Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You must know the pain of losing a favored child. By sacrificing your own!”

Azula has never, ever, been afraid. 

But that was before. 

Nobody dares to make a sound. Even Zuko shuts up, white as a sheet and ready to bolt. The silk of his shirt is cool in Azula’s fist; it's going to rumple, but if she lets go, he’ll give away their hiding place. 

The seconds tick by, but Father doesn't say a thing. He’s just – he’s just sitting there, staring straight at Grandfather, eyes flat and unreadable the way they always are when Zuko is in trouble. But Zuko’s not in trouble this time, is he? Zuko isn't Father’s favored child. 

Azula is. 

Grandfather's flames snap higher, the hiss and crackle of it filling the room with the sound of his disappointment. A bead of sweat rolls down the back of Azula’s neck, and the silk in her fist is getting disgustingly moist, but Azula doesn't feel hot at all, she’s cold, cold all over, why is she even sweating if it's so cold –

Slowly, Father bows, until his forehead is touching the ground in respect. In obedience.  

Azula’s heart leaps up to her throat. He wouldn't. Father wouldn't. Father loves her, he said so, Azula made him proud because she worked so hard to perfect the Crane forms, he wouldn't. 

“If the Fire Lord commands it,” Father says, his voice ringing in her ears, “it will be done.”

Azula stops breathing.

~

Someone is shaking her. Azula blinks, and suddenly, she’s not in the throne room watching her father promise to kill her; she's in Zuko’s bedroom, and Zuko’s hands are trembling where they're gripping her shoulders. 

“Azula,” he says again. “Azula!” 

“I – what?” she mumbles. Zuko’s face swims into focus. 

“Father's going to kill you,” he whispers, eyes wide and scared. “What are we going to do?”

“We?” Azula repeats, dumbfounded. 

“I guess – I guess we could tell Mother,” Zuko babbles, “and Uncle Iroh is supposed to be on his way home –”

No way. There's no way Zuko said ‘we’ – he couldn't possibly want to help because helping Azula would mean disobeying the Fire Lord. 

The Fire Lord himself had commanded for Azula to be killed, and if anyone finds her here, of all places, that would make Zuzu a traitor to the Crown. 

“Why are we in your room?” Azula blurts out. 

Zuko stops his babbling, and stares at her incredulously. “You think I would bring you to your room when Father is going to kill you?! I’m not stupid, Lala!”

But – but he is, doesn't he see that if he just does nothing he'll be Crown Prince when all this is over? Isn't that what he wants? To be Father's favored, only child? 

“But now we know that that doesn't really mean much, right?” Zuko says, trying to look sure of himself but failing. “You were always his favorite, but when Grandfather told him to kill you he still said yes."

Were. Past tense. Azula was Father’s favorite child. 

“Lala? Lala, don't cry, we'll fix this, we'll find a way, I promise!”

Zuko doesn't know what he’s promising. He's promising treason, and what can he do to stop Father anyway? He can't even do Crane Leaps Over the Boulder yet, and Father has mastered all the Crane forms. And all the Phoenix forms. And all the Dragon forms too.

Father is a master firebender, and Zuzu is ten.

Azula won't cry. She won't. 

~

Zuko wouldn’t leave to fetch Mother until Azula agrees to hide in his sock drawer. 

“No one’s going to look for you here,” Zuko explains, as they stuff the socks into other drawers. “It doesn’t look like a person can fit. But you’re little, and if Ty Lee can make herself fit into a locker, you can too.” 

It’s Zuzu, so it’s not really the smartest plan ever, but it’s the only one they have. Azula does fit. It’s not comfortable, but it’s better than being dead, so she doesn’t complain. 

“Hurry,” she says instead. “I don’t think I can stay here for very long.”

“Okay,” Zuko promises, before covering her with socks and pushing the drawer almost-closed. 

Thank Agni he wasn’t dumb enough to actually close it all the way. 

Waiting for Zuzu is awful. She determinedly doesn’t think about how sock drawers were good places to trap a royal targeted for execution while you got guards to arrest her – it’s what she would have done, if the royal was Zuzu. 

But it’s not Zuzu, it’s her. And she still doesn’t know why Grandfather wants her killed. 

The only royals ever executed are those who betrayed the Fire Lord. Her blood runs cold, all of a sudden, as realization hits. Did Grandfather know she called him a weak old man earlier this afternoon? Or maybe he heard what she said about Uncle Iroh and Lu Ten. Everyone knew that Uncle Iroh is Grandfather’s favorite – is it treason to make fun of the Fire Lord’s favorite son? 

If it is, it wasn’t in her tutor’s lessons. 

She should’ve listened to Mother. As it is, all she can do now is grip her knees and try not to throw up. 

As promised, it doesn’t take long for Zuko to come back. She nearly cries when he opens the drawer, and Mother is the only other person in the room. 

No guards. Zuzu didn’t betray her. 

“Zuko!” Mother exclaims. “Why is your sister in your sock drawer? Get her out this instant!” 

“I am, I am!” Zuko protests, shoving all the socks off Azula and pulling her out. “We just had to hide Lala because something might have happened to her if I left her alone.” 

“Duckling, this is why Grandfather has guards,” Mother says exasperatedly. She sighs, and then draws them both into a hug. “You’re safe here in the palace. There’s no need for you to be scared.” 

But there is! Azula thinks, but doesn’t say. She doesn’t know how to say it to make Mother believe her. 

Zuko squirms out of Mother’s embrace. “But that’s the problem!” he cries. “We heard them, Father and Grandfather! The Fire Lord said that Father had to kill Azula to become Crown Prince, and Father said yes!” 

Mother lets go of Azula in shock. “Zuko! Your Grandfather would never say something so horrible!” 

“You weren’t there! He said that Father had to ‘suffer the pain of losing a favored child’. That’s Azula!” 

Azula stares at her feet, fighting back tears. She won’t cry. Mother will never take her seriously if she cries. 

But it doesn’t seem to matter – Mother is already shaking her head. “That can’t be right. Your Father loves Azula.” She turns to Azula solemnly. “He loves you. He’s not good at showing it, but he does. You’re his daughter, through and through. There is no way he’s going to – no. It’s unthinkable. You must have heard wrong.” 

“But it’s true!” Zuko insists. He’s wasting his breath. Azula knew there was no convincing Mother. “I was there, Lala was there! You should’ve seen the look in Father’s eyes, Mother, he meant it, he’s really going to kill –” 

“Zuko, listen to yourself! You’re accusing your father of murdering his own daughter! Ozai – no. I will hear no more of this, do you understand?” 

“But –” 

“Do you understand?” 

Azula takes a deep breath, and decides to try. “It’s true!” Azula says, as earnestly as she can. “You know Father is ambitious, and he has never let anything get in his way before, but now I’m in the way, and you know what he does with obstacles –” 

Mother glares at her, and Azula quails instantly at the look on her face. “If this is a game you’re playing to – to mock me, or humiliate me, young lady, you are to stop it now!”

Mother has never hit her before, but her fists are clenched at her sides, like it’s taking everything for her not to reach out and strike. 

Mother has never shouted at her before either. Maybe today will be the first time for more things too, Azula thinks dully. 

“Both of you, listen to me carefully. You are never to repeat anything you just said to anyone, do you understand? What you are suggesting is treason, and people have been executed for less. Don’t think that your Grandfather will be lenient just because you are family – Fire Lord Azulon is just above everything else, and do not ever forget it. Am I clear?” 

Azula looks down at her shoes. “Yes, Mother.” 

Mother turns her glare at Zuko, and he shrinks under the intensity. “Yes, Mother.” 

“Good. Get ready for bed. Azula, let’s go.” Mother takes Azula’s hand, and, left with no choice, she follows. 

