that," Zuko said, and meant it. 

 

The sous-chef took one look at him and made him sit down at a table, one of the ones staff used during their breaks. Apparently the kitchen had not been pleased to find their breakfast for him delivered to an empty room. He ate what they put in front of him, more or less, and didn't really remember afterwards what it was. At least they'd been happy to bring him water instead of tea. 

 

"Where's the chef?" Zuko asked.

 

"Sick relatives," the sous-chef replied. "Finish that, or no bread for your ducks."

 

Zuko pushed a pile of something-or-another around on his plate, making it look more eaten. This did nothing to fool the sous-chef, who was watching him do it. But it did distract him while the guard surreptitiously stole a loaf. The cooking staff did not care for the palace turtleducks much, ever since Zuko asked the chef to take their wild cousins off the menu.  

 

"One of the servants had sick relatives, too," Zuko said. "Are they from the same town? If there's an illness going around, I could… talk to the Fire Lord. See if he'll send the Avatar's waterbender to help."

 

"It's not particularly contagious, Your Highness, and rarely lethal when addressed promptly," the sous-chef said, after a moment's hesitation. "Perhaps you should ask the Fire Lord about it. Now eat."

 

Zuko did, but only because it gave the guard time to poach another loaf straight from an oven-fresh tray. 

 

Outside, the pond was… nice? Okay, at least. It was weird, having nothing to do and nowhere to be and noone in particular who wanted him anywhere. Even the turtleducks didn't need him; there was plenty to eat in the pond. They just liked bread, and they would have taken it from anyone else with just as much enthusiasm. He broke off crumbs and dropped them in front of his crossed legs, and had the whole flock on him in moments.

 

He should… probably feel something. He'd been hoping he would, here. There was sun, so he should feel warm; a nice breeze, cute animals half-way climbing onto his lap, memories of his mother somewhere over his shoulder if he could just turn around to see them. But he felt exactly the same here as he had leaving Iroh. He was back to being nothing and noone except what the Fire Lord allowed him to be. It should at least feel familiar, but it didn't. Feel like anything. 

 

Iroh hadn't even asked if he wanted to be the crown prince again. He'd just… said Zuko would be. 

 

A duck squawked in alarm. The entire flock waddle-threw themselves back into the pond as a shadow bloated out the sun. The guard shouted from somewhere close. Zuko turned around, and came face to nose with the towering form of the Avatar's bison.

 

Well. At least he could still feel looming dread. That was… nice? Zuko made a token effort to stand, to move, because there was a difference between dying and being trampled to death by a giant six-legged animal, or letting it eat him its mouth was bigger than his room last night— 

 

It licked him. 

 

He could not, apparently, still feel disgust. He just looked down at his newly dampened clothes, and listened to the guard's shout sputter out into confusion, and… wondered what the appropriate reaction to a bison lick was, because the animal seemed to be waiting for something. 

 

Zuko held out the good bread roll. The bison's tongue curled around it, dragging it back into its cavernous mouth. It chewed, and swallowed, and stared down at him again. 

 

It was really, really big.

 

"Uh…"

 

The bison bundled him up between its front legs, and tipped over on its side with a whumph. 

 

Zuko blinked over at his guard. His guard blinked back.

 

"I… think it's okay?" Zuko said. "He, umm. He knows me." 

 

"Yes, sir." The guard did not look particularly soothed, but he did retreat back a discrete distance. 

 

The bison was licking his topknot loose. Zuko patted one of the legs holding him to its chest. "I guess you do remember me, huh? Good thing you have better memories of Ba Sing Se than the rest of us."

 

His hands moved through its fur. He didn't even know what he was looking for until he didn't find it: the furball's legs had healed cleanly, its shackle scars as invisible as Zuko's. But there were other breaks in the fur, the texture familiar under his fingertips—burns. Large ones. Bad enough that the waterbender couldn't heal them away. At least she'd spared the bison the worst of it; it wasn't the initial injury that was bad, but the weeks and months of recovery, the infections and the debridements and the way a wrong touch could make it feel like it was on fire all over again. The bison's scars felt almost as old as his, even though they looked pink and fresh. 

 

"So you were fighting, too."

 

He'd known that. Could have figured that out, at least. The Avatar had been fighting Ozai when the rest of the fleet was taken down, and it wasn't like the Earth Kingdom had its own airships. The bison must have been the one ferrying their fighters into the sky. It would have made him the prime target for every firebender, the thing they had to take down to save themselves. They hadn't, and they'd died, but… he wouldn't blame the bison for that. Or even the Avatar's group; so many more people would have died if the fleet kept going. He blamed Ozai, and everyone who'd heard the plan but hadn't stopped him. Had anyone else even tried?

 

"I would have. Fought, I mean. I wanted to."

 

The bison had finished destroying the servants' hard work on his hair. It rested its gargantuan chin on the top of Zuko's head, and whuffed out a breath of air that Zuko could feel over his whole body. 

 

"On your side," he clarified. He kept his voice down, so the guard wouldn't hear. The staff would respect him even less if they knew he'd failed at even being a traitor. "Wouldn't that have been weird?"

 

The bison rumbled somewhere deep in its chest. It felt like a minor earthquake under him.

 

"...Do you understand anything I'm saying?"

 

It made no move to reply. After a moment of staring up at the sun with his face half-covered in bison fur, Zuko tried to squirm free. It grumbled, and tucked a third leg over him. 

 

"You have too many legs," Zuko complained. He felt… sort of irritated. And sort of not. Mostly, he felt like he understood why the Avatar's group was always leaning against the bison's side. It was weirdly comfortable, and the warmest he'd been in weeks, and the bison's heartbeat drowned out his thoughts with the same steady cadence as waves.  

 

Zuko missed the ocean. If he'd been banished again, he could have just… not been here. He hadn't had much on the Wani, but he'd at least been able to pick where he was going, what he was doing. Even if none of his decisions mattered.

 

Not even the bison was letting him decide things, now. Zuko pushed against its leg again and it didn't budge again and he went from comfortable to trapped in the space of a heartbeat. He could call out for the guard to help but it was a fucking bison, how could he get beaten by an animal. He shoved again, and tried to kick but that stupid third leg was over his knees and everything was too tight too close— 

 

The bison let him go, and rolled back to its feet. Zuko tumbled free and crouched, glaring up at it. 

 

"Let me have a choice, okay?" 

 

The bison whuffed and settled back down, staring at him with a black eye bigger than his head. Zuko glared at it, and glared at it. It yawned, and lay its head down. 

 

He inched back to its side. And… sat down. And leaned back. It didn't try to grab him again. For something that didn't understand what he was saying, the bison listened better than most people in his life. 

 

He didn't want to be the crown prince again. To be under a Fire Lord again. To be someone's heir, to have his whole future and everything he was be dependant on pleasing them. It was Uncle, but… but he didn't even know Uncle. 

 

His country needed him. Uncle didn't have any other heirs yet, the Fire Nation had been through too much and was about to go through worse, the people deserved stability and someone who would fight for them until— 

 

(Until the next time he was thrown away.)

 

"I have to be prince. There's nothing I can do," he said, and the bison took in a deep breath that pushed at Zuko's back, like a whole-body nudge.

 

Maybe nothing was exactly what he should do. 

 

...Fuck. 

 

Fuck, he could.

