Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

To a child, the world is black and white.

Zuko was three when his mother took him on her knee and told him about the Dragons. She wove tales about their colorful fire, their unwavering sense of justice. It was easy to get swept up in the stories, to beg for more about them. He learned about the first Fire Lord at his mother’s side; as she held his hands and taught him the words every Great Lord has repeated since the First took power, challenging every Clan for their loyalty, one at a time.

“My loyalty belongs to the Fire Lord,” She said quietly, He stumbled, but repeated her words dutifully. “My fire belongs to the Nation.”

“My fire belongs to the Nation,” He giggled. His mother smiled, and covered his smaller hands with hers.

“My life belongs to my Lord.” She finished, looking into his eyes. He repeated it, hopping lightly in place. As she released him to play, already prepared to repeat the words tomorrow, Ursa rubbed her chest.

Years later, after his Swearing Ceremony and after his mother had gone, Zuko began to see shades of grey where there had once been only Right and Wrong.

Every prince of the Fire Nation was given the best education money could buy. This meant private tutors and specially trained bending instructors. It meant that, even at only ten years old, the now Crown Prince Zuko could look at a map and tell you exactly where the troops should be placed, where supplies should be kept, where they should be cut off. These lessons had little meaning to him, to be honest; at ten years old Zuko was far more concerned about avoiding Azula and her friends from the Academy. 

It is in these lessons, the true tale of the beginning of the war, that Zuko speaks up the first time,

“No military?” He asked, frowning. His instructor turned from her notes, raising an eyebrow. “That would mean authorizing action against a civilian population.”

“Yes, your highness.” She said it like he was an idiot. Zuko bristled. “The Air Nomads were a threat, and your great grandfather demanded they be taken care of; it is a tactically sound decision.”

“How could monks possibly be a threat?” He asked, insisting. “It says in all our records that they were pacifist--military action against them is a waste of resources.” It was wrong, he realized. It was wrong.

He earned three lashes to his knuckles for questioning that decision. Zuko’s instructors did not talk about the losses, or the morality. They explained the tactics, they recounted the means. His instructors did not teach him to care, because a Crown Prince should only care for one nation; his own. Zuko learned War from the proverbial knee of a genocidal maniac; Sozin had well-documented his campaign against the rest of the world. The Fire Nation fought because they were spreading their great culture, they were trying to advance the world. The World resisted, like fools, his teachers insisted. The World was wrong to reject the Chosen of Agni.

The World is wrong, they said. We’re wrong, Zuko’s mind whispered. Kindness, after all, is not so easily unlearned.

The second time Zuko spoke, he was twelve. 

Azula had grown cruel, in the absence of their mother. Zuko had always thought Mom had been strict with ‘Zula, even when she hadn’t done anything worse than he had. Now, however; when his Father took his sister away from him bit by bit, when his Father grew unreachable under the mantle of Fire Lord, Zuko wished his mother was there to scold them all, again. However, it was months after his birthday, just as Spring began to peek around the corner, when Uncle returned after years away. Zuko hugged him, and Uncle hugged back, and he never wanted to let go.

Uncle immediately took over his education. The Dragon of the West, they called him, and for good reason. The official reason, Uncle had explained, was because he had defeated and killed the last dragon. The real reason, the Fire Nation knew, was because Prince Iroh led the single most effective campaign against the Earth Kingdom since Sozin had done so himself. Now, Crown Prince Zuko learned from the best.

“There are few things more important in war than Honor,” Iroh said, guiding Zuko away from supply lines, away from civilians. “Do nothing to the enemy you cannot take, yourself.”

“Isn’t it justified?” Zuko asked, repeating words he’d heard many times from his instructors in the past. “What Honor do they have?”

Iroh smiled sadly. “It is never justified. Honor comes not from other people, Zuko, but from yourself. A man without honor…” He pats the young man’s shoulder. “Well. A man without honor, without moral, is nothing.”

What honor is there in war? Zuko had wanted to ask. What purpose do our blood-stained hands have, now, when we are nothing? He crushed the whispers ruthlessly.

The War is right.

Father is right.

(“My Loyalty belongs to my Fire Lord,” Ancient voices chanted, “My Loyalty, My Fire, My Life.)

It had to be.

The third, but not the last. Zuko spoke out in the War Room. The Forty First did not deserve to die; it was a waste of resources and it was a betrayal of what every man in that room owed the Fire Nation people. The People, those soldiers, trusted that their commanders would instruct them to inflict the most damage, and protect them from the most losses. He spoke, he was challenged, he accepted.

At thirteen, Zuko shouted for justice. When he turned around, his Loyalty bound his hands and strangled his shouts for mercy. He couldn’t move.

Zuko begged for forgiveness, from Agni, from Ozai, from somebody, and burned in the answering silence.

(“You will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher,” Father had said; but he’s always learned everything on his own.)

Uncle came with him.

Zuko had tried to stop him. He’d screamed, he’d yelled, he’d begged him to stay. To protect the people Father couldn’t save, because even though Zuko had broken his Loyalty and deserved this, Uncle didn’t deserve to fall from Agni’s grace, with him.

Uncle had smiled sadly, rubbed his chest like it ached, and pulled him carefully into a hug. He cupped the back of Zuko’s head, where his bandages wrapped around, and begged him silent. “You didn’t.”

(Deserve it? Do it? He did. He did, and it was all his fault.)

Uncle gets them a ship, an old, decommissioned frigate called The Wani. He gets them a crew, men and women who take the assignment either as a favor to Uncle or as a way to escape the brig. A few of them, like the cook, served with Uncle in the Earth Kingdom. Others are on recommendation from his old Lieutenants. There isn’t enough of them to run the frigate properly; although The Wani is a small ship by imperial standards, it was made for a crew of sixty men, rather than one of thirty.

Zuko knows it’s his fault any of them are here. He was the one who was Banished. He had to find the Avatar, or die trying. The men and women on the ship with him, the soldiers he was supposed to protect--why had they come? What had Uncle told them? 

Zuko read every single one of their files. Lieutenant Jee had a family at home, and Private Sao and Jirong had grown up together. The cook, Shiro, had served with Uncle in the Siege but had no records prior to the campaign. Zuko knew they hated him, he made it easy. He was angry, at himself, at Uncle, at Father and Azula. He lashed out in his worst moments, which grew above the number of good ones. By the end of the first month, the crew of The Wani hated him--where they could, they avoided him at every turn. What would be tantrums in any other child took terrifying form in the power of an Imperial Firebender, a Prince of the Dragon Throne.

It had been months. He was still angry. It had been so long since he had known anything else.

After his fourteenth birthday, a few months before the anniversary of his Quest, Zuko sent a single letter home. He never got a reply, but in the months following he couldn’t help but hope. It was just a report, nothing interesting or incriminating, but he’d hoped his father would reply, anyway. He didn’t.

It was Zuko’s fault for expecting more than he deserved. His father had banished him, punished his wavering Loyalty, but Fire Lord Ozai had given him the chance to prove himself. He only cared about the outcome. Zuko felt like giving up, but then he remembered the years of torment he suffered under his sister. Zuko knew that leaving his People, his country, in the hands of Azula would mean their death. 

He had a duty, always would. It kept him going, some days, to remember the people he was doing this for.

(He missed his baby sister. He did not miss Azula.)

Although the crew hated him and he felt more hopeless every day, Zuko moved on. He wore their expectations like armour, used their words like weapons. In his brief confrontations with Zhao he left feeling victorious more than he felt defeated. He beat down his heart, he breathed not air but flames, and Prince Zuko became more important than just Zuko.

So he hunted for Avatar, even as his heart ached and his body felt weighed down by bricks. He couldn’t sleep, but he felt so tired. He could barely eat, even when lunch rolled around and he should have been starving. Zuko had no friends. He had Uncle. Sometimes he had Jee. But he had no friends.

Zuko was lonely. He was angry. He was tired.

  (My Loyalty. My Fire. My Life. The War felt wrong, but if his Lord is wrong then who or what is Right?)

On the first anniversary of his banishment, Zuko woke early. The crew danced around him. Stood still when his eyes passed over them, and very carefully always stood on his right side. He hadn’t blown up at someone in a week, and everyone on the ship was prepared to be tossed overboard the second he had the energy to be angry again.

  Zuko didn’t even have the energy to be hungry. He petulantly thought they should just leave him alone. But they didn’t, and they couldn’t, because Uncle had gotten him a ship and crew and now he had to put all his training to work. He snapped, and breathed smoke, but commanded them like he thought he should. He directed them away from the most losses, and that was all he cared about. The Avatar, and his crew. 

It was because of this care, hidden behind rage and frustration as it was, that Zuko would never forget the first time he killed a man.

It was an unexpected attack, only half a year into Zuko’s frantic search for the Avatar. A small company of Earthbenders had ambushed them while they slept, and if they hadn’t set a watch, all of them would have died in that isolated Earth Kingdom valley. 

It was depressingly easy to do so, in the moment. The leader of the band had abandoned his advance on Zuko to go for Iroh’s exposed back. Zuko knew his Uncle could defend himself, but his vision had tunneled. It was the chance his Uncle would notice, or the chance he would not. It didn’t take long to choose. He killed the man before he could kill any of Zuko’s men, and when the Earthbender’s gang fled, Zuko let them go. And when they’d all gotten back to the ship, tired and hungry, Zuko forwent dinner to spend the rest of the night tossing and turning in his futon.

Perhaps it makes him cruel, but Zuko would do it again in a heartbeat. No one will hurt the people he loves. Not while he’s still breathing.

Two years into his banishment, just after Spring. Zuko’s hands were curled around the railing at the bow of his ship, The Wani cutting through the water like a dream. It was early morning, dew still clung to the chilled metal, and Zuko could feel the icy metal nip at the skin of his palms. He stubbornly did not move them, allowing it to wake him up just a little bit more.

  Behind him, Lieutenant Jee stepped out of the Helmtower.  The older man wavered, having spotted him, but Zuko did not turn. A man’s greatest asset is what he can notice without seeing, after all. A well trained Imperial Firebender could fight off a battalion blindfolded. Zuko, while not a Master, could sense the hesitance in the man’s chi, how he considered turning around and waiting for Uncle to wake up. Oddly, the Lieutenant did not.

“Sir,” Jee said from behind him. Zuko looked over his shoulder to look at him properly. The lieutenant was older than most of the crew, hair more silver than not, and Zuko was reminded that the man had grandchildren at home. Jee’s face was always set seriously, and his posture was perfect where he stood in parade rest. He cut an imposing figure, to be sure, but Zuko was not intimidated. Jee could do no worse to him than his Father had; he would never get close enough to try.

(The Prince wondered if Jee ever felt this tired, too.)

“Yes, Lieutenant?” Zuko asked. His voice was flat, and Jee shuffled slightly backwards. He was trying to be subtle, but Zuko wasn’t as blind as the scar made him seem. The Crew feared him, even if they would never admit it. The idea of a child, let alone one with Dragon Eyes, being trained as an imperial was probably terrifying. Zuko thought of Azula, who’d taken to bending like a turtleduck to water, and had to agree.

  “The Helmsman is requesting to trade off early today. He thinks he might be coming down with something he caught at the last port, and Jirong should probably take a look at him,” A pause. “Sir.”

  Zuko turned back to the sea, and let Jee stew in the following silence. He knew the Lieutenant didn’t really respect him, not as much as Uncle, but he had to defer to the “Captain of the vessel” and that was Zuko. Not that anyone believed it; had he the mind, Uncle could easily wrest control of the vessel from Zuko, and Zuko would let him. 

Zuko let steam rise from between his fingers as he evaporated the dew on his palms and heated the metal in his hands. He let a steady breath out and released the railing, standing up straight. Jee was still standing there, qi pulling back automatically as Zuko moved. 

“He has the next week to recover.” Zuko decided. The young prince turned away from the bow to look at the Lieutenant. “We’ll pull into port, by then, and find a real Healer. Replace him at the helm with someone qualified, if it comes to that.”

“Yes, sir,” Jee said, bowing. His qi felt, to Zuko’s inexperienced senses, more respectful than it had been in all of the last three minutes. It flickered in surprise, as well, and Zuko’s good eyebrow twitched like it wanted to rise. Zuko wondered what he’d done. “I’ll tell him immediately. Permission to leave, sir?”

“Dismissed.” Footsteps clinked across the deck, and soon the metal door to the tower was closed and Jee was gone. Zuko looked out to the grey waves again, and let the first rays of sunlight soak into his skin. He closed his eyes, warm for the first time in weeks, and breathed steam out from his nose. 

  He had work to do.

They did end up having to pull into port the following day; the docks of a small town Zuko had not bothered to learn the name of.  As the first group disembarked, the Helmsman hobbled off with Jirong and another man to the nearest doctor. The remaining crew had been split into groups to guard the ship; when one came back, another could leave. Zuko left with some of the last groups heading out that night, and disappeared into the darkness the second no one was looking. It had been easy to blend into the crowd of refugees and peasant farmers; he was dressed plainly and carried no weapons but his knife. Just another scarred face in the crowd. 

Zuko stopped at several stalls; most running all night for the Midsummer Festival they’d sailed into. He admired weapons and simple carvings, taking the chance to be as curious as he pleased. He wandered through the winding streets, up and down the still-crowded walkways lit with lanterns and filled with soft smells and warm light. He bought a new whetstone for his Dao, reminding himself to practice soon. 

He spent hours walking around, taking the rare opportunity to relax out of view of his crew. As he walked from a stall selling cloaks and other traveling gear, he was nearly pulled into an impromptu performance by a traveling band of entertainers. Some danced, others sang, and the man who’d spotted him juggled. “A strong young man!” He said, attracting attention to the startled Prince. “Come over here, sir! I need someone who can lift my assistant!”

The crowd excitedly started muttering, and a few kids about his age started pushing Zuko forward. He dug his heels in. The man cojouled and bargained with him, but he’d managed to escape the performer’s clutches before he got the crowd to push him into the troupe’s shenaniganry. He quickly walked away from the main crowds, and welcomed the more silent housing district outside of the main festival.

An hour after dark, when the celebrations were really picking up, Zuko came upon the edge of town. The roads here were quiet, in comparison, filled with only two or three people every few houses rather than the bustling crowds in the markets. He paced the length of the main road, and soon found himself at the small shrine at the edge of the village. It was barely taller than the nearest house (which was a good distance away) and the paint was chipping; Zuko soon found out why the townsfolk were so disrespectful when he came eye to eye with the symbol for a spirit of fire. 

Ah. 

(“Fire will reign, Zuko. We will show them true civilization.” But didn’t these people already have a beautiful one?)  

Zuko stepped inside. It would be worth it for even a moment of quiet; perhaps he could find some incense to light... 

The shrine was clearly once an impressive place; the walls were well-decorated and the idol representing the Dragon Spirit, likely the one who lived in the mountain behind the town, was beautifully carved. The floor was dusty, but dirt was absent so it was cleaned at some point, although not recently. An odd dichotomy; if they hate the spirit, why not destroy the shrine itself? It would be incredibly disrespectful, but obviously the town didn’t care about that; not to mention it was one of the easiest ways to temporarily cut off a spirit’s power.

“How pragmatic of you,” A female voice said dryly. Zuko jumped about a foot into the air, whipping around to find..no one. He backed up to the wall, keeping anyone from attacking him from behind, but still couldn't see anyone. “Ah, a wary little Dragon has found his way into my cave.”

“Your--?” Realization floods his system. “You’re the spirit of this Shrine.”

“Oh, a smart little dragon!” The gravelly voice says with some delight. “It has been quite a while since I had an intelligent conversation. Tell me, Pup, what brings you here?” Zuko feels like he’s being examined very closely. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he shivers. “Fame, fortune? Perhaps a lover has scorned you?”

“No-” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat. “I-I didn’t come for anything like that. It was just loud outside and it looked like no one had been here for a while...” Zuko’s eyes drift to the door and he wonders if the spirit would let him make a run for it. Unlikely.

“That is true,” The spirit admitted, to the running or the lack of visitors, Zuko didn’t know, “But Earth seemingly has no time for Fire these days; even when they sit at the base of a Fire Mountain.”

A volcano?! No one had said - there were no warnings-?

“Oh, Little Dragon. I’m too old to fall into wrath over petty human squabbles. They will come again, in time. After all, you did.” The Spirit hums, and Zuko feels the phantom sensation of a gentle, thin hand settle on his cheek. There seem to be claws on it, and he can feel their points on the side of his face. He flinches from the cold grasp, but thankfully she doesn’t seem offended. The hand settles over his scarred temple. “But, you know... I wonder, Pup, why you are so... sad.”

“It’s-I’m not,” His throat is dry and sweat runs down his back. He’s heard tales of spirits; what they do to mortals who accidentally or purposefully disrespect them; but burning curiosity has run the mouths of many fools, Zuko, regrettably, among them. “Why do you call me ‘Little Dragon’, Spirit?”

“You are of Agni's kin,” She says this like it is obvious. “I can feel the ancient blood of the Great Lords in your veins, and thus you are a Dragon. A pup, clearly; you are rash and angry, but a dragon all the same. Human enough; but not completely. Your skin, too tough, your swords too quick.” That phantom hand settles over his heart, and he can feel it through his thin armour and clothing; like those layers weren’t there. He doesn’t dare move.

  “Your fire burns brightly, did you know? It calls to those with dimmer sparks. It sings.” She taps his chest with a clawed finger and Zuko shivers again. “Perhaps...too brightly. A flame untempered…a little Dragon, indeed.” She laughs.

“‘A wise man runs from the Imperial; Dragons walk among men,’” Zuko quotes absently, eye’s fixed on the ground. He doesn’t know exactly why he says it; perhaps, to distance himself from what is quickly climbing up his list of terrifying experiences. 

It was a line from a play he’d loved since he was a child, although the company on Ember Island butchered it every year. Love Amongst the Dragons was a tale of an ancient Princess, the daughter of one of the region Lords,  falling in love with a mysterious, powerful firebender. It’s a tragedy; the Princess kills herself rather than be married off to anyone besides her love, and the man she had fallen in love with turns into the first dragon, destroying the castle and disappearing into the night. In some versions, she lives to give birth to their child, who becomes the first Fire Lord. In others, it is the dragon who takes the throne. Zuko’s mother had teased him for liking the more romantic tellings.  

“Familiar words,” The dragon says, and suddenly Zuko is almost blinded by a flash of blue. “And good advice.”

Zuko looks up, and comes eye to eye with the thin, wispy visage of a young woman. She’d be older than him by several years; her hair is dark and pulled up into an elaborate topknot, and held there by a golden dragon comb, in the distinct style of a married woman from a warrior family. She wears a dark blue dress, gold ribbon at her waist and hem, and on her hip is a simple jian sword. The dress is slit up to the ribbon holding the wrap closed, more like a tunic than a dress, and beneath she wears pants often used for sparring.

Her eyes are slit, bright gold, and she smiles with too many teeth. Her grin splits her face too far to be natural, like a painting of one of the slit-faced-women. She looks human, but not human enough- her whole visage is uncanny and jarring.

The Dragon Spirit’s voice comes from the woman’s lips. “I have another for you, pup: do not come to shrines on the night of Midsummer’s Moon.”

The last thing he sees that night is that sharp-toothed smile.

Chapter Text

Zuko woke up slowly, and immediately did not want to. 

Wherever he was, it was bitingly cold. The wind gripped him like a vice, and he was shivering before he was even awake enough to realize it was cold. The ground and grass beneath him felt wet, like the morning was young enough for dew to linger. Reluctantly, Zuko pried his eyes open.

He'd ended up in a forest; a forest of tall, dark trees with creeping roots and deep green leaves. Most of them extended far past his head, and the mist surrounding him kept him from seeing the canopy. Zuko pulled himself into a crouch, expecting his joints to pop from the cold, and found himself pleasantly surprised when no popping was forthcoming. He stood, and rubbed his hands together in an attempt to warm them even slightly. His legs shook from the effort of standing.

Zuko rubbed his arms and recalled the Breath of Fire. He breathed deeply, like Uncle showed him before their first trip to the South Pole; no fire came. He tried again, and still no flames emerged. Panic began building in his gut; as far as he was aware, only chi blockers could stop someone's bending, and even then, they weren't allowed outside of the country during wartime. There was no tell-tale tingle of numbness, and he could still use his limbs properly, so this was unlike any chi-blocking he'd ever experienced from Ty Lee. So consumed with his thoughts, he nearly stumbled over when voice interrupted them.

“You cannot bend here, pup,” The Dragon Spirit said with good humor, and Zuko whipped around to face her. She stood a few yards away, still appearing as a sharp-toothed woman in fine warriors’ robes. Unlike before, however, she was no longer translucent. Now, the spirit appeared as defined and real as Zuko, and the change brought all that anxiety rushing back. She tilted her head, examining him head to toe, and Zuko drew himself up in a loose fighting stance. 

She seemed unintimidated, but that may be because he was still shaking like a leaf. Shivers wracked his body for a few moments, and his teeth clattered.

“Where-where am I?” He asks, angrily. Zuko resisted the urge to rub his hands together out of pure spite, even as it seemed to get even colder. “Why did you take me here?!”

