Chapter Text
It was spring, when it happened. The winter had come and gone, Jet’s birthday too. He was now 10 years old, old enough to do all sorts of things like help Daddy chop wood for the fire and help Mama cut vegetables. Jet felt he’d grown very mature over the winter. When he told Mama, she laughed and kissed his forehead. “Of course,” she’d said, smiling. It was one of the first warm days after winter and they were sitting in the village square. Daddy had given Jet a quarter to throw into the fountain, to make a wish.
Jet had wished for it to be a good year, for a little brother (or sister, if it comes to it) and for Daddy to teach him how to fight with the hook swords.
None of those would come to fruition now, Jet thought, because Daddy was gone. So was Mama. And so was the entire village. All of them besides Jet. The smell of fire, of charred bodies was pungent still. All of it felt fresh in his mind. Jet had a burn on his ankle and a long one across his forearm. He rubbed it with his thumb. It hurt to touch, but he wanted to touch it. He was the only survivor of his village.
“You’re lucky you’re not an earthbender, kid,” one of the Fire Nation soldiers, riding in the back, said. Jet had been taken to a Fire Nation carrier, after the event. His eyes feel stale and tight from crying so much, his throat feels raw from screaming. The carrier is made of wood and Jet had been thrown onto the floor of it harshly as if they couldn’t stand to touch him, as if he was the gross one.
Jet had spent his first hour with the Fire Nation screaming. He had been slapped and kicked for both. He spent the second hour asking where they were going. Guess what? He was beaten for that too. He tried to not think of his mama’s burnt body and his daddy’s lifeless one. Bihou had no army stationed within their village and a good chunk of men had gone to join the army.
It was his third hour and he had not said anything yet.
The second Fire Nation soldier who had been in a perky mood since leaving, he was the one who kept hurting Jet, said, “He’s lucky he’s pretty. In that shithole of a town, there was nothing worth looking at!”
The first soldier laughed heartily. Jet could kill him. The first soldier may not be the one beating him, but he was the one who did it. Who killed his mother. Jet had seen it. Who cares about Jet’s body? He was alive, where his mother was dead, where his father had died and everyone else he knew too.
He almost jumps to do it, to kill the man. They hadn’t tied him up. They didn’t see him as a threat. Jet was small, he weighed not very much and Mama always worried about him not eating enough. Jet never wanted to take too much because they couldn’t always afford food and he’d rather himself starve than Mama or Daddy. Daddy had always sighed and told him it wasn’t his place to worry about that stuff.
But it was, wasn’t it? Now that he was the last survivor.
Jet pulled his knees to his chest and rested his chin atop of them. He did not feel very mature now.
“Why?” Jet asked the first soldier softly.
The first soldier titled his head. “Why what?”
“Why am I lucky to not be an earthbender?”
The second soldier made sure to butt in and tell Jet, “It’s none of your business.”
Jet felt so exhausted he could fall asleep and never wake up, so he couldn’t sleep. Jet kept thinking of the bumpy road and the big mole on the first soldier’s face and how he’d kill him. Jet would burn him. Could Fire Nation burn?
Jet would lead him to a barn and throw a match and burn him, leaving him to asphyxiate. “What’s your name?” he asked the men.
The first soldier almost answered. “Just shut up already! Or I’ll give you a piece of my mind, kid. I’m not kidding,” the second soldier snapped.
Jet stared at him then looked away. He would not sleep.
-
Jet does a lot of thinking.
He has found a place in the Fire Nation Royal Palace. “This is how the Fire Nation shows mercy,” one of the older women from Taku had said, “they bring us here, to work and slave for them instead of killing us.” Jet was given a bed in the servant’s quarters, the beds pressed tightly together.
The soldier who had killed Jet’s mother was named Mongke. Mongke, Jet thought before he slept. It was the only name he thought of, the only thing he thought of. All of 10 years old, Jet fantasized how he would go about killing the man. It would be slow, it had to be. It was a constant thought. Jet had to live through this so he could kill Mongke. It was how he got through life.
Jet scrubbed floors, he scrubbed walls, he made beds and wore Fire Nation clothes because every day was a day closer to his destiny. To kill Mongke.
Jet befriended some people. A boy named Kuei, for the Earth King (Yes, Jet thought that was stupid. No, he did not say it), a girl named Kori and another girl named Smellerbee. Jet liked Smellerbee the best. She was barely 8 but she understood everything he meant and said. She understood his anger, almost better than he did. Jet liked Long Shot too, but Long Shot never said anything! Still, Jet made an effort to talk to him which seemed to please him.
The palace was big. Jet was stationed in the western quarters where the Prince and Princess slept. He did not, and was ordered really, to not interact with the Princess at all if he could help it. Jet had no interest in interacting with Fire Nation brats, and he’s sure they had no interest in him.