 

"...He'd kill me," Zuko said. And he felt something bubbling up inside him, giddy-strange and certain, the same as when he'd seen a column of light shoot up from a southern ice pack. Like hope. 

 

Doing nothing meant a lot of work between now and the coronation, if he wanted to do this right. This was the most important fuckup of his life, and he need to plan but he was so tired but he had to get started—  

 

The bison turned its head and whuffed at him again, a little curtly. It was a convincing argument. Zuko leaned back against Appa's side, tilted his head towards the sun, and caught up on all the sleep he didn't get last night. 

Chapter Text

"A boiling rock," Toph said, "Yeah. That sounds great for my feet."

 

She was sprawled on her back in the courtyard, her toes dug under the tiles so she could get that sweet sweet grit all up between them. Also, dust up the back of the formal robes the servants had rustled up in her size. The others told her they were suitably green, so she was color-coded for the convenience of all the sighted people. Just once, she wanted to go in a clothing shop, mix everything up, and come out in colors so uncoordinated that people would have to pay attention to the person under the clothes. Maybe she could take Sparky with her.

 

"Not a boiling rock," Sokka corrected, " The Boiling Rock. Apparently it's this big bad prison where they stick all the leaders, so dad and Suki (sigh) are there!"

 

Toph wasn't sure if he knew he kept doing those little sighs after her name, but it was starting to get on her nerves. She didn't know why it bugged her, and she didn't want to know, she just wanted to chuck a pebble at his head. So she did.

 

"Oww!" he said. Then: "I will choose to interpret that as an expression of your happiness for me."

 

"You do that," Toph agreed. "I'm still staying here. And so are you."

 

Sokka grumbled something surly, and then his whole stance flinched. She was pretty sure he just instinctively covered his head, so the next pebble was aimed for his ribs.

 

" Oww!"

 

Score. 

 

"It's Sparky's coronation. You are not skipping out. Uncle already sent a be-nice-to-these-prisoners hawk, right? So you're going to be a good Ambassador Snoozles and represent your nation. It's not like everything's going to go wrong just because you wait a day."

 

"That's exactly what people say before everything goes wrong," his grumbling continued, and his weight shifted a little, all light on his feet and balanced, the way he did before he dodged. But he was expecting her to throw things, so she tucked her hands back behind her head and just terrorized him with the anticipation of the throw.

 

Also, kind of ignored him for awhile. Because she needed to concentrate on her feet. 

 

The palace was a spiderwasp hive of activity. The wood floors and tatami mats made it hard to get fine details from any distance, but right underneath was a nice layer of stone tile, just like in the courtyard. Apparently firebenders knew how to make a place not-immediately-combustible. She liked it here. Might even take Sparky up on his offer to freeload, if Uncle didn't make her go back to her parents when all this was done. 

 

Katara and Aang were easy to find: they were just back in the room. Aang had played the I really need help getting these robes on card and Katara was pretending to fall for it, and Aang's heart was all we're alone nervous and so was Katara's, but Toph wasn't so sure they were nervous for the same reasons, and wasn't sure they weren't sure, and if they could both just stop being all fluttery-hearted and gross that would be great.

 

She looked further, past the nobles being snooty to each other in corners as they waited for the show to start, past the servants rushing around in last minute panic, past the clerk who'd brought that prisoner list to Sokka on orders from his new Fire Lord and then promptly holed back up in the room all the clerk-types liked to hide in. 

 

Past all that mess, she found Sparky. He was by that muddy sludge pit of fuzzy-vision that everyone else called the turtleduck pond, leaning back against Appa.

 

Oh man, when the others had first caught those two together? Priceless. Twinkletoes had been freaking out because Appa had been gone from their courtyard for so long, and completely ignoring her reassurances that the big floofball was fine. He'd disappeared the same way yesterday, hadn't he? And the day before? For some crazy-strange reason, her smiles made Aang even more alarmed. So he took off on that glider of his to get the aerial view… and Toph had ssshed the others, and hustled them through the palace to catch the show. 

 

"Huh," Katara said.

 

"What the actual fuck am I seeing," Sokka said. 

 

"Couldn't tell you," Toph said, "but if you wake him up early, it's the last thing you'll see."

 

"That is a sufficiently terrifying threat, yes," he whispered. "So. You brought us here to see Zuko… taking the world's most comfortable looking Appa-nap?"

 

"Nope," Toph said. "I brought you here to watch Aang see it."

 

Right on time, she felt the world's lightest twelve-year-old return to sweet sweet earth. His heart was still edge-of-fear fast, but his breathing was already smoothing out with relief.

 

"Appa!" Aang shouted. 

 

Give it a beat, wait for it (and oh, she knew that Katara and Sokka would never admit it, but she could feel them waiting for it right with her).  

 

"Zuko?"

 

Aang still had kind of a complex about Sparky. Didn't like getting too close to him. Toph gave the ground under him a helpful nudge, and felt him stumble a step closer. 

 

"Why don't you poke him with your staff," she grinned.

 

"Uh… I don't think that's a good idea?" 

 

Pfft. Even his voice lacked rock-like confidence. If he'd stood up for himself and given her a 'no' smackdown, she might have let him off the hook. But Twinkletoes needed confidence, and Sparky needed friends. 

 

And Sparky hadn't tried to find her once since the fight with Uncle—even though she'd been very clearly available for finding—like he didn't even think she was his friend. And when she'd devoted her precious time to tracking him down, he'd brushed her off with stupid I'm fine lies that were oddly not-lying but they had to be, no one could be fine again that quick. Even worse were his I'm busy claims when he didn't have any responsibilities right now (still not a lie) and his stupid You'd know if I was lying so I can't tell you excuses when she called him on it. It's a surprise, he'd said, and it felt like a mix between when he'd let Sokka walk off with a plate full of fire-salmon and when he'd been laughing on the courtyard ground. 

 

Please don't tell Uncle, he'd said, while his heart was saying I want to trust you but I've already got plans for when you betray me.

 

I'm not going to rat you out, she'd said. 

 

If I tell you, he said, you will. And there'd been such certainty in voice and breath and heart and his guttering almost non-bender chi that Toph had, for just a second, wondered if he was right. By the time she'd realized how stupid that was, that of course she knew herself better than he did, he was already hiding back in his room and the gaurds wouldn't let her smash her way inside. 

 

If he didn't want her around because he was afraid of her sheer powers of awesomeness figuring out whatever he was up to, then fine. But he was getting another friend, to the face. She slid a foot back, then shot both hands forward, and sent Aang stumble-falling straight on top of the jerk who didn't realize how lonely he'd felt when he'd walked away from her. 

 

"Sorry sorry sorry!" Aang tried to scramble back, but mostly just fell over in new and exciting ways. Appa yawned.

 

"Go away, Avatar," the Fire Prince said, giving him a groggy shove. "Don't need to capture you." He rolled over, and fell back asleep. Which was another thing: he'd been doing all his sleeping during the day, mostly on top of a bison. Whatever he was up to, the prep work happened at night. Sometimes he just paced around his room, and sometimes he went out the window. No one had told Toph he was an untrackable ninja, he hadn't even known she was there and he'd lost her. Stupid wooden center beams in stupid roofs. 

 

A smallish turtleduck popped into existence at the water's edge. It gave itself a shake, then waddled over, and climbed up Appa's leg to reach a comfortable sunny perch. It was too light to track in all that fluff, but then Zuko got a little heavier. And a little grumblier. She was pretty sure that was a turtleduck nestled up next to his back.