“You’re the one trespassing in Shrines, pup,” She reminded him wryly. “This is the Spirit World. You may know me as Hoūyan, Dragon Spirit of Hong Mountain. What do they call you?”

“I wasn’t trespassing!” Zuko snapped back, “I was- I was just- gah!” He wished he could still bend, here, if only so he could exhale smoke like he normally did when he was frustrated. “Let me out!”

Hoūyan raised an eyebrow. 

He clenched his fists, and looked to the ground. This spirit’s face was...unnerving to look at for too long. “They call me Zuko,” He finally muttered, and the spirit’s face split into that unnaturally wide grin.

“Zuko,” She said with glee. “How surprised I was by you, Little Dragon; especially these days. Even during a war, you find your way to my shrine." Hoūyan clapped her hands lightly together and smiled. "How did no one notice you, I wonder?” Zuko blinked, looking back up.

“Notice what? I-” He started, before catching himself, and snarled, instead. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing to notice!”

“Oh, there are lots of things,” Hoūyan muttered to herself. 

Louder, she said, “Your Fire, I mean; it's so odd! Unless humans can't see these things- I remember someone mentioning that to me..."

“Shut up!” Zuko barked rashly, “There’s nothing- odd about me!” Who does this spirit think she is? His fire was perfectly fine! He didn't work for years to get it back under control, only for some... random lizard to insult it to his face.

“So you haven’t noticed, then?” Hoūyan corrected, incredulous. "It's so obvious, humans must be blind-"

“Shut up!” Zuko interrupted again. He resisted the urge to cover his ears like a child; he’s a Prince, dammit! His good eye was already watering, a bit, and he had to maintain some dignity. She didn't have to say how messed up he is- he already knows it all, he’d already thought it.

( He’d screamed, he’d yelled, he’d begged him to stay. “Protect them,” He’d pleaded.

“Let me protect you.” Uncle replied.)

“Tell me, at least, you noticed the signs?” Hoūyan said exasperatedly. She brought a hand up, nails so sharp they looked like claws, to wave at him. “They should be plain, at least; trouble sleeping, maybe trouble eating? Water is Family, after all... and since your balancing element has practically been burned away, I imagine your relationships may have deteriorated, as well.”

“You don't know what you're talking about!" Zuko snarled. 'What is she talking about? Balancing elements?'  "Once I capture the Avatar, my father will welcome me with open arms! My fire will be fine! It is fine!"

"'Capture the Avatar?'" Hoūyan repeated blankly. "Why on Earth would you want Raava's pet? I hear they're meddlesome."

"He's a danger to my people!" He shouted. "Once he's captured, no one will stop us from sharing our knowledge with the world."

"Sharing knowledge? Is that what they call it these days." Hoūyan sighed, bringing her shoulders back, and Zuko's vision was suddenly overcome with images- not the forest, or the shrine, but images of war. A starving refugee, begging for food. A girl, about Zuko's age, elbow deep in someone's guts. A healer. There's more. Mudrats, waterdogs, ashmakers; it doesn't matter. It felt like he watched a thousand deaths, a thousand atrocities. His head felt like it was going to burst, and as it continued, he could barely focus on what he was seeing, anyway.

It lingers somewhere Zuko has only heard about.

("Surrender, old man." A soldier demands. They surround him, twenty to one. "You're outnumbered."

"Am I?" Monk Gyatso asks mildly, and kills them all.)

It lingers somewhere no one dared speak of. 

(Lu Ten chokes on his own blood. "Sorry, Dad," He cries to himself. The battlefield is nothing but corpses around him. "I wasn't...I wasn't brave enough.")

"Stop it!" His voice broke. "Stop it, stop it- I've seen enough!"

 Zuko's world came back to him all at once; the forest and the cold rushing back like a punch to the face. He fell to his knees, and felt tears run down his face. Shame burned in his throat, and he can't help but think of Lu Ten, all alone-

 The Dragon straightened, and in a blink she’s kneeling before him on the strange, spongy ground. Hoūyan pried his hands away from his face, and tilted his head up so he looked her in the eye. Zuko didn't dare look away. Her eyes were thin, like Mai’s, and as golden as the jewelry she wore. They were as wild as a Badger-cats’, and slitted just the same. She narrowed them, like she was looking into his very soul. She might've been, and Zuko didn't know what she'd find.

 "I didn't bring you here to blame you for the actions of your forefathers." She said. Zuko swallowed. "Your father has sent you on a quest, pup. What is it?"

 “I have to restore my honor,” Zuko said automatically; it's become a mantra, a vow. “Once I capture the Avatar-”

 "He'll allow you back?" Hoūyan interrupted, and Zuko pursed his lips. He didn't continue. "Forgive me, Little Dragon, but your father would have called you back long ago if he wanted you there." He wrestled with her grip.

 "My Father does want me back!" He argued. The Dragon was not convinced, clearly, but moved on. She released his wrists, and he let them fall to the ground beside him.

 “I have met few humans more honorable than a boy who burned for the sake of his people." She said. Zuko clenched his hands in the dirt beside him. 'And what did that accomplish?' He thought acidly. Hoūyan continued, "What you lost, pup, was not your honor but yourself. How are you getting it back?”

 There was... layers in that sentence. Years of hesitance, where Azula did not falter. How could they? He’d wondered. How could they, how could he , how could I? One hundred years, more than thousands lost: His family saw the glory, his country saw dominance: superior people showing the lesser what it means to be Fire . 

All Zuko had ever seen was the losses, the bodies left over. Now, he'd seen...too many, and Zuko couldn’t see the glory once he’d seen the people: it had always been his greatest weakness. The war is right, he thought, and still didn’t believe it.

 “I can’t.” Another tear ran down the side of his face, and he hated himself for it. “I have to regain my honor, he said-”

 “You will, one day.” She said sadly, and Zuko almost believed her.

 This time, Zuko woke up in the Shrine he’d passed out in. Weak morning light streamed through the shoji, and all was quiet. He wasn't cold anymore.

 Zuko got up, patting dust off of himself; shoulders and back sore from lying on the wooden floor all night. Even after a few minutes of patting and wiping, his formerly black clothes remained grey. He huffed in frustration, and was almost crippled by the overwhelming relief he feels when smoke surrounds his face. Even after only one night, it had felt like his bending would never return.

Zuko straightened. He glanced to the side, at the dragon statue, which seemed to watch him. The small stone it held gleamed in the morning light, and it’s eyes- her eyes seemed to follow him. He stared back for a moment, anxiety building in his throat and crushing that previous relief. What should he do? Would she let him leave, now? He hesitated, before bowing deeply. He held his hands in the proper position, like he was bowing to a Greater Lord rather than an old, volcanic rock.

 “Thank you,” He said. He didn’t really know what he was thanking her for, but it felt right. 

  “Call, Little Dragon, if you have need of me.” Her voice sounded in his mind, “I will come.”   Zuko’s traitorous eye teared up again, and he coughed. It’s the dust. He bowed deeper, both oddly thankful and eager to leave, and turned away.

 The streets were quiet, almost jarringly so, after last night’s festivities. Banners and papers still littered the ground, and every so often he spotted a paper lantern that had fallen from its string. Very few people were out and about, and Zuko was thankful that they all seemed too tired to really take notice of him.

The sun was just barely rising. In a town like this, as far as he knew, farmers would be leaving for the fields this time of day; or they’d already be out there. On the ship, the crew was likely asleep. Except for the night watch; they might not even notice he was gone. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d disappeared, but it was the first time he’d been gone so long. Uncle, if he hadn’t gone to sleep before Zuko had left, would be been panicking. 

The young prince huffed, no smoke this time, as he stepped past the dirt roads of the main village and onto the wooden boardwalk leading to the docks. There was far more people, here; sailors getting ready to depart, or unloading their wares to sell later in the day. An old man loudly complained about the lack of quality workers, these days, and a woman (perhaps his wife?) smacked him over the head and handed another man a few coins before she ushered him away. Other people were shouting as well, not to mention the ringing ship bells and groaning livestock. If the village was quiet, the docks were cacophonous. 

As he walked farther, towards his ship and some good sleep, he overheard another argument. This time, two dark, Fire Nation uniforms caught his eye, and Zuko stopped. About twenty feet to his right, Privates Jirong and Sao hissed at each other, glaring at sailors who tried to get them to move. The young prince sighed, already wishing he hadn’t noticed them, but began walking over to them.

"This is your fault," Private Sao said, jabbing Jirong in the breastplate with a finger. The young man she'd poked (‘young’ being relative, he was ten years older than Zuko) looked offended.

“Me?" He said, " I was helping Taong to the doctor! You were with the group that left with the Prince!”

Sao growled. “Lieutenant Jee was, too, idiot! Are you blaming him?” 

“What, exactly, are you two fighting about?” Zuko interrupted. The two Privates turned from each other, fingers still pointing and arms still raised, and stared at him. Sao opened her mouth, but words didn't come out. This left Jirong to step up and answer.

“Ah, sir!” He saluted hastily. “General Iroh sent us to find you!”

Uncle was awake? That was unlike him. “Uncle...whatever. I was fine. Tell whoever else is looking to get back to the ship. The minute the Helmsman is back, we get out of here.”

“Y-yes, sir!” They said in chorus. Both bowed deeply and left quickly, like they’re expecting him to send them off with fire in their wake. Zuko’s brow furrowed, and couldn’t help but watch them until he could no longer see them through the throng. He wasn’t well liked, among the crew; this was something he knew intimately. He'd seen the graffiti and heard the whispers- his crew, although good for what it was, was not subtle or stealthy. The idea he would attack them, though- that hurt. Zuko wasn’t the best commander, or even a good one. He tried his best, but if there was anything Zuko knew, it was that his best was never enough.

Could he fix it? Zuko wondered. He began walking towards the ship, again, deep in thought. Could he fix what seemed irreparably broken?

A man without honor is nothing, Uncle had said; but was that true? Zuko didn't have honor, but he had purpose. He would capture the Avatar, and end the war. Hoūyan had shown him how much it needed to be ended; however, he realized, he'd never capture the Avatar, or get home, without his crew. His people.

Zuko vividly remembers burning for recruits the age he is now. He won't ever forget. Maybe...maybe he forgot why he did it though.

Zuko steps onto his ship, tired, confused, and burning. He never stopped burning. Zuko walks through his ship, sending the crew into separate hallways or off to the side; out of his way. He feels very alone, again.

Zuko needs to capture the Avatar. He needs to go home. He needs to do both, before Ozai dies, before Azula can ascend to the throne. Before any of that, Zuko needs to gain his crews trust.

"I'll be better," He swore to himself. "I have to be."

True to his word, they set out the hour the Helmsman was aboard and returned to duty; nearly a week later. Once out to sea, life returned to normal. The crew danced around the dangerous boy in their midst and Iroh forced equally dangerous amounts of tea down the throats of those he could capture. Among those lucky souls, was Zuko, who, for once, took the cup and the following pot of tea with almost no complaints. Instead, he sipped his jasmine and thought.

Zuko didn’t think he was that good at strategy; not because he was stupid or incompetent, but because he wasn’t good with people. People confused him. They never moved like he expected them to, or just said what they meant. There was... manners and social graces and being polite . There were even manners in war, the Rules of Engagement. Zuko understood why people had those things, but he was getting sick of them. He was sorry. Shouldn’t that be the end of it? He knew, logically, that it couldn't be, but he also couldn't apologize. Princes did not apologize for anything less than a heinous crime, and he was discredited as it was. He just wasn't good enough with words to avoid making it sound...ungainly.

Where Zuko was not good with words or people, however, he was good with his hands.

Zuko was, at the very least, approaching Mastery in the Dao. He practiced at night, under the quiet watch of the moon and the occasional smile of Uncle, but no one else. He poured his heart and soul into the Dao like he couldn’t do for firebending. Firebending had never held the place in his heart that the Dao had, because while he had been training in firebending since he was a child, and was exemplary by most people’s standards, he just was not good enough for an Imperial Firebender. He didn't have that problem with Dao, because Azula would never deign to pick up steel. He was amazing with swords, and he clung to it desperately.

His hands would be his apology letter, because it was really the only apology he could bear to give.

 He started small, with the kitchens.

 The cook, Shiro, was a grumpy woman who even Uncle Iroh dared not flirt with. She was put on this ship because she was terrifying. She was not polite, and she was not afraid to beat whoever came into her kitchens uninvited. Technically, she wasn't even Fire Nation, but Zuko hadn’t allowed the crew to talk about it. She had salt and pepper hair pulled into a strict braid, naught a hair out of place. Her face had smile lines and crow's feet, and she was beautiful in her own right, but no one on the ship had ever seen her smile. They didn’t want to.

It would likely be the last thing you saw before you died.

Even in the kitchens, she carried an intimidating kanabou; an iron club with spikes on one end and a ring for holding and hitting on the other. It looked a bit like a key, if you squint and tilt your head as it swings to hit you. She was the most intimidating woman Zuko had had the honor of meeting, and he respected her and her kitchens immensely. Only two people were allowed in besides her; Iroh, and Seaman Xia, her assistant. Zuko was, perhaps stupidly, about to break that rule and step foot into the oni’s lair. 

 Less stupidly, he knocks first.

 “What?” the woman snarls from behind the metal door.

 “It’s Zuko,” he says. He dares not add a title, she doesn’t care. She’d take the Fire Lord over her knee if she had a mind to. “I... need some assistance.”

 The door swings open, thankfully away from Zuko because he would have most definitely been killed by the aggressive movement, and the cook is revealed. She looks as immaculate as ever, save for the stain of oil on her otherwise spotless apron. Dark, earthen eyes narrow at him. “What are you going to do for me.” It’s not a question.

 “It’s a favor to both of us, really.” He skips the niceties, she has no time for them and neither does he. Zuko lifts his hands, calloused from swordsmanship and two years on the seas. “I need help making something, and we have new crew members to feed. You may have use for the extra hands.” 

 He doesn’t say she needs them. She doesn’t. Shiro looks him up and down. “If you faint on me, I will use you as a floor mat.” She steps aside. “Get out of that armour and put on an apron. Those silks are worth more to me than you.”

 He steps inside the hot kitchens and the door shuts ominously behind him.

 Xia was having a nice morning. Really, she was. She woke up with the sun, did basic meditation, and had a ration bar before heading to the kitchen. She was well rested, not hungry yet, and ready for a day of work.

 She was not ready for this.

 Xia stepped into the kitchen, which was kept shining clean by order of The Scariest Woman On Earth, and had to pause at the strange sight before her. The Prince, her Captain, the Royal Pain Himself was putting rice on the stove like it was something he did every day, and Shiro-although Xia hesitated to say it-hovered nearby and chopped vegetables for miso. They bustled about, occasionally stopping to make the blandest conversation at each other-barely any emotional tones, one word sentences and replies; it was almost as if they spoke a language she didn’t know.

 If she hadn’t spent so much time around Shiro this last year and a half, she wouldn’t know it. As it was, she could see the gentleness in the way Shiro smacked the Prince’s hands and the respect he offered in his terse replies. He referred to her wisdom, even if he did seem to be struggling to do so. He kept his mouth shut unless he had an important question (and wasn’t that a miracle; Prince Zuko asking questions rather than charging head first?) and Shiro showed her appreciation by giving him a short, to-the-point answer with none of the frivolities that they both seemed to hate about talking to people.

 Xia dared not stare too long, even as the Prince began using his own hands to knead the dough for dumplings, but she felt like something important had changed. There was something new in the air, a tension that wasn’t there before, and Xia didn’t know if she wanted to find out what it was.

Chapter Text

The Wani pulled into port once again a few weeks later, and Zuko had never been more relieved to see the mountains of the Earth Kingdom’s shores. Xia, it seemed, had mentioned his presence in the kitchens to someone, or multiple someone's, and Zuko had spent the past month or so followed by more whispers and lingering looks than normal. In his efforts to ingratiate himself to his crew, if only for the chance to apologize before they made it home, he reluctantly persevered.

It didn’t matter anyway. He’d set out to do something, and so he would. Discomfort was always going to be part of it.

After delegating guard duty to a few soldiers responsible enough not to just leave before their shift was over, Zuko stepped foot onto land and melted into the crowd that swarmed the harbor. It was a busy day, and it took him less than a minute to lose his less than subtle guard detail. Zuko found himself reluctantly impressed with their persistence; it was a familiar song and dance that had lasted near the entirety of his banishment. At this point, admittedly, it was a half-hearted pursuit at best. 

As the docks faded from wooden walkways and bridges and into an actual town, the amount of people grew dramatically. Zuko pushed his way through the crowd. A few people turned to scowl at him, but quickly backed off when they got a good look at his face. They were farther from occupied land, and although this was a harbor town, the sight of a boy as scarred as Zuko must have been jarring. As he elbowed past another group, attempting to see past the throng to any useful stalls, Zuko was taken by the arm and dragged out of the swarm.

“Hey!” He yelped, turning to see who it was. In front of him was a dark-skinned colonial man, with glittering amber eyes and a wide, enthusiastic grin. He was decked out in a dark red tunic with a dark, almost purple-blue sash keeping it all together. As the man’s eyes landed on his Zuko’s scar, he grinned wider, but removed his hand from the banished prince’s arm.

“Hello, traveler!” The man boomed, “You seemed to be having trouble!”

“I was fine,” Zuko snarled. “What do you want?” The man hmm’d, gesturing towards his stall: a wooden table on top of a blanket, both covered in goods from around the world, and protected from the sun by a tarp which was draped behind the table and above the blanket by two poles.

“Ah, but sir! What do you want?” Mostly against his will, Zuko was ushered into the shade of the tarp. Immediately, the man shoved a finely woven, green fabric into his face. “Perhaps a weave? Directly from Ba Sing Se! Or-” The fabric was ripped away, leaving Zuko blinking, before another item was pushed into his hands. “A theater mask? You seem like a man that appreciates the Arts!”

The mask was indeed a piece of art. Hand carved wood, painted in blue and white with fine inlays of silver along the brow. It was an oni: a very familiar oni, given it was the Blue Spirit. He was character in one of Zuko’s favorite plays. He was supposed to represent a protector of innocents, specifically, children and lovers. Families.

It really wasn’t a wonder he’d liked the Spirit very much, as a child.

“Hm. No?” The merchant said, reaching for the mask. His qi danced mischievously. “We also have shells from Kyoshi, and furs directly from the Water Tribes! If you don’t like this particular mask, we also have several dragon masks-”

“I’ll take it.” Zuko grunted. “How much?” 

“Too much,” was the answer, but even with a lighter purse and a slightly guilty heart, Zuko couldn’t regret buying the damn thing. It was finely made, and the man had allowed himself to be talked down by over twenty silver, so it wasn’t a complete loss. Zuko held the mask and the paper wrapping he’d been given for it closely as he pushed through the crowds once more. He wasn’t exactly afraid it would be stolen, but given the reputation of harbor cities like this? He wasn’t taking the chance.

He stopped at a few more stalls along the way: one to get fireflakes, another to examine some mediocre Earth Kingdom Iron. After several stops where he spent more time scowling at things than actually looking at them, Zuko’s eyes finally landed on a small inn nestled between two larger buildings. It was a darker adobe than most Earth Kingdom houses in the region, and had brickwork halfway up the wall: both a sign of superior craftsmanship and wealth of the owner. The roof was red tiles, and above the thick oak door was a sign. “The Broken Arrow,” It informed him in black-painted characters. Zuko’s eyebrow rose, and more out of curiosity than actual hunger, he stepped inside.

Like most inns, regardless of location, The Broken Arrow had a decent sized dining hall with large tables, surrounded by sturdy benches. On the walls were cast-iron sconces which appeared to be cleverly re-made pans and pots, which rested comfortably and unlit between shoji-screen windows. Along the right wall there was a bar, and by the door there was a place to put your weapons. This section of the inn was watched by a small, eagle-eyed young man who took one look at Zuko and held out his hand. Zuko was not carrying his swords, but when the man’s eyebrows raised and his eye darted meaningfully to Zuko’s boot, the teenager reluctantly handed over his knife. A small wooden coin was slapped into his hand, reading “26,” and he was soon shooed away from the door and towards the bar along one wall. 

“What’ll it be?” The woman behind the counter asked. She reminded him a bit of Shiro.

“Beer,” He said firmly. In busy cities like this, as far as the Earth Kingdom went, it was safer to drink alcohol than water; although, of course, he’d learned that the hard way. He’d just have to drink carefully. And eat something hearty.  “What is there to eat, here?”

“Food,” She said flatly, but relayed the menu to him before wandering off to grab his beer. Zuko sat himself at the bar, ignoring the snickers of the older men beside him, and nodded to the barmaid when she handed him his drink. After asking for some rice to fill his stomach and taking the small, ceramic cup, he settled in to wait.

It wasn’t long before the men beside him grew disinterested, and returned to their conversations. Zuko, for all that he had no one to talk to himself, enjoyed people-watching on the rare occasions the opportunity arose to do so. Bars, Inns, Hostels, etc. Anywhere where alcohol flowed, conversation did, too, and gossip was his only lead, these days. He’ll find the Avatar, even if he has to do something like eavesdropping to do it.