Zuko is hanging his head, dejected, when Azula turns to shut his door. 

~

Zuko tries all the secret passageways to Azula’s room, but they’re all blocked. 

Which – fair. Everyone in their family is paranoid, even Mother sometimes, and Azula has had a really rough day. But that left the window as Zuko’s only option; if Mother catches him sneaking into Azula’s room, she might post a guard at the corridor to make sure they’re not up to anything “rash”. 

Why wasn't Mother on their side? She didn't believe them – and it still boggled Zuko’s mind, how quick she had been to dismiss him and Azula both even when they clearly heard what Father was planning. Zuko knows it's big accusation to make, but shouldn't their word be enough for her to check, at least? 

Zuko scowls, and gives up trying to jimmy the last door open. The window isn’t ideal, but at least now he’s sure that the tunnels are secure. He takes one last look through the halls, and when he’s satisfied that the coast is clear, clambers back through the trapdoor into his own room. 

No one else ever uses the secret passages, except for eclipses and foreign invasions anyway, and there hasn’t been any of those in like, a hundred years. They can take the tunnels back into Zuko’s room, and maybe, if the coast is still clear, use them to escape. 

He resolutely doesn’t think about what they’ll do if they don’t escape. He – it's more important to get Azula out of her room, for now. She’s a sitting turtleduck for Father while she’s in there. 

Luckily, their rooms are right next to each other, so Zuko makes short work of climbing into the next window. On any other day, he’d be preening at how easy it is, pleased at having at least one thing he’s good at, but today his sister’s life hinges on him not getting caught. 

He drops into Azula’s room, and is immediately assaulted by a hot hot fireball. 

“Azula! It’s just me!” Zuko yelps, thrusting his arms to the side to dissipate the flames. It’s easier than it should be, and a glance up immediately tells Zuko why: Azula is crouching on the other side of the bed, shaking, chest heaving and her face bone-white.

She lost her breath control. 

“Zuzu? Why didn’t you just knock like a normal person?” she demands shakily. Her form is perfect, but her eyes are red and her shoulders are still shaking from the sobs that Zuko can tell she’s suppressing. A bag, half-full with clothes, is sitting next to her feet. 

“I had to make sure no one saw me, and you blocked all of the secret passages,” Zuko retorts. “You're packing already – do you have a plan?”

Azula draws herself to her full height, trying to look imperious. “That's none of your business,” she says icily. “Get out of my room!”

Zuko just rolls his eyes, and hefts his own bag up to show her. “I promised you I would help. I'm packed and ready to go now. Where to?”

A tense silence blankets them; Azula is staring at him, eyes wild and suspicious, and Zuko stares back as earnestly as he can. He tries not to shake with the enormity of what they're doing, but he’s probably hiding his terror as well as Lala is – that is, not very well at all. 

Azula breaks their standoff. “You can't mean that,” she hisses, her face scrunching up in anger. “You're trying to trick me. If you stay, you'll be the sole heir to the Dragon Throne. You don't even have to do anything to win! You just want to sabotage my escape so Father and Grandfather will be impressed!”

Zuko nearly reconsiders, but discards the idea just as quickly. Father has never approved of Zuko, and his temper is shorter with Zuko than it is with Azula. Impressing Father this one time won't matter at all. If Father is willing to kill Azula, what else will he be willing to do to Zuko? 

He can't say that to Azula, though. 

“You're right, I'll be the only heir,” he concedes. “But that means even more pressure to be perfect, and once I mess up, it won't be safe here for me anymore. And you know I'm going to mess up. I can't stay here either.”

“You're not serious.” Azula shakes her head, and stomps back to her closet, grabbing more clothes and dumping them onto her bed. “Get out of here, Zuzu, or I’ll – I’ll hurt you if you get in my way.”

He tosses his bag onto Azula’s clothes and yanks it open. It’s packed with his clothes, food, and several pieces of jewelry. 

“Yes, I'm serious,” he says, eyes boring into Azula’s. “You're my baby sister; I'm honor-bound to protect you. And if we're running away –” he fumbles along his belt, where the sword Lu Ten gave him is strapped, and pulls out Uncle Iroh’s knife “– you're going to need a weapon.”

Never give up without a fight. Azula stares at the knife, stares at Zuko, and swallows. “Alright.”

~

Zuko sneaks back down to steal an army survival pack – the one with the tent, Zuzu – from the bunkers below, while Azula stays behind to finish packing. Stupid Zuzu; he left all the valuables in plain sight inside his pack, so now Azula has to unroll all her socks again to hide the jewels. They're already stuffed with some of Azula’s jewelry. They'd have to sell it as soon as they found a shop that trades gold. 

It’s hard to concentrate, though, because every little sound sends a wash of terror down her spine. But Azula breathes in, breathes out, and does what she does best: focus on her work until all her tasks are finished. And to her, finished means perfect, and perfect means safe. 

In a way, packing is calming too. If her hands are occupied with stuffing the hairpieces into socks, then they're too busy to shake. If her mind is too occupied with counting and budgeting the rations they have packed, she's too busy to be afraid. She’s putting away the first aid kit that Zuko managed to steal when the loose floorboard right outside her door squeaks.

The calm immediately morphs into terror, and Azula whirls around. Father is standing at the doorway, smiling sardonically. 

“Going somewhere?” he asks mildly.

He’s already dressed for bed, looking for all the world like he's a normal father on a normal night checking in on his daughter before bed. But Azula has never been tucked into bed by Father before – that's always been Mother's job.

Besides, the gleam in his eye is enough to let Azula know why Father is here. 

He steps into the room, eyes trained on Azula’s. The door closes with a soft click; Azula could scream, but if Father came here himself, there aren't going to be any silly servants in this wing of the palace to hear her anyway. Absolute silence hangs heavy between them, not a single sound from a guard on rotation or a servant scurrying past – Father’s not going to risk witnesses for the murder of his daughter, after all. 

Father advances, every creaking footstep deafening in the silence. “You already know why I'm here, don't you?” he continues. “Smart girl. It really is a shame that this is the Fire Lord’s condition – you would have been the perfect heir, Azula.”

Would have been. 

She had packed and planned to escape the Capital because she knew Father is going to kill her, but hearing the confirmation still feels like a blow. 

“So, are you going to be a good daughter, Azula?” Father pulls out a knife – a blue handle flashes in the dim light, for framing the Water Savages for her murder, Azula supposes – and steps even closer. “Or will you make things… messy?”

She blinks back tears, focuses on the anger and outrage welling up inside her, and settles into a perfect defensive stance. 

“I'm not giving up without a fight!” she shouts. 

Father sighs. “That's a pity. I was hoping to make this painless, but needs must.” 

For a single, crystalline moment, Azula is frozen, watching her father raise a weapon against his own daughter. 

Does none of it matter? None of her accomplishments – advanced bending, advanced lessons, none of the work and effort and heart and soul she poured into becoming the perfect princess for this man – will none of it change his mind?

This man isn’t really her father, is he? Not in the ways that matter. 

Then reality comes rushing back, in the form of a knife aimed at her heart, and Azula’s training kicks in. She dodges neatly – perfectly – and smoothly slides into a maneuver she learned three weeks ago, for disarming attackers with knives and short swords. Father counters it, but still has the gall to look impressed and regretful. 

“You are truly remarkable, Azula,” he praises, and goes for Azula’s throat in the same breath. “Perfectly done. Hopefully your brother will catch up to your level once he is sufficiently –” Father dodges a blast of fire, and slams Azula into a chest of drawers “ – motivated.”

She flips back onto her feet, trying not to let the words distract her. Father is aiming to kill, not to teach, today; her survival hinges on the perfection of her defense. But the phrase sufficiently motivated keeps repeating in her head, and she thinks hysterically that for once in his life, Zuzu is actually right. Grandfather may not have ordered his death, but there's no way he can be safe in the palace –no, the capital – once he is their father’s only heir. 