Fire Nation clothes are ugly, Jet thought. They fit him strangely and the servant’s uniform is a terrible shade of red. Jet missed his clothes. He missed everything that used to be his. He missed Mama and he missed Daddy and he missed everything, how things used to be. However mature Jet thought he was at the start of winter, he wasn’t any of it. Maybe he was becoming it now.
The supplies closet sat clean off to the side, for peasants and servants to grab stuff from. The head maid had ordered Jet to bring more soap, Jet was glad to get out of cleaning even for a little bit! He’d not dawdled because, while usually, he was in the mood to make trouble– today was not that day. His wrist still hurt from the last time he was punished, the bandages weren’t even done well!
So Jet unlocked the supplies closet with the head maid’s key and let himself in. He went searching for soap. He hummed to himself and looked around sharply when he heard a sniffle. It was then he saw it. A small boy, not much younger than Jet, curled up in the corner. Jet raised an eyebrow. He had not seen the boy around before. He looked like Fire Nation but there was many-a bastard serving the Royal Family.
In his poor Fire Nation tongue, he asked, “Where are you meant to be, boy?”
The boy did not reply, his golden eyes staring at Jet like Jet was the one in the wrong!
“Boy, you should do well to go back to where you are meant to be,” Jet said, and he was unsure if he said it right. “You will get in very big trouble if you are not.”
The bastard snapped, “What do you know? Just leave me alone!” His voice was raspy and shrill. Jet huffed, narrowed his eyes. He sighed. Oh, whatever. If the little bastard wanted to get into trouble, that was his own prerogative.
“Okay,” Jet said, grabbing the soap bar from the highest shelf. “I’m only saying because you’ll get in trouble. And it’s no use to be crying, boy,” he added, “Nothing will come of it.”
Jet would know. Tears solved nothing. They didn’t solve war, they didn’t solve the problem of soap bars. He sniffed the one in his hand and it smelt nice. The Fire Nation did have that, nice-smelling things. Jet frowned at himself for thinking so complimentary.
The boy sniffled again. Jet needed to get going, but he didn’t want the boy to be punished. Jet looked out for his own, even if the boy looked more Fire Nation than Earth Kingdom. “Was it your mother or father?” he asked.
The boy paused his whimpering and tilted his head. “Who made me cry?” he asked, stupidly.
Jet furrowed his eyebrows and huffed. What a slow thing! It can’t be true, Jet thought, that bastards are simpler than regular people. “No, boy! Which parent was Earth Kingdom, your mother or father?”
This time the boy’s lips turned into a scowl. “I’m not a bastard!” he cried out, quickly standing up. “How dare you assume so? I am Prince Zuko,” he said, drawing out his title like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Jet flinched back at the name in itself. His chest started to ache, overwhelming for the hatred he felt for the Prince and for his family.
Jet knew he had to apologize but he could not make his lips form the words so he simply bow his head. The silence went on. “I must go, Prince Zuko,” he said, trying for his voice to not sound sarcastic. “I have work. I am.. I did not mean any harm.”
The Prince crossed his arms, his face turned up into a pout. Jet wanted to slap him, slap him so hard he starts to cry again and his tooth falls out. That would be a wonderful sight. The Prince finally said, “You may go. Do not make the mistake again.”
Avatar Kyoshi, please strike this brat down!
Jet nodded and continued on.
He did not think of the interaction for many days but he tacked Prince Zuko’s name on to his list. Before bed, he pressed his hands close to his lips and whispered, “Mongke. Prince Zuko. General Iroh.” General Iroh was added on after Jet heard of the grave injustices happening in Ba Sing Se, at the General’s very hand! The whole blood line was tainted, all cruel and worthless individuals. The whole nation, surely.
It is when Jet is called to the throne room a week later does he wonder if this is it. If his transgressions toward the Prince had been so terrible. Smellerbee kissed his cheek and wished him luck. He thanked her and hugged her tightly before going.
Fire Lord Azulon was a large man, or he looked that way in all the fire. Behind it, he looked like any other old man. His hair was long and white, he had a strange beard. His voice was loud, it was powerful. Prince Zuko was there as well, kneeled beside his father Prince Ozai.
“This is him, Prince Zuko?” the Dragon asked, not bothering to make Jet kneel. Fire Lord Azulon could’ve been a dragon turned King for how old he was, Jet thought it was apparent how dangerous he was just in how he sat. Jet did not kneel; he was not asked and he did not want to. He would not kneel before such an evil man, such a cruel one and he would not kneel beside two people of that rotten bloodline.
The Prince’s voice seemed quieter here, it was no longer that sharp, bratty thing it had once been. Now it was shaky, quiet. “Yes, Grandfather,” Prince Zuko answered. His father had not yet looked at Jet but Zuko’s eyes had darted to him many-a time. Had Zuko sentenced Jet to his death? Was the boy suffering from guilt, knowing Jet was going to be put to flames? Jet hoped so. The Fire Lord stroked his beard.