 

"The actual fuck," Sokka said. More ducks waddled out and over and up, which was about the time Sokka had to have a sit-down. "...This is not allowed to be so cute. It's Zuko. Zuko and Appa. Zuko and fluffy little half-grown turtleducks. Perching. Perching everywhere."

 

"...Huh," Katara repeated, in complete agreement.

 

Aang just kind of stood there. Much closer to Zuko than he normally did, so that was a win. "Uh. Have they been doing this every day?"

 

"Naw," Toph said, and felt three heartbeats rise with hope (and one stay sleep-slow). "The turtleducks are new."

 

One of these days she was going to figure out the heartbeat-reaction equivalent of painting a picture so it'll last longer.

 

That had been a week ago. Zuko had been pretty insistent that they get the coronation thing over with fast, even though Uncle didn't want to rush his recovery. Uncle had even come to her for a heart-health consultation, but all she would give him was that Sparky always felt worse when Uncle talked about putting it off. And her personal guess that, hey, maybe Zuko would like some stability back in his life, instead of being in this weird between-official-roles limbo.

 

She didn't tell Uncle how nervous Sparky got during their dinners together, or how his heart rate didn't smooth out until he was face-first back in the bed in his own room. Uncle needed to talk to him. Not give him space and time to recover; just bundle him up in a hug and hold on until he stopped squirming and talked. As awesome as Uncle was, he sucked at this family thing as much as… well, the rest of his family. The Bei Fongs looked high-functioning by comparison. 

 

Right now, Zuko was in his happy place with Appa, but there were no naps occuring. His heart rate was above baseline and staying that way with a weird steadiness that said preparation. Which, duh. Coronation in an hour. But… she'd been expecting more fidgeting. Sparky wasn't a sit-there-and-be-calm kind of guy, but there he was, sitting there. Making himself be calm. Which seemed like a little too much preparation for a hyped-up ceremony where he just had to kneel and repeat after the Fire Sage, and not have his hair spontaneously combust before they could get the crown pinned in. 

 

"I'm going to check on Sparky," Toph announced. "Want to come?"

 

"You mean, stare at the Zuko-and-Fluffy-Animals Cuteness Overload Happy Funtime Hour?" Sokka asked. "...Yeah, I'm in. Aang! Katara! We're going to go poke at Zuko!"

 

"Not literally, Sokka," Katara shouted back.

 

"No promises!"

 

Toph couldn't tell if Sparky looked up or not when they entered the garden. Too much fur at his back, dampening his weight shifts. But his breathing lost its rhythm, just for a moment, and his heart rate ticked up a notch. A he still didn't trust her notch.

 

"Relax," Toph said, diving into the floof next to him. "I'm not going to ask you anything."

 

"...Thanks." He meant it. And he believed her. Breath steady and heart rate back down again. "Toph. Ambassador. Um. Good morning?"

 

"Yeah, it's okay, I know it's weird. I'm just here for the cute under-cooked animals," Sokka said, and tried to pet a turtleduck that was perched on one of Appa's many knees. "Oww!"

 

"Watch out for Sugar Snap. She's wild." 

 

"Why do you have a wild flightless bird in the middle of your walled garden," Sokka demanded, "and who named her Sugar Snap."

 

"The cook was—so I—and she bites really hard so we can't get her out again but she's actually really sweet to her babies so… so Sugar Snap. It's, umm. It's a type of nut-pea?" Zuko sputtered. 

 

"I am aware of sugar snaps, yes. I am confused by the rest of this." 

 

Frowns were a tone of voice. So were glares and glowers. Sparky had a neat trick to combine all three. "Was there something you wanted?"

 

"We're just proving a point," Toph said.

 

"What?" 

 

She poked his arm. Yeah, he was just as tense as she'd figured. "That friends don't need to hang out with friends just because they want something, Sparky. You doing okay? Nervous?"

 

"No," his voice said. Terrified, his heart put in. Man, he couldn't lie to save his life. 

 

"You want to talk about it?" 

 

" No."

 

"You want to tell Ambassador Snoozles which ducks won't sprain his fingers?"

 

"...No." He said that. But he still did, by body language alone—Sokka kept reaching slowly towards different ducks, and Sparky got tenser and tenser until yep, that duck made him relax.

 

Quack, the duck said, and tolerated head pats.

 

"Did you name all of them?" Sokka asked. "Did you name all of them after food?"

 

"No. Shut up."

 

"Hey, I'm not judging. Naming food after food is kind of genius. Like suggesting a sidedish."

 

Sokka, Toph admitted, was a master of distraction. By the time the servant came to collect Sparky, he was as close to relaxed as she'd ever felt him. Shouting at people over stupid things calmed him right down. From the laughter just on the edge of Sokka's breaths, she suspected he'd noted that effect, too. 

 

"Hey," Sokka said, as the servant dragged Zuko away. "Why weren't you getting ready with your Uncle? I know he wanted you to."

 

"I just… had to go over some things. In my head." 

 

Truth. 

 

"Arms out, Your Highness," the servant said, already attacking the back of his robes with… was that a brush? Ooooh, bison fur. "There's a reason we asked that you wait inside, Your Highness."

 

"Sorry," Sparky mumbled, and fidgeted, somehow still managed to convey an absolute lack of regret. The servant sighed. 

 

"Just stand there and look pretty," Toph called after him. "Those sage guys will do the hard work."

 

"Sure," said his voice. His heart was saying something else, but even if it was three times faster than a scripted ceremony deserved, the beat was strong and healthy, and it was going to make it through this just fine no matter what he feared. "...Toph? Thank you."

 

"Friends," Toph said. "No thanks required."

 

"Bye, Plum Tart," Sokka said, patting his duck one last time. "You would be delicious stuffed with your namesake."

 

The coronation took place out in the main courtyard in front of the palace. Lots of room for witnesses; official court people got to kneel on the pillows in the roped off area up front, plebeians from the city were granted the right to stand in back. It was a pretty decent crowd. There was all kinds of empty small talk about how the cloudless sky was a good omen, and the scorching sun a clear sign that Agni blessed the new Fire Lord's not-so-new heir. They didn't say that last part, but everyone was so carefully not saying it that it was getting on Toph's nerves. Everything out of their mouths was careful flattery, pitched to be heard by the other courtiers around them, repeats of the same safe phrases everyone else was saying. 

 

"This place is messed up," Sokka whispered. "Is no one going to mention that the Fire Lord is making the former Fire Lord his heir? Are they having coordinated amnesia?"

 

"It's just a different culture," Aang said. "Kuzon always used to say that in the Fire Nation, everyone has two faces: your true one, and the one you wear in public. They probably talk about it a lot, just… not here."

 

"Huh," Sokka said. "Maybe that's why Zuko sucks so bad at life. He's only got the one face."

 

"Public face on, Ambassador Snoozles," Toph said. "You keep talking, someone's going to hear you."

 

Katara didn't say much at all, just sat next to Aang and stared up at the stone stage. But she'd made the very deliberate decision to leave her waterskin back in the room for the first time since they'd set foot in the Fire Nation. Toph was going to take that truce for what it was, and hope that Sparky noticed, too.

 

The ceremony started.