It only takes a split second – but she's tired, shaking, and emotionally wrung out. To her horror, Azula stumbles, and Father immediately exploits the advantage. He drives his elbow deep into Azula’s midsection, and she collapses on the floor, doubled over in pain and gasping for breath. 

Father towers over her, knife in hand. “You are my daughter, Azula, through and through,” he says. “You deserve to die at my hand, and you deserve to die fighting. And you deserve to die knowing why I –"

“Why you decided to kill me?” Azula spits out. “Isn’t it because you’re jealous of Uncle Iroh, and you’re too scared to kill him yourself? Instead of taking the throne you want, you dance to Grandfather’s tune and kill your own heir?” 

Father stops in his tracks, his face contorting into a picture of rage that Azula has never seen before. 

“You will be quiet, child,” he hisses. “Your death will be instrumental in reshaping the Fire Nation. Once I am the Fire Lord, I will –”

“Fire Lords are supposed to be the honorable leaders of the Fire Nation.”

Zuko is standing behind Father, a pack at his feet, and both dao drawn. 

“The murder of children is a stain on the honor of the Dragon Throne,” he continues, staring up at their Father defiantly. “The murder of –”

“Bite your tongue, Zuko,” Father snaps, “and be grateful that you are the only heir the Fire Lord has allowed your father to have. Otherwise, you would already be dead.”

Zuzu’s eyes widen, and the dao in his hands shake. But amazingly, he doesn’t back down, doesn’t cower in fear and respect the way he usually does when Father intimidates him. “You lost your honor the moment you tried to kill Azula,” he says. “You don’t deserve to become the Fire Lord, and you don’t deserve to be called our Father, Ozai!” 

Azula watches in horror as Zuko launches himself at their father, swords swinging inexpertly. Father is a master and has decades of experience behind him, and Zuko has never been good at controlling his own flames – he’s obviously decided that he has a better chance with steel than with fire. But it doesn't matter; Father has Zuzu disarmed and groaning on the floor in two seconds flat. 

Father bends down and lifts Zuko by his shirt, eyes boring into Zuko’s face with hatred. “You have much to learn, Zuko, the first among them respect for your betters. You will learn it, and suffering will be your teacher!”

A flame bursts in his right hand, and before Azula could stop their father, Zuko is screaming, the fat beneath the skin of his face is crackling at the heat of Father's fist, and the stench of cooked flesh begins to permeate the air. 

“Zuko! No!” Azula screams, fighting to get back to her feet. Father tosses his limp body to the side; the left side of Zuko’s face is a melted mess, and he's not moving not breathing not breathing –

Time stops. 

In that moment, Azula knows with cold certainty that if she does nothing, Zuko will die. Her father – Ozai – turns back to her, walking with the slow, sure pace of a predator assured of a kill. And it is a sure kill – Ozai is a master firebender, and Azula is eight. A prodigy, but still eight.

She only has one chance. 

Azula stands, trails her arms through half-learned circles, and prays to Agni with all her might that it will work. Electricity crackles along her arms, more energy than she has ever summoned before, and when she thrusts her fists forward, pointing straight at the man she will never call Father again, the lightning strikes true. 

Chapter Text

Pohuai Stronghold, a fortification strategically situated on the inlet to Ba Sing Se, is the largest and most well-defended Fire Nation supply depot along the western coast of the Earth Kingdom. Though it is originally an Earth Kingdom garrison, the Fire Nation has had control of the area since Azulon's conquest of the nearby city Taku. Unfortunately, the location wasn't valuable for Azulon's invasion of Yu Dao and Taku was eventually abandoned; it was only years later, during Iroh's famous siege of Ba Sing Se, that the stronghold came back into use. 

A great statue of Fire Lord Ozai, with great flaming lamps in the fists and the mouth, was installed the year he ascended to the Dragon Throne. 

The nearby harbor serves as the headquarters for the Northern Fleet, and they take most of their resources — food, medicine, munitions — from Pohuai. Given the value of the goods stored here, it's made to be impenetrable; the three rings are separated by massive walls, each dotted with watch towers manned by the deadly Yuyan Archers. Several squadrons of Imperial Firebenders are garrisoned there at all times, to better protect the Fire Nation's supply chain in their invasion of the Earth Kingdom. 

This made Pohuai Stronghold the best prison available for the Avatar on this side of the world. 

The moment he learned of the Avatar's return, Commander Zhao had requested that a cell be prepared that was capable of holding a master airbender. No one had listened. But suddenly Commander Zhao was Admiral Zhao, and then the soldiers had no choice but to obey.  

~

The mask is itchy and hot, but she had to give it to Zuko — his idea to use spirit masks is paying off. Azula takes great care to stay hidden, but in a stronghold as densely guarded as Pohuai, sightings are inevitable. Fortunately, her mask is quite effective at sending Zhao’s men scurrying back to their barracks — one look at the grinning red face, and most of the guards who stumbled into her path were running. 

Pathetic, the lot of them. Too cowardly to stay in their post, and too ashamed to tell their commanders why. 

It’s simple work to sneak into the armoury and pick the locks to the storeroom, and only marginally more complicated to heave caches of blasting jelly to the target points she and Zuko had agreed on earlier. One for each ring, to draw guards from each level of Pohuai away from the side exit they’ll use to make their escape. 

“I’m not sure what Zhao will do to the Avatar,” Zuko had said grimly, when Azula pointed out that they can just use the same way out as in. “He might not be able to climb out himself, and I’m not sure I can do all that climbing with an old man strapped to my back. We’re going to need a distraction.” 

Which worked out for Azula. Anything that undermines the Fire Nation Army’s strength — and by extension, Ozai's strength — was worth doing in her book. Destroying Zhao’s entire fortification with no one but another teenager was also a big stroke to her ego, if Azula was going to be honest with herself. That imbecile needed to be put into his place. 

It is disgustingly easy work, though, even taking Zhao’s incompetence into consideration. She has an entire barrel of blasting jelly strapped to her back, and yet more guards noticed her sneaking in the storeroom than out. Soon enough, she is done setting up, and all she has to do is wait for her brother to get back from scouting. 

She didn’t have to wait long. Zuko drops next to her soundlessly, his identical blue mask still in place, and points to a window near the top of the central tower, Azula nods, and then Zuko holds up his hand, yellow sparks dancing along his finger tips. 

Wait for my signal.

Azula rolls her eyes, and nods again.

Zuko shimmies down the rope they set up at their rendezvous point — it’s not far from a watch turret on the inner wall. There’s a grate at the bottom that leads to the sewers, and Zuko disappears into it, using the drainage to sneak into the tower. 

Once she’s sure that Zuko has gotten in safely, Azula begins preparing her own equipment. She coats some arrows in oil, double checks the rope, and makes sure she has spark rocks on hand for Zuko’s signal. 

A small shower of yellow sparks bursts out of the window Zuko indicated, and Azula smirks. 

Defeating an entire stronghold seems to be a worthy achievement for a prince and a princess to share. 

She lights her first arrow, and shoots it squarely into the cache of blasting jelly at the furthest corner of the courtyard. The explosion is contained, but the oil Zuko had spread around it catches fire immediately and ensures that even imperial firebenders will have a hard time putting it out.

There are cries of alarm in the courtyard below, and the men come swarming out of their barracks like ants escaping a burning anthill. 

Another arrow, and the aviary in the middle ring is on fire — no use letting Zhao call for backup from surrounding troops — and then she’s lighting an arrow for the biggest cache, set on the outermost wall, meant to require almost all the firebenders in the area to put it out.

