Chapter Text
Ice, Zuko observed distantly, made for some real dangerous shrapnel.
He swiped at his cheek. Seeing his hand come away streaked with red wasn’t really a surprise, but he was glad the ice shards hadn’t taken out his other eye, at least. So that was one thing going his way. He wasn’t going to count on it lasting, though, not with the way his luck had been going. After all, it seemed like all he’d done since he got to the North Pole was lose things. He’d lost the Avatar, again. Lost Zhao to the Ocean Spirit. Lost Uncle somewhere in the city.
Hopefully he was okay.
Zuko wasn’t even particularly sure of his own status at the moment. Still, he was alive, and trying desperately to sense flying projectiles launched from the remaining catapults of the Fire Nation’s scattered invasion forces - at least, the ones the Ocean Spirit hadn’t knocked from the ice and into the icy water. He hadn’t gotten to high enough ground to see exactly how much damage the Ocean Spirit had wrought, but the thing had been massive enough to be visible even from the streets. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see more, not if it had been out there with the fleet, his fleet, his people-!
Another flaming ball of burning rags tied around a thick jar of oil sailed overhead, crashing into one of the shops ahead, the oil splattering all over the area, burning cloths setting the oil ablaze. It quickly caught, more than Zuko had expected, at least until he realized what building had been hit. A pelt shop. Plenty of flammable materials there. Pulling his eyes away from the burning wreckage, he tried to catch his breath and center himself. He wasn’t sure where to go or what to do. He couldn’t go back to the fleet - if there would even be a fleet once the Ocean Spirit was done with it. Agni, that thought hurt. He didn’t really have time to dwell on it though, shrinking around a corner about two doors away from the burning pelt shop and taking a few deep breaths to center himself, spreading warmth down his limbs, trying to ward off the trembling in his hands. His breath of fire warmed him, but his hands didn’t stop shaking. Furious, Zuko gripped his head, trying to focus on what was happening right now. He couldn’t afford to worry about anything else.
What was he going to do? Where should he go? How could he move at all, when the city was full of Water Tribe barbarians itching for a fight? He didn’t have a plan. When the day started he’d been too concerned with just getting the Avatar. He recognized that as folly, now. Uncle was always on him about making plans, thinking before acting, drinking tea, joining music night… He’d dismissed all that as Uncle stuff, things he couldn’t be bothered with. Besides, he didn’t need to make plans or sit around sipping hot leaf juice and contemplating the weather, much less playing that stupid Tsungi horn Uncle had picked up in one of the colony ports. He managed just fine without all that nonsense.
He, uh. Wasn’t doing so fine right now, though. So maybe Uncle had a bit of a point, at least about the plans and thinking stuff. Not that he was going to admit that.
Another explosion, further off this time. What little luck he had was bound to run out soon, so Zuko needed to change tactics. He’d gone after Zhao, furious. Now, though, his anger had sputtered out, lost to the horror of watching the Admiral swallowed up by the grasping hands of the Ocean. He wasn’t quite sure what to do. The Avatar had been with the Ocean Spirit - no way was Zuko going to reach him now, so that didn’t leave him the option of capturing the Avatar. Beyond that, if he stayed, he’d be caught. He needed to find Uncle and get out before the Water Tribe’s forces managed to subdue the meager members of the Fire Nation infantry still standing.
Distracted as he was, Zuko had just enough time to feel something inside him scream Heat! Fire! Incoming! and instinctively wrap himself in a shield of fire as an explosion ripped through the building he’d been huddled behind. It protected him from the worst of the ice debris, fortunately, but the force sent him spinning through the air, skidding across the street of partially-melted ice, tearing his clothing and adding a few more scrapes and bruises to his collection. His rib cage protested that it hadn’t managed to heal from the first cracked rib, so why had he gone and added a second?
Breath control was so much harder with cracked ribs, Zuko thought grimly, peeling himself off the street before freezing suddenly, eyes locked on what lay before him. Staring back at him was a mask. A hauntingly familiar mask, blue and white with a gleeful grimace and narrowed eyes. It wasn’t the only mask lying on the ground, he realized, rising unsteadily to his feet and taking in his surroundings. This mask, along with several others, appeared to have come from the now-decimated remains of the building he’d sheltered behind, some sort of import shop. There were trinkets of jade and other semi-precious stones lying all over the street, along with several stone-carving tools, a few interesting-looking weapons, and even some fire nation odds and ends - probably from the colonies. While it’s true that the Northern Water Tribe had remained mostly isolated, that didn’t mean they had cut off all trade routes entirely. Apparently, some enterprising Earth Kingdom merchants had managed to bring their wares all the way to the capital city itself.