“-It’s awful,” The man beside him said conspiratorially with his friend. He was in simple clothing, all browns and dark greens. Both of them wore sturdy shoes and had wide brimmed hats set to the side, so they were likely farmhands stopping for lunch. “Xihi was devastated. My wife was just telling me about it.”

“I would be, too,” His friend remarked, sipping his drink.  “Imagine your child just...disappearing.”

Zuko’s good eye widened. Disappearances?

“I know,” The first man rubbed his chest and looked to the side, as if searching for someone in the room. “If my little Song just vanished...well, my wife would beat the shit out of the guy, first, but some families aren’t so lucky.” They both chuckled and clicked their cups together. “I thought it was some of those Fire Rats that’ve been coming in-” Zuko carefully did not react, “-but some of their kids have been disappearing, too.”

“Really?” The second man actually seemed surprised, but even as he continues, Zuko stopped listening. He’d been worried for the Earth kids, obviously, but they weren’t really his concern. He couldn’t intervene without discrediting himself more than he already was- a Prince should worry about their own people, first. But...if Fire Nation children were also disappearing, that meant it was not only his responsibility to investigate, as Prince of the Fire Nation, but also the justification to do so. 

After shoveling the remaining rice into his mouth and leaving his cup half full, Zuko left his money on the opposite side of the counter and waved the barmaid down so she could collect it. He turned to the man beside him, and tapped him on the shoulder.

“-and she--what, kid? I’m talking here.” The man turned, eyes widening as he got a full look of Zuko’s face. He had, after all, been sitting on the Prince’s good side. His friend, hilariously, dropped his cup.

“The children,” Zuko demanded, “Where have they been disappearing from?”

“Uh-Gaoling.” The man blinked, coming back to himself. “It’s about a day inland. Look, kid, the guard haven’t found anything-”

“Then they’re not doing their jobs right.” Zuko nodded to the woman behind the counter, then to the two men, before stepping away to collect his knife.

Seemed that the crew would have some time to themselves.

“Prince Zuko, is the really the wisest course of action?” Iroh said, watching the young man throw clothing and supplies into a pack. Zuko’s quarters had become chaotic; his clothing was thrown haphazardly on the bed, and his nicest armor was simply tossed into a corner. There was a small bag of food that Zuko was currently stuffing into his travel pack. “Surely, it would be better to take a small team, at least?”

Zuko frowned to himself, facing away from his Uncle. He’d told the crew that he’d found a lead on the Avatar, but he’d be going to investigate by himself. It was partially because the engine needed repairs, but mostly because any crew members he took would question everything he did. His mission, after all, was the Avatar, not finding lost children. Trust me, he wants to say, this is my responsibility.

“They’d just slow me down,” He says instead. Uncle’s silence said everything for him, but Zuko continued packing, regardless. Because Uncle would almost definitely try and have people follow him, Zuko hadn’t mentioned where exactly he was going. Worried, Iroh had needled him both blatantly and in the subtlest ways he knew to find out where this lead had come from. Azula was better at it than Uncle was, though, and Zuko felt like he needed to do this alone. It was taking too long to find the Avatar; anything he could do to mitigate his failure was some pressure off his conscience. 

His hands reached for the last of his clothing, only to meet the wooden mask he’d bought, instead. In the dim light of the candles, the silver glowed, and Zuko found himself shoving it into his pack before he could think about it.

‘If worse comes to worse, I can always resell it.’ He thought to himself. ‘Just because I have a weird feeling isn’t a sign that it means anything.’

“Zuko,” Iroh finally said, “I must warn you against going alone. This area is not friendly to the Fire Nation.” Zuko slung his bag over his shoulder and turned to the old man, who stared at him with something heavy in his mien. He’s worried, Zuko knows, but he doesn’t know how to fix it.

“I’ll be fine, Uncle,” Zuko assured, even as Iroh simply frowned more. “This lead is likely nothing. If I go after it myself, you and the crew will have enough time to do repairs. It’s a waste of resources to take anyone with me.”

Their crew was already small, and fixing the engines would be a all-hands-on-deck situation; they would be sitting ducks until repairs were finished, and they needed guards, errand-runners, the engineers and the firebenders to do repairs... Iroh made a large, exasperated sigh, but conceded to the point. 

“Good luck, nephew.” Iroh nodded. He reached out, briefly, like he wanted to give Zuko a hug. There was a pause, but before he could put his hands down again, Zuko stepped impulsively into his embrace. The young prince wrapped his arms around his uncle, and held on until the old man responded in kind; squeezing the life out of him. Zuko couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t move away.

It’s the warmest he’d been in months.

“I’ll be fine, Uncle,” He repeated as he stepped back. This time, Iroh let him go without a word.

Zuko arrived in Gaoling the next morning, pack and swords on his back, covered in a thin layer of dirt, and longing for a good bath. When he’d woken a few hours before, having managed to roll out of his sleeping bag and onto the ground, he hadn’t bothered to clean up before setting out again. So, while he was in new clothes, they were now also covered in dust. As he walked through the farmlands leading to the town, he didn’t get a second glance from the early-rising workers who tended the fields. 

The actual town of Gaoling was sprawling and wealthy; a trade hub for the Western Earth Kingdom. It wasn’t a market day, as far as Zuko could tell, but some small-time fruit sellers and food merchants were open for the servants of wealthy homes. He got some looks, mostly focused in horrified pity on his face, but went otherwise undisturbed through town. Zuko, already wishing he’d just ignored his gut and stayed on the ship, stopped at one such fruit seller to get his bearings.

The man who ran it was small, thin, and old. Wrinkles nearly swallowed his eyes, but his resting expression was kind, and he moved as smoothly as a man forty years younger- Zuko pegged him as an Earthbender, or a martial artist; and a still active one at that.. The old man turned slightly as Zuko approached, and tapped his cane on the ground in front of his chair. He looked relaxed, but his qi said he was ready to finish any fight Zuko started.

“Welcome to Gaoling, traveler.” The old man said politely. “What brings you to our city?”

“Rumors.” Zuko dropped a couple of copper pieces on the table and took a single apple. The old man smiled as he took a bite.

“Ah, a bounty hunter?” The old man chuckled. His qi went sharp, and judgmental. Earth Kingdom peasants were so easy to read. “So you heard about those poor children and want to collect?”

“I’m not here to make money,” Zuko said, but didn’t disagree with the old man. Bounty hunters were common enough- and legal enough- that he wouldn’t get too much opposition, save from an actual bounty hunter. As he should, the young Prince looked almost...aggressively fire nation. Even with a hat to hide his phoenix tail, it would be impossible to confuse him for someone of Earth. Thankfully, however, a colonial bounty hunter could be...allowed to appear a little too Fire Nation.

War children, after all, would rarely get better job opportunities.

“Hm,” the man said disbelievingly. “Well, I don’t know anything.”

“Nothing?” Zuko asked. A gold coin appeared on the table, and the old man’s green eyes appeared from behind his wrinkles as they widened.

“Well, maybe something.” The man agreed. “Bad memory, you know.” Zuko said nothing, but didn’t stop the gold coin from flashing off the table and into the man’s coin purse. A few hems and haws, all while the young prince’s patience dwindled, before the old man perked up, invigorated for the first time in their conversation.

“Ah, I remember, now!” He said, “It was big news, last night. The last child to disappear was that Bei Fong girl!”

“Bei Fong?” Zuko asked, unfamiliar with the name. It was obviously a surname - likely a wealthy family in the area. The old man, humming, nodded.

“I don’t know much, mind, traveler.” He said seriously, “but that Bei Fong girl is this town’s worst kept secret. She’s the only child of the Bei Fong’s - rich’uns, you understand, but she’s never been seen. Someone got into their compound, seems like, because they just came out with a big ol’ reward for her return.”

“Never seen?” He said, slightly baffled. How was a noble supposed to develop her combat skills without sparring partners her own age? Surely they didn’t expect her to fend off assassins with no training? What about suitors? Zuko sighed internally. The Earth Kingdom was strange. “Is there anything else you can give me?”

“Eh,” The old man scratched his head, brow furrowed and eyes once again hidden behind his wrinkles. “Not that I can think of. Good luck, though, young man.”

“Of course,” Zuko said, “Thank you for your help.” A name was better than nothing.  He stepped away from the cart, bowing, before heading in the direction of another stall. He would have to get directions to the Bei Fong’s.  They’d probably know more.

Shiro was an older woman, now, childless as she’d been when she left her home in Hao Province. She’d grown up a merchant’s daughter in the Western Earth Kingdom, stern and stubborn as the stone of her courtyards and home. When her father and mother had begun looking for matches, though; wealthy, stupid boys that wouldn’t know what to do with a knife if you stabbed them with it, she drew the line. Disowned but not ashamed in the slightest, Fa Ming became Shiro, and she never looked back.

Even as pampered as she’d been all those years ago, it hadn’t taken long to become comfortable as a refugee. In fact, she thrived. Shiro was strong and broad, and always had been; even if the silks of her gowns made her seem dainty. She’d taken to hunting like a duck to water, and picked up cooking just as easily. She began selling rations in the towns she stopped in, tasty and long lasting, which had quality far above that sold by most merchants. She made a name for herself.

Then, Shiro met General Iroh.

She’d thought him stupid, at first; although he’d done nothing to dissuade her from the notion. The first time he flirted with her, she’d thrown a knife between his legs, just shy of some important...papers. It was the last time he’d done so, but that didn’t stop his persistent pestering.

“The food you make is by far the most delicious I’ve had since I left the palace!” He’d said, delighted, “Come work for me!”

“No,” She said. He’d pouted, looking more ridiculous than he should in his blood red armour.

She was Earth, she was stubborn, but even a mountain can be worn down. It took nearly a month of pestering, where she followed him and his army on campaign even as she still refused to work for him. He’d smile, and laugh, and look startled when she beat him in Pai Sho. His son, Lu Ten, was more polite than his father. He laughed at her dry jokes, even when Iroh didn’t get them, and poked fun at his father for being so desperate to get good food.

“The Seige will start, tomorrow,” Iroh informed her, stealing a dumpling even as she went to smack his fingers with a spoon. “I’m...aware that you are not Fire. You don’t need to stay.”

I won’t make you betray your people, he didn’t say, but Shiro heard him loud and clear.

“You’re an idiot,” She said dryly, “I’m the only thing keeping you alive, you pampered baby.” Shiro chased him out of her kitchen with a spoon, and enlisted a cycle of the slightly-less-injured to maintain a steady supply of food. She worked for months, keeping these boys and women and their stupid General alive, when Iroh stumbled into her tent in those final days.

“Lu Ten,” He wept, “He-I’ve failed him.” 

Shiro pulled him into a hug, and held him through his grief. Shiro was not a loving woman, not in the least, but she respected General Iroh and she tolerated his boy. So when her General was racked with fever as his Loyalty snapped and cracked, she kept his papers neat and withdrew the armies of the Fire Nation herself. Her eyes remained dry, and her voice never cracked, but she cooked all the boy’s favorites and kept his father alive. General Iroh woke, soba steaming in front of him, Loyal to no one but himself. He cried into his noodles, but stepped onto Fire Nation soil a changed man.

Shiro stepped with him.

Years later, back on a ship despite herself, Iroh had himself another son. The boy wasn’t, not really, but his jokes were dry and his eyes were sharp. He was stubborn and curt, hated explaining himself when it should be obvious what he was doing. If not for the scar, if not for his bending, if not for his eyes, Shiro would think he was Earth. Prince Zuko was not like Lu Ten, and he was not quite like Iroh, but Shiro thought he might be like her.

He offers to help, one day. Caustic as he is, she doesn’t expect it. Shiro opens the kitchen, weapon on her hip, and demands to know the reasons.

“You may have use for the extra hands.” He says, standing in her doorway.  He doesn’t say she needs them. She doesn’t. Shiro looks him up and down. 

“If you faint on me, I will use you as a floor mat.” She steps aside. 

Chapter Text

Zuko approached the Bei Fong’s mansion a little after noon, still covered head to toe in dust and wishing that Earth Kingdom cities were built in less nonsensical ways. All the directions he’d been given were conflicting, and were it not for a messenger from the Bei Fong estate that he’d happened to ask, Zuko would likely still be wandering around Gaoling.

Having finally found the estate, however, the banished prince stepped up the Bei Fong’s gilded, flying boar-decorated gates. He waited only a few moments before a portly man in a guard uniform stepped around the corner of the wall, standing on the other side of the gates.

“What do you want?” He grunted. Zuko instantly decided he didn’t like him.

“I’m here about the Bei Fongs’ daughter.” Zuko replied shortly. The man’s eye twitched, and Zuko took the small victory, although it had been unintentional.

“Look, kid,” The guardsman said, his voice, and qi, flat and annoyed. Zuko’s lone eyebrow raised, and he bristled. “We aren’t giving out rewards for your “information” or your “clues,” so you can just go home to your colony or wherever you ashmaker brats come from, these days.” 

“I don’t have information, which is why I’m here.” Zuko snarled. With great restraint, no smoke came out on the exhale. “I’m a bounty hunter-” might as well use the cover that was handed to him, “-I need information to do my job .” The man hesitated. “Does your Master want to find his daughter or not?”

The guard stood for a moment, before scowling. He disappeared behind the wall once more, out of view, and just when Zuko was about to call after him and demand a proper servant come talk to him, the gates began to swing open. They stopped with a small gap, just large enough for Zuko to walk through, abreast, and the man popped around the wall once more. “Well, get in!”

The man reluctantly escorted Zuko through the well-tended grounds of the estate. Along the way, two more guards came to walk behind him, and Zuko carefully did not tense up or turn around to look at them. As a group, the three of them entered the Bei Fong’s mansion, and Zuko was reminded of attending parties at some of the nobles’ houses back home. The entryway, or at least the halls leading to the receiving room, were filled with jade vases, paintings, gold-plated mirrors… Zuko’s eyes avoided the latter. The portly man from the gate finally stopped in front of a wide shoji-screen sliding door, painted with cranes and flowers, and knocked on the wood beside it.

It opened slightly, revealing a servant; she and the man exchanged a few quiet words, glanced at him, and then nodded at each other before she closed the screen and disappeared.

Zuko found himself waiting once again; listening to the hurried shuffle of servants, the clinking of china as a small greeting-meal was laid out, and the quiet sounds of the Lord and Lady stepping into the room, sitting down, and getting served. Only then, did they hear the firm voice of Lord Bei Fong, “Come in.”

The room was actually rather plain for a receiving room; or perhaps Zuko was simply used to the slightly less formal throne room they’d used in the palace. Compared to the hallways he'd just been marched through, it was disgustingly minimalist. There was a raised platform against the wall with green cushions, clearly meant as a type of throne for the Bei Fongs, on which they sat primly. A small table had been placed in front of the platform, and behind that, another small cushion for him to sit on. 

He sat without complaint, straight backed, and didn’t touch the tea in front of him. The two nobles’ qi grew curious. Lady Bei Fong raised a brow, and when she took a sip of her tea, only then did Zuko reach out to take his. The two of them exchanged an unsubtle glance, meaning that Zuko had passed their small test of Class. Lord Bei Fong turned back to him, and spoke clearly.

“You said to the guard at our gates that you needed information on my daughter?” He said. Zuko nodded, sipping his tea, and set it down before talking.

“I’m a bounty hunter,” he repeated, “I heard about the disappearing children a town over, and came to investigate. This morning, I heard about your daughter. Any information you have will help me find her and the other children.” Lord Bei Fong looked slightly unimpressed.

“What kind of bounty hunter can’t find his own information?” He demanded. His wife nodded thoughtfully, and Zuko realized with both dread and glee that these people obviously didn’t know how bounty hunters worked, let alone how to tell if he was a fake one. Working with them would likely be difficult, but at least the likelihood of them seeing through his admittedly weak cover was slim.

“I found out about them, yesterday,” He says. They look mildly surprised. Zuko clears his throat in an effort to keep from raising his voice; he’s growing impatient. “Lord Bei Fong, even if I had known about the children for a month, I can’t do any investigating without information. Did the kidnappers give you a ransom note? Did they leave any clues?”

“...There was no ransom note,” Lady Bei Fong said, eventually. Her hands clutched her teacup tightly. “There were signs of a fight, the guards told us- rocks having been thrown all about. Otherwise, she simply disappeared on one of her little walks.”

“..Is she an earthbender?” Zuko asked when she didn’t continue. He didn’t know how trained she would be, but if she was an earthbender that could explain the lack of contact with other children- she would likely have very skilled teachers.

“Yes,” Lord Bei Fong said. “But the rocks couldn’t have been her, I’m afraid. Our little Toph is blind, you see. She’s never advanced past the most basic forms.” The two of them looked sad to admit it, but remained otherwise composed. Zuko felt his scarred eye twitch, remembering those days in the very beginning of his banishment when his sight had simply… given out. The doctor they’d had for the first leg of the voyage called it “sympathy blindness.” Both of Zuko’s eyes had since recovered, one obviously better than the other, but it was a familiarity he wasn’t expecting to find, today.

“Anything else you can give me?” Zuko prodded, and the Bei Fongs went on. Eventually, small plates of food were brought out along with some of “this lovely, Fire Nation soup we just got from port,” that was actually just miso and not a ghost-pepper soup like he’d mildly hoped. They talked about the wagon tracks a guard had found outside their walls, and the sash Toph had left behind in her panic - the mention of said sash lead to a long-winded tangent where Lady Bei Fong cried delicately about her ‘poor, helpless baby.’

“I’m so worried,” She said, again. She stayed mostly composed, as expected of an upper-class citizen with company, but her sadness seemed genuine. “Even if she wasn’t blind- what could these men want her for, if not our money? I wish our guards had been there to help..”

Not “I wish I was there to help,” no, “our guards.” Zuko’s eyebrow twitched like it wanted to raise, but he maintained his ‘court-face’. Zuko privately began to wonder if perhaps Earth Kingdom nobility didn’t train their children to fight, or at least not the women? He hadn’t seen any soldiers that were women, sure, but none of them? That seemed ridiculous. Regardless, he eventually got all the information he thought he would get, and managed to guide the conversation to a close. Lord Bei Fong nodded his dismissal, Zuko resisted the urge to shout ‘finally’ at the spirits, and he was escorted out of the estate.

By now the sun was setting, and Zuko huffed. “What a waste of time,” he muttered. Even if he’d gotten the information he needed to begin looking, that was two hours he could’ve spent searching instead of pandering to the ramblings of Mudrats. He began to walk towards where they’d said the wagon tracks had been, and prepared for a long night.

It was, indeed, shaping up to be a long night. Such a long night, in fact, that when Zuko finally sat down at around three o’clock that morning, he admitted to himself that he might be in over his head. He’d searched for hours, at this point, no closer than he was when he’d left the Bei Fong’s estate and started following the sparse clues back to town. Fifteen, barely of enlistment age let alone an adult, and he’d decided in his infinite wisdom to forgo the assistance of Uncle. 

He sighed, sitting down on the edge of the roof he was on. He was feeling rather stupid, now. A team would have been more noticeable, and plenty of the crew couldn’t--and would indeed refuse-- to pass as Earth Kingdom, but he had an entire town to search, not to mention the surrounding hills and woods.

 “Spirits preserve me,” He groaned, leaning back until he was lying on the still-warm, green tiles. His back popped as he relaxed, and Zuko allowed himself to just sit for a moment. His legs hung over the side, swinging in the wind. An unexpected voice replied.

  “You called?” Hoūyan said, and Zuko sat up with a swear. The spirit hovered near him on the rooftop, a large, blue dragon with golden horns and whiskers. Her voice was more echoing, like she spoke from a distant cave rather than right beside him. The change from silence to speaking, not to mention the sudden appearance of a large, translucent dragon , nearly sent the young prince off the roof. He flailed, barely catching himself before he slid over the edge, and he quickly scrambled back up the tiles to sit at the top of the slope.

“Careful, pup,” she chuckled as he collected himself. “I do not believe you have wings, yet.”

“Hoŭy-My lady,” Zuko said, pulling himself into an awkward kowtow. It was hard to do on an incline, but he’d been rather disrespectful already by calling her here. It took a spirit of immense power to appear outside of the solstices, and although she seemed to like him, it would be dangerous to him and his crew to treat her with anything but the utmost respect. Uncle had pounded that much, at least, into his head. The old man seemed useless for much else, these days.

“You flatter me, Little Dragon.” The large dragon curled effortlessly over the rooftops. She settled with a small sigh, mostly on the large building Zuko rested on, but her tail extended well over the neighboring home. Her wings were closed along her back, but extended, they were probably wider than Zuko's ship; she was a very large dragon. “I expected you to call me, sooner. Rude of you, little pup, I would have liked your company these past weeks.” She’d been expecting him to call for her? Zuko made a wordless noise of confusion, but Hoūyan continued, “No matter, now. You called for help?”

“I-ah, I’m looking for some missing children, My Lady,” He explained, speaking more formally on a reflex, “But I’ve not found any leads since earlier this afternoon, and they were weak at best. It’s only been half a day since my search truly began but it’s been...frustrating.”