 

It probably looked really pretty. Wait, not pretty—what was the one that wasn't lame? Impressive. It probably looked impressive. She could feel a lot of metal with the almost-liquidy-ness she associated with sustained high heat; lamps and torches and big ol' bowls of fire. And everybody was taking really careful steps and swooshing when they moved and weighing about ten pounds more than usual, so she was guessing fancy robes all around. Uncle and Sparky's had actual gold and a few gemstones worked into the designs, which had to make them super fancy. She spent most of the blah-blah trying to figure out what they depicted. Dragons, probably, but what did dragons look like? Also, she wondered if she could convince people to do more art with metal and stone. Or writing, how cool would that be? Ground rock mixed with ink, maybe (though since she was the only one it would benefit, the merchant daughter in her grumbled about wasted investments; limited customer bases only worked when the product was expensive and the customers filthy rich. Bei Fongs made things into money, they didn't spend money.) 

 

Some guy took three steps forward, put something on something else, then took three steps back. Ugh. Back to zoning out.

 

How many blind people in the world were there? How many were earthbenders, how many good enough to learn even a fraction of her technique, how many had the money to afford special modestly-overpriced-ink and the clout to make people around them use it? And they'd have to learn to read first, which she'd inferred was a pretty hefty time investment. Naw, there was no way this would turn a profit. 

 

More micro movements up on the stage, and somebody reciting some blessing in Ye Olde Firespeak, probably praising Agni, and—oh no, seriously? And now they were reading the royal pedigree. Zuko was the son of the daughter of the daughter of the son of…

 

Nice that they didn't just trace through the male line. Some areas of the Earth Kingdom could still be really stupid about that. If it wasn't for the helpless blind child thing, Toph was pretty sure her dad would let her inherit. Maybe. He really didn't like his brother. 

 

...Okay, how was Sparky managing to stay tense even listening to this? As soon as the ceremony and well-wishings were over, she was dragging him somewhere and making him relax. Somehow. Maybe Sokka could steal a turtleduck, and the two of them could run around for awhile. Sparky wasn't doing so hot with the sparking just now, but maybe breaking things and shouting would get whatever this was out of his system. 

 

Finally someone plucked the little gold hairpiece-crown off its stand and carried it forward. Iroh lifted it to the sky and asked for his ancestor Agni to witness, and handed it to the super old sage guy who felt as crumbly-dry as sandstone but had chi lines sharp as flint. Zuko stepped forward, facing his Uncle, and sage guy invited him to kneel and Toph promised herself not to tune this part out, this was what she was supposed to pay attention to and compliment everyone on later. 

 

But, um. Was Sparky freaking out? 'Cause his heart rate had just spiked, and he was making the sage guy repeat himself, and…

 

"Shit," Sokka whispered next to her. Which confirmed that the sighted people were seeing this, too. There wasn't some explanation that just hadn't touched the ground yet. 

 

"Kneel to receive your crown, Prince Zuko," the sage tried, one more time. And now sage guy's heart and Uncle's heart and everyone in the crowd's hearts were picking up speed, just as Zuko's was calming down.

 

"No," Sparky said. 

 

"Shit shit shit," Sokka said.

 

"I've already been Fire Lord. I won't be a prince again."

 

He kept talking. He kept talking, fast like he expected to get interrupted and wanted to get out as much as he could before then. Fast, but loud and clear, and she realized she knew these breaths and these weight shifts as he gestured, recognized them from those nights he'd holed himself up in his room. He'd practiced this.

 

"I tried for so long to please my father instead of doing what's right. This… this isn't right. And you're not my father, but if you keep working with the Avatar and the White Lotus you're going to destroy our nation as surely as he did. We can't... We can't just kneel in front of the other countries and beg for mercy. He—they won't—it's not going to work. They've hated us so long, they'll ruin us now if we let them. What we've done for the last hundred years—it hasn't been right, either. But the individual people of the Fire Nation... They didn't do this. They just didn't stop it. Our people need to—to do what's right instead of just listening to whoever's strongest. You defeated me, but that wasn't right either, that was—I've done my best, I've tried to stop the war and work with the other nations, but I will not bow to them. And I won't bow to you. I'm… I'm done bowing. The Fire Nation needs to find its honor again, but it won't find it on its knees, and it won't find it working with a child that can tear the fire from our souls. I don't know how you're going to fix this, I don't know how I would have fixed this, but I won't sit at your side and pretend to condone what you're doing."

 

"Zuko, don't do this. You don't need to agree with me, that is not why I want you as heir—"

 

"The last time I disagreed, you dethroned me." Sparky shrugged one shoulder, feeling lighter than she'd ever sensed him. "Find another heir, Fire Lord Iroh. I have sick relatives to visit."

 

The court held its breath as the former Fire Lord turned his back on the current, and hopped off the stage. He didn't quite stick the landing, and his legs were going all wobbly under those concealing robes as he strode away. Toph wasn't sure if he'd done it to be dramatic or because he was too deep in I-just-did-that shock to find the stairs. 

 

Iroh made some gesture and the guards followed, but their weight had already been shifting towards Zuko before the order came. She really hoped that was one of those things it was easy for sighted people to miss because—

 

Because you didn't do that. Didn't disrespect a king or a Fire Lord like that, and just walk away. Not without nobles watching and judging and barely holding in their murmurs for a safer place, not without guards moving to flank and protect their old Fire Lord without the permission of their new one. Not without walking off with part of the current ruler's power. And Uncle, if he wanted to stay on the throne… He'd need to get that power back, wouldn't he?

 

She'd been right: Sparky could have kept his mouth shut, gotten his crown, and worked to fix things as Uncle's heir. Could have. 

 

But Zuko really couldn't lie to save his life.

 

%%%



"Sir," one of the guards said to him, at the door to Zuko's room. "Your Maj—"

 

"Don't," he said. "I… appreciate it. But don't. I'll just… be inside, okay? Let me know when the Fire Lord figures out what to do with me."

 

"Sir," the guard said, and all of the ones who followed him bowed too low for a prince, especially one who'd functionally abdicated his position. Which was… it was stupid, they were going to get themselves killed if anyone loyal to Iroh saw.

 

But it was their decision to make.

 

This was his.

 

Zuko closed the door behind him, and went to his desk. His knife was waiting—he'd left it out, hadn't known how much time he'd have, hadn't even been sure if Iroh would let him make it back here or would just have had him arrested on stage. It was pretty weak, that Uncle hadn't.

 

(Had he meant it? His apology, the crown, the abdication—)

 

Not his problem anymore.  

 

Zuko unsheathed the blade, and held it to his topknot. Hesitated. Not because of… not because of his speech (which he'd practiced and practiced but still fumbled his way through), not because maybe Uncle had meant everything he'd said (what would it even change, he always assumed he knew best; even if he still loved Zuko he'd keep doing things like this, over and over, and Zuko just… he wanted to make his own decisions.) Not that stuff. Because (this was stupid) because he'd already cut his hair for a Fire Lord once, already cut it for his father once, and it had taken months to grow back.

 

So. Fuck it. 

 

Zuko let his hand drop. He retied his hair. Not a topknot or a wolftail or an Earth Kingdom braid, just a loose no-name tail at the base of his neck. Just to keep it out of his face. It wasn't a symbol of his honor; it was only hair. And he liked his hair.

 

Then he let out a breath, and went out the window. Everything he needed was already outside of the city, all the new supplies stashed away with the war balloon. The one he'd never reached the day he tried to rescue Uncle, tried to join the Avatar, tried to be someone he wasn't. He didn't know who he was anymore, but fuck that too. He was alive; he'd figure it out.