Only, the spark rocks aren’t catching, the alarms have been sounded, and a group of guards are thundering down the wall’s narrow walkway. 

Azula curses. 

Five sets of footsteps — five guards, then. If they’re anything like the guards she ran into downstairs, this will be easy. The shirsiu darts are out of her holsters even before the guards round the corner — two of them drop, having very unfortunately stepped into the path of Azula’s darts. What a shame. Azula doesn't bother to resist the urge to smirk.

The middle guard, wearing a captain’s stripes, is the first to recover, and gets into a fire bending stance that the rest scramble to copy. A group of firebenders, then. Azula cracks her neck, tosses her bow aside, and lunges. It's disgraceful how utterly terrible their form is; she had mastered this as a child and mastered all the counter-attacks just as quickly. Azula almost pitied them — they didn't stand a chance against her.

A punch to the throat and the captain is down, and several jabs to specific chi meridians have another incapacitated. 

She whirls around to face the last, and is startled to see a boy, probably younger than Zuko, frozen and shaking in his boots. 

Azula tips her head to the side, as eerily and theatrically as she could, and the boy slumps over in a dead faint. 

Spirit masks. An excellent investment. She’ll have to remember to thank Zuko later. She picks up her bow again, and the spark rocks finally light that stupid arrowhead. Azula takes a deep breath, and doesn’t miss. 

She never does. 

The last blast shakes the ground a damn sight more than the first, puny ones, and the carts parked along the outer wall immediately combust. The alarm rings incessantly — alternating four fast, then four slow rings — all firebenders on fire extinguishing duty.

There is something deeply satisfying in watching the guards below scurry about, desperate to put out the fires Azula started. They've abandoned firebending entirely; her fires are too strong and wild, and the guards along the other walls are frantically recruited to haul sand. Pohuai Stronghold, being the only resupply point along this coast, has a huge inventory of blasting jelly, and it would be disastrous for the fires to reach the main depot of explosives. 

It conveniently leaves the exit unguarded. 

By the time Zuko shows up, with the Avatar in tow, the courtyard is all but deserted, and they could make their escape. 

~

“ — and thank you again for saving me, sir, I didn’t know if I could make it out by myself and my friends really need my help —“

“Will you be quiet?” Zuko hisses, snatching the Avatar by the back of his shirt. 

Not a moment too soon — another troop of soldiers hurries past, shouting orders and carrying sacks of sand between them. He freezes against a wall, and only relaxes when the soldiers are out of sight. 

“...Oops,” the Avatar says sheepishly. 

Spirits. The Avatar is a child. Zuko has no idea what Azula wants from the Avatar, but she’d better be willing to work around this. He takes a moment to just breathe , then checks if the coast is clear. 

The yard is nearly empty, and he can just make out Azula’s shape climbing down the wall. Zuko sighs in relief. He beckons to the Avatar, and they start creeping out of the tower and towards the exit, staying in the shadows of several crates of weapons to avoid the remaining soldiers. Thankfully, the Avatar does know how to stay quiet; his steps are light and he can move quickly, even keeps up with Zuko, and they’re going to make it to the exit as long as the men don’t turn around —

Ribbit! 

“My frogs!” The Avatar stupidly, stupidly, shouts. 

The men suddenly stop moving, and in the blink of an eye, a torrent of arrows are headed straight in their direction. 

Yuyan Archers. Zuko is never going to help Azula with a small errand ever again. 

The kid looks up, eyes wide, and quickly calls up a gust of wind to knock the arrows aside. But the archers are already reloaded, and another volley is on them in a second. Zuko grabs a shield from the nearest crate, and sprints for the gate, the Avatar hot on his heels. Three arrows nail his shield dead center. The impact sends Zuko tumbling to the ground. 

“Hold on!” The kid says. He snatches a discarded spear from the ground — breaks off the point?! — and starts spinning it. “I can get us over the wall!” 

Where is Azula?! “Wait!” Zuko yells, and he looks around frantically — the rope is gone, severed by a series of arrows. Azula is on the ground, favouring her left and fending off more soldiers. 

Zuko doesn’t even think; an arc of fire from a sweep kick sends half the archers to the ground. A staff-boosted air blast from the Avatar knocks the rest of them back. He’s on his feet in a blink, dao in both hands, and he sprints to the nearest spearman. Zuko's flames run down his swords, and his next swing misses — but the spearshaft catches fire, and the man yelps and drops his weapon in shock. Azula seamlessly takes the opening, and delivers a quick punch to the throat that disables the stunned guard. 

Together, they make quick work of the other two soldiers. The moment the men are on the ground, Azula whirls at Zuko, annoyance in every line of her body. “I didn’t need your help!” She snaps. “Why did you break your cover?!” 

“I —”

“Um, Mr. Blue Spirit Sir?” The Avatar interrupts. “What now?”

Something explodes in the distance. 

Azula huffs. “Let’s go,” she says curtly. 

~

No one follows them out of Pohuai Stronghold. They still keep running by unspoken agreement; they only stop when the tower is nothing but a hazy column of smoke in the distance. 

“Yuyan Archers,” Zuko growls, winded. “You said this was supposed to be a small errand.” 

“Tiny white lie, brother,” Azula says breezily. The plan was perfect, they’d succeeded, and managed to grind Zhao into the dirt to boot. Metaphorically, of course, although Azula wouldn't have minded an opportunity to do so physically as well. Zuko starts setting up a small camp, obviously annoyed, but even his sulking can’t bring her mood down now. “We were just in time too,” she adds, nodding towards the Avatar. 

Who is a child. She had heard Zhao crowing about capturing the Avatar and securing the glory of the Fire Nation in the harbour, but she only saw a small orange form in a net that the soldiers were dragging. She had assumed that the lump was small because the airbender had shrunk with age — just like Li and Lo had — but no. The airbender is small because the airbender is a child. 

The boy, upon catching his breath, turns and gives both of them a deep bow. “Thank you very much for coming to rescue me. I owe you both my life,” he says, appropriately grateful. “Since we’re safe now, I, uh, have to go. My friends are really sick, and I need to catch more frogs to help them get better.” 

Zuko snorts. “Frogs? Is that what the frogs in the stronghold were for?” 

The Avatar at least has the decency to look contrite for nearly getting them caught over frogs, of all things. “Um. Well. The herbalist —"

"The crazy old lady in the ruins of Taku?!"

"— said that sucking on frozen frogs is supposed to cure Swamp Frog Fever. I kind of, uh, panicked, since I’d lost all of the frozen ones, and when I saw them —” he shrugs helplessly. “Sorry.” 

Agni, a child. Azula resists the urge to eviscerate the kid for being so stupid with great difficulty — this is the Avatar, he is our best chance to get rid of Ozai, do not offend him, make him like you — 

Azula smiles instead, and belatedly realises that she’s still wearing her mask. “Don’t worry, your friends don't need the frogs,” she says soothingly. “Swamp Frog Fever usually only lasts the night, and all your friends need to get better are fluids and rest. We'll help you take care of them, if you want.” 

Zuko looks up sharply at that. “We are?” He asks bluntly. 

Sometimes, Zuko is stupid enough to eviscerate too. “Yes, brother, we are,” she says sweetly. “There are children who need medical attention.” 

“Really?” The Avatar says, eyes wide. "Thank you so much! But — but you’re Fire Nation, and you don’t even know me —”

“The first is an unfortunate coincidence of birth,” she interrupts, “and the second is easy enough to address. What’s your name?” 

“Oh! I —” he breaks out into a smile, and bows again. “I’m Aang. It’s nice to meet you!” 

Zuko looks despairingly at Azula, then sighs, removing his mask. “My name is —”

“Li!” Azula cuts him off hastily. “And my name is —“ not Lo! — “La.” She takes off her own mask, and bows stiffly. “It’s good to meet you, Avatar.”  