  “I understand that frustration; there are lives on the line, I imagine. That pressure, not to mention the lack of help..” Hoūyan made a huffing noise, and Zuko’s hat nearly flew off his head. If not for the string, it would have, but it prompted him to look up despite himself. Her golden eyes were focused elsewhere, scanning the horizon like the large predator she was. A shiver ran up his spine as her claws cracked the green tiles underneath them, and a growl filled the air.

“Little flames should be preserved. I imagine there are some little pebbles, among them?” She prodded him with one of her strange, moving whiskers, and Zuko’s mind stumbled.

Zuko’s mouth finally managed to catch up, and he got out, “Ah, yes. Both Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom children have been disappearing.” She hummed, a deep rumble that filled his chest, and his eyes went to her claws as she rose up from her front to lift her head into the air. He scrambled back as the tiles she’d stood on slid down the roof.

Hoūyan swiveled her head about, eyes still scanning, those strange, prehensile whiskers flowing in a non-existent breeze. She moved fluidly, and even as she lowered herself again Zuko could not look away. As terrifying and powerful as the dragons had been, as Hoūyan was, they were stunning. 

“There is a strong boulder among the little pebbles,” She said, “If we hurry, she may yet leave you some of the fun.”

She turned, wings spread for flight, and Zuko quickly stood up to follow. Perhaps slowly for a dragon but quickly for a boy, they made their way across the rooftops. He almost slipped several times in his efforts to keep up, but Zuko leapt from building to building, swords lightly hitting his back every time he landed. He was panting by the time Hoūyan began to slow, nearly across the district, but there was a wide grin on his face. After all, how many could say they ran with dragons?

When they finally stopped, Hoūyan having settled once more on a large, flat-roofed warehouse of some kind, Zuko had to pause to breathe. The building Hoūyan had set herself on was part of a larger complex, one of many buildings connected to or around a merchants’ mansion or summer home. In front of them and below, a large courtyard extended. A group of sleeping dragonmoose were tied to a wooden railing against the opposite building, but otherwise the yard was deserted. 

There were groups of large shipping wagons, placed at the side of the yard by the dragonmoose; one was open, and inside, the young prince could see child-sized cages in the light coming through the other warehouse’s windows. Zuko’s eyes narrowed.

“Slave trade,” He growled. In the Fire Nation, owning a slave or trading them was punishable by death. It was seen as reprehensible to take the freedom of another man or woman. A small part of him pointed out that the lower classes, although they could move up by joining the military, getting a good education, or challenging a higher-standing citizen to Agni Kai, were basically slaves in all but name. He unsuccessfully ignored it.

“Disgusting worms.” Hoūyan snorted, and despite her incorperality, smoke rose from her nostrils. Zuko did not doubt she was thinking of ways to tear said worms apart. The dragon glanced at him, examined his clothing, before she tapped his forehead with one of her whiskers. “You should cover your face, pup,” She said, “A few of the maggots are Fire. They will know your mien.”

“I don’t have anything-” he paused. But he did have something, didn’t he? Reaching back, Zuko quickly unclipped his swords and set them beside him. Swinging his pack off after them, the young man reached in, moving clothes to the side, and pulled out a pristine blue-and-white mask. “Could I..?”

“It would be a bold choice,” Hoūyan rumbled, “wearing the face of a Spirit. I have been told He is fond of humans, but if he is not...if you are prepared for the possible consequences..”

Before she could finish, a large, loud boom sounded from inside the opposite warehouse; the source of the noise shook the ground and the dragonmoose startled. Their braying and panicked stomping joined the shouts from grown men and women, but a small cackle rose above the noise. Hoūyan made a startled sound, and Zuko didn’t have time to think about it anymore. Quickly, he tied the mask over his face and used his dust-scarf to cover his head and phoenix tail. The young prince leapt from the roof, swords in hand, and The Blue Spirit was born anew.

He darted across the courtyard, avoiding the still panicked dragonmoose. With only a moments’ hesitation to find an entrance, Zuko scaled the wall and darted through a newly broken window. Inside the warehouse, which was just a large room, really, there were many more of the small cages like the ones from outside, some of them holding two or more children. They were all pushed to one side of the room, signs of earthbending surrounding the ground beneath them.

 In the middle of the room, a small, ten-year-old girl in fine clothing stood, cackling. Around her were nearly twenty adults of both Earth and Fire, holding weapons. Among them, a very tall man in Earth Kingdom armor, an army man the size of a mountain. He held a large club, and looked ready to bat the small girl across the room.

“Stand down, girl,” The man growled. The girl snorted, qi dancing with laughter, and the man’s grip visibly tightened on his club. He gestured his hand, and three of his men split off from the group and around the room, moving slowly to get behind her. None of them had noticed him, but as he dropped to the ground he could have sworn he saw the small girl’s face twitch in his direction.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” She smugly crowed, and smiled wide. “I was expecting more, but it seems like you’re as blind as me!” Indeed, as the small girl flipped her head back slightly to laugh at them, her bangs parted to reveal foggy blue-green eyes. They were unfocused, but her head still turned in the direction of the poorly armored men who attempted to sneak behind her. “Nuh-uh, buster!”

The dainty little girl lifted her hands in one of the oddest bending poses Zuko had ever seen. She held her hands down, like long claws, and swept them to the side as she stomped. The man and the two kidnappers beside him yelped as they were sucked neck-deep into the ground. The little girl, clearly a prodigy to rival Azula, made a mocking ‘come hither’ motion; or, at least, a rough approximation of one. Regardless of its clarity, the army man made an enraged noise.

So. This was the ‘helpless’ Toph Bei Fong, presumably, given that there can’t be many blind earthbenders in Gaoling.

 “Who’s next?” Presumably-Toph said cockily, and Zuko knew it was time to strike. Before they could move forward, or indeed see the masked boy descending upon them, Zuko darted forward and had two men on the ground and knocked out before the others even moved. As it was, he had one of the women down and out before they noticed him, but the child was not so unobservant. Stomping into horse stance and pushing her hands up above her head, she sent three of the ‘maggots’ flying through the air. 

A few children weakly cheered from the corner, egging them on.

Zuko moved closer to Presumably-Toph, and she moved to send a rock in his direction. After ducking, he took out another of the men advancing on them. She hesitated briefly, before seemingly dismissing him as a threat and turning to face her new opponents. Zuko turned as well, praying to Agni she wouldn’t change her mind.

 Not quite back to back, the two young benders took down the floundering kidnapping ring. For every two Zuko took down, Toph got four, and if Zuko actually cared about how they were knocked out or killed he would’ve felt self conscious. She was clearly very skilled, taking opponents out of the fight by burying them up to their neck, knocking them out, or in the case of one man, throwing them bodily out the nearest window. As the glass had shattered, the blind girl grinned and laughed, obviously not knowing there had been a window there to throw him out of.

The fight pressed on as the kidnapper’s guards and reinforcements arrived. There weren’t many of them, but there were earthbenders helping some of their fellows out of the ground, and both Zuko and Presumably-Toph immediately picked up the pace to take them out. In his rush, Zuko came face-to-face with the large man from earlier, the army man in charge. Up close, he was one of the ugliest bastards the young prince had ever seen - and Zuko had met Captain Zhao and his stupid beef-muttonchops. The man’s face was misshapen and droopy from scars, both blade and burn. He held his metal club like a sword, and swung it threateningly. 

“I don't know who you are, kid,” He growled, “But you look young enough to join ‘em in the cages. Back down now and I won't hurt ya, too bad.”

Zuko, maturely, sent the man a rude gesture over the hilt of  one of his swords. 

The large, ugly man took offense to that, surprisingly. Snarling, he stomped forward, swinging his club to catch Zuko in the head. It was easily avoidable, and the young prince simply ducked under it. The man, while large and strong, was slow. Zuko darted in and out of the man’s defense, slicing through his armour in quick, shallow cuts. Mountain shouted in rage after the latest cheap shot, swinging the club blindly. Backing up, Zuko found himself backed against the wall, and realized the man had been herding him into a corner this whole time.

“I told ya to back down, kid,” He grinned, raising his club, but Zuko had no patience for his posturing. As the man swung down, Zuko caught the steel club with his swords, twisting it out of the man’s hands. While he was floundering, the young prince sliced him across the forehead, blinding him with his own blood, and then moved forward into his guard while the man wiped at his eyes. A blow with the hilt of his other sword, right into the temple, and the man was down for the count. Looking up quickly, Zuko took in the carnage. The kidnappers, including the few that had come in at the shouting, were on the floor. Dead or unconscious, he didn’t care, but he moved forward nonetheless to check on the children.

 All of them were mostly unharmed, save a few bruises and nightmares; slaves, after all, had to be in good condition to sell. Together with the small bender, he broke the locks on the cages and herded the other kids into groups. Some of them could tell how to get home from just walking outside, and several of the older kids mentioned they could probably guide the younger children home, themselves. All of them filed out, Zuko and his small ally behind them, ignoring the groaning bodies of their kidnappers which were now sunken into the floor and immobilized.

A glance to the rooftops, and Zuko frowned. Hoūyan was nowhere to be seen.

“So what was that back there, lin kuei?” A small, cocky voice said, and Zuko looked down at the girl at his side.

Coinciding with his first impression, the girl was tiny . Presumably-Toph Bei Fong wore expensive silks, draped like an Earth Kingdom court gown, and sparse gold jewelry. Her hair was in a bun, two elegantly placed locks of hair framing her face, and long bangs slightly covered her eyes. She didn’t look up at him, not that he expected her to, but she did turn in his direction. Despite the recent fight, she had no visible wounds or scrapes, so Zuko counted it as another victory.

 “I heard about the kids in a neighboring town.” His mask muffled his voice, but the kid seemed to have no problem hearing him so he left it on. “Seems like you had it handled, though. Toph Bei Fong?”

“Nice to meetcha,” Definitely-Toph said, deliberately speaking casually. “Sure, I could’ve taken most of ‘em, but I’m not good enough, yet, to fight that many mooks.” She allowed. A groan from inside, and she grinned. “You got one or two of them, though, so it was fine.”

Zuko smiled despite himself. “I’ve never seen Earthbending like that,” He said. “You must be very skilled.”

“Damn straight, Sneaky.” She looked up in the general direction of his face, but ended up facing his chest. “Say, how did you know my name?”

“Well,” He said. There was a brief pause as he struggled to phrase this politely, “...Your parents don’t seem to know you that well.”

Toph Bei Fong, the very not helpless, blind earthbender, cackled.

It was after the guards arrived and began gathering the kidnappers that Zuko realized he didn’t know the way back to the Bei Fongs’ estate. Toph claimed she knew, but if she did, was resolutely avoiding the large mansion and her parents like the plague. After Zuko had retrieved his pack from the roof of the warehouse he’d left it on and taken off his mask, Toph had set off resolutely in the direction of the markets.

Without much of a choice, Zuko followed.

“You know, Sneaky,” She said as they approached the barely-opening stalls, “You never said your name.”

“Li,” he said. He realized in that moment that the name may be too Fire Nation, but glossed over it quickly. “And why do you keep calling me that? It’s weird.” Toph huffed at him, blowing her bangs out of her foggy eyes. 

“You walk so quietly,” she complained, “I can barely tell where you are! I wanted to call you lin kuei, but I don’t feel like saying that whole thing every time. Too long.” Zuko blinked at her, his eyebrow quirked up in a small expression of his bemusement. 

(A figure in the dark, catching him as he falls from the roof above his room. They place him on the shingles again, and nudge his feet until he stands secure. The shinobi, wearing the crest of Grandfather’s spymaster, tilts their head slightly.

“Follow me,” they seem to say. “You have more to learn than just walking.”

Zuko, only nine but already aching for something to be good at; something that he has but Azula does not- he follows without hesitation. Until roof-walking is second nature, the shinobi will not let him fall, again.)

He hesitates briefly, before saying, “In the Fire Nation, they call them ninja.” Zuko pauses, thinking of the man? Woman? Who had taught him to walk on the roofs of the palace, and how to disappear into the shadows. When his father took the throne, the young prince had never seen that person, again. He thinks of them often. “Or shinobi.”

Toph stopped, head tilted in his direction, and Zuko stopped next to her. She was quiet for a few moments. “Shinobi, huh?” She says. “I like it.” She socks him in the arm, causing him to yelp, and cackles when he kicks a pebble at her. It misses, obviously, having changed directions mid-flight, but Toph’s smile is wide and the young prince can’t bring himself to be too offended.

“Ow,” He said, dryly, and the small girl cackled.

“Better get used to it, ninja-man. Now,” She tugs at his sleeve, “buy me some fruit.”

The Captain was still gone when Private Sao got off of duty that afternoon. Usually, she’d be cleaning the deck just to look useful while the engineers and moderately-skilled crewman fix up the ship, but that day, she wandered down to the galley for an early dinner.

The galley is the cleanest part of the ship. Everyone uses it, everyone cleans it, and no one dares skip out or do it half-heartedly because everyone wants a clean place to eat. Sao could appreciate this unspoken rule, but when eating with Jirong (who, even with ration bars, somehow manages to get food everywhere ) she dreaded cleaning it all up. However, Jirong is not who she’s worried about right now. In the midst of her friends and the small metal tables all she can think about is how... odd the Prince has been; even when the damn brat isn’t on the ship. 

Akiro, beside her, nudged her with his elbow. “Oi. You eating that?” Sao mimed stabbing him with her chopsticks as she hugged her rice and pig-chicken closer to her. Over her dead body.

“Yes,” she hissed. Akiro smiled, making a teasing swipe at her bowl which is quickly fended off with a brutal swat with said chopsticks. He swears.

“Are you okay, Sao?” Xia says from her spot beside Jirong, who ignores them all in favour of stuffing his face. “You seemed distracted, today.”

“I guess I am,” Sao admits. “Have you guys noticed how... weird the Brat has been, recently?” 

“Who?” Jirong said through a mouthful of rice. Xia, sitting next to him, cringed away and Sao was tempted to do the same. He may be her childhood friend and brother-in-arms, but there was only so much she could tolerate. Instead, Sao threw her empty cup into his forehead, smiling when it made contact and he nearly choked.

“The Prince,” Sao clarifies. “He’s quieter. He actually drank the tea Prince Iroh gave him before he left. Not to mention- Xia, you said he’s been helping Shiro in the kitchens?”

“...Yes.” Xia wasn’t shy, per say, but hated talking. When it came down to it, the small soldier would rather stab someone than speak; It was part of the reason she and Shiro got along so well- neither of them ever made small-talk. “He’s been in there every morning since we left port last month.”

“Well get this,” Sao said. A few soldiers at nearby tables strained to hear as she got quieter. “That ‘mission’ he went on the other day? Feng said that he refused a team from Prince Iroh. How much you wanna bet it’s Avatar related?” 

“What?” Jirong asked, “I thought we didn’t know where the Avatar was.” Sao rolled her eyes; there was rice sticking to his face.

“You’re more of an idiot than we feared.” Akiro said dryly. Akiro was Head of Security, and in charge of most of the firebenders on the ship. He was sitting next to Sao at the small metal table, across from Xia and kitty-corner to the idiot in question. A few coughs from the nearby tables. Xia banged her cup lightly on the steel table and giggled. “Of course we don’t know where the Avatar is. That’s why we’re here and not at home.”

“It’s a fool's mission,” Xia remarked. They waited for her to continue, but when she didn’t, Sao nodded.

“True enough.” She sighed, “I wonder why General Iroh didn’t insist on an escort, though. He seems like the over-protective type, given that all of us have been made to follow the brat at least once.” Sao sent a glare at Akiro, the man in charge of those fools-missions, and he lifted his hands in surrender.

“Hey, don’t blame me.” He said. Jirong tossed Sao’s cup at Akiro, who simply tilted his head to the side and allowed it to fly by him. “I see why he wouldn’t insist, though. Besides the kids firebending-” A few soldiers in the room shivered, “-which Prince Iroh seems to think is...not subpar but less than it could be? That kid is an absolute monster with those swords he has.”

“But..” Sao blinked. “He’s a bender. He’s an imperial bender. Why would he even touch swords?”

“Aren’t those supposed to be decorative?” Jirong asked, and Akiro snorted at him.

“I can see why you didn’t join the weapons corps,” He said dryly. “If those were ever decorative I’ll eat my jian. They’re well taken care of, and the blades are chipped. Those things have hit bone, and won.”

“Antiques?” Xia suggests. Sao hums in agreement. Akiro shakes his head.

“You haven’t seen him with them. He practices during the cold shift, when only one or two of us are awake besides the helmsmen-” they all paused in commiseration of Taong and Feng’s eight-teen hour shifts, “and he’s done by morning. He took them the night he left, too; probably since this region is so anti-Fire Nation.”

“I don’t,” Jirong started, and paused. “I don’t think the Prince can pass for Earth?”

“He can’t,” Xia deadpanned, and they all laughed.

Chapter Text

Toph liked this guy. 

She didn’t meet many people, but Toph could tell that Li was one of the good ones. He was rough around the edges and grumpy as a wolf-bat, but if she were given a few minutes to throw him around an Earth Rumble stage she was sure all that would smooth right out. Not to mention, she thought as she smugly bit into her mango, he bought her things with minimal complaint...as long as she kicked a rock at him first. 

“Enjoy that,” He said dryly, and the sound of jingling followed, likely him putting his money back into his bag. “I can’t afford another one.” That was a bold-faced lie, Toph could tell even without her Earth-sense. It was more ‘deadpan sarcasm’ than ‘I’m lying because I don’t think you can tell if I am,’ though, so Toph let it slide.

“Yes, you can,” She dismissed, “But don’t worry Ninja-man, I won’t tell.” He snorted at her, and allowed her to lead the way through the crowds once more. 

That was another thing she liked about Li, if that was his real name. He might be a little shady and less than amazing at conversation, but he didn’t treat her like some helpless doll. He let her guide the way, didn’t really argue when she obviously knew more about something. If Li wasn’t a bounty hunter or whatever he claimed to be, she would be begging her parents to hire him. A bodyguard that treats her like the badass she is and  (she assumes) is close to her age? Sign her up!

Now that she thought about it…

“Hey, ninja-man,” She said, stopping at the side of the crowds. “What do you know about Earth Rumbles?” Toph felt him stop next to her, keeping his weight on the balls of his feet like he always seemed to. Toph did it, too; like the badgermoles, if she was moving, she was gliding- if she was fighting, she was rooted. Li always moved like he was dancing, though, like he was constantly prepared to fight. If he’d been a little more wimpy, like the suitors her parents keep shoving at her, she might’ve called him Twinkletoes. 

“Hm?” He grunted, always the conversationalist. Toph rubbed her hands together, smiling in a way that always creeped her servants out. This was the opportunity to make a friend, and what better way to do that than sharing your interests? Sure, it would be months from now, but…

“It’s a tournament for Earthbenders,” Toph explained, “There were so many contestants last year they had three whole nights of fighting.” She punched him in the arm, and he grunted again. “You’re looking at the reigning champion.”

“Impressive,” Li complimented, “But what does that have to do with me?”

“I want you to come this year.” When Li doesn’t reply immediately, Toph huffed. “I can’t see your face, but if it’s not whatever expression seeing-people make when they’re delighted I’ll punch you again, colony boy.”

Li sighed at that, but it sounded more amused than insulted. His heart rate sped up for a moment, too, almost like he’d heard something that startled or scared him. Maybe he saw something; seeing people were weird. “I don’t know where I’ll be when ‘Earth Rumble,’ rolls around.” He pointed out. “I have a job to do.”

“Meh.” Toph waved her hand, “Just find a job in the area during springtime- it’s at the end of planting season. I’m sure someone will need a bounty hunter.”

“Well, if I don’t get you home , I’m never going to get hired in this area again,” He pointed out, heart skipping again, and she frowned. Toph hated when people were right about things; especially when she didn’t like what they were saying.  She dragged a hand down her face and groaned; she didn’t want to go back to that place!

“It’s not so bad,” He said awkwardly,  “I mean, you could still be kidnapped?” There was a brief moment where Toph considered saying that, yes, she would rather be kidnapped, again. At least there she could go all-out on the ass-kicking. (Speaking of ass -kicking, Li had taught her some lovely new words. She looked forward to using them in the next Rumble, and hopefully, Li would be there to feel bad about ‘corrupting’ her.)

“Not helping, Ninja-man.” Toph said instead. After a moment to orient herself, she turned down the next street. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Li was right. Time to head home.

“Is this the way back?” Li asked, following.

“No we’re going back to the kidnappers,” Toph said sarcastically. Li stopped, clearly taking her seriously, and she huffed again. And she’d thought she didn’t know how to talk to people. “I’m kidding,” She assures him, “Now, hurry up or you won’t get paid!”

“We can’t thank you enough for your help, young man,” Lady Bei Fong said. They stood outside the Bei Fong’s mansion- or, well, Zuko did. Lady Bei Fong stood in the doorway; safe from both the sun and the dirt. “I hope the pay was acceptable?”

The Bei Fongs, true to their word, had paid him. Quite a lot, in fact; probably enough to buy rice for the winter months at sea. Zuko, while tempted to refuse on principle, given that he’d only saved Toph as collateral for the Fire Nation children, had a cover to maintain and crew to feed. He took the money, disgusted that he even needed it in the first place.