 

He left the knife behind, centered on his empty desk.

 

Never give up without a fight.

 

He wasn't that anymore, either. 

 

%%%

 

"Well he picked the worst time to grow a moral backbone," Sokka said, as they hid back in their room. Just the original Gaang. Iroh… was a little busy, right now. "I didn't think he even knew what the 'sick relatives' thing meant."

 

"Wait, what does it mean?" Aang asked.

 

Sokka was willing to let Katara field that one, and didn't even weasel-rat out that she hadn't known what it meant until a few days ago, either. When all those missing staff members had gotten her concerned, and she'd gone to the palace doctor to offer her help, and come back later looking like someone had tipped the world on its side.

 

Toph was laying outside on the veranda, her feet dangling down to touch stone. 

 

"Any trouble?" he asked her, and she… didn't respond. "Toph?"

 

"I'll let you know if they come for us with pitchforks, Ambassador Snoozles. Otherwise, I'm staying out of this one."

 

Katara was still explaining to Aang and Sokka was half-listening to that, which was why it maybe took him too long to put the pieces together. 

 

Toph was staying out of things. 

 

Which implied something to stay out of.

 

And Zuko… was the most literal person he'd ever met. 

 

"...He's visiting sick relatives," Sokka said. "He's visiting sick relatives. Toph, where's Iroh?"

 

"This is me, staying out of it," the earthbender said, which did nothing to help his sudden desire to hyperventilate. 

 

"Toph," he tried again, because apparently Katara's constant hope for the world was a family trait. "Where's Zuko?"

 

Toph smirked.

 

Sokka ran. The servants, it should be noted, were politely useless in helping him find their Fire Lord.

 

%%%

 

The birds were jealous and the rabbits didn't care and all the dragons were dead or caged except the last two, one curled fat and happy around his throne while the other circled his feet, content to betray her for scraps. Really, it was too much to ask for Azula to remain sane. What was her motivation?

 

Someone knocked on her wall. Twice. The wall next to her window, her window next to a seventeen-story drop to a rather sharp pointy rock-strewn ocean. Her window was cliff-adjacent, as if someone was trying to gently dissuade her from going outside. Unless, of course, it was a final sort of trip. Such a subtly charming view.

 

"Zuzu," she addressed the knocking, "I am getting sick of hallucinating you. If you're real, come inside. If not, kindly fuck off."

 

"Umm, it's going to take a second. Can you burn through the bars, or do I need to get the screws out?"

 

She stalked to the window, and threw back the curtains. Her older brother was hanging onto the window ledge by the tips of his fingers. 

 

Given that this idiocy was beneath her mind, Azula tentatively allowed for the situation to be real.

 

"If I burn your fingers, you'll fall. One by one, how many will it take?" She leaned her face against the bars, and breathed a tongue of fire into the air above his head. And what was with that tail he'd put his hair into, was he an Earth Kingdom peasant? "Where is your crown, Zuzu? The birds chitter-chattered all about the coronation."

 

"I told him to fuck off," her brother grinned.

 

"What."

 

He propped an elbow on the window sill. "I mean, not like that. But… in a speech? It would have been better but I forgot half of it—"

 

"Zuzu. Focus, please."

 

"Could we get these bars off, first? Not the best toeholds here, Azula."

 

Azula rolled her eyes in a suitably dramatic fashion, and blew a few strands out of her face while she was at it. Then she punched the window out of its frame. His flinch was quite lovely as it flew just over his head and down down down, all the way to the ocean below.

 

You could have hit me, he would say.

 

I might have fallen, he would say.

 

"Why does no one need me to escape?" he huffed. "You burned through days ago, didn't you?"

 

She shrugged, and examined her nails. "I was bored." 

 

"Why didn't you leave?"

 

I had nowhere to go, she could say.

 

The cliff was tall-short and the ocean far-close and the walls wouldn't stop moving no matter how much I screamed at them, she could say.

 

She crossed her arms, and raised an eyebrow. "Zuzu, have you any idea how much property damage I haven't done yet? I'm quite sure the royal treasury is footing the bill. This place would look simply lovely with new renovations, and I'm sure the staff would come to appreciate my efforts."

 

He hooked a hand on the stub of a remaining bar, and pulled himself up. Didn't come inside. Sat there right on the ledge like he trusted her not to push him. One light shove and down down down just like the bars and maybe then all these chitter-chatterers would leave her alone.

 

"I'm leaving," he said, with a voice that didn't sound like it came from her head (why would she leave where would she go). "Want to come with?"

 

"Leaving," she repeated dryly. "Where?"

 

"No idea." He shrugged, and smiled. "Maybe we could find a nice Earth Kingdom family to adopt us."

 

"And you graciously decided to invite me along on your," she rolled her wrist, and wiggled her fingers with all due scorn. "Field trip."

 

"Yeah."

 

This had to be a hallucination, because Zuzu did not smile like that, not like he was a commoner without a care in the world or a thought in his head or the weight of expectations the need to be better best perfect. He had never smiled like that.

 

She poked him in the chest. One finger, with more and more and more pressure as he sat smiling over that drop. He didn't flinch. Didn't even look at it, maybe she should push him, maybe she would.

 

"Why?"

 

Another shrug how dare he keep aiming those at her.

 

"I decided I'll trust you."

 

"Until…?"

 

"I don't think that's how trust is supposed to work, Azula."

 

"You're a fool." 

 

"Am I a fool you can trust?" Stop shrugging, stop smiling, stop it. "Come with me, Lala." 

 

He held out a hand. As if following him out over a literal cliffside was a good idea. As if he was really here and he really cared and he would really give up his crown to come wander the world with a little sister who could only ever look at a person in a window frame and contemplate how hard to push them. 

 

But she hadn't pushed him. And if he wasn't real, then he could be… he could be better than a real person. He would want her, he would never leave her, never betray her, a real person couldn't do that but this smiling hallucination who knocked on walls, who'd stayed up all night and talked her through the chattering birds, he could. 

 

She took his hand, and pulled him inside. 

 

"Very well. But we're using the door, Zuzu. Former royalty is still royalty."

 

"All right. But we're not killing anyone on the way out. Or maiming them."

 

"Oh? And you'll stop me?"

 

"Yeah. You can choose to hurt people if you want, Azula, but I'll stand between you and them. That's my choice."

 

"I will hurt you, brother."

 

"Yeah. Um. My fire's gone. So the next time you do the lightning thing, it's going to kill me. Just… so you know." He scratched at the back of his head, then paused, looking briefly surprised to remember his own terrible choice in hair styling. Then he dropped his hand, and shrugged again. "Come on, we'd better go before Uncle figures out where I went. I… um, I kind of told him—"

 

"You what."

 

"—It slipped out, okay! But I don't think he understood? It looked like he thought I meant something else."

 

"What did you say?"

"That I was visiting sick relatives."

 

"You said that. In front of the whole court and all the rabbit-mice who'd come to watch. You said that?"

 

"Yes…?"

 

Azula laughed. She continued laughing, all the way out. This had the benefit of sending the doctors and nurses skitter-skattering out of her way like the head-sucking leech-ticks they were, and the guards Uncle had left looked at Zuko, and bowed, and stood aside. 

 

She could almost pretend the bows were for her, too.