“Li,” he said, using Jet’s last name rather than his first, “in the Earth Kingdom, what do they do when a male comes of age?”
Jet does not want to tell him nor does he know. He had not yet come of age in the Earth Kingdom and he would not ever now. “There is no celebration that I know of,” he said and there was a long silence before he tacked on, “my lord.” How self centered does someone need to be? To need their title at the end of every sentence?
“Hm,” he said, his head titled, “yes. Well, Prince Zuko has not come of age yet either. His father claims that he misbehaves, that he is weak.” The Fire Lord creeped Jet out. He seemed so cold, talking about his son and grandson. “There is a tradition here, for weak children,” the Fire Lord said. Jet is sure it’s something cruel before he continues to question why he is here at all.
Prince Zuko looked back at Jet once more.
“A whipping boy,” Fire Lord Azulon finally reached his conclusion, “this will be your position from now on. You are to be with Prince Zuko at all times. If he makes a mistake then you shall be punished. It is not a difficult concept, boy, so I hope you learn it.”
Jet froze. A whipping boy? Him? And with the Prince all the time?
Jet was going to be sick.
“The servants will move a pallet to Prince Zuko’s room,” the Fire Lord continued. He sighed, like he was bored. He turned his gaze to the older prince, to his son. “Does this please you, Ozai?” he said the name so coldly.
Prince Ozai said, his voice as quiet as Zuko’s, “Yes Father.”
“Fantastic. Do not waste my time with such trivial matters again, Prince Ozai. Prince Zuko will take the Earth Kingdom rat to his room. You are all excused,” Fire Lord Azulon said, waving them off as though he had much better things to do. Maybe he did. Either way, Jet’s life was changing all over again and in an even worse way. It was like no matter what Jet did– the universe was determined to give him worse.
The three of them all left the room. Prince Ozai whispered something to Zuko that Jet did not catch but made Zuko turn paler than he was naturally. Jet stood beside Prince Zuko, awkwardly. He did not understand this whipping boy nonsense. Why was he to be punished for a crime he did not commit? Nothing about the Fire Nation made sense. They liked pain for the reason of pain, for the reason of suffering.
The older Prince left, walking past Jet without even acknowledging him. It was only Jet and Zuko now.
“Yes,” the boy said, finally finding his groove again– Jet guessed. “Yes, well. One of the servants will bring up your things,” he said, “let’s go to my bedroom.”
Zuko’s bedroom was the biggest room Jet had ever seen. Jet tried not to like it so well, he was not a traitor– he wasn’t. He just had an eye for interior design. Jet did not say anything. He was lucky the pallet was already set up so he didn’t have to sit on that boy’s bed.
The two sat in silence for a long while. A maid brought Jet's stuff. Smellerbee probably thought Jet died and they were taking his stuff to burn. Would that be better than this? Death? This was bad enough, having to be attached and punished for whatever this brat did.
It was better than death, Jet decided, because he had watched how his father died. How slow the sword was and how slow his father’s breaths were and how slow the death was. It was better than death because Jet’s mother died of smoke in a barn the Fire Nation had trapped her and a handful of other women in.
“Why me?” Jet asked. They had been sitting quietly for an hour or so. Prince Zuko was reading, Jet had his face pressed against his own pillow, staring at the Prince. It was not going to be dinner for another hour. Would Jet join that too? A royal dinner. That would be something.
Prince Zuko was silent, Jet thought he hadn’t heard before the boy started to talk, “I could not think of anyone else. I don’t know any other boys.” He sounded a little bit flustered. That couldn’t possibly be true! Zuko was a prince! He had to have chosen out of malice. Zuko continued when Jet continued staring and said nothing. “I mean– I mean, I do know other boys but we’re not close. And I’m mostly friends with Azula’s, um, my sister’s friends. You can’t pick a girl to be a whipping boy. So, your face was the only one to come to mind.”
Zuko looked awkward like he didn’t know what word would come out after the next, like he had no control over his own mouth and that it ran away from him. A laugh swelled in Jet’s chest but he kept his lips firm in a scowl.
“You really make that many mistakes?” Jet asked instead.
Zuko blushed again, his face a new shade of pink undiscovered by painters. “Well– well, no. Well, yes. I guess. I wouldn’t say that,” he said, “but I do.”
Jet turned his face away. What a stupid boy, a stupid prince, who had the ability to afford mistakes. Jet couldn’t afford anything and now he certainly couldn’t because he’ll be the one to be taking it all, to be taking the punishment.
The quiet returned and a soft voice rang out, “I’m sorry, Jet Li.”
Jet did not forgive him.