 “It was more than enough, Lady Bei Fong.” He bowed, low as a peasant to a Lesser Lord, hands held carefully in the Earth Kingdom’s style. “Your generosity does you credit, my lady.” He pauses, before rising. Hopefully courtly-rules and manners didn’t differ too much between nations. The formalities, even after one hundred years, took a long time to drift. Regardless of the possible impoliteness of his bearing, Lady Bei Fong seemed delighted with his manners and sent him on his way. The guard from the gate, still as rude and frowny as ever, escorted him begrudgingly to the edge of the estate before closing the gates swiftly behind him.

Zuko huffed. 

“You’ve done well, little Dragon.” Hoūyan’s voice came from behind him. Luckily, he didn’t jump this time; however, he was grateful to see the Dragon spirit in the form of a woman once more. “You’ve even made a new friend,” She teased, but Zuko wasn’t in the mood.

“Where did you go?” He asked, well, demanded. Hoūyan raised an eyebrow. “You disappeared!”

“I did,” She agreed. “However, as I have warned, you have attracted eyes that need not see me with you.”

“Eyes?” Zuko glanced around, expecting someone was following him. He was usually pretty good about keeping an eye on his surroundings, but today he’d been lax. It wasn’t impossible, even on a good day. “What do you mean?”

“I do not know enough to explain it properly,” Hoūyan admitted. “For now, it is unimportant. We are unwatched. Was your mission fully successful? I only saw the girl’s return, just now.”

“The children were fine.” Zuko sighed, and began walking farther from the gate. Although Hoūyan had begun talking to him once he’d left ear-shot of the guards, standing in front of the estate for too long would be odd. He walked slower than normal, uneager to be called crazy for talking to himself. The path from the Bei Fong Estate was long, and he gladly took advantage. “The Fire Nation kids were mostly colonial. They’ll be escorted to their homes by the guard; hopefully, they can be trusted with them.”

“I cannot do much for them,” Hoūyan admitted, “but I can keep an eye on the children, for now. I will inform you of any issues- unlike me, your ability to touch the mortal realm does not depend on the Solstice.”

“I hope you don’t have to tell me anything,” Zuko said gratefully, “But thank you.”

He stepped into town alone.

The day the Captain came back started uneventfully, for Sao.

Sao rose with the sun, and helped Daisuke finish his shift in Engineering so he could get to bed. Then, after breakfast, she set to work maintaining the boiler; which should have been retired, along with the ship, half a century ago. When it was about ten, several hours later, she gladly left Chen to the engines and headed up to deck for mandatory sparring. Jee was in charge today, which meant she might get to spar with Jirong again. Akiro never let them go all out.

As she emerged from below deck, though, ready to greet her fellows and kick their asses, she was brought up short. On deck, stood Jee, Iroh, Jirong, and a few other crewmen she assumed were there for sparring. Practice seemed to be the last thing on their minds, however; even with General Iroh right there, the entire group seemed focused on something happening on the docks. Sao climbed out of the companionway, confused, and walked up beside her best friend to prod him for answers. Jirong glanced at her as she came up next to him.

“What’s going on?” She asked. Jirong jerked his chin in the direction of the gangway, obviously meaning the docks beyond it. 

“The Captain is back.” He’d glanced at General Iroh before talking, clearly wary of using some of the crew’s normal nicknames for the brat. Sao looked, too, but couldn’t see the short kid over the normal bustle of the harbor. Jirong cleared his throat, “Erm, I mean, he’s in town? One of the crew came back and said they’d seen ‘im, but who knows when he’ll actually get here.”

“Then why are we standing around?” Sao huffed. “Aren’t we sparring?” Jirong shared a grin with her, also eager to fight. They had a running tally, after all, and Sao was barely winning.

“I assume-?” Jirong started, but he was interrupted by Jee.

“There he is, sir.” Jee said, pointing. General Iroh leaned over, obviously eager to see his nephew.  ‘Ah,’ Sao realised, ‘we’re helping him look.’

Following Jee’s pointed finger, Sao squinted. It took a few seconds, but indeed, there was the captain. He was dressed in surprisingly low-key clothes- dark, plain, and besides some simple leather armour he looked like any other colony-boy. Another surprise, there were swords on his back. Akiro might be asleep, right now, but she could practically hear him cackling. As the boy approached, walking faster as he saw the small frigate they stood on, it was clear he was stumbling slightly. 

“Is he injured?” Sao asked without thinking, and immediately felt awful when General Iroh made a worried sound from down the line. Jirong smacked her on the arm. The old man pushed away from the railing, brushing past them towards the gangway just as Prince Zuko came up the ramp.

“Nephew!” Iroh said, arms wide for a hug. Prince Zuko, to all the crew’s shock, actually accepted it- he wrapped one arm around his Uncle, briefly, allowing the old man to crush him for a moment before pulling back.

“Uncle,” The kid greeted. He sounded exhausted, and looked it, too. The bags under his eyes weren’t as dark as Sao had seen them before, but he’d also been in enemy territory; at least on-board, you could catch a few hours. Who knew how much sleep the kid had actually had in the three days he’d been gone. “The lead was a fluke, as expected,” The younger prince said, sounding awkward. It was probably because it was embarrassing to admit he just wasted three days on a dead-end. The young man took a pouch off his belt and dropped it in his Uncle’s hand.

“I got this,” The captain said, not elaborating. Prince Iroh looked inside the bag, and Sao was shocked to find that it was full of gold coins. The old man blinked. “We can use it for food this winter.”

Winter was only a few months away, Sao realised. She’d actually forgotten; this year had gone by both slowly and quickly, and it still felt like the beginning of summer. Loathe as she was to admit it, she was actually kind of impressed the kid had the forethought to bring back money- no matter how dubiously earned. Jirong made a sound, and Sao glanced at him. His eyes were locked on the Prince’s swords, obviously having just noticed them on his back. She sighed. He couldn’t find things even if they were right in front of his face, most of the time, but that was just ridiculous. They weren’t even hidden.

“Where did you get this?” Iroh asked after a few moments. The brat shrugged. “...Zuko.”

“What?” The kid said, exasperated . He glanced at the crewmen, eyes landing on Sao for a moment, and she abruptly realised they were all blatantly watching. Hurriedly, she tugged at Jirongs arm, guiding him towards the middle of the deck for ‘stretching.’ “I didn’t steal it.”

“That…” The general sighed. “That doesn’t answer the question, Prince Zuko. I do not doubt you earned the money fairly- it is how you did so, that I am curious about.” Sao, leaning over to stretch her hamstrings, was frankly impressed with the general’s patience. The royal brat had a well-documented history of refusing to explain himself. 

“Ugh,” the captain groaned. “I look nothing like someone from the Earth Kingdom-” he started, which explained nothing, “so, when an old man handed me a cover on a silver platter, I took it.” Sao was still confused. Jirong was also confused, but he was also still staring at the swords. Sao smacked him, and he looked away. General Iroh looked more concerned.

“Cover?” He asked. “I admire your ingenuity, but that still explains nothing.”

The other crewmen have caught on, finally making themselves look busy by doing something nearby. Stretching, talking; Lee even pulled out a mop and began scrubbing the deck. Not even he seemed to notice the mop was dry, and the bucket beside him was completely empty. Sao sighed. She sensed espionage (cough, following the child, cough) training in their near future.

“Bounty hunter,” The kid said casually, like that was just something you could pick up as a hobby. Sao coughed, and a few others made strangled noises. “I tracked down the information I needed, and I took up a bounty to keep my cover. The Avatar wasn’t anywhere near there,” he frowned, like he’d smelled something sour, “but I got money out of it, I suppose, so it was worth it.”

The younger prince began trying to walk by his uncle, obviously eager to sleep, but the old man wasn’t having it. Then, the Captain tried to get Iroh to come with him. Sao tried to make it less obvious she was listening; clearly, the kid didn’t want to discuss ‘bounty hunting’ in front of the crew.

“Bounty hunting,” the general said faintly. “I see. And what, Prince Zuko, was the bounty you took up? It paid very well, it seems.” The younger prince frowned, tilting his head like Sao’s little brother did when he considered lying so he wouldn’t get in trouble. Given the context, Sao was eager to see what the brat was willing to lie about. 

“Kidnappers,” The kid finally said. “A wealthy family’s daughter had gone missing.” He sighed impatiently. “Uncle, can we talk about this later? I haven’t slept for two days.”

“You’ve only been gone three,” General Iroh said despairingly, finally moving aside. It was clear to Sao, at least, that this kid really couldn’t be left alone for longer than a day. “Sleep well, nephew.”

“Mm.” The kid grunted, and disappeared down the companionway hatch. His Uncle sighed, looking down at the money in his hand. Sao and Jirong both watched Iroh leave, not even trying to hide it. Lee had stopped ‘mopping’, entirely. 

“...The kid sleeps?” Jirong says, and Sao laughed.

Chapter Text

Uncle had followed him.

“Zuko,” He said, but the young prince kept walking. He just wanted to go to sleep. “Nephew, please!”

“What, Uncle?” Zuko snapped automatically, and then groaned. He stopped, finally allowing the old man to catch up. “Sorry,” he said quietly. ' Lu Ten had never been so snappish,' he remembered, and he frowned. 

Uncle Iroh stopped in front of him, and patted him on the shoulder. Zuko was happy that he’d followed through with it; sometimes he didn’t, but it seemed he’d been encouraged by the hug from earlier. “It’s alright, Prince Zuko. You’re tired. But...is there any way you can have some tea with your dear uncle before you rest?” Zuko thought longingly of his futon, of his blankets and clean clothes, but sighed. He said- he swore he’d be better. 

“Lead the way, Uncle,” He said, and the old man beamed. Uncle waved him towards his quarters, and they walked together.

“I was concerned these past few days,” Uncle said as he closed the heavy door to his rooms. Zuko, as per habit, kicked one of the small tatami mats over the vent so no one could hear them. The vents echoed. Uncle smiled at him, eyes crinkling, like Zuko’s paranoia both amused him and made him proud. “I was hoping you’d come back sooner, but I'm glad your trip was at least a moderate success!”

“I made good money,” Zuko allowed. He thought back to the last few days, wondering if he really should have gone, at all. Sure, those children were safe now; but Toph would’ve broken them all out, eventually. Zuko paused, thinking of Toph. Did fighting together make you friends in the Earth Kingdom, rather than just brothers-in-arms? She’d been friendly, or as friendly as girls ever were to him. There was also whatever Hoūyan had been talking about… 

Uncle interrupted his musing by waving him further into the rooms. Zuko, although less focused on his thoughts, was not completely distracted from them, even as he helped Uncle set up his things. They were simply too distracting to ignore. He moved the cushions from the corner to the table, and stepped aside when Uncle bustled by with his chest of tea leaves and his favorite copper tea pot. They sat down, Uncle gracefully and Zuko like he’d fallen over, and Uncle began heating the water in the pot with his hand.

Uncle had been on a Spirit journey, Zuko remembered; before he’d come back from campaign, there were four whole months he’d been missing. A few of the Sages, before they’d been...retired, had claimed that he’d been in the Spirit World looking for his son. Maybe he would know what Hoūyan meant by ‘consequences?’ The old man had always said to take spirits seriously, after all… Zuko, after reluctantly accepting his tea, spoke.

“Uncle,” Zuko said. “What do you know about...I mean, what happens when you wear a spirit’s face?” 

“..Wear it?” The old man hesitated. “What do you mean?”

“It was something I heard while I was out,” Zuko half-lied. He was better at that than actual lying. “Something about the consequences of wearing a spirit’s face...like a kabuki mask? I remember, though, that actors do that all the time. Surely it's not that big of a deal?” Zuko hoped it wasn’t. If it was, like Hoūyan had implied, he had more to worry about than just Toph and how strange the Earth Kingdom is.

“They have prayers,” Iroh disputed immediately, and Zuko felt like groaning. He already didn’t like where this was going. “Even the most gentle Spirit can be tempted by an offer like that. There are traditions that have become...well, they were once more ceremonial. Now they are simply habits.”

“Wait,” Zuko lifted a hand, brow furrowed. Sometimes, (most of the time) Uncle’s cryptic words were more confusing than helpful, even when they weren’t meant to be cryptic. Zuko wondered briefly if Uncle meant to do that, or if he just didn’t have enough details. “What do you mean ‘ offer?’” What exactly had Zuko just done?

“The offer to make use of you,” Iroh said frankly, “in simple terms. More accurately, without the prayer, wearing a spirit’s likeness or invoking their name is encouraging them to...take an offer you may not mean to give. They may...claim you, I suppose. A superstition, to be sure, but I believe it is better to be safe than sorry.”

“Claim you?” Zuko asked. “Like, as a slave?”

“Some do, yes,” Iroh said. “Some want servants, others, willing hosts. Koh desires faces. There are more hostile Spirits that desire... food.” Iroh set down his tea, leaning back slightly. His face was grave and his eyes were piercing. It was clear he didn’t like where Zuko was leading this conversation. “A spirit’s attention can be dangerous, Prince Zuko. There are some, like the patron spirits, who are peaceful until provoked; such as Lady Agni, or Tui and La… There are others; however, Deep Sea and Dark Water Spirits are man eaters. They don’t care whose face you have.”

“What about other spirits?” Zuko pressed, even as he mentally cursed the cryptic words of Spirit and Uncle alike, “Are there...neutral ones? Ones who don’t care?”

“You would care if someone made a mask of your face, Prince Zuko,” Uncle said, eyeing him sternly. Zuko felt his cheeks heat, and ducked his head. “They all care. Some...more than others.” He sighed. “Wherever you heard this…” The old man said leadingly, and Zuko felt the hair on his neck stand up. He knew, then, that he couldn’t mention Hoūyan to Uncle. Not yet.

Zuko stayed silent. Uncle eyed him some more, but relented. “The Spirits’ attention should be treated with caution.” Iroh informed him firmly. “You should do nothing to invite them, but if they have...noticed you, Nephew, you should do nothing to offend them. Treat them with respect, and treat them with suspicion. Even the kindest of Spirits may have an ulterior motive. To wear the face of a Spirit,” Uncle picked up his cup, again, with a small pause to emphasize his point, “it’s inviting trouble.”

Zuko gulped.

Iroh had known there was something wrong with Zuko the moment the boy had woken up from his healing sleep, all that time ago. Zuko had always been a happy child; affectionate and curious. Now, and indeed before Iroh had left for Ba Sing Se, he had become reckless, and seemingly, cruel. He had long periods where he was silent as the spirits, and others where he would blow up at the drop of a pin. After his banishment, it had only gotten worse, and the crew complained to each other when they thought the princes couldn’t hear. They whined about the literal child they had to listen to, the spoiled Prince. 

Although he did his best to mitigate the damage his Nephew’s temper wrought, Iroh watched as their words settled on his nephew’s shoulders; forming a wall that Iroh could not cross to comfort his son in all but blood. The boy’s ears had always been keen. Zuko wore their expectations like armor; he used their words like weapons. Iroh watched with sadness as the kind boy he’d known his nephew to be, hid behind a mask of anger and bitterness. All he could do was hope, and help, try to keep it from consuming the young man like it had his father and sister. Keep it from killing his crew like it had killed his mother. 

  Iroh had hoped, in the aftermath of Zuko’s blazing anger, he could help him put out the embers and teach him the kindness he’d once known like the back of his hand. After two and a half years of exile, however, his nephew had begun to change. He’d walked off the ship the spoiled boy he’d always been, and returned, looking for all the world like he’d watched someone die.  Iroh had been cautious, and worried, but it seemed Prince Zuko was truly healing, all by himself. Slowly, but surely, his boy was healing.

Iroh felt like crying, happy tears, because he had missed his nephew, even if he must defer to his Prince.

“Inviting trouble,” Zuko grumbled to himself, later that afternoon, as he climbed under his blankets. “Frost it. At this rate, I’ll have an army of Spirits trying to eat me by this time next year.”

Hoūyan was not trying to eat him, as far as Zuko was aware, but she was also being unhelpful and cryptic. She was not in the sleep-deprived teenager’s good graces, right now, and probably wouldn’t be until she actually explained what he’d just done. Uncle had been as informative as he could be without actually telling Zuko anything, something he seemed to do a lot. Unfortunately for Iroh, this would not encourage Zuko to stay out of trouble, but would, rather, encourage him to go on semi-murderous rampages until he got his answers. 

‘Well,’ Zuko thought as he buried his face in his pillow, ‘Azula and I have one thing in common.’ He giggled, quietly enough someone could pass it for a sigh. ‘Is murder a family bonding activity?’

Zuko rolled over, attempting to get comfortable when he was still feeling gross from a day of travelling. “Shower,” he grumbled to himself, “first thing. Fuck being Captain.” He rolled over again. It was getting harder to think clearly. 

‘When I wake up,’ Zuko thought as he finally drifted off, ‘I’m using all the hot water.’

Zuko woke up slowly. His face was cold, and it felt like someone was flicking water at him. He groaned, rolling over, but it didn’t stop. He growled, going to sit up, but when he started sliding off the roof of the Helmtower he woke right up. Thinking quickly, he grabbed the cliprail, which ran around the roof so repairmen could attach themselves to it. He didn’t have a harness, but he managed to keep himself up. Barely.

Breathing heavily, Zuko looked around. What was he doing on the Helmtower? It was the dead of night, but the moon, peeking out from behind dark clouds, illuminated the sea and the ship below him. The water, rain, had made it cold and slippery. His grip on the cliprail was almost painful, the cold metal biting at his palms and making his fingers ache. Not a dream, then. Can you be cold, in dreams?

“How did I…” Zuko was panicking. He didn’t sleepwalk, and this had never happened before. Even if it had, he wouldn’t have made it up Helmtower by himself. Was this a prank? Zuko thought about the possibility, but ultimately dismissed it. The crew still disliked him, but if they hadn’t thrown him overboard when he was throwing fire at them every day, they probably wouldn’t throw him on the roof, now. He had been better. A little bit.

“Mrr,” Something said from above him. Zuko blinked, carefully using one hand to wipe water from his face. He looked up from the edge of the roof, and right beside the cliprail was a...small catopus? A kitten; a small, fluffy kitten with eight short legs and a round face. It’s large, blue eyes slowly blinked at him, and it’s ears twitched. “Mrr,” it repeated.

“...What.” Zuko wasn’t sure this wasn’t a dream anymore. Surely, he was going crazy; stuff like this didn’t happen. “Am I hallucinating? Did Uncle drug me?” Uncle probably wouldn’t do that, but he was running out of options. 

The catopus, expectedly, did not answer. “Mrrp,” It informed him, tapping the hand closest to it with one of it’s many paws. The small suction cups on its toes did not help much, either, but Zuko appreciated the effort. At least someone else...something else was up here, with him.

“Thanks,” he croaked, more genuinely than he would like. The catopus only blinked at him, before placing another paw on his hand. It did not let go.

“Kimi!” A voice called quietly from below. It was more like a whispered yell, like whoever it was really wanted to yell but couldn’t. “Kimi! Where are you?” Zuko glanced at the catopus, who’s ears had perked up slightly at the sound of another voice. It was still staring at him, and hadn’t blinked for a while.

“Are you...are you Kimi?” He asked it, feeling stupid. This is really what he had come to. Talking to a catopus. It placed another paw on his arm. Then another. It seemed determined to wrap itself around his wrist

“Mrr-rrp.” It said. It began crawling up his arm, and Zuko frowned. Were Catopi normally this friendly?

“I hope that means yes,” he muttered. Lifting the hand that Kimi(?) had attached herself to, Zuko heated up the one still grasping the cliprail. Hopefully, if he managed to evaporate the water on the roof enough to give him friction... Zuko sighed, pulling the small animal towards his chest and trying not to think too hard about the small paws grabbing his shirt. He let go of the cliprail.

He began sliding after a few moments, like gravity hadn’t been sure it could grab him, at first. Quickly, he smacked his fire-hot hand to the roof, allowing the water to sizzle away so he could use the friction and slow his fall. It worked, mostly, but not enough water evaporated fast enough. They slid quickly down the roof, slowing down marginally as they reached the small lip at the end. Zuko grabbed it as they passed, stopping his momentum and swinging down to the balcony below.

He stumbled as he landed, but Zuko wasn’t dead. Better outcome than expected.

On the balcony, a young man gaped at Zuko. Sergeant Taong, the Helmsman on duty for the night, had clearly not expected his Captain to fall from the sky. Zuko, although still tired and not thinking quite clearly, thought that was reasonable. Most people would not expect that.

“Is this yours?” Zuko asked, cutting to the chase. He held out his commandeered arm. Kimi, all legs wrapped around the young prince’s forearm, stared at the helmsman, hanging upside down. The older man gaped for a few more seconds, before gasping and saluting.

“Ah- yes, I mean- no, sir!” Taong wheezed. Zuko frowned at him.

“So this isn’t ‘Kimi’?” There definitely wasn’t any ‘Kimi’ in the crew, so unless there were two catopuses on board...

“It is, sir,” Taong said, then he inhaled sharply. “I- I’ve never seen her before in my life!” He corrected himself. The helmsman's face grew red.

Zuko blinked. “I don’t-” Taong flinched as he moved his arm again, and Zuko sighed. He was so tired. “I don’t care if you have a catopus, Sergeant Taong. Is. This. Kimi?”