 

%%%

 

"Azula has escaped," Iroh said.

 

Sokka wondered whether Zuko knew he'd just started a civil war. Because everyone else in the capital sure did, even if it was only whispers and side-glances hidden behind all those public faces of theirs. And Sokka was starting to be a little afraid that not only was he right about Zuko's evil mastermind abilities, but that they were completely unintentional. Which made him a whole lot more dangerous, really.

 

They had to capture the Fire Prince. Fast. Before the whispers spread too far, or got too loud, or gave the wrong people the hope to fight back.  

 

The irony did not escape him.

 

%%%

 

End Book 0: Prologue (By Summer's End) (Zuko's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day) 

 

Chapter Text

"Less flame, more heat. And just… keep it steady, not so fast—"

 

"Zuzu. If you figured it out, I'm sure I'll manage."

 

The ground below them sunk away with alarming rapidity.

 

%%%

 

"Do you remember that one summer, when Mom and Uncle took us up Mount Taishin?"

 

"No, Zuko, I was four."

 

"How do you know you were four if you don't—"

 

"Is there a point to this happy family recollection?"

 

"Remember how when we got up really high, it got harder to breathe?"

 

She eased back on her flames. Slightly. For entirely unrelated reasons.

 

%%%

 

"Zuzu. I cannot help but notice that this balloon is bending-powered. What was your plan if I hadn't come along?"

 

"What would have been the point in going without you?"

 

"Cute. You didn't have one, did you?"

 

"...Do I ever?"

 

"I suppose that answers the question 'where are we going.' "

 

"Actually, there's an island we should stop to rest at before trying to cross. Unc—Iroh used to say the ruins there were interesting. Really overgrown and full of mosquito-ticks, but interesting."

 

"Zuzu, what part of 'ruins with large bugs' makes this interesting? He couldn't have made the place less appealing if he tried."

 

"Boring is good, though. No one should look for us there, and it's uninhabited."

 

"Oh, I'm sure no one will be looking for you at all. You're only visiting sick relatives, after all. You told them so earnestly."

 

"...I'm going to sleep."

 

"You do that."

 

"I can't sleep when you're laughing."

 

"How unfortunate."

 

%%%

 

Turbulence. Azula swore exactly like someone trying to be a sailor.

 

"Did you learn those from me?"

 

"You're sleeping."

 

%%%

 

"...Maybe we could look for mother."

 

"If she was alive, she would have found you when you were banished. She wouldn't just abandon you."

 

"Maybe she tried, but she couldn't find me."

 

"That would mean she didn't look, Zuzu."

 

%%%

 

"You're getting good at this. Just keep us at this altitude, this air current is perfect."

 

"I hardly need advice on perfection from you. Or the wind. The world at large, really."

 

%%%

 

"She's dead, you know."

 

"Yeah."

 

"It's better."

 

"...Yeah."

 

%%%

 

"...What does 'sick relatives' mean? —Stop laughing, oh Agni, Azula we're falling, breath control, breathe—"

 

%%%

 

"Do you think Ty Lee and Mai would like to come? ...Azula?"

 

%%%

 

"You what?"

 

%%%

 

"They're where?"

 

%%%

 

" Azula."

 

%%%

 

"Her uncle runs the place, Dum-Dum."

 

%%%

 

"Are you going to sulk the entire balloon ride?"

 

%%%

 

" Fine, we'll pick up your traitor girlfriend."

 

%%%

 

"Technically she was just being loyal to her future Fire Lord."

 

"Technically, she was being disloyal to her future Fire Lord. And her current one."

 

"...Huh."

 

"What?"

 

"Everyone in our family got a turn on the throne. You'd almost think we shared well."

 

"We really don't."

 

"...They can still be your friends, too. I think they were just—"

 

"Zuzu. I believe that we can both agree that I have been courteously lax in testing your convenient inability to redirect my bending."

 

"...Uh."

 

" Go to sleep, Zuzu. I'll wake you when it's time to break ingrates from our nation's most secure prison."

 

"Do we have a plan?"

 

"Has that ever stopped you?"

 

"...Night, Lala."

 

"...Goodnight, Dum-Dum."

Chapter Text

Book 1: Autumn (Unbowed) (These Aren't The Field Trips You're Looking For)

 

20. Favorite Prisoner

 

Getting angry didn't help. Thinking of escape—or worse, rescue— didn't help. Months at the Boiling Rock had taught Suki to take her pleasures from the petty victories in life.

 

It was too damn hot here, even for the Fire Nation prisoners. She smirked whenever one got hauled to medical with heat stroke, while she was still standing. 

 

There was a rust spot just outside the warden's office. She watered it with her mop, and watched it grow. Maybe one day the man would fall right through the floor. She had time.

 

Her favorite, of course, the one that gave her bone-deep satisfaction, was that she could measure her time here in Fire Lords. Fire Lord Ozai, smacked down from the sky at the height of his power by her friends (they were still alive, they were still fighting, they were winning). Fire Lord Azula, the one who'd thrown her in here, was only mentioned for a day; then the guards uneasily avoided her name (and gossiped ruthlessly about her downfall, the rumors out of the palace, how she'd lost her mind under the pressure and they didn't mean that figuratively). Fire Lord Zuko, the anger case who'd burned her village down, had been overthrown by his own uncle just last week. Factoring in Uncle Backstabber's political experience… she gave him a year. Then it was goodbye to Sozin's line on the throne, and she'd outlasted them all. Would there be a civil war? Suki hoped there would be a civil war. Let the Fire Nation's military class tear each other apart. 

 

She'd found other things at the Boiling Rock, too. Things that were… unexpectedly good. 

 

She was the youngest prisoner here, and the smallest, and a girl on an isolated island where most people were men and criminals, the guards included. This wasn't a desirable job posting. She'd been ready to fight since the moment she was brought here. Been ready to lose, eventually, because she was alone and the strength of the Kyoshi warriors was in their teamwork. Waiting for someone to try it had kept her awake in the night, kept her bristling during the day. It took her two weeks to realize that the patrols going past her room were always the same handful of guards, and this wasn't their regular route. 

 

"My daughter's a little younger than you," one of the men told her, when he'd caught her wary stare. Which was everything she needed to hear on the subject— more than she needed to hear. She wasn't ready, in that first month, to start thinking of them as people. It was easier to keep them all together as enemies. One ethnicity, one nation, one box, separate from herself.

 

And then, suddenly, they weren't. There were political dissenters who'd spoken out against the war, deserters who'd had enough, criminals who were just as commonplace-awful as in any nation. There were intense mealtime debates over what each new Fire Lord meant for their country, and learning which guards would let them talk treason about royalty—which would even join in—and which would throw everyone in the cooler for even a disrespectful glance towards the current ruler's portrait. 

 

Then there was Sokka's father. She saw him in the yard the day the new political prisoners arrived and knew he couldn't be anyone else, and it hurt to see what Sokka would grow into (tall and defiant, and the sense of humor did not improve with age) because she was in here, growing in different ways. They'd only kissed twice, but it was war, and she didn't know when she'd kiss a boy again. He'd told his father about her. Hakoda swore he'd have her back in here, and she swore the same. They had to stick together, he'd said, and it took her longer than it should to realize he meant against all the Fire Nation scum around us. 