Brushing himself off, watching little ice shards drop from his clothes and clatter to the uneven icy road, Zuko scowled down at the Blue Spirit’s mask. It felt… auspicious. Too auspicious. Still. He wasn’t one to refuse a gift from the spirits, especially one that gave him a chance to hide his face, since he felt it would be unwise to be discovered by either side of this battle. He was, after all, presumed dead by the Fire Navy, and public enemy number one with the Avatar’s group (and by extension, the Northern Water Tribe). Glancing around to make sure no one else was nearby, he scooped up the mask and tucked it under his arm, about to find a new place to hunker down before he stopped suddenly, remembering what else he’d seen scattered among the icy remains of the import store. Weapons… if the shop had weapons, maybe he could find a sword! Spinning back around, Zuko returned to the building, avoiding patches of burning rags and splattered oil to dig through the rubble of the decimated shop.
He was rather unsurprised to find a set of dual dao half-buried under some ice coated in burning oil. With a simple motion and a harsh breath that made his ribs twinge, he moved the fire aside and tentatively reached for the hilt of the sword, checking to make sure it wasn’t hot before scooping it up and swinging the swords around. Not the most balanced of swords, but they were certainly a better option than trying to find one of those whale-tooth scimitars he’d seen the Water Tribe barbarians carrying around. Glancing in the direction of where he could sense Agni, still below the horizon, he bowed respectfully. He knew spirit intervention when he saw it. With all the Spirit activity he’d seen tonight, he was glad that Agni had deigned to intervene on his behalf, more than a little surprised that he’d even been worth the Great Spirit’s notice in a land both inhabited by and devoted to Tui and La.
Next, he needed new clothes. Between swimming with turtle seals, struggling through a blizzard, fighting that waterbending peasant, and chasing down Zhao, his clothes were looking a little worse for wear. Beyond that, the explosion had ripped small tears in several places, letting in the icy wind and forcing him to use his breath of fire. His ribs didn’t like that, much. He needed new clothes.
His eyes slid to eye the shop with pelts. What were the odds…
Quite good, as it turned out, when he began digging through the rubble. He needed something that wasn’t going to stand out, so some of the bright blue clothes he found were quickly discarded, as was any badly singed clothing. A few singe marks would be fine - after an invasion, anyone was likely to be sporting a little singe here or there. But anything that had damaged the integrity of the furs would be no better than continuing to wear the shredded clothes already on his body.
He found the boots first, a sturdy hide boot that, unlike his own boots, were not still soaking wet from polar swims and waterbenders. He could use heat to dry most of his body, but the boots didn’t breathe nearly as much as the rest of his outfit, and he hadn’t exactly had much time to dry his feet, given the circumstances. He did, however, take a moment to do so as he peeled off his soggy boots, tugging on the pale white boots he’d found in his size. He said another mental prayer of thanks to Agni, and made a mental note to definitely find a shrine to make a formal offering whenever he found his way back to a Fire Nation colony. If he found his way back to a Fire Nation colony. That was still firmly lodged in the category of wishful thinking at the moment.
The next thing he found was a warm parka, in a pale blue, almost gray, edged with thick white fur. Good. It was a color that would help him slip through a city of ice, since it nearly mimicked the color of the material that made up the majority of the city structures. He peeled off his outer coat, burning it rather than leaving it as evidence - there was enough fire here from the catapult projectile, a few extra ashes wouldn’t be all that unusual. The parka was much better than his coat. Zuko hadn’t realized how much energy he’d been using to keep warm until he wrapped himself in the soft furs. He should have found some of these earlier, he might have had a better showing in his bout with the Water Tribe girl if he hadn’t been spending so much effort on staying warm.
The last thing he found was some blue pants, not nearly as pale as his parka, but not quite as loud as some of the colorful blues he’d sorted through. They were also warm, he noted, burning his pants as he had his shirt. He eyed his boots, wondering how much fire he’d need to burn them, considering how wet his feet had been. Still, he couldn’t exactly leave his clothes lying around. Knowing his luck, the Avatar’s friends would stumble across them and figure out that he’d changed clothes.
If he was truly trying to blend in, he probably would have ditched the sword and mask and tried to paint his face in a mimicry of the Water Tribe warriors, to try and hide his scar. But he didn’t quite trust the paint not to wash off, and the mask and swords were far more familiar and comfortable. He had no interest in using a new weapon in the middle of a battlefield, especially if he was trying to avoid getting wet in the middle of a city built of ice and full of waterways.
Once he’d rigged up a makeshift cross-body strap to hold the sheath of the dual swords, Zuko made sure the white hood he’d been using to protect his face was adjusted properly, and tied the mask to his face, then paused. He needed gloves, but all they had here were bulky mittens. He wasn’t sure how well he’d be able to use his swords with them.