The Helmsman’s face began turning even redder, and he pursed his lips slightly. “Ah-yes, sir. Sorry, for- uhm. Apologies, sir.” Taong glanced longingly at his catopus, who had begun eating Zuko’s silk sleeve, and then back up at Zuko’s face. His qi was as jumpy as a rabiroo’s, and he looked ready to bolt.

‘Is this what Uncle feels like?’ Zuko wondered, slightly delirious. Now that the adrenaline was going away, exhaustion had come back, and quickly. “Just take your pet,” He sighed. Zuko managed to pry the stubborn animal off his sleeve, barely managing to escape before it stuck itself to his other arm, and he shoved it at the Helmsman. The man took it, stuttering his thanks, and fled. Kimi mrrped at him one last time, just before the door to the bridge closed behind them.

Zuko was no longer on the roof. He still did not know how he got on the roof. Questions upon questions, and the catopus did not help. Zuko sighed. He glanced behind him to see if there were any clues, and froze. The rain had slowed, the clouds either moving away or fading as they ran their course, allowing the moon to shine brighter. In the slightly better light, the Blue Spirit Mask swung from the rail of the balcony.

“Fuck.”

Chapter Text

There’s something to be said about a young man’s ability to completely ignore his problems. When Zuko woke up the next morning, he was exhausted and aching; whether it was from the combined, taxing nature of sleepless days full of travel or the consequence of sleepwalking his way up the Helm Tower, he didn’t know. What he did know was that last night hadn’t been a dream; there were scrapes on his hands and his clothes were still damp. The Blue Spirit mask, hanging from it’s ties from one of his desks’ drawers, stared tauntingly at him from the other side of the room. 

Reflexively, Zuko scowled back. He’d had enough of all this. Since he’d met Hoūyan, since she’d put these poisonous ideas in his head, he hadn’t been able to think clearly. He’d spent the last fifteen years convincing himself that the war was a noble endeavor, and the last two and a half years hunting the Avatar. His father was right. Zuko was weak to let Hoūyan’s words distract him; he had set out to earn the loyalty of his crew, but that was little matter in the face of keeping them away from home for much longer. 

The past few months, Zuko had been ignoring his real problem. The kidnapped children had been an important concern, and meeting Hoūyan had been distracting all on it’s own; but it was time for that distraction to end . If he didn’t capture the Avatar soon, Azula would be taking the throne, and that wasn’t something he’d wish on anyone. Zuko would capture the Avatar, Father would welcome him home with open arms, and he could put all this spirit-y, ridiculous nonsense behind him.

Enough distractions.

That morning, as Zuko went about his tasks and walked the length of the ship, he heard the familiar shuffle of quickly moving, booted feet; headed rapidly in the opposite direction from him. Someone, and who cares who, had warned the crew that Zuko was in a foul mood and that it wouldn’t be wise to come into his path. The blatant avoidance just made Zuko’s anger fester. He’d become too lax with discipline, if the crew thought avoiding a superior officer was appropriate in the least.

On the bridge, where the cowards couldn’t avoid him, Taong was no longer on shift. The other one, Zuko forgets his name, stared steadfastly out the window, quivering, as Zuko discussed (snarled) their course with Lieutenant Jee. The older man, who’d become more polite in the last month or so, made the beginnings of a sour face before immediately clamming back up. The brief flash of guilt Zuko felt was ruthlessly crushed, and he spent the rest of their meeting barely restraining himself. The angry knot in his gut only grew tighter, and as he left, he was practically huffing smoke every other breath.

‘ Enough distractions,’ He reminded himself, passing the kitchens. His hands itched to knock on the door and sit in silence for a while, kneading dough or heating water for rice; instead, he clenched his hands into fists and moved on. He had work to do.

Sao munched cheerfully on some fresh fireflakes, Jirong on her right and Xia sitting across from her, on the low benches of the rec room. Both Xia and Jirong were playing Hanafuda, next week’s latrine-duty on the line. Sao had walked in shortly after their game had started, and was mostly watching because Jirong’s sense of dawning, oblivious horror was almost as good as watching Xia very unsubtly pull cards out of her sleeves. 

Sao’s other deployments, of which there were only two, were on ships where there had been rec rooms; those ships, however, had been much larger and had a crew about three times the size. On the other hand, most frigates from the 77AG line, like The Wani, didn’t have rec-rooms. There just wasn’t enough space with a full crew. The Wani didn’t have a full crew, however; so, on suggestion from General Iroh, the crew had taken a few months to rip apart one of the old barracks and replace it with a rec-room. It was a welcome reprieve, over the last two and a half years, when the Royal Brat was in a mood.

Speaking of…

“Y’know,” Sao started. Her friends looked up from what they were doing, and Jirong put his cards down to indicate he was listening. Xia glanced at them, looked at her own cards, and then very blatantly switched one of her animal cards for a ribbon card. Jirong, as usual, didn’t notice. “I thought he was getting better, but today he almost seemed worse.” Sao waved in the general direction of the door, “He just got back. What could’ve set him off since he left for bed, yesterday?”

“The Captain?” Xia asked, and when Sao nodded she also put down her cards. Sao had a feeling this would shape up to be a long conversation. “I don’t know. He seemed fine before he left. He made lots of dumplings.”

Jirong eyes blew wide. “The Brat made those??” He’d scarfed down seven, last night’s dinner, and three the day before. They were, in both his and Prince Zuko’s defense, fairly good dumplings.  “Damn. Well, I think Taong mentioned seeing him last night. I passed him on his way to bed this morning and he looked like he was gonna shake apart.”

“Did he say anything else?” Sao said leadingly, and Jirong made a show of thinking about it. 

“He said something about the prince falling out of the sky..?” Jirong said. “Taong had lost Kimi again-” the two ladies glanced at each other in exasperation, but Jirong continued obliviously, “-and he was looking around the helm tower balcony, only for the Royal Pain to come flying over the railing from the roof, holding Kimi in his arms. I didn’t get much out of him, after that…”

“The brat can’t fly,” Sao protested, “I don’t even think airbenders could fly. He was obviously just having a strange dream, or whatever- and that still doesn’t answer my question. What could’ve set him off on the war-path, this morning?”

“I’ve seen him scale walls with no handholds.” Xia said mildly. “There’s no saying he wasn’t simply on the roof, where he discovered the catopus. Given Kimi’s habit of eating fine fabrics, and the prince’s habit of wearing silks to bed, it’s possible he was irritated by finding a hole in a sleeve when he woke up.”

Jirong made a face, “I don’t think he cares that much about clothes. Maybe he was irritated by finding Kimi in the first place? I don’t think Taong is technically allowed a pet.”

“We have komodo-rhinos. A catopus is hardly putting us out of any significant supply.” Xia said practically, “The prince, given my first impression of him, doesn’t seem to care about much beyond the Avatar, or getting home.”

“Then what set him off?” Sao complained, “I almost believed he was finally getting out of his bratty tween phase.” Xia smiled slightly, but didn’t offer another suggestion.

“You can never truly escape the bratty tween phase,” Jirong said, faux-solemnly, “It comes for us all.”

Sao pushed him off the bench. Xia switched in another ribbon card.

Zuko’s anger, by the time the sun was beginning to set, had calmed to a simmer rather than a boil. The knot in his chest (from anger, anxiety, who really knew?) had loosened slightly, and his hands were beginning to shake. He’d been so worried, this morning, so irritated; it felt like he was taking too long to figure everything out. If he didn’t capture the Avatar in time and return home; eventually, Azula would be Fire Lord in his place. The Sages, if they had any other option, would refuse- but if Azula took it into her head to send an assassin or, Agni preserve him, come herself? He didn’t stand a chance. His people didn’t stand a chance.

Zuko loved his sister. She’d always taken advantage of it. Azula killed turtleducks just to make him cry, and pushed him off the roof just to see what would happen. He hadn’t even seen Azula in years, he realised. How much could have changed, since his banishment?

(There’s always been a part of Zuko that thought, no matter how much he wanted Father’s attention, that Azula got too much of it. How much would be different, how much better would Azula be, if Zuko was Father’s favorite?)

Zuko clenched his fists. He was still mastering the basic forms. Azula was almost a master when he’d been banished, it would be no surprise if she was even better now. A long time ago, when the Fire Lord was just a Fire Sage and when the Clans had wars every decade: the most powerful Sage was Fire Lord. If that rule still held true- even if he did come back, she could challenge his claim.

He’d already lost enough Agni Kais.

All Zuko wanted to do was end the war. His people were dying, and accomplishing...what? He wanted to capture the Avatar, the Fire Nation’s greatest threat, and protect his people. He didn’t have time for all this Spirit-y nonsense- every distraction, every argument, every intervention the spirits took, kept him from his goal. It had been almost a hundred years since the Avatar had last been seen, and if the coward died before Zuko got to him, they’d be dealing with a Water Tribe Avatar and Fire Lord Azula.

Zuko’s people, the people he was raised to lead and protect, would die in droves. And what could he do? He would owe his Loyalty to Azula, then, and he would die trying to break it. Many of his people would probably die trying to break their own. How much would they lose, Zuko asked himself, if Azula hadn’t had enough of war?

Zuko’s ruminating had worked him back into a temper. If he didn’t get his head on straight….well. He wouldn’t let anything else distract him- not even spirits, not even himself. He would die on this quest or die on the throne; there would be no in between, for him.

“Nephew,” Uncle said, ahead of him in the hall. He stepped into Zuko’s path, and the young prince smacked the old man’s reaching hand away.

“Get out of my way!” He snarled. Uncle stepped back slightly, qi tense, and Zuko stormed down the hall. He would feel bad about it later, but right now his heart was in his throat and his head was pounding. When he reached his door, he angrily slammed it shut behind him. He lit up his hand in the darkness.

 It felt like his inner flame was cooking him alive, he was so angry and annoyed. The worst part, he didn’t even really know why. He was scared of failing. He was scared of whatever the spirits wanted. He was angry to be afraid. He was a Greater Lord, not only that, he was a Prince! Nothing should be able to make him scared, at all! What was the point of dragon eyes, Agni’s blessing, if they didn’t bring him any power; any help at all. 

The Blue Spirit mask, silver glinting in the light from Zuko’s flaming hand, taunted him from the corner of the room.

“Enough distractions,” He snarled at the mask, which was still swinging with the rocking of the ship. “I have a job to do.” Eventually, the spirits would listen.

He received no answer.

When the Wani docks for supplies that night, Zuko goes to sleep with the assured confidence that only a young man can have: nothing will interfere with his quest as long as he doesn’t let it. He closes his eyes in his room, and for the second night in a row, wakes up somewhere entirely different.

The only thing that keeps him from screaming with frustration is the bodies.

Surrounding him in the small alley he’d found himself in, five men were either dead or unconscious on the ground; in the dark, without knowing how he’d hit them, it was difficult to tell. Behind him, a woman was sobbing, and in his hands were his dao. He was wearing the dark clothing he’d donned to track down Toph and the kidnapped children, and when he warily reached up to see what was on his face, his worst fears were confirmed.

The Blue Spirit mask, luckily, muffled his quiet, vehemenant swearing.

Behind him, the sobbing woman was starting to hyperventilate. Zuko turned, making sure she wasn’t a threat, and only found a shaking Earth Kingdom woman with torn clothing. She was huddled in the dead-end corner of the alleyway, shaking, clutching her knees to her chest in an effort to make herself smaller. When he looked back, she shied into the shadows, still breathing quickly.

Zuko immediately put away his swords, crouching down with hands out to the side, palms to her. Just like he expected, she looked to his hands and sides to make sure he had no other weapons, even as she shook and tightened her grip on her skirts. He didn’t know what weapons this woman would have on her , though, and kept his distance. In his experience, the frightened animal was the most dangerous. He did his best to come off as non-threatening, and shuffled closer, slowly.

“Who-Who are you?” She asked through her knees, and he didn’t answer. Instead, on his way over to her, he took the cloak from one of the downed men’s shoulders. When he was close enough, he held it out to her, unwilling to get within stabbing distance, but also unwilling to compromise her already shaky modesty. Given the context clues, she deserved the respect.

Warily, after a few moments of just staring at him with those teary, green eyes, she accepted the cloak. “Thank you,” she said quietly, and Zuko let her take it without a fight. He backed up a few paces before looking away, keeping her far enough she couldn’t attack him, while also making sure she wouldn’t compromise herself while draping the fabric over her shoulders. When the shuffling stopped and the only sound remaining was her sniffles, Zuko looked back.

She was standing now, and came to just above his head. Her hair was long, pulled back into a dark braid, and her clothing was now obscured by the large, dwarfing cloak, draped clumsily over her body. Her face was marred by small cuts, and covered in tears, but she stared back at him with fire in her eyes.

“Who are you?” She asked again, slightly more confident, and Zuko genuinely doesn’t know how to answer. If he should answer. If living with Azula had taught him anything, people could do a lot with the wrong information; Zuko’s name? Probably the wrong information. Instead of answering aloud, he held out his hand.

‘ What am I doing?!’ He demanded of himself. Zuko, against his better judgement, did not put his hand down. The shaking woman looked at his hand, looked at the men on the ground, and then back to him. Slowly, cautiously, she placed her hand in his. Trust.

‘Now what, you fucking dumbass,’ Zuko asked himself, ‘It’s not like you know where she lives!’

“C-can you…” She started, and took a deep breath. She sniffled a few more times, but she finally managed, “Can you come with me? Home? I-I know my way, but I don’t-” She hugged herself with her remaining arm, clutching the cloak, and Zuko internally sighs. What else could he do? What honorable person would let this woman find her own way home? “I don’t want to walk, by myself.” She finished, and that sealed Zuko’s fate.

With a gentle tug, Zuko encouraged her past the men on the ground, careful to keep her from stepping in the slowly spreading puddles beneath one or two of them. She stumbles a few times, leaning on Zuko’s shoulder for support, and he’s sure they make a comical duo. With Zuko’s encouragement, she steps past the last man’s body, first. At the mouth of the alleyway, Zuko takes a second to glance back; just to make sure they’re really down for the count. 

It looks like at least two of them are wearing red, and Zuko felt sick to his stomach.

The woman, still leaning on him slightly, guided him through the streets. It was well past sunset- the moon was high in the sky, and besides the occasional lantern, the only light to see by. There wasn’t anyone out, but Zuko could still hear the occasional voice through a window or doorway. They walked through the streets quickly, and there was little sound beyond the woman’s small sobs. She had calmed down considerably by the time they got to her family’s home, and when she made eye contact with the gates to their property, she practically dragged him there.

She let go of him a few steps from the threshold, and ran up to the door to fling herself at the rope handle. The doors were locked, and didn’t budge, so she began banging on the gates as hard as she could. “Mother!” She shouted, and Zuko cringed away from the sudden noise. “Mother! Father! It’s Changying! Let me in!”

From beyond the gate there was a shout, and a herd of stomping footsteps, and Zuko took that as his queue to leave. Looking around, he spotted the wall of a nearby home and scrambled over to it, quickly finding the cracks and fissures he could use to climb up it. By the time he’d reached the top of the outer wall, jumped from that to the main house, climbed on top of the roof and looked back, the woman was safely ensconced in her mother’s arms.

“Are you hurt?” An older man, likely her father, demanded, and Zuko paused. He crouched low to the roof, trying to stay in the shadow of a nearby tree. 

“I’m okay,” Changying said quietly. “I was walking home when Wei and his brutes attacked me. I don’t…”

“I told you not to bait them!” Her mother scolded. “How in Oma’s name did you get away?”

“There was...a man? A spirit…? He dropped from the rooftops…” She was slowly herded behind the wall, out of earshot, but Zuko remained crouched in the shadow of the tree for a few more minutes. When he was sure they weren’t coming back, he ripped the blue mask from his face.

The Blue Spirit’s grin was somehow smug, lined with silver, and Zuko itched to burn it in his hands.

“Why,” He hissed at it, “can’t you just leave me alone?”

“You know why,” A man’s voice rang like a death knell in his mind. His ears rang, and his vision grew fuzzy; that night, Zuko knew no more.

Chapter Text

When Zuko woke the following morning, the crew was already bustling around the ship, preparing to receive the supplies they’d need for the next few months and to rest in port for a few days. The sun was just above the horizon, and Zuko sat in his bed for a few moments, wondering, not for the first time this week, if he’d just had a particularly bizarre dream. Zuko, groaning, remembered he was never that lucky. Was it even worth it to get up?

‘Find the mask,’ he decided eventually, and pulled himself reluctantly out from underneath his warm blanket. Zuko calmly got dressed, did some morning stretches, and took a deep breath. 

Then, he tore apart his room. 

It wasn’t under his clothes in the corner, or in the chest where he kept his armor. It wasn’t in his travel gear or anywhere among his reports or writing materials. When he’d searched every corner, his room was a mess, and he was no closer to finding the damn mask than he’d been when he’d woken up. Reluctantly, he pulled together his papers and put his armor away, ready to ignore it for the day. “Enough. Distractions.” He repeated to himself, and opened his door.

The Blue Spirit mask, perhaps tauntingly, perhaps smugly, hung at eye level in front of his door. It was suspended from a loose nail in the metal wall, and swung gently with the rocking of the ship-at-port.

Sao was sparring with Jirong, her fire against his sword, when they were interrupted by a fierce, familiar scream of rage. It came from below, and even through the thick metal it rang clear up to the two of them on deck. Sao exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Jirong, who’s own face mirrored her dread. When the royal pain was in a mood like this, somehow even worse than yesterday, nothing went well.

“What’s happened?” Jirong muttered, and Sao shrugged. They readied themselves to begin again, ready to try and act like nothing was going on, but they didn’t get the chance to start.

The companionway hatch was flung open with a loud clang, sending Jirong, who’d been standing near it, scrambling away as fast as possible. The royal brat practically threw himself onto the deck, swearing up a storm and clutching something blue in his hands like it had personally offended him. Once on the deck, he immediately stormed to the starboard side of the ship and flung whatever it was aggressively over the side. It flew through the air, and landed in the water with what was probably an unsatisfying ploop.

“What now?” The kid shouted after it. Obviously, there was no reply, but even so the kid stood, staring over the side for a few moments. Sao blinked, and shared another look with Jirong, who looked like he was having a small heart attack. They backed as far away from the kid as they could without looking like they were actually running away, and when the Prince turned they both froze.

If he’d looked tired two days ago, the brat looked practically exhausted, now. He had a scowl on his face and a manic look in his eyes- whatever had set the Prince off, it had been bad. Sao hadn’t heard anything, but that didn’t mean anything. All it really meant was that, whenever the kid needed to spar again and Prince Iroh was too tired, one of the crew was inevitably going to end up overboard. 

(To the kid’s credit, Sao admitted to herself, it was usually an accident. He’d only pushed one person overboard on purpose , and Zhao had honestly deserved it.)

The prince stepped away from the railing, sliding his hands into his pockets, when his face went quickly from mildly smug to absolutely apoplectic. The young man, tiredly, pulled yet another blue thing- a mask, it looked like- from his right pocket. His eyebrow twitched.

Once again, Sao and Jirong watched him throw the thing over the side. There was another splash, but the Prince didn’t turn away from the railing again. He quickly shoved his hand back in the pocket the second mask had come from, and pulled out yet another, identical to the others.

“Argh!” He shouted wordlessly. “Why can’t you just-” He tossed the third mask over the railing, and a third, unsatisfying ploop answered him. Prince Zuko, without hesitation, pulled a forth mask from his pocket. “WHY-” He tossed it over the railing, once more- “ME?” 

“Where are all these masks coming from?” Sao muttered. This whole experience was like a fever-dream; but evidently she wasn’t the only one seeing this, because Jirong just shrugged.

He shoved his hand into his right pocket once more, and a momentary look of relief flitted over his features. His shoulders sagged, and then he put his hand in his other pocket, and it was seemingly back to square one. The Prince slowly, painfully , pulled a fifth mask out of his other pocket. His face, for a moment, as he stared at this new addition, was calm. Then, with an almost unexpected snarl, the mask and his hand were engulfed in fire.

The jet of flame went far above their heads, and even from ten feet away, Sao could feel the heat. Jirong cringed away, slightly, but soon it was over. The prince, seemingly vindicated, dropped the still-flaming wood to the deck and turned on his heel. He didn’t look back, didn’t even glance at them, and soon the companionway hatch was once again slammed shut.

Sao glanced back at the mask, and blinked. It wasn’t on fire anymore, but nor was it ash- as it probably should be. The mask was completely unharmed, sitting innocently on the deck; even its silk ribbons were intact. 

Sao whipped around, tugging on Jirong’s sleeve. “Are you seeing this?” She demands, pointing at the thing. Surely this is some elaborate prank? Although why would the prince want to prank them…maybe he was just that bored?

Jirong turns away from the closed hatch, following her finger, and his brow furrows. “See what?”

Sao turns, sure that Jirong is just being as unobservant, as usual, but-

The mask, and all traces of it, are completely gone. 

What?!

While, truthfully, Zuko wanted to get as far away from this place as possible, they had no real reason to leave, just yet. They needed supplies, they needed rest- if he could articulate what exactly was going on, to Uncle, he was sure they’d simply move to the next port, but-

(“If you are prepared for the consequences..” Hoūyan had warned, and he hadn’t been.)