 

The other prisoners were out of their box, and she couldn't put them back. For his first lunch under the Boiling Rock's hospitality, Suki led Hakoda to sit between a man who'd been imprisoned for subversive poetry pamphlets and a woman who'd crippled her commanding officer when she caught him burning an Earth Kingdom child. Hakoda looked thoroughly uncomfortable. Suki realized she wasn't. Not anymore.

 

And then the Fire Princess' lackeys showed up, in prison uniforms.

 

The bouncy one dumped extra bleach into the laundry, and everyone was wearing pink for a month, and there went any hope Suki'd ever had of keeping them in the box.

 

"So, what are you in for?" Suki asked, sitting next to the one that wouldn't mentally exhaust her in a conversation.

 

"Poor taste in men," the knife girl droned. 

 

"Same," Suki replied. "Also, I almost kicked your princess' ass."

 

"Same."

 

"Suki."

 

"Mai." 

 

"Ty Lee! Oh gosh, did I startle you? I'm so sorry—" 

 

Mai didn't get special treatment for being the warden's niece. He made that point very clear, with the feverish military rigidness of a man obeying rules to the letter. Same cells, same food, same work, same clothes. And if he avoided talking to her at all rather than debasing her like the other prisoners, well, there wasn't a law about how often he had to personally make each inmate miserable. 

 

"I'm sure my parents have disowned me by now, too," the girl said. "I'm no longer politically viable."

 

"Oh, Mai," Ty Lee hugged her friend, who took great pains to not acknowledge said hug. "I'm sure as soon as Azula forgives us, your family will talk to you again!"

 

"Thanks, Ty Lee," the girl said. Suki was beginning to admire how one-voice-fits-all her monotone was. 

 

Her new allies were cautiously, fearfully optimistic when Azula's portrait took its place on the prison wall.

 

They were confused but heart-breakingly hopeful when Zuko's replaced it. 

 

They'd already stopped glancing at it when, two months later, he was replaced.

 

A week into his reign, Fire Lord Iroh sent a hawk, suggesting that the warden take very good care of certain prisoners. Suki and Hakoda found themselves awaiting prisoner transfer. The Dragon of the West had taken a special interest in them, for reasons unknown to either her or her new friends. But when they glanced at the old man's portrait, it was nervously.  

 

"We're going to break you out," Ty Lee whispered through the slit on Suki's cell, because in the day and a half since that hawk had come Suki hadn't been allowed out once. "We could start a riot and take Mai's uncle hostage and ride the gondola to freedom! Mai's already made a ton of shanks, and you and I don't even need weapons! We'll just bam-bam and—"

 

"How will we get off the island?" Suki asked, her back against the warm steel wall of her cell. She'd learned weeks ago that it was best to humor the girl (whose uniform was still pink, as if the guards had finally admitted defeat so long as she didn't ruin everyone else's clothes.)

 

"When they come for you they'll bring a balloon! Or a boat! We'll take it and ride to freedom! Mai and I will come with you, and we can bring along that old Chief guy so your boyfriend will be happy, and maybe we can go break out your Kyoshi warriors, and I'd love to see your home and, oh, wear one of those pretty dresses you're always talking about! I'm sure there's a resistance we can join and we'll be best friends even after we're out because all us non-bending girls have to stick together—"

 

"Sounds great, Ty Lee," Suki said, still humoring. Hoping was too dangerous.

 

The next morning, a war balloon landed outside the volcano. 

 

Things began to go exactly as planned. This was a problem.

Chapter Text

"These are my summer clothes, Zuko. You packed my summer clothes."

 

"It is summer!" 

 

"Barely. Ugh, the pink coat? I thought I burned that. Ty Lee must have hidden it better than I'd thought."

 

"Can I turn around yet?"

 

"No. And if I turn around and your hair is still in that abominable state, you might force my hand."

 

Azula finished dressing in her own good time, in robes that passed as fashionable when worn by her, with the too-light weight of a mere princess' headpiece pinned into her topknot.

 

Zuko was in clean clothes, at least. A bit too informal, but passably presentable, and with his back still obediently turned. His hair in its atrocious low ponytail continued to defy her. 

 

"Zuzu."

 

"I didn't bring a hairpiece. Wouldn't it look even weirder if I wore a topknot with no hairpiece?"

 

"You remembered to pack my crown, but not yours."

 

"...Yours was more important?"

 

Flatterer. 

 

She would allow him his ponytail. For now. Besides; they were losing altitude fast, and the landing pad outside the Boiling Rock's caldera was in sight, with guards already waiting for them. There would be plenty of time for lighting her brother's hair on fire at a later date.

 

"This is a terrible idea." Zuko had the tone of an expert.

 

"It's been less than a day, Dum-Dum. Do you really think an isolated island prison is at the top of our dear uncle's list to inform of your," she rolled her wrist, "dramatic exit? Trust me, he's in no hurry to spread that news. But I guarantee the entire empire received the uplifting announcement of your impending coronation. We walk in, we walk out, and if anything goes wrong, I'll burn everyone who defies us."

 

This failed to soothe him. She hadn't intended it to.  

 

%%%

 

The Warden waited at the foot of the gondola station, his armor polished to a regulation gleam, his highest officers arrayed behind him. Refreshments awaited in his office, and the Fire Lord's valued prisoners in their cells. This was not, after all, an unexpected visit. 

 

The gondola came to a halt. Two former Fire Lords stepped off. With… no one else. 

 

"Your Highnesses," he bowed. "I was not expecting the honor of your presence."

 

"Trust me, Warden," Princess Azula flashed her teeth, "I would be more concerned if you had been. Now. I would like to see my prisoners."

 

"Of course. Will your escort be joining us?" he asked, as if asking would make the gondolas begin moving again, and an escort appear. The princess had been prone to outpacing her guards, if not outright leaving them behind, in visits past. It did not seem appropriate for a prisoner transfer, however.

 

"I'm sure they'll catch up. The prisoners?"

 

"At once, your Highness. We have taken every precaution; as soon as the Fire Lord's message arrived, we separated them from the general population, and..."

 

The two royals exchanged a look. The Warden did not find it wise to speculate on its meaning. He also didn't find it wise to continue speaking over it. 

 

"Zuzu," the princess asked, tilting her head to the side. "Is he taking us to them yet?"

 

"No," Prince Zuko said.

 

"Let me know when he is. And so help me if he offers refreshments first."

 

"...Right this way, your Highnesses." The Warden bowed again, and turned to lead them into the prison proper. 

 

The prince began to follow. The princess did not. She stood examining her fingernails, a half-smile cut into her face. 

 

"He, ah. He's taking us," Prince Zuko said. 

 

"Thank you, Zuzu." 

 

They began walking again. All of them, this time. 

 

The prince—the crown prince—fell into step at the Warden's side, his sister a step behind. The boy was strangely thin, and strangely ill-dressed, and strangely forgoing his formal crown to wear his hair in some sort of peasant style instead. His thinness was the sort that some of the prisoners on their lowest levels had; a rather distasteful necessity in prison management, that, but when a Fire Lord orders someone locked away and forgotten, the Warden was quite adept at amnesia. As for the rest... perhaps it was a holdover from the boy's time away from court, or some new fashion in the capital. Such trends didn't generally reach them, here at the Boiling Rock. Not that 'emulating a colony refugee' was something the Warden would have encouraged among his staff. 

 

For all that the prince looked like someone had dragged him out of a dark hole, the boy walked with a certain confidence. Casual curiosity, almost. Which was generally not the reaction most had upon viewing the Boiling Rock for the first time. 