Then again, he wasn’t sure how well he’d be able to use his swords with frostbite, either. With a sigh, he found the lightest shade of mittens he could find - a hair darker than his pants - and slipped them on. His fingers felt better, at least. Admittedly, mittens would also put a damper on his firebending, but Zuko never used his firebending when he donned the Blue Spirit mask anyway. It gave too much away. Zhao had figured him out, after all. If he was to firebend, even more people might realize the truth. As much as he hated to think it, he was somewhat relieved that the secret had gone to a watery grave with Zhao. Zuko had almost exposed himself during his escape from the Pohuai stronghold - only sheer bloody-mindedness had kept him conscious after the Yu Yan archers’ final volley had clipped his mask. The Avatar had gotten away then, too, mostly because Zuko had been fighting back the urge to vomit. Being concussed was not conducive to capturing the Avatar. Though admittedly, Zuko had yet to discover anything that was conducive to capturing the Avatar. As far as he could tell, the little airbending cretin could wiggle out of literally anything. The only times he hadn’t been able to was in that Fire Nation temple during the solstice, and in Pohuai Stronghold. Both times, he’d had help getting out. Both times, Zuko had failed to secure him after the escape.
Gritting his teeth, Zuko crept through the city, still not sure where to go. Where was uncle? How were they going to get out of this mess?
As the night wore on, the explosions dwindled until finally, about an hour before sunrise was due, the last catapult was destroyed. Zuko found his way to the rooftops, though he found navigation significantly more difficult due to the numerous canals criss-crossing the city. As the sun began to rise, he watched from hidden alcoves as warriors of the Water Tribe marched captive Fire Nation infantrymen in the direction of the city center.
So. They were taking prisoners. That was… a relief, Zuko supposed. Perhaps Uncle was among their number. Cautiously, he followed the prisoner transport, slipping from shadow to shadow as Agni finally crested the massive walls of the Northern Water Tribe’s capital city.
Zuko was beginning to lose hope of ever finding Uncle Iroh in this Agni-forsaken city of Ice and Slush. His parka was starting to lose the battle against the cold, and the fact that he hadn’t eaten in almost an entire day probably had something to do with that. Zuko had watched transport after transport of prisoners marched into what looked like a hastily constructed stockade, likely a product of several hours’ worth of work from a number of powerful waterbenders. He listened, trying to catch any information he could. One of the master waterbenders who stood at the entrance to the prison was called Master Pakku. He wasn’t especially large or imposing, had white hair, and wore a displeased look that seemed to be permanently affixed to his features. Despite his appearance, he must have been an important figure, as he was calling instructions to groups as they approached, indicating which cells firebenders would be kept, and which ones were designated for non-benders.
Uncle Iroh had been identified as a firebender in the Spirit Oasis, so if he had been captured, he would be on the firebender’s side. Which, of course, was more rigorously guarded and patrolled, because, well. City made of ice. Firebenders. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that much. Zuko was just beginning to mull over which end of the Firebender stockade would be easier to get into when he saw someone running over to Master Pakku. Curious, he edged closer to hear what was being said.
“Master Pakku,” the young man said, “The supplies you requested for your honored guest have been prepared at the eastside docks.”
Master Pakku’s face twisted a little at the word honored guest, but he didn’t make any comment about it. “Good. Leave them there for a while. It’s probably best if he’s not seen making his… exit.”
Curious. Still, not especially helpful, since Zuko had been hoping the urgent news would take Master Pakku away from the stockade. A reduction of waterbenders would have made infiltration so much easier. Sighing, Zuko crept around the back of the firebender side of the stockade. He was going to need to break through the wall, find Uncle Iroh, and get out, all before the guards spotted him. They seemed to be making twenty-minute loops around the stockade, so that didn’t give him much time.
Waiting until the guards had moved past the back of the stockade, Zuko crept to the side of the icy building and pulled off one mitten, urging a soft heat to enter the ice from the palm of his hand. He pushed, breathing slowly, allowing the heat to spread until the wall was just weak enough to crumble. Then he pulled his mitten back on and drew his swords, plunging them into the ice and chopping at it, wincing at the loud noise he was making. He expected the guards to come charging back around the corner any minute, but they didn’t. It took only a few seconds to break through and then wiggle into the prison, but his heart was in his throat the entire time. Once inside, he realized he needn’t have worried so much. There was so much shouting, clanking, and movement going on in the stockade that no one could have heard his ice chipping. He shouldn’t have been surprised. They were still dragging in and processing prisoners at the front, after all.
Now, he just had to sneak through the stockade. The stockade full of waterbenders. Zuko sighed to himself. When he finally did find Uncle, he just knew he was going to get an earful.