Regardless of his discomfort, while the Wani was docked, Zuko had time to try and figure out what was going on. The source of all this was the mask. But throwing the mask overboard hadn’t worked, and neither had burning it or trying to break it. No matter what, the mask would come back or be completely undamaged; and it was driving Zuko to madness. The mask was wood. The ribbons? Subpar colony silks. It didn’t seem to matter what it was made of, though, or how easy it should be to destroy. Something wanted this mask with Zuko, and whatever was in the mask… 

( “You know,” the Blue Spirit whispered.)

...Zuko shivered. He felt angry, but most of all he felt...violated. And scared. He didn’t know what his body had done while...the Blue Spirit had it under its control. It seemed, in that brief moment of consciousness, that he’d saved people. But why? Why Zuko? Why not the dozens of others who wore this mask at festivals, in plays? It terrified him to think that, no matter what he did to prevent it, his body would be taken again. If only he hadn’t allowed himself to get involved with Spirits in the first place...

“That’s it,” Zuko realised. Hoūyan. She was the start of all of this, Agni , she was a spirit, herself! If anyone would know what was going on, she probably would. Once he got her to break her ties with him, maybe then, the Blue Spirit would lose interest and leave him be.

He could only hope.

Zuko cleared his throat awkwardly. “Hoūyan?” There were several moments where nothing happened, and his room remained empty- of both dragon and woman. Zuko sighed deeply, dragging a hand down the unscarred side of his face. He’d give it a few more minutes, but it figures that the one moment he’d want a spirit, they wouldn’t come.

With little other options, Zuko went over to his desk, taking out the box he kept his personal maps in. Unfolding the one he had on this region of the Earth Kingdom’s coast, he tried to trace their course back to Hoūyan’s village. He’d never learned the name. They’d skipped several towns since leaving there and this time of year was mostly spent gathering supplies for winter rather than actively hunting for the Avatar, so the path wasn’t as erratic as it normally would be. There, Gaoling, and tracing the path they’d taken, his finger finally lands on the port town they would have been in nearly two months ago, in the middle of summer.

Hong Shan. Hoūyan, Spirit of Hong Mountain. That had to be it.

Was there a way to get there, quickly? They had stopped to gather supplies, so The Wani wouldn’t be moving for at least a few days. It may be faster to go by himself, but he didn’t know that land and it was Fall, now; and rapidly cooling. Zuko may be a firebender, but he wouldn’t want to risk it. What other options does he have? 

Zuko sighs, rolling the map back up. He’ll need to sleep on it. Another glance around the room, just to confirm that Hoūyan wasn’t there, before he wandered over to his futon. With some luck, or at least, some hope, he would get a proper night’s rest.

When Iroh was young, all royalty learned about spirits. At one point, long ago, the Fire Lord had been the head of the Fire Sages; in some respects, they still were. It was for this reason that Azulon taught Iroh these things, and not Ozai; Ozai was to be Iroh’s spy, his advisor, not the Fire Lord. Where Iroh was powerful, knowable, a natural ward against malicious kamui and oni; Ozai attracted such spirits like a magnet.

Zuko, unfortunately, seemed to have a similar problem. 

Iroh examined the deck where young Sao and Jirong had brought him, stroking his beard in thought. The ground was scorched, indeed, like something burning had been dropped upon it. The old Prince’s qi was piqued, ready for any movement or sign of hostility, but the echoes left behind by this spirit (what else could it be) were jovial, and mischievous. This was no Dark Water spirit, but it did say something of the strength of Zuko’s inner fire; whatever it was, they were more attracted to Zuko than they were scared of Iroh. 

Iroh sighed. ‘Nephew,’ he wondered to himself, ‘What on Earth am I supposed to do with you?’

He shouldn’t have said anything. 

Zuko knew before he even opened his eyes that he was no longer on his futon; this was shaping into a truly exasperating pattern. Was it too much to ask, he wondered, to wake up where he went to sleep? Zuko sighed, both to expel his anger and to mitigate the urge to growl, before opening his eyes.

Beneath him, the cold grass was a barely comfortable bed. The grass itself was a familiar black, shiny texture- like the feathers of dragon-crow. Zuko sat up quickly, blinking rapidly to bring some clarity to his bad eye. Around him, glowing plants and impossibly tall trees formed a hauntingly familiar clearing, the one Hoūyan had taken him to, months ago. Warily, he reached, not for bending, but for the dagger he always kept in his boot; if he was where he believed he was, he would need it. After all, you can’t bend in the Spirit World.

The silence around him was both reassuring and terrifying. Unlike last time, Hoūyan was nowhere to be found; Zuko couldn’t trust that she could keep other, more malicious spirits away. His grip tightened on the pearl handle of his dagger, and he stood slowly. Just like before, the air felt like it was freezing his skin off his bones; his light, silk clothing did little to protect him from the cold. Zuko didn’t know if you could freeze to death in the spirit world, but he didn’t want to find out, either.

“Hoūyan?” Zuko whispered. At first, just like in his rooms, there was no noise; no reply. Then, like wind blowing through the trees, there was a rustle. A few meters in front of him, fog crept from beyond the foliage. It rose quickly, condensing into the loose shape of a human, before dispersing, leaving Hoūyan, poised for battle, in its place. Her sword, a gleaming jian, was drawn and ready, and her eyes were narrowed in suspicion. Then, her gaze met Zuko’s.

“Little Dragon?” She said in disbelief, letting her sword fall to her side. She didn’t release the blade, or sheath it, so Zuko likewise kept his dagger out. Any reason for a dragon-spirit to be so wary was more than enough reason for him to follow suit.

“Hoūyan,” Zuko sighed in relief. As quickly as he dared, he walked over to her. Hoūyan caught him by the shoulder as soon as he was close enough, examining him head to toe. 

“How did you get here, pup?” Hoūyan demanded. “It’s dangerous for a human to be in this place, alone.”

“You didn’t bring me here?” Zuko asked helplessly. 

Hoūyan shook her head. “I did not. Is there-” 

Behind him, there was a loud rustle, and Zuko was pushed behind Hoūyan before he even knew what was happening. Her sword was once again lifted in the ready position, and Zuko clutched his dagger like a lifeline. His fingers were going numb from the cold, and his grip was shaky at best. 

“What is it?” Zuko whispered, but Hoūyan only shook her head. There were several long moments where Hoūyan said nothing. Her head turned as she checked the treeline, and after a few tense, silent minutes, she focused on something beyond the edge of the clearing.

“Blue Spirit,” She called, and Zuko’s blood froze. “What business do you have with this boy?”

“I think that you know.” 

The Blue Spirit’s voice was deep, and rumbling; like festival drums. He spoke with dozens of voices, all at once. Before he spoke, it seemed as though those voices whispered to each other, before rising up to form his voice in unison. When he finished, the voices faded into whispers once more, and then silence. There was more rustling, and beyond Hoūyan’s robes, Zuko could see the Spirit’s feet.

“Enlighten me.” Hoūyan’s voice was biting, challenging. Zuko felt like a child as he tugged on her haori, but in the moment, he didn't care. He would rather not be caught between two battling spirits. Thankfully, instead of taking her challenge for what it was, The Blue Spirit began to chuckle.

“My business is not with you, Dragon,” He said with humor, “Come out, child. I expect you have lots of questions.” At odds with his tone, Zuko felt the Spirit’s request like a rope around his neck. Out of his control, his body moved away from Hoūyan, even as he longed to grab her haori once more. His feet moved without him, stuttering and struggling all the way, until he stood beside Hoūyan instead of behind. For the first time since the spirit appeared, Zuko dared to look up.

The Blue Spirit mask, despite being a traditional representation, was both close as a mask could be, and wildly inaccurate. The Blue Spirit’s face was demon-like; he had long fangs, dark blue skin, and his eyes were a dark, jewel-red, like a fiery ember. On the other hand, his face was still human, despite the exaggerated nature of his most demon-like features, his nose, brow, and lips were almost completely normal. He was tall, well over six feet, and enshrouded in black clothing; similar, although not the same, as the clothing Zuko had seen his grandfather’s shinobi wear. 

Of course, soft, loose clothing did not make the Spirit seem more approachable. If anything, the human-ness of his face made him even more unnerving than a regular kabuki mask would be. 

As the Blue Spirit slowly smiled, Zuko decided that was a good word to describe him. Unnerving. 

“Well, child?” He prompted, and Zuko’s mouth opened to speak before he could even wonder whether or not he dared to.

“Why do you keep stealing my body?” Zuko demanded, and Hoūyan, beside him, looked like she wanted to smack him upside the head, even if it was clear to Zuko that she would’ve been just as, if not more, abrasive. The Blue Spirit chuckled again, and Zuko desperately wanted to take several steps back. This wasn’t Zhao, or an Earth Kingdom soldier; this was a powerful spirit.

“Quite a while ago, long before your little war,” The Blue Spirit waved a hand, but rather than waving it, his hand suddenly appeared up by his head, then slightly to the left, then to the right, before his arm was back at his side. “I took on avatars to defend the helpless; Raava cannot save everyone, after all. There were many, over the centuries, and through them, the myths you know were born.”

“That’s not an answer!” Zuko snarled, and Hoūyan looked from the Blue Spirit just long enough to give him a glare.

“That long ago, of course, the young men who took up my mask knew what they were doing,” The Blue Spirit continued as though Zuko had not interrupted, although he did seem slightly less jovial. “When you took up my mask, I noticed, but when you took up my face in service of others, you made an offer I would not have refused. It has been a long time since I’ve had the luxury to refuse a tribute; not that you’ve proven yourself worthy of the attention.”

“Proven myself?!” Zuko’s temper flared, “Who said I wanted the attention?!” 

“Who, indeed,” The Blue Spirit murmured. His head turned to Hoūyan, or far more accurately, jerked, and the dragon’s hands tightened on her sword. “It was not I, or the dragon, who placed this burden on you. You, Prince Zuko, wore my face.”

“Prince?” Hoūyan muttered, but shook her head. To the Blue Spirit, she snarled, “You’re being cruel. Release him from your service!”

“You step too far, Dragon.” The Blue Spirit’s voice was no longer friendly, or calm. His tone became more like the deafening rumble of a volcano, the voices within his own becoming screams, instead of whispers. “You cannot keep what is owed to me.” Zuko wanted to say he was owed to no one, but his mouth clicked shut when the Spirit turned back to him. 

“Boy,” He said, “You will prove yourself worthy of my attention, and become my avatar, or I will take your offering out of your hide. I am older than your dragon, I am stronger with worship and myth. I will return to you on the Spring equinox. If you have wasted my time, or my gifts...you will not live to regret it.”

And then, he was gone. There was no smoke, like Hoūyan’s entrance, or a single sound. One moment, The Blue Spirit loomed, and the next, Zuko and Hoūyan were left alone. Zuko hesitated for a few moments, unsure that he had really left, but when Hoūyan’s jian fell to her side once more, he whipped his head around to face her.

“I warned you that there would be consequences for your actions,” Hoūyan said, still staring at the place from which the Blue Spirit had vanished. She turned to look at him, gold eyes narrowed with disappointment. “Did you not think to protect yourself?”

“How?” Zuko demanded, throwing his hands up. “How the fuck do I do that? And for that matter- what does worthy even mean? I know nothing about spirits! That’s what got me into this mess, in the first place!” 

“It has been many years since I knew anything of the Fire Nation court,” Hoūyan said incredulously, “but is the Fire Lord no longer the leader of the Fire Sages? Are you, as a Prince, not taught the ancient ways?”

“...No?” Zuko can’t recall any spirit-related lessons, not even when he was still living in the Palace. 

“And you did not seek these lessons when I took you into my clan, nearly two months ago?” She demanded. Zuko, sensing that to answer truthfully would likely not end well for him, didn’t answer. Hoūyan sighed, dragging her hand down her face. There are several long moments of disappointed glaring, and neither of them speak for several minutes.

“Well...what should I do?” Zuko asked, blundering past the awkward silence. Hoūyan blinked at him, before turning back to where the Blue Spirit had been standing.

“He said you attracted his attention, using his face to serve others. Presumably, you will prove your worthiness by doing the same.” Hoūyan sighed. “In all honesty, your sages would know more than I. You should know more.” 

“Well, I don’t,” Zuko growled. His fists were clenched, the hand still clutching his dagger white-knuckled on the hilt. “I don’t have time for this!” He shouts. “I can’t even sleep without a spirit coming to steal my body or eat me!”

“You will have to make the time, little Prince.” Hoūyan puts a hand on his shoulder and forces him to look her in the eyes. “You are determined to capture the Avatar and return to your home, but you must remember; it does not matter what your Sire demands, anymore. You have almost eight months to fix this.”

Chapter Text

Iroh breathed in the calming scent of his jasmine tea, allowing it to soothe his worries. He sat at the table in his room, enjoying the quiet morning. His breakfast had been eaten, his morning meditation had been fulfilling, and now he could relax for a time.

And yet, his thoughts strayed back to Prince Zuko.

Iroh frowned. His nephew had made remarkable progress these past few months; ignoring the regression of the last few days. Of course, the spirit messing with his nephew, along with the sleepless trip he’d had only three days ago, a little irritability was to be expected. A man needs his rest, as Iroh always said; sleeplessness could make the kindest of men cruel. Zuko, while kind at heart, was not exactly the most patient boy, to begin with. It seemed as though the universe itself was conspiring against the young man, these days. If only he’d come home sooner-

Iroh’s thoughts were interrupted by a rapid knock on his metal door. He looked up from his tea, which unfortunately, seemed to have gone cold, and pulled his robe around himself properly. Standing with several pops and groans. Iroh straightened, prepared to handle a disaster.

“Enter,” He called, and the person on the other side wasted no time. The door’s mechanism spun rapidly, and the thick metal hatch swung open to reveal none other than Prince Zuko. The boy was still wearing his sleepwear, and, strangely enough, seemed to have acquired a catopus. The small kitten was happily wrapped around the young prince, ignoring his apoplectic rush. Zuko stepped in, and closed the door behind him with a slam.

“Uncle,” Zuko said, voice strained and desperate, “I need your help.”

“Meow!” The small kitten agreed. Iroh blinked. 

“...Hoūyan said she couldn’t interfere directly,” Zuko finished. “But she told me if I had more questions, I would need to find my way back to the Spirit World, myself. She can come to me, sometimes, but she’s not strong enough to pull me in outside of the solstice.”

“This is serious, Prince Zuko,” Iroh hummed, stroking his beard thoughtfully. Across the table, Zuko held a cooling tea-cup like a lifeline. Occasionally, a small paw would come bat at one of his hands until it reached down to pet the small kitten, purring up a storm on the boy’s lap. “It seems we must start the final stages of your training, sooner than I expected. Much sooner.”

“...final stages?” Zuko asked, “Wait- do you mean I was supposed to learn… Spirit stuff?”

“I began my training in.. Spirit stuff at about eighteen,” Iroh explained, “and I had hoped we would begin your training at around that time. To be a true Fire Lord, the head of the Fire Sages, you must be able to connect with, and defend yourself against, the Spirit World.” He sipped his tea, and smiled wryly. “Notably, your father did not receive this training.”

“He didn’t?” Zuko asked, kind of surprised. It’s true his father had expressed disdain for the idea of spirits, claiming nothing so powerful could truly exist. They still had feasts on festival days and made offerings at the palace shrine, however; so he’d always thought the spirits were just weaker than his father. Or, well, that his father thought that.

“He was not raised to be Fire Lord,” Iroh said calmly, and waved a hand, “but it is no matter. In a way, you have already begun this part of your training.”

“What?” Zuko looked up from his tea cup, “What do you mean?”

“An essential part of a sage's training is to connect to their Inner Flame; to control it, and use it, so they may find their way back from the realms of spirits.” Iroh began to explain. “We begin a kind of this training when we are very young- you, younger than most.”

(“My Loyalty, My Fire, My Life,” Something whispered.)

“Swearing fealty,” Zuko realised. “Right?” Anyone could tell you, Loyalty is very important in the Fire Nation, and always has been; their inner flames are tied to it. Without loyalty, you have no honor; but without Loyalty , you can’t bend. 

Most children aren’t required to swear fealty; a child’s loyalty, outside of their parents, is fickle and fleeting. Even in the larger, more powerful clans, they are rarely asked to even meet their Lord. In the royal family, however, everyone has their Swearing Ceremony as soon as they can talk. Zuko remembers his own lessons, reciting the ancient words over and over until he could say them to his mother’s satisfaction. He’d been...three? It was before Azula was born, at least.

“Indeed, Prince Zuko,” Iroh praised. Zuko sat up straighter despite himself. “Your connections to the material world are important, when consulting the Spirits. Although no one but the Avatar can truly walk within Spirit World, enough have gotten close enough to lose their way.”

“But.. I was inside the Spirit World,” Zuko protested. Where else could that have possibly been?

“You are an avatar now, are you not?” Iroh pointed out. Putting down his tea-cup, the old man reached over to his desk, nearby, and plucked a simple scroll off the top of it. “If your Spirits continue to drag you to their realm, you must be able to find your own way out.” Uncle holds the scroll out to him, and Zuko reluctantly takes it. 

The scroll is written in Old Imperial, the script of the Fire Nation Court. It was nearly incomprehensible to someone who hadn’t had to read anything in Old Imperial for two years, but Zuko could immediately tell it was a series of meditations and… embroidery patterns? “Uncle,” He protested, but the Dragon of the West held up a hand.

“Just like bending, Prince Zuko, we must begin with the basic sets.” The old man smiled. “Speaking of, how have your forms been coming along?”

Zuko groaned.

The princes seemed content to ignore what happened yesterday, whispering among themselves and perusing over old scrolls, but Sao couldn’t get it out of her head. Nothing bad had happened, but that didn’t change the fact that―apparently-- there was a spirit on board. Sao had never heard about a friendly spirit from the ocean, and besides this town, that's where they’ve been. On the ocean. With dark-water spirits. Maneaters.

Sao shivered. She’d rather face a volcano; at least, then, she’d know what was killing her.

Sao was on guard-duty, today, rather than down in engineering. At port, they didn’t really need more than one of the engineers down there at a time. A few meters from where she stood, by the ramp, the Captain and General Iroh were sitting at a small table. The General had had Daisuke bring it out for them, a mass of old scrolls and a wooden tea-set on top. Now, General Iroh directed the Prince to read and watched him closely, meditatively holding his steaming tea-cup. 

“I don’t know how embroidery of all things is supposed to help, Uncle,” Prince Zuko growled. Sao blinked, doing her best to look like she wasn’t listening. Embroidery? Help with what?

“Fire-thorns are no simple embroidery pattern, nephew,” General Iroh replied, and oh shit, “Notice the colors. White, for purity, red for fire. Green for steadiness. These plants are some of the protective symbols stitched into the robes of the Fire Sages, the Earth Shamans. As far as I’m aware, however, the Water Tribe Elders have different techniques; they deal with far more winter spirits than the rest of the world.”

Sao’s grandmother was a superstitious woman, but even she didn’t bother with Fire-thorns. Seals on the home and salt were good enough for her. Seeing Fire-thorns on someone as young as the Captain would be down-right weird.

“Aren’t fire-thorns the things old ladies wear?” Prince Zuko said, in a tone of voice that implied “I know the answer already and I don’t like it.” Sao resisted the urge to snort. 

“Fire-thorns are a sacred plant, Prince Zuko,” The General said in that non-answering way of his, “For anyone in your situation, I would recommend them. The attention of two spirits is quite enough.”

“You’re telling me,” The Captain mutters, but Sao has stopped paying attention. Two spirits?! On the ship, or just… around? Sao felt a shiver run up her spine, and any humor left her. Part of the reason people wanted to live anywhere near the royal family, no matter how volatile they’d become in the last century or so, was because royals chased off spirits, like Dragons once did. The Brat himself was actually supposed to have a large amount of Dragon in his bloodline; his eyes were proof enough of that. What kind of spirit would be willing to bother two imperial fire benders for kicks?

A powerful one, Sao knew.

‘Hopefully they can get rid of it,’ Sao thought, and with a little of that humor returning, ‘or at least distract it enough for me to get away.’ Of course, she didn’t keep her hopes up. 

No sailor was ever that lucky.

Zuko felt both overwhelmed and completely relieved, sitting across from Uncle at this small table on deck. There weren’t many times in Zuko’s life where he truly, really felt like he had control of his life. If he really thought about it, he could probably count every instance on one hand. It was kind of pitiful, really, but that wasn’t the point. The point was, in essentially his time of greatest need, Zuko had come through for himself.

Kind of. It was mostly Uncle, but Zuko was the one who had gone to Uncle. Right now, he’ll take what he can get.

Zuko scanned the scroll in front of him, absorbing everything he could. He hadn’t studied something this voraciously since right after his banishment. These scrolls, this position on deck; besides the lack of antiseptic cream, it all reminded him of pouring over the writings of Avatar Roku and Consort Rangi. At the time, he’d been searching through their journals for any location or hint at a hiding spot; a home, a village, a fucking ruin. Something.