 

They passed from an imposing metal corridor into a walkway overlooking the prison yard below. All was sufficiently orderly; the first shift of prisoners was taking their exercise under the watchful eyes of his guards, their conversations—where such existed—hushed to reasonably cowed volumes. Others were about their chores. Those that saw the Warden and his party quickly ducked their heads, tucked their shoulders, and otherwise gave satisfactory impersonations of lizard-dogs at heel.

 

The prince paused to look down on them, and out at the prison at large.  

 

"This is nice," he said. "Warm. Sunny."

 

"Lakeview," the princess added, and both royals laughed. One of the Warden's guards shifted uneasily at the sound. The Warden noted this for future reprimand. 

 

The princess herself was looking significantly better than certain rumors to the contrary. She was also staring directly back at him.

 

"You," she said, "are wondering why I'm here. Did you really think my own uncle would keep me locked away?" 

 

"Of course not, your Highness." 

 

"How is Mai? Comfortable?"

 

"Azula," the prince warned.

 

"...This way, your Highnesses."

 

They followed him, and peered through the slits of the holding cells like they were at the Caldera Zoo. At the first, the princess made a dismissive noise.

 

"It's the Water Tribe Chief," the prince explained. "...I think."

 

"Chief Hakoda," the Warden supplied.

 

Not that the princess was listening; she was already peering into the next cell, her lips curling into a smile.  

 

"Ah, my favorite prisoner. Perfect." She waved a hand over her shoulder. "Do your thing, Zuzu. I'll just be in here."

 

"Azula."

 

"Better be quick," she said.

 

The prince let out a breath. And turned to the Warden. "I, uh. I'd like to see Mai and Ty Lee. They're being pardoned. So... we're going to leave with them."

 

"Of course, your Highness. Do you have their release papers?"

 

"I didn't need papers to put them in here," the princess said. "I don't see why we'd need any to take them out. If you're so worried about it, send a hawk to Uncle Fire Lord. We'll wait."

 

The princess was not one to be kept waiting. 

 

"...I'll send for them, Your Highnesses." 

 

The Warden had not gained his position by questioning royal orders. 

 

%%%

 

Azula was here. Mai hadn't seen her, but half the prison had; strolling over the walkway above, her crown restored.  

 

Zuko was here, too. Maybe. People weren't as sure on that one, because even if he'd fallen from grace under Fire Lord Iroh's reign, no one started looking like a famine victim that fast. His royal portrait had made him look young and strong; not like this. But he had the prince's scar, didn't he? 

 

He hadn't been wearing a crown.

 

Mai had thought Fire Lord Iroh would still favor him. They'd seemed close. And then Zuko had abandoned the old man in Ba Sing Se, so maybe that had been the end of that. Azula was the objectively better candidate for heir if Iroh was trying to bring Ozai's faction back into the fold. And apparently he'd deposed his nephew, so it really shouldn't be a surprise that those rumors of a coronation ceremony had gotten prince confused with princess.

 

It certainly wasn't a surprise when the guards came to collect her. Mai fell into step between them; no need to make this a bigger production than it already was. 

 

Ty Lee had her own guards. They met in a hallway on the way to wherever they were both being taken. Ty Lee flashed a bright smile. Mai returned a bored nod. 

 

They were brought to the Warden's office. Inside was Zuko, sitting on the corner of her uncle's desk with his foot propped up on a chair, picking at a tray of refreshments like fruit was a novelty to him. 

 

"You're dismissed," he said.

 

The guards shifted uncomfortably. "It's policy to keep the prisoners guarded during interrogations—" 

 

"They're being pardoned. Not interrogated. Guard from outside."

 

"...Yes, your Highness."

 

They closed the door behind them. Mai and Ty Lee looked at Zuko. He looked back.

 

"...Kiwi-grape?" he offered, holding out a bowl.

 

Ty Lee accepted one of the fruits, with a "Thanks!" 

 

"Nice of you to finally visit, Zuko," Mai said. 

 

"I didn't… know you were here?"

 

"Did you ask?"

 

Briefly, very briefly, a flash of that familiar glare broke through whatever this weirdly relaxed mask was. "I was—I was trying, okay? There were just too many things, and there were more everyday, and I didn't know you were in prison. I thought she'd just banished you like everyone else."

 

Mai crossed her arms. "Only banished. That's great."

 

He closed his eyes. Took in a deep breath, and let it out. Ty Lee took another kiwi-grape. 

 

"So." His eyes flicked to the door, and the shadows of the guard's feet underneath. "You're being pardoned."

 

"On whose orders?" Mai asked, because Zuko really wasn't wearing his crown, and they were not going back to working for Azula. Not for longer than it took to run away. 

 

"Mine? Iroh named me the crown prince."

 

Iroh. Not 'Fire Lord Iroh'. Not 'Uncle'. Mai narrowed her eyes.

 

"Great!" Ty Lee said. "Can you pardon our friend, too?"

 

"That's, uh. That's not a great idea. Our war balloon isn't very big, and it's a long flight to… Caldera."

 

"That's too bad." Ty Lee smiled. "We really want her to leave with us."

 

Once they left the Boiling Rock, once they betrayed Azula again, they weren't getting back in here. Traitors to the crown couldn't just walk in and take people from the Fire Nation's most secure prison. If they were getting Suki out, they were doing it now.

 

"Where's Azula?" Mai asked. 

 

"With a prisoner."

 

"Her 'favorite' prisoner?"

 

"...Yes?"

 

"That's really too bad," Ty Lee said. She popped one last kiwi-grape into her mouth, and wiped off her hands on her pink prison pants.

 

%%%

 

Azula was in the middle of a refreshing bout of minor psychological torture when the cell door opened. It was her two traitors, plus her brother. 

 

"Really?" she sighed. "Without even knocking?"

 

Mai pressed a sharpened piece of metal to Zuzu's neck. "Step away from her," she said, more to the guards than Azula. An accurate assessment of how much Azula cared about threats to her brother's safety. It was Mai's hand on the knife, but the Dum-Dum had clearly done this to himself. 

 

Meanwhile, Ty Lee was relieving a guard of his keys to the prisoner's shackles. 

 

Mai's gaze stayed on Azula. Azula's stayed on her brother. 

 

"Zuzu. How exactly does one screw up a pardon?"

 

"They wanted to bring their friend. I said no." 

 

"And?"

 

"...Now I'm their hostage," he said. "So they can escape."

 

She couldn't help the little laugh that cut its way out of her throat, or her glass-edged smile. 

 

"So the traitors betrayed you. What have we learned about trust, Zuko?"

 

He shrugged, in that maddening way that implied he didn't care. "It's still the right thing to do."

 

"You're not stopping us," Mai said, like a squawking shrike-viper was any part of this conversation. 

 

"On the bright side," her brother said, "we definitely don't need paperwork now."

 

Neither traitors nor guards nor the prisoner rubbing her unshackled wrists seemed reassured by the sibling laughter that followed. 

 

%%%

 

"A ship just docked, sir," reported the guard, after a perfectly executed bow. "Royal guard."

 

It appeared their Highnesses' escort had caught up. 

 

The Warden nodded his dismissal, and spent a few more minutes in the yard, appreciating the tired misery of a well-run prison. It, like all final moments of happiness, went largely unremarked. 

 

This was when the escape alarms went off.