“Great!” Aang beams. “Katara and Sokka are with Appa, up in a temple over there, we need to go now —“ 

“Hold it.” Zuko holds out two rice balls and two canteens to each of them, his empty pouch at his feet. “Dinner first. You’re swaying on your feet as it is. And make sure to drink your water — don’t eat it so fast! You’re going to choke!” 

Azula tries to hide a smirk. At least there’s a silver lining to the situation — Zuko has never been able to turn down children in need of help. And if the Avatar is this young, they might have to teach him firebending. Zuko needs to at least tolerate Aang if she wants to succeed in persuading him to become the Avatar's firebending master. 

Later, when Aang is leading them back to where his friends are waiting, Zuko hangs back with Azula. 

“Li and La?” He hisses under his breath. “You fake-named us after those two old bats?!” 

Azula colours. Not her brightest idea, to be honest. “They’re perfectly serviceable names,” she says, trying to ignore his judgemental stare. 

“They’re going to find out eventually,” Zuko points out. “You better have a plan for that.” 

She doesn’t. Not yet. She wasn’t counting on these two friends the Avatar has with him. She wasn’t counting on him being a kid either. But she’s smart, and she and Zuko are capable — even if they have to improvise, they can make this work. 

Chapter Text

The first thing that Sokka notices when he wakes up is the warmth. He’s never been this warm in his life, not even when he got sick and Gran-gran bundled him up in furs and stoked the fire in their tent as high as she dared. But it isn't furs wrapped around him now: it's fabric, soft and worn down to maximum coziness, and the pillows and futon beneath him are just as comfy and warm. It's ideal napping conditions: soft beds, warm fire, a good shelter here in the ruins of Taku—

Sokka sits bolt upright. Katara is gone, Aang is gone, and Tui and La, this is not where they made camp. 

He's in someone's damn house, and nothing here looks familiar. He struggles to his feet, heart hammering in his chest, and when the door opens, Sokka reflexively turns toward the sound in panic. His feet get caught in the blankets, one thing leads to another, and by the time his ears stop ringing, Sokka has a great upside-down view of the stranger in the doorway pinching the bridge of his nose and looking like he's ten seconds away from braining Sokka with a… bamboo shoot? 

"Who are you? Where have you taken me?" Sokka yells because even if he's been taken prisoner by a tangle of comfy blankets, some standards of defiance need to be met. 

"You're not well enough to be out of bed," the stranger snaps, and he strides across the room to shove Sokka back into the futon. He rummages through the basket he was holding and tosses Sokka a pear. It smacks him right in the face."Your fever broke before dawn, but you're not getting up until I'm sure you're better. Eat that and I'll let you out when you've had enough ginger tea." 

Sokka has been involved in several kidnappings since Katara dragged him and Aang out of the South Pole, and none of them involved objectively perfect fruit and threatening mugs of healthful teas — and the way this guy is shoving a teacup at him is definitely threatening. But the ridiculousness of everything shocks him to compliance. This guy is seriously muscled, angry-looking, and he's got a giant that-must-have-hurt scar on half his face — and he's brewing tea and shoving fruit down Sokka's throat like a worried Gran-Gran. Sokka desperately wants a break, even for just a few seconds, to process the data: an (alleged) fever, a strange house, missing companions, aggressively helpful stranger, but his stomach has other plans. 

Apparently, this guy is capable of scowling harder. The sound of Sokka's stomach growling fills the sudden, awkward silence.

"Have you got any meat?" Sokka asks weakly.

~ 

Half a dozen cups of seriously spicy ginger tea later, and Sokka has a handful of answers. He got Swamp Frog Fever ("You nearly died"), Grumpy and Grumbly's name is Li (although he is obviously lying), Katara also had the same sickness but recovered earlier than he did, and it was Aang who brought Sokka and Katara to Li's little hut just outside of Taku. 

"And I'm supposed to believe this while you have me trapped in this blanket prison, with no Katara or Aang to back up your claims?" 

"It's not a blanket prison," Li scoffs. "And your sister and the Avatar are outside, picking fruit and nuts that the Avatar might be able to take with him before you go to the North Pole. Apparently, he doesn't eat meat, and A— La thought it best that he gathered his own food here before you hit latitudes with harsher winters." 

"Oh,  great, are you vegetarian too?" Sokka complains. "If there's anything I’ve learned in the South Pole, it's that recovering warriors eat meat; and a lot of it! How am I supposed to build up strength on a handful of berries and a bunch of leaves?" 

Li snorts, and the amusement almost softens the permanent scowl on the left half of his face. "There's bone broth outside, and if you're done with the pear and tea, I'll let you have some. Come out when you're done with this whole pot; I'll get something more substantial started." He gets up and leaves Sokka with a pot of tea and the last bits of the pears; Sokka knocks back the rest of the hot, hot tea and takes the opportunity to change out of his fever-sweaty clothes. 

His pack isn't too hard to find. Li's house is positively tiny compared to the places Sokka's stayed in the past couple of weeks. It's built out of timber beams on a baked clay floor, and Sokka appreciates the warmth of the wood. Sure, this place looks a lot rougher than a house bent out of rock by a team of construction earthbenders, but it's much warmer and friendlier than stone. You can almost forget that it's still in the middle of the Earth Kingdom winter; the floors feel like they'd been soaking up the sunlight for hours, and there are lots of blankets and textiles scattered around to make everything feel warmer. 

There are only two rooms in the house. There's a very small bedroom with two futons in it, and there's the room Sokka woke up in: it's a kitchen and workroom in one. There's a roaring fire in the center of the room, a large work table on one end, and a set of shelves on the other. It's filled with all sorts of stuff: big glass pickling jars full of bright red chili pastes, baskets full of fresh and dried produce, sacks that look like they should be full of rice. There's one shelf dominated by books and scrolls that Sokka is itching to check out and another shelf that's loaded with all sorts of weapons. Bows, spears, a bunch of swords, a few quivers stuffed with arrows. They've even got one of those Fire Nation crossbows Sokka had spotted Zhao's men with. 

The books are pretty neat too: The Theoretical Limits of Bending. Love Amongst the Dragons. A Herbalist's Guide to the Earth Kingdom. The Gift of Agni. The Way of the Dao. The Navy's Manual for the Maintenance and Repair of the Coal-Powered Battlecruiser. The Fire Nation Army Field Guide. A whole lot of firebending scrolls.

Hold up. 

The textiles are red. There is an alarming amount of chili paste in the kitchen. The floors are unusually warm; there are Fire Nation weapons on display; there's a whole bunch of pristine and obviously expensive books in what should be a farmer's ramshackle hut. There is a Fire Nation Army Field Guide on the bookshelf. With firebending scrolls.

Sokka doesn't pause to hesitate. He grabs his machete and sprints to the door. 

~

"Thanks again for taking care of us," Katara tells La, who just shrugs off the gratitude and leaves Katara feeling more awkward than before.

Aang had told her all about meeting La and her brother Li when Katara woke up,  but since it was Aang, the story was more enthusiastic than it was clear. Still, Katara has managed to piece the events together: when Aang had left to go find medicine, he had been lucky enough to run into Li and La, who are either masters of stealth or apprentices of healing. Katara isn't exactly sure which. Aang had been going too fast for her to follow at the crack of dawn.

After spending an entire morning picking fruits with La, the only thing that Katara is sure of is that La is mean. 

"Honestly, when the Avatar told me that you're a waterbender, I thought you'd have taken care of it already," La says dismissively. 

"What does that have to do with anything?" Katara asks, trying to keep the annoyance from her tone. 

La stops and turns to raise an eyebrow at Katara. "Skilled waterbenders can cure diseases and injuries, didn't you know?"