Unlike his tricks he’d managed in Pohuai Stronghold, such as dousing a firebender’s flames with a bucket of water, the only real way to take down a waterbender was to get in close range, so they didn’t have flexibility. This was true for firebenders, too. The trick in both cases was being stealthy enough to get close. As Zuko softly padded down the hall, listening carefully for any sign of movement, he hoped that he’d be able to bypass the waterbending guards entirely. He couldn’t imagine a situation that was more unfavorably weighted in their favor.
Creeping down the hall, Zuko found the first block of prisoners. Each cell had a small window, which Zuko peered into, looking for his Uncle. Fifty cells later, he had successfully determined that Uncle Iroh was not in this block. He sighed, hearing the commotion of the next block down, obviously still in the process of being filled. Time to see just how sneaky he could be.
It wasn’t like there were any spaces to hide, really. But Zuko had realized that the halls were narrow. Just narrow enough to brace his arms and legs against and scramble up. So that’s what he did, holding himself overhead until the guards finished shoving the prisoners in their cells.
Zuko dropped to the floor as soon as they left, painfully aware that he was running out of time to find Uncle Iroh. Only about two-thirds of the cells had been filled in this side of the stockade, and Zuko had just finished checking them all when he heard a commotion - not from the front entrance, but from the other block.
Of course. His break-in had been discovered.
Panicking, Zuko scrambled into the nearest cell. Since he wasn’t a waterbender, he couldn’t exactly shut the door, but he moved to the back corner and tore off his mitten a second time, focusing on the wall, weakening it as best he could. He hoped desperately that none of the guards would notice him chipping through the wall on his way out, but dared not hope too hard. After all, with his luck, not only would they notice, they’d be waiting for him to wriggle out and then he’d be captured, too. Beneath the panic of escape, a quieter panic was also coursing through him. Where was Uncle Iroh? He had to be all right. He must have avoided capture, that’s all. Surely the Ocean Spirit wouldn’t have harmed him - he’d helped, he had told Zhao to release the moon! Uncle was fine. He had to be.
Wall sufficiently weakened by the heat, Zuko pulled the mitten back on and chopped at the wall with his swords again. If they hadn’t been dull before, they certainly would be by the end of this escapade, he thought wryly.
Once he’d made a hole big enough, he cautiously poked his head through. There was a large group of guards inspecting the hole he’d made at one end, but no one appeared to be looking his way. Unable to believe his good fortune, Zuko scrambled to exit the stockade, only to hear someone shout, “Hey you! Stop!”
He hadn’t bothered looking in the other direction. Now he saw a small group of warriors charging for him. He was still halfway enclosed in a wall of ice. None of them were waterbenders, or he’d already be stuck. Panicked, Zuko tore himself out of the wall and started running. He didn’t know where he was going, he didn’t care. He had to get away, had to move before Master Pakku or one of the other benders saw him and trapped him, he was on ice, there was nowhere to run without water!
Zuko made it to the outskirts of the stockade and charged back into the city. He saw the canal looming before him, but the bridge was several streets down. He didn’t have a choice, he couldn’t stop, couldn’t waste that time. Instead, he poured on the speed, charging headlong for the canal, launching himself into the air as he reached the edge. He nearly made it, scrabbling at the edge of the canal with mittened hands - no firebending, no fire, no way to make handholds - before sliding into the icy water. He wasn’t in there long, gripping the edge once more and pulling himself up to the ledge, hearing the pounding footsteps of approaching warriors. No, no! If they caught him here - !
With a burst of adrenaline, Zuko tore himself out of the canal, rolling to his feet. His clothes were heavy with water and he was freezing now, every inch of him soaked. It didn’t matter. He ran, slipping on the ice as water dripped from his clothes. He kept running, and running, and running, until finally he didn’t hear or see anyone else around. Judging by the scattered rubble surrounding him, he’d somehow found his way into another section of the city that had been damaged by catapults. Stumbling into the first standing building he could find, Zuko began peeling off his wet clothes, teeth chattering. Fortunately, there appeared to be a fireplace, with some wood stacked beside it and several cozy-looking pelts arranged on the floor around it. It seemed like someone’s house, which was good, because there were also some posts to hang up his soaking clothes and allow them to dry by the fireplace.
Zuko wrung out as much water from the parka and pants as he could, then did the same with his mittens and boots. Finally, he arranged the logs and started a small fire in the hut's fire pit. He worried about the smoke, and hoped that anyone looking would assume it was just smolders from the previous night’s attack.
Next, he needed food. After digging around a bit, he found some hard dried meat that tasted tolerable, and some incredibly fishy-tasting pickled fruits. Probably sea-prunes, though Zuko had never eaten them before, he’d heard of them. They weren’t bad, though admittedly he was so hungry he couldn’t have cared what they tasted like. Between the jerky and the sea prunes, Zuko managed a meager meal before wrapping himself up in one of the furs by the fire, and finally drifting off to sleep.