Zuko spaced out a little, stopping for a moment to ponder what all this...spirit-y nonsense meant for his true quest. He didn’t really have a time limit for finding the Avatar, but he personally considered it Azula’s 16th birthday, when she’d be eligible to become Crown Princess if he hadn’t returned. That time was rapidly approaching; come summer next year, he’d only have two years. 

But if he didn’t figure out what the Blue Spirit needed him to do to “prove himself,” then it wouldn’t matter when Azula’s birthday was. He’d be dead, anyway. 

 Hoūyan said she would answer questions if he could manage to get into the Spirit World, himself, but so far that had been a dead-end. Apparently, none of the Avatars had ever written about how they did it. It “came naturally,” according to the sparse writings of Avatar Yanchen’s waterbending teacher, but that did nothing to help Zuko with his plight. What a time to not have the Avatar, Zuko groused. 

‘Why even bother with capturing the Avatar at this point,’ He huffed to himself, but tried to dismiss the thought. Of course he had to capture the Avatar, he reasoned, but the thought wouldn’t go away.

“What’s the point?” Zuko murmured. Either he dies at the hands of the spirits, or he dies on the sea searching for an Avatar that will never come. The scroll in front of him, covered in various Earth Kingdom superstitions about the doorways between worlds, but doesn’t truly see it.

Of course, he has to capture the Avatar. That’s the end of it.

But what’s the point?

“Did you say something, Prince Zuko?” Uncle asks, looking up from his own scroll. His qi was curious and amused. Zuko blinks, tuning back into the real world, and flushes slightly. Now is really not the time to be wrestling with treacherous thoughts.

“No, Uncle,” Zuko said, firmly re-focused on The Western Earth Kingdom’s Spirits and Superstitions of the Hearth and Home. Skeptically, Uncle hummed, but didn’t press the matter.

(The World is wrong, they said. We’re wrong, Zuko’s mind whispered. Kindness, after all, is not so easily unlearned.)

Chapter Text

A thousand years ago, or there-abouts, Hoūyan had fallen in love with a human.

She had, at the time, only recently reached her majority and left her parents behind. Upon finding her own territory, she had also found herself in the midst of a Clan War, and so stayed in her cave during the day. It wasn’t her business, she thought, if the humans fought amongst themselves. For years, she would hunt at night; only taking the time to spread her wings when no humans were around. One day, however, a young scholar saw her flying to her mountain. 

That night, he called into her cave, “Master! What could you teach me?” 

She did not respond.

For weeks, the boy approached. He called into her cave, eventually just greeting her before launching into the day's exploits. It was a one-sided conversation, but it grew to be something she enjoyed before her hunts. He would tell her about his father, the lord of their small Clan, and how kind his mother was. He would tell her about his friends, about his studies, about his lack of bending but his great appreciation for the forms. He would read her stories, bring her flowers he enjoyed. Night after night, he would visit, grinning ear to ear. 

Hoūyan would grow to enjoy these visits, greatly. It took nearly a month before she responded for the first time, but the small, echoing rumble she let out after a particularly good joke left him flustered for the rest of his visit. Over the first year of their friendship, he coaxed her slowly further out of the cave, until he could see her golden eyes and the tip of her dark muzzle. Soon enough, they would sit side-by-side, her head resting on the ground next to him, and it was the most content she’d ever been.

Then, one day, he didn’t come.

The night before, their visit had been interrupted by shouting, in the distance. The grin on his face had quickly faded, replaced by a solemn frown. He drew his sword, and with a distracted goodbye, fled into the night. She patiently waited for him to return, but when the shouting had stopped and nothing but the quiet of the night remained, she had reluctantly gone on her hunt.

When he didn’t come back the next day, or the next, she grew concerned. Hoūyan knew humans were fragile, and he’d said himself that the War had been growing more violent. It was why he’d begun bringing his sword in the first place. She tried to talk herself out of it, but when a week passed with no sign of her human, it was final.

Hoūyan stepped out of her cave on two human feet, elegantly clad in a haori of black dragon-scale. She would find her human, she’d decided; and woe to whomever had kept him from her. 

Sao had been raised by her Grandma Gin. Her mother had died not long after Sao had been born, drafted into the army. They never knew who her father was. Grandma Gin had said it was because it had been fashionable at the time―to be a single mother, that is; because if you could raise a child on your own, a partner wouldn’t feel bad about leaving you for the front. Sao secretly suspected her mother just hadn’t bothered to keep track of who she slept with, which, as far as Sao was concerned, was both perfectly valid and very funny.

Grandma Gin was a funny, old woman. She had pale grey eyes almost as bright as her silver hair, and thin blue rings tattooed around her wrists. She was incredibly superstitious, but she also had several traditions most of the family had found odd. For example, every autumn, Grandma Gin would cover the house in orange cloth: small pieces, (“Small enough to hide,” she’d said, when Sao asked.) painted with a writing system Sao didn’t know. She would spend a month leaving out small pieces of meat for the birds to eat, and would burn the bones left over. After “the month of burning” as the family had called it, she would take down the cloth and (Sao’s personal favorite part) put all her effort into making the most wonderful fruit tarts you could ever have. 

Sao had asked only once, “Why do you do this?” She’d been young, but even then she could see the deep sadness in her grandma’s grey eyes.

“...I wish I could explain properly,” Grandma had said, stroking Sao’s hair. “But know this. I could mourn for ninety years and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

It wasn’t long after that conversation that Grandma Gin had begun instilling a healthy respect for spirits and things that go bump in the night in Sao. Sao didn’t think she’d ever be truly faithful, not really, but she knew her charms and prayers and attended festival days with the greatest of solemnity (or, as much solemnity as a drunk sailor could muster for a table of burning candles when a party was going on). She did her best to attend to Grandma’s traditions, even if she didn’t understand them.

Even the odd ones. Especially the odd ones; because even though Sao didn’t understand the reason Grandma did them, exactly, they were important. Sao could feel how important they were. If making fruit tarts would appease the spirits of the dead, then that’s what she would do.

After leaving the deck, and the Princes by proxy, Sao headed immediately to the kitchens.

The kitchens weren’t precisely unfamiliar to her; Xia, of course, was one of her best friends, and Cook Shiro’s only assistant. So while she knew her way around them, she knew them in the same way a guest might know where the chopsticks were kept in an acquaintance's kitchen. Because of this, for this tradition, she would need help. As she approached the door, cursing all the while, Sao felt her gut twist with dread. It was one thing to enter the kitchens with Xia. On her own, though?

She took a breath, and knocked.

“What!?” The cook demanded. From beyond the cracked door, Sao could hear the clanging of pots being cleaned and the chopping of something on a wooden board.

“Cook,” Sao said, “It’s Sao. May I come in?”

“Bah, might as well,” Shiro growled. Sao pushed the door open, and was greeted with a wave of heat, the ovens clanking obnoxiously and making even the leaky Wani seem like a dry desert. Unphased and perfectly poised, Shiro stood over a mountain of chopped vegetables, hand on the kanabou hanging from her belt. Behind her, Xia efficiently washed dishes with what limited water they’d been allotted for cleaning. 

“What do you want.” It wasn’t a question, but an order. Sao warily met Shiro’s eyes and gave a rushed, but still genuine, bow.

“I need to make fruit tarts!” She squeaked, before clearing her throat awkwardly. Even Xia, in her back corner, paused for a moment. The normally unflappable Cook gave an abnormally slow blink of confusion, which by her standards, was practically a shriek of surprise. “Er-we’re having spirit problems. The Princes are having spirit problems. And, ah, my grandmother taught me a recipe that, traditionally, ah. Appeases them. Ma’am. Sir.”

Sao, internally, died a little. What did that even mean, soldier?! She could hear her drill sergeant screaming in her mind. But despite another slow blink, Shiro did not react.

“Hmm. Family recipe?” She said. Sao nodded rapidly. “Hmm. Fine. One to start. If it’s shit I’m banning you from this kitchen.”

“Yes!” Sao said, saluting on instinct, before rushing to the shelves of ingredients, which were bolted to the interior wall of the kitchen. She’d had this recipe memorised from eight years old, it would be fine!

With Shiro’s eyes watching her back, however, she began to doubt that. 

‘At least the spirit will be too scared of her to get to me,’ Sao thought optimistically, and got to work.

Zuko fondly remembers a time when History was his favorite subject. Approximately two weeks after coming to Uncle for help, it was now the bane of his existence. If he had to read another treatise on the benefits of salt purification from the Rule of the 39th Earth King, he would rip his good eye out. There were so. Many.

Zuko was standing in his Uncle’s quarters, which, of course, seemed to have grown several new “souvenirs” since Zuko had last been in here. Iroh himself was kneeling beside his chest of collected documents. Some of them were plays, most of them were histories, and almost all of them had some information on spirits and repelling them. Together, they’d gone through them one by one, looking for anything pertinent to Zuko’s situation. There wasn’t much.

There wasn’t much besides the salt, that is. 

“Uncle,” Zuko protested as Iroh handed him another scroll from the chest. “We’ve gone through these a dozen times. We need new information!”

“There is wisdom in revisiting the past,” Uncle Iroh said, still digging through the chest. “Patience, Prince Zuko, we shall make our way through them in good time.” Zuko growled in frustration. Salt. Eye.

“There is also wisdom in seeking new wisdom.” Zuko took the scrolls he was holding and dropped them back into the chest, nearly on top of Iroh’s head. “I don’t have time to waste on rereading the same scrolls over and over!”

Huffing, the old general stood up. He had a look of humor in his amber eyes, and Zuko wanted to shake him. “That was almost a proverb, nephew!” Iroh chuckled, but sobered quickly. “You are correct, however. If you think we have reached the end of our available resources, we will need to seek new avenues to success.”

“I just-gah!” Zuko groaned. “Yes. Thank you, Uncle.”

“You’re welcome,” Uncle said pleasantly, eyes still glimmering. His voice was even, but his mustache twitched tellingly, as it always did when he was trying not to laugh. 

“Uncle.”

“Where did you intend to look, Prince Zuko?” Iroh asked, waving Zuko towards his small table. The Prince gladly went, huffing as he sat on the cushion opposite from Uncle, who looked for all the world like this had been his idea all along.

“The Blue Spirit is a Fire Nation spirit,” Zuko began, trying to find the words. “We need Fire Nation information.”

“Mmm,” Iroh hummed. “And where, Prince Zuko, do you plan on getting such scrolls? The Earth Kingdom won't have anything for you.” The old man looked thoughtful, stroking his beard while he considered what they could do.

Zuko took a deep breath. This was stupid. He knew it was stupid. “The Library of Sozin would have what we need.”

The Library of Sozin was built not long after his death, commissioned by Zuko’s grandfather Azulon. It was constructed to hold the collective knowledge of the Fire Sages, and later the Fire Nation: scrolls being copied character by character to be stored in the largest athenaeum outside of Ba Sing Se University and The Library of Wan Shi Tong. It was built side-by-side to a Fire Temple, and the Library’s main purpose was to assist the Fire Sages in their spiritual and legal guidance of the people of the Fire Nation.

It was also located on the island of Dizin, in the Fire Nation.

Iroh choked on his own spit. Apparently, that was not what Uncle had expected him to say.

“What?” Zuko asked self-consciously. “It would!”

“Yes, Prince Zuko,” Iroh agreed after he recovered, “But so would the colonies!”

“Would they?” Zuko countered, having considered this before. “Really? What library in the colonies would know anything about the Blue Spirit? I can’t even enter the colonies unless there’s a holiday going on!”

“You can’t enter the Fire Nation at all!” Iroh protested, his voice becoming firm. “If we were found out, you would be executed!”

“If we don’t get this information, I die anyway!” Zuko shouted, standing up and startling the older man. “What other options do we have?” The two of them stared each other down for a long moment. Neither of them spoke. Eventually, Uncle sighed, reaching for the small chest containing his tea set. 

“Sit down, nephew,” Uncle said. “Let us consider our approach.”

Chapter Text

Hoūyan began her search in the nearest human village.

It took a while to find it; without her wings, she couldn’t search from the sky, but she also didn’t want them to know she was coming. If they had taken her human or even killed him, they would not live long enough to regret it.

The gates were massive―something the boy had mentioned had become common, with the clan wars’ rise. She approached at a sedate pace, assured that nothing the humans could do would stop her. The two guards at the front of the gate, and the four hidden poorly atop the wall, watched her warily.

“Halt!” One of the young men in front called. “Who approaches the gate?”

“I’m looking for someone.” She says instead of answering. “A young man, about your height. Black hair and amber eyes. He’s a scholar, who reluctantly carries his sword.” The young man opened his mouth, perhaps to say that most of their village fit that description, but she pressed on. “A week hence, he left my company to join a fight: I have not seen him since.”

“He’s probably dead.” The other guard muttered under his breath, but quailed under Hoūyan’s sharp glare. 

“Look, Lady,” The first guard cleared his throat, “I know a few people who fit that description. Do you know his name?”

Hoūyan examined the guard skeptically. She didn’t know the human custom of names, but dragons rarely shared theirs with those outside their clan. Even if they did know her human, her human wouldn’t know her, not as she is. But humans were also curious, and if her human was friendly to these ones, surely he would come to see who was looking for him?

“I am searching for Hajime, son of Eichi,” Hoūyan said eventually. The blood drained from the guard's face. “Do you know him?”

The guards looked at each other, before looking back at her.

“Ma’am,” The second guard said nervously, “maybe you should come with us.”

The first fruit tart came out nearly perfect. 

Sao had never been as good as Grandma Gin when it came to baking—her skill was earned mostly through osmosis, sitting by her grandmother's side as the old woman carefully kneaded dough and rolled out thin layers of flaky crusts. The recipe itself she'd long ago memorised, but it had been a long time since Sao had had the opportunity to bake with her grandmother.

So in the end, nearly perfect, but not quite there. True to her word, however, Sao handed it over.

Shiro took it more gently than Sao had expected, and examined the tart from every angle. She looked closely at the crust, scrutinized the filling, and finally, stared blankly at the cream on top.

"How did you make it peak like this? I certainly didn't see any whisking," Shiro asked. It wasn't rude, but Shiro was the kind of abrupt that demanded answers. She was also, however, the kind of woman that knew she didn't know everything. It put Sao in the odd position of knowing more than she did, though, and Sao did not like it.

"It's a fire-bending trick, ma'am. My grandmother showed it to me with… with her bending." Sao mimicked pulling the heat from the air above the tart, so rapidly it puffed up the cream on top, as the warm air from within rushed to fill the gap left behind. It was hard to explain and even harder to learn, so Sao really just made an awkward flapping motion while Shiro stared blankly at her. Xia smiled from behind Shiro, looking over her shoulder.

"Neat trick," Xia said quietly. "But does it taste good?"

"It better," Shiro grumbled, setting the tart down and getting a small knife to cut it with. "Girl used my good berry rations for this."

Sao cringed but didn't have time to explain the recipe before Shiro picked up the small piece she'd cut and took her first bite.

The older woman chewed for a moment, closing her eyes to really focus on the flavor. Sao could barely breathe, but the determination to defend her grandmother's recipe was at the forefront of her mind. If she didn't like it, so what!

"...Good," Shiro said finally. "I'll requisition more fruit next portside stop."

Sao (and Xia, funnily enough) both deflated slightly in relief. 

"On one condition."

Sao straightened back up, nearly at attention. What could she want?!

Shiro leaned over the counter, hands on the metal tabletop, eyes narrowed. "Tell me exactly what spirits we're dealing with."

Eventually, Uncle accepted that there wouldn’t be any information they hadn’t already found, in the colonies. Well, maybe there would be, but they didn’t have time to hunt for Spirit lore in libraries that weren’t dedicated to it, especially for this specific spirit. No, Zuko rationalized, their best bet was the library in Dizin.

But how to get there? How to get in?

The Library of Sozin, while essentially just a wing of the Fire Sages’ Temple, was one of the most highly guarded buildings in the Fire Nation. The waters were constantly patrolled by small home-guard fleets (whose ships were still bigger than the Wani) and it took weeks of appointments to even get permission to enter, let alone the appointments you need to make to actually read anything. The halls were monitored by the Fire Sages themselves, who, while sworn to be neutral in all things, were all still firebenders. They would not take kindly to someone sneaking around their halls.

Zuko would need to be vigilant the entire time he was inside. On the other hand, he would need to be foolish to even make the attempt. There were leagues in between here and Dizin. Leagues in which they could be caught at any time. The Fire Nation Navy was hardly slacking on the homefront, after all.

Uncle had suggested getting as close as possible, before launching the riverboat to make the rest of the way there. The problem there, being, that the riverboat was much too small to safely traverse the ocean, and far too easily noticed by the patrol ships no matter where Zuko left it. If he took a small team, like Uncle would like him to, they could drive the boat back out to safer waters, but even then they could be noticed.

And, of course, how would they know when to come back? Any fire-signal would be seen.

Zuko considered, longingly, what it would be like just to… go. The normal way. With the appointments, and the paperwork. It would be boring, of course, but… If Zuko hadn’t been banished, this would be so easy.

If you weren’t banished, a venomous voice whispered in the back of his head, you wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with. You wouldn’t have to go at all.

“So, Prince Zuko,” Uncle mused, breaking Zuko from his thoughts. They’d been considering a plan for hours, at this point. The scrolls from Uncle’s chest were still scattered around, and as the ship rolled with the waves, the fire-thorn pattern scroll bumped Zuko’s leg under the low table. “Has your meditation brought any wisdom?”

There was a teasing glint in Uncle’s eye, and Zuko couldn’t help but frown at him. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Uncle smiled, and Zuko sighed, letting it drop.

“No, it didn’t. We can’t approach with the riverboat, or with the Wani. She’s too recognizable. We can’t contract a boat, either, there’s no guarantee the crew of that ship would keep anything to themselves, either.” Zuko, in a fit of childishness he usually tried to suppress, let his head fall to the table in front of him with a small thunk. 

“What makes you so sure, Prince Zuko, that our crew would not keep it to themselves?” Uncle asked genuinely. “Could we not simply pose as privateers?”

“And ask them to betray the word of their Fire Lord, following not only an exile, but someone they hate against the word of their Lord?” Zuko sighed. “We both know that they’re all loyal, Uncle. But even that loyalty wouldn’t lead them to break their… Loyalty.”

“Loyalty is a funny thing, nephew.” Uncle stroked his beard, leaning back slightly on his cushion. “There are many ways to interpret such things.” He rubbed his chest, frowning. “And many ways to bend them.”

“Uncle.”

“There are many loyal men--and women--in our crew,” Iroh continued stubbornly, “Loyal, not only in the strict sense, but in the spiritual one, to you. To your cause. You must only trust them--”

“With this?!” Zuko snapped. “Uncle, if I trust the wrong person right now, I will die! They might die! Some of our crew could go home if I was out of the picture, but what of those we got of the prison barges? It would take only one person to slip up, and then all of them would end up right back where we found them.”

“The only one who doubts their Loyalty is you, Prince Zuko,” Iroh said honestly, brutally. His amber eyes bored into Zuko’s, and the younger prince couldn’t help but look away. “You see nothing but shadows in every corner! But there are no shadows without light. These horrible things may come to pass, it is true; but this would be the case if you were captured on your way to Dizin, as well.”

“But-” Before Zuko could protest more, there was a knock at the door. 

Taong had never been a brave person. He’d always been quiet, and twitchy: struggling to make friends with anyone except the animals around town. When he was a child, the idea of approaching a stranger would make his throat close up and his legs shake. So, after years of trying, he sort of… gave up. He became an artist, painting (as his mother would say) beautiful ink landscapes and writing poems. He even got a commission from the local lord, who, while only an ex-army officer and not a proper Lord, was nothing to sneeze at!

Then, of course, Taong was drafted.

Most boys in his village were, actually. Some definitely joined voluntarily, but as the faces of schoolmates he barely knew came and went from his life, Taong hadn’t thought to wonder where they were going. That is, until he ended up the top of his class in navigation, and one of his old classmates got him framed for murder.

It’s funny, sometimes, how quickly everyone bought it. The quiet, awkward guy who can take orders but never give them? Who spends hours in his bunk and only emerged for food and work? Taong knew better than to try and defend himself, and no one knew him enough to vouch for him, so his classmate took that top spot, and Taong was shipped out to a coal-mine in the colonies. Or, he would have been, if not for Prince Zuko’s timely banishment.

From the ranks of soon-to-be miners, General Iroh and his nephew selected three disgraced Navy and Armymen to serve on the Prince’s mission; when the task was complete, all charges would be dropped, and all records of their crimes would be erased. Xia was selected for her skills in cooking and (according to the Prince) espionage. She’d been arrested for… something, but Taong knew she was innocent, too. Akiro was chosen next. He wasn’t innocent, but Prince Zuko didn’t seem to care.

And then, Taong. He’d only mustered up the courage to ask why, once. Prince Zuko’s answer had surprised him.

“You’ve clearly never killed a man in your life,” The young boy (because he was a boy ) said. “And someone wants you missing.”

“You’ll fit right in!” Akiro had chimed in cheerfully, and Taong let the idea sink in. The idea of being the head navigator and helmsman of any ship left Taong shaky and nervous, but…

Taong took a deep breath and accepted the assignment paper from the General’s hands. He could be brave, for once.