Katara didn't know. "Of course I know that," she snaps, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks. "It's just — well, it's not like there were any waterbenders left in the South Pole to teach me how. If there were any I'd never have needed to go north for a master at all!" 

"Did no one write anything down?" La demands. If La were nice, her tone would be called impatient, but since she's not, Katara decides she's being snide.

"Write? Like it's easy to buy paper with the Fire  Nation ships breathing down our necks?" Katara retorts bitterly. "What scrolls we had were taken in the raids, along with every other waterbender except me." 

Something in La's expression clears. "Ah. The Southern Raiders. They do have quite the reputation." She looks consideringly at Aang, who is cheerfully flitting through the branches of the peach trees with Momo, then turns back to Katara. "Doesn't the Avatar know that waterbending can heal? Surely his masters would have said something when they trained him."

"Aang…" Katara bites her lip, wondering how much to trust La. The memory of Jet is still fresh in her mind, and she knows now that just because people save you doesn't mean they're good . Especially not if they're saving Aang; Katara is sure that La wants something from Aang, but she doesn't know what. And as long as Katara doesn't know what that is, trusting La is dangerous. 

Aang interrupts before Katara can figure out what to say.

"Look, Katara!" he says brightly, showing her the overflowing basket of berries he and Momo had picked. "Flamedrops! Kuzon and I used to eat lots of these on my summer trips to the Fire Nation!"

Flamedrops. Katara looks at her basket full of sun peaches, then at the ash bananas they picked from Li's farm and puts all three together. 

"You're –"

She's cut off by yelling from the hut. Sokka. The three of them look at each other in alarm and take off sprinting.

~

"– Fire Nation!" Sokka accuses, swinging his machete wildly at Not-Li. "You're Fire Nation!" 

Li dodges, then sidesteps Sokka's next swipe (annoyingly) easily. 

"What — can you stop?" he sputters. "It's not a big deal—" he plants a foot inside Sokka's guard, and grabs at the machete, "and the Avatar trusted us enough to let us take care of you—"

He does something twisty and complicated to Sokka's ankles, and suddenly Sokka's machete is on the floor, Sokka himself tumbling after it. Li snatches it out of Sokka's reach and sighs exasperatedly. 

Disarmed in five seconds. Sokka hasn't been this humiliated since he'd been cocky enough to challenge Suki to a fight. He groans, ego and backside thoroughly bruised, but grabs the nearest blunt object anyway in a measly attempt at defense. 

Of course, that's when Aang, Katara, and a pretty girl who looks like Li burst onto the scene: Li, looking grumpy and menacing, and Sokka, trying to get to his feet weakly, holding only a half-peeled bamboo shoot in his defense. 

Several things happen in quick succession:

One, Katara pulls out her waterskin, screeching, "Let go of my brother!" in Li's direction;

Two, water whips fling themselves straight at Li, obviously aimed to disarm; 

Three, Li grunts, "For Agni's sake," and tosses the machete to the floor, so the water whips hit him instead;

Four, the expression on the pretty girl's face morphs from polite boredom into fury, and she turns on Katara with surprising speed;

And five, Katara drops onto the ground next to Sokka, grimacing in pain. 

"Stop, stop!" Aang cries frantically. "Don't hurt them, they're my friends!" 

"What very gracious friends you have, Avatar Aang," the new girl says acidly, "that they thought to repay my brother's kindness of feeding them, sheltering them, and healing them by attacking him."

"He was attacking my brother!" Katara cries, scrambling to stand back up. 

"Only because he attacked me first." Li retorts. "And I'm fine, La," he continues, rolling his eyes. "It was just a misunderstanding." He turns to Sokka. "Yes, we're from the Fire Nation. That a problem?"

"Of course it's a problem — you're in the army!" Sokka scrambles to his feet and brandishes the bamboo shoot as threateningly as the situation allows. "Whatever you said to trick Aang won't work on me!"

"No no no, they're not in the army!" Aang babbles, bounding over to Katara. "How can they be soldiers, they're just kids! And they broke me out of prison when Zhao captured me!"

"Zhao captured you?!" Katara yelps. 

"Only a little! And Li and La got me out!" The whole story tumbles out of Aang, full of soldiers, spirits, Li and La saving Aang, and inexplicably, frozen frogs. 

Katara starts to look a bit ashamed for going for her waterskin too quickly, but Sokka remains unconvinced. "I saw the manuals on your shelf, don't deny it! A Fire Nation Army Field Guide? The Navy's Manual for the Maintenance and Repair of the Coal-Powered Battlecruiser?"

Li stares at him for a split second, before he figures it out. "Ah! Those. The army gives them out to any non-bender eligible to enlist," he says exasperatedly. "Obviously, I didn't."

"But I thought you're a firebender?" Aang asks, confused. 

"Firebenders aren't recruited, they're conscripted," La says frostily. "It took a lot of effort to get my brother registered as a non-bender so he could avoid the draft."

Katara purses her lips and shares an uneasy glance with Sokka. "Aang, I'm still not sure we can trust them. Remember Jet? He saved us from the Fire Nation soldiers, too, but he—"

"Trust us or not, I don't care," Li snaps. "You've resupplied and your fever's gone; you can get the hell off my property." He turns on his heel and marches back into his house.

La turns to Sokka and Katara and glares. "Not everyone in the Fire Nation is as villainous as you make us seem," she says bitterly. "Outsiders just never hear of them because dissidents like Li and myself are thrown into the coal mines for life if we're caught. Rescuing you, of all people — well." She fixes a stare at Aang, and the poor guy shrinks under the intensity of it. "I hope you know that rescuing and sheltering you means my brother is party to treason. The punishment for that is death."

The answering silence is painfully uncomfortable. 

"The risk we took at Pohuai was huge, but we took it anyway because the world needs the Avatar to end this war," La continues. "And for that, Aang needs to master all the elements, including fire. There are few benders who have the mastery required to teach the Avatar, and of those masters, I only know two who aren't loyal to the Fire Lord. One of them has been missing for years. The other is Li. Whether or not you like us is irrelevant, because we'll be the only option you have." 

Chapter Text

Li is ruthlessly butchering a cow-pig when Sokka follows him to the yard. It’s not easy to work up the nerve to apologize to someone literally ripping the guts out of a dead animal, but… Yeah, Sokka was kind of a huge jerk to Li. An apology is the least that Sokka owes him before the gang leaves his farm. 

“Hey, Sokka here.” He trails off awkwardly when Li looks up to glare at him. “Look, I’m sorry about, uh, attacking you back there? I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions just because I was worried about Katara. That was a bad way to pay you back for taking care of us, and I’m really sorry.” 

It didn’t seem like enough of an apology, so Sokka gives the formal Fire Nation bow his best shot. He holds it, feeling a little silly and a lot out of his depth, until he hears Li sigh in exasperation. 

He looks up to see Li bowing back at him with what is probably the correct form, and Sokka finds himself adjusting his own posture to mirror Li: back straight, open right hand over a clenched left fist. 

“I accept your apology,” Li says stiffly. “Where’d you even learn to bow like that? I thought you were from the Southern Water Tribe.” 

“You ever been to Gaipan? Made a few friends there when we last stopped for supplies.” 

“Must have been a while back, then,” Li says darkly, producing another knife and handing it over to Sokka. “Heard in the village that the army’s tightened security there ever since some terrorists tried to blow up their dam.” He gestures towards the rest of the cow-pig and Sokka gets the hint; they set aside half a steer and spread the rest out on the sheets of ash banana leaves already laid out on the yard.

“They weren’t terrorists, they were just a bunch of orphans who fell in with the stupidest leader,” Sokka corrects. “We ran into them just before everything went down. Jet — the leader — he seemed nice when we first met him, but it turned out that he was a little cracked in the head.”

Li hacks a leg off of the cow-pig with a grunt. “He managed to pull that off with a bunch of kids?” 

“A bunch of kids, a waterbender, and the Avatar.” That gets Li’s attention. “He fed Aang and Katara some baloney about how the Fire Nation was going to set fire to the forest, and when he had ‘em convinced, he used them to fill up the dam. Didn’t have the decency to mention that he was going to blow it all up with blasting jelly. I managed to warn all of the townspeople, but…”

Li swears. 

“Yeah.” Sokka sighs. “Katara and Aang feel awful about it. Katara especially; she’s been beating herself up over falling for Jet’s stupid tricks, and now —”

“—and now your sister is more than a little suspicious of strangers,” Li finishes. He grimaces. “Lala was the same when we, uh, left home. Our first months in the colonies were rough.” 

Left home. Huh. Suddenly, the tiny hut with just two beds makes sense. It's not difficult to see why — if Li is as good at firebending as La said he was, there’s really only one reason he would have a hand-shaped burn on his face: someone he trusted got near enough to put it there. Sokka's not naive; he knows that there are people out there who hurt their kids. He can’t blame Li and La for leaving for another continent if it got them away from whoever put that mark on Li. 

He has no idea what to say, though, so Sokka just shuts up and does whatever Li tells him to do. Between the two of them, they make quick work of butchering the cow-pig — the leg will get cured into ham, Li says, the belly into bacon, the tenderloin cooked for dinner and the rest into sausages and jerky. It's a lot of meat from a single animal – enough to last two people a whole season at least– and they haven't even started on the other half yet. 

"Man, I can't believe I ever thought you're a vegetarian," Sokka huffs, eyeing all the cuts that Li is setting aside. "How long will this last you?"

"The neighbors gave us half a steer last year, and there's still a whole ham and a decent amount of sausages from that batch." Li hefts a shoulder to a butcher's block and starts slicing. "As long as you keep these dry, they should last you until you get to the North Pole."

"It's a long way to the North Pole — wait, me? You're giving this to me?" Sokka blurts.

"You and your sister, yeah," Li confirms. "I know the Avatar is vegetarian, but the two of you aren't and you definitely need protein — why are you looking at me like that?"

"I really did misjudge you," Sokka says guiltily. "Should've known you were one of the good guys when I found out you took care of me and Katara. Now you're even making bacon for us for our journey north, even if you need it yourselves…"

Li just shrugs, not meeting Sokka's eyes. "The Fire Lord needs to be defeated. Supplying your group is the most I can do to help."

But — it's not. Sokka remembers what La said — Li is a master firebender — and before he can stop himself, he blurts out, "You can come with us to the North Pole if you want to help Aang." 

Li looks up from his chopping to glare at Sokka. “What am I supposed to do at the North Pole? Plant rice in the middle of an iceberg?”

“No, you can teach Aang firebending!”

Judging from the look on Li’s face, that was the wrong answer. “Why would I teach the Avatar firebending? I’m just a farmer. There are better people out there for the job.” 

Sokka blinks at Li. “La said you were a firebending master.” 

At that, Li colors. "La exaggerates. I’m no master,” he says awkwardly. “The only thing I’ve mastered is how to grow lotus-lilies. And rice.” 

“I don't think that's true!” 

“You’re right; it's not. I still mess up growing rice.” Li grabs Sokka’s discarded knife, and starts chopping up the meat into even tinier bits. “Seriously — I’m not a master. I haven’t had a proper master in imperial firebending since I was ten, and even then I wasn’t any good. The only firebending I do these days is for cooking." 

Just for cooking — no way. Sokka saw those scrolls, and he saw how Li fights. If Li really is just a farmer, Sokka will eat his boomerang. He says as much to Li, and gets a glower in return. 

"Then enjoy your boomerang stir fry for dinner, then," Li snaps. "Now quit standing around and make yourself useful; grind up those spices." He nods toward a tray next to a giant mortar and pestle. Sokka sighs but begrudgingly obeys, annoyed at having been recruited to help cook, of all things, and then stops dead. 

"All of this?" he asks.

"Yes all of it. I wouldn't have brought it out if I wasn't going to use them —"

"This is an entire basket of dried chilies, Li," Sokka interrupts. Apart from the metric ton of chili, there is also a large bowl full of not one, not two, but five different colors of peppercorns. Not to mention a whole other slew of spices that Sokka can't even recognize. 

"And there's a lot of meat," Li retorts. "Do you want your jerky to taste like wood paste?"

"I want to still be capable of tasting things  after I eat it!" 

"Don't be a baby and grind the stupid peppers!" 

~

When the peasant boy doesn’t return to the main courtyard, Azula assumes that all is forgiven, and she turns her attention to the problem of luggage. Specifically: hers and Zuko’s. It shouldn’t take long, as she’s had emergency packs ready for the both of them anywhere they’d settled, but their new destination requires more… preparation. 

She walks out of the house, intent on interrogating the Water Tribe peasant on the state of their parkas, but it seems that the Avatar and the waterbender had decided to make themselves marginally useful, laying out the freshly harvested fruit to dry. The girl is surprisingly competent for a savage raised on a glacier; Azula hadn’t expected that there would be much call to learn how to process fruit in a place where no plants grew, but under the waterbender’s hands the flamedrops are properly pitted, the sun peaches halved, and the ash bananas being sliced into thin rounds. 

“Hard at work, I see,” Azula says cooly. 

She looks up. “Sokka’s not back yet,” she says worriedly. “What if Li doesn’t accept his apology and he’s still angry? Sokka went there alone. If they got in a fight —” 

“Relax,” Azula scoffs. “If my brother were truly angry, we’d know. At volume, and at length.” She tilts her head, ostentatiously listening for the shouting that doesn’t come. “No shouting, no explosions. I’d call this a heartwarming story of forgiveness and the international peace process.” 

The waterbender is unconvinced. The Avatar perks up. “An international peace process? I like the sound of that! Do you think Li will teach me firebending  if I go through the international peace process?” 

“I’m sure that he can be convinced,” Azula assures him. “Tempers may have flared, but in the end, no harm, no foul. However, you’ll have to make your case later; my brother will be busy, and he’s likely conscripted yours to assist. We’ve taken inventory of your supplies while you were ill, and I’m certain the Avatar has had enough of nothing but pickles and rice for rations.” 

The peasant immediately winces, but the Avatar rushes to reassure her. “It’s okay, Katara! Pickles and rice are alright, and there’s always berries and nuts, and I managed to get a lot of litchi nuts before we left Jet’s forest!” 

“Thanks, Aang, but I’m sorry I can’t make any better vegetarian food anyway,” she apologizes. “I didn’t know vegetables went bad that fast…” 

“You could hardly be expected to know any better,” Azula dismisses. “Seal jerky, arctic hen, raw blubber, and whole roasted platypus bear? Not exactly a karmically correct diet.” 

“We do what we can with what we have,” the peasant snaps back. “It’s not like we can magically grow plants out of glaciers!” 

Agni. She’s so touchy. “Isn’t that what I just said? Of course you don’t know any better, the Water Tribes have adapted to living on the arctic wastes and can’t be expected to know how to work fresh vegetables into a weekly menu. You’ve clearly been muddling along with whatever the monks have taught the Avatar.” She gestures towards the fruit laid out to dry. “Of course airbenders will leave fruit to air-dry. A real waterbender would have just bent the water out.” 

The waterbender’s mouth drops open and her eyes go wide, and — “Spirits,” Azula marvels. “Did the thought not occur to you?” 

She gapes at Azula like a fish, and the Avatar beside her is just as astounded. “We can do that?” He asks, just as awed. 

“I understand why she wouldn’t know,” Azula says testily. The answer to that mystery is, of course, Fire Lord Azulon. “But have your masters taught you nothing?” 

The Avatar shrugs. “Well, my waterbending master is Katara!” He says brightly. Behind him, the waterbender flushes. “She’s teaching me all she knows, and it’s going great even if it’s going slow!” 

“Agni, it’s the blind leading the blind,” Azula complains to the sun, pinching the bridge of her nose to stave off a headache. When she turns her eyes away from the sky, the waterbender is on her feet, face screwed up in concentration, and the clear ineptitude in her stance is torturous to behold. “What do you think you’re doing?” Azula snaps. 

“Bending the water out of the fruit,” the waterbender snaps back. A flamedrop gives a half-hearted wiggle in her direction, more a consequence of sheer focus than actual skill, and when she inevitably runs out of breath — spirits, she’s holding her breath — the flamedrop flops back onto the rack. 

“Not with that stance, you aren’t. Have you never even heard of breath control?” Azula’s barely keeping her tone on the right side of contemptuous, because the Avatar and his friends are to be treated as allies if her plans are at all to work, but the waterbender is making it difficult. Azula is going to have to make drastic revisions to all of her plans if both Water Tribe siblings are equally incompetent. 

“Why would she need breath control? Waterbending isn’t airbending,” the Avatar butts in. 

The Avatar has his tattoos of mastery and is only twelve years old, Azula chants to herself in the privacy of her own mind. 

“And what’s wrong with my stance?” The peasant demands. “It’s the same stance on the scroll for the water whip!” 

Azula’s temper snaps. “Are you planning on whipping the water out of the fruit?” Azula slips into the same stance, flips through her mental catalog of all the waterbending scrolls she’s ever read, and replicates the Northern Water Tribe’s water whip with ease. “The entire point of that stance is to facilitate an easy redistribution of weight, and as with all Northern forms, the ready availability of water sources is assumed. The body moves, the chi flows with it. Snow melts and oceans will offer no resistance.” She moves through the form again, her audience entirely enthralled, and the dart that shoots out of her sleeve and stabs through the heart of the flamedrop startles both waterbender and airbender. “Where do you think the water is in a fruit? Do you think it’s just a puddle inside? No, it’s trapped within the skin, the cell walls; it’s bound to the sugars. I expect you’ll have to rip it out. Your wishy-washy stance won’t convince the water to move to where it doesn’t want to be.” 

To her credit, the waterbender listens; her stance tightens, gets more rooted, although she overshoots it and goes stiff and unbalanced instead. Azula sighs, and unhooks her jian from her back. 

“Um,” the Avatar says. Azula ignores him. 

With her sheathed blade, she prods the girl into place: a stronger core, a better root, relaxed shoulders. When she passes Azula’s critical eye, Azula nods. “Now try it for yourself. Don’t forget your breathing.” 

The waterbender closes her eyes, and breathes. One, two. On the third breath, she moves. 

On the rack, a flamedrop shrivels into a raisin. In the clearing, a waterbender gets water up her nose. 

“Next time,” Azula drawls, “it might be useful to see what you’re doing.”  

~

Apparently, only half of the massive cow-pig was gonna be theirs; once all the jerky is dry, courtesy of some non-evil firebending, Li has Sokka wrapping up the rest with ash banana leaves while he gets the rest of his merchandise ready to go — they’re going to the town market. 

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Sokka demands. They’d been to markets  before, but not many Fire Nation ones, and La had been very sure that Zhao would be looking for Li. And, well, no getting around it, but Li has a very big, very obvious, and very identifiable facial disfigurement.

“They’re looking for the Blue Spirit,” Li says, almost bored. “A master swordsman and a thief, dressed all in black and wearing a Dark Water Spirit theater mask; suspected to be between eighteen and twenty-five, and based on his swordsmanship style, suspected to be a noble from the town of Shu Jing. I,” he continues, carefully putting a sack of freshly harvested sun peaches into one of two massive baskets tied to a bamboo pole, “am a sixteen year-old peasant farmer, a no-name runaway from Hing-Wa island. My parents were ash banana farmers until my father was conscripted. And you are a traveler from Yu Dao who got lost on the forest paths and ended up in my guest bedroom.” He glares first at Sokka, and then at the red robe that Li took out of his closet, and Sokka gets the hint. 

“So… are you a noble from Shu Ping who is between eighteen and twenty-five?” Sokka is obligated to ask, even halfway through a costume change. 

Li snorts. “No.” 

“Are you really from Hing-Na then?” 

“Spirits, no! Just shut up and let me do the talking!” 

It’s an hour’s trek down the mountain, but Li barely allows them any rest before he’s off to his regular market vendor, whose stall is deep inside the village. 

Sokka keeps his eyes down and his ears open as they navigate the streets, and what he hears? Is not good — because he barely hears anything at all. A village center this big should be loud and bustling, the market barkers trying to out-yell and out-discount each other, and the customers should be haggling and gossiping. But the square is whisper-quiet, despite the size of the crowd, and when Sokka risks a glance up, his heart nearly stops. 

“Um, Li?” Sokka gulps and tries not to start running when he sees the reason why everyone seems terrified. 

At the end of the street, a squad of Fire Nation soldiers is questioning a guy in red robes and a fancy hat. It's… a violent conversation; they've got the man on his knees, bursts of flame sporadically puffing out of the sergeant’s fists just barely missing him. Sokka takes a peek at Li, and Li doesn’t look happy either. 

"That's the village mayor," Li says in an undertone, and for a moment they stand idly by the road, part of a crowd that does nothing to help a man halfway to being tortured out on the street. “This way,” Li says curtly after the moment passes, weaving them through a bunch of side streets and popping out of a corner well away from the soldiers’ line of sight. They emerge right next to a store manned by a wizened old lady in ridiculously thick spectacles, her hair graying and cut short over her ears — actually, the hair is a lot like Li’s. If the situation weren’t so dire, Sokka would be a thousand percent laughing at Li for having an old lady haircut, but: the imminent danger of discovery? Guaranteed to put a damper on any attempt at comedy. 

Perched on her very high stool, and leaning all the way across the counter, the old lady is watching the soldiers closely — too closely — and when Li walks up to her and goes “Auntie —” he nearly gives her a heart attack. 

“Li!” She squawks. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!” 

“Sorry, Auntie,” Li says sheepishly, but he turns serious and nods towards the soldiers. “What’s up with the clankers?” 

“Someone broke the Avatar out of Pohuai Stronghold last night,” the lady says grimly. “These young men think they can scare up an airbender if they check under enough cabbages. Or break enough eggs, or ruin enough sun peaches — you know how it is, boy.” She turns to Sokka. “Who’s this?” She asks sharply. 

“Ming,” Li grunts as he puts down his baskets; Sokka hurries to put down his too. “Found him on the trail from Yu Dao; the idiot got caught in a storm and caught Swamp Frog Fever.” 

“Yu Dao, huh?” She looks at him over her glasses, and Sokka tries his best to look as not-Water Tribe as he can. 

“Yes ma’am!” He says. "Got a little turned around in the rain; you know how it is?" The last bit comes out more of a question than it should, and Sokka hides a wince. 

She doesn't even bother replying, just turns her attention to the baskets of produce Li brought, and when she gets to the basket of cow-pig, her hands still. "I thought you were keeping Ton-ton for a special occasion?" 

"Got an unexpected mouth to feed," Li says wryly. "You got any tofu skin, Auntie? Or seitan, konyakku jelly?" 

That earns him another sharp look. Sokka's mouth runs dry with terror when Li looks at the old lady right in the eye and says: "I've been thinking about trying out some recipes — for a very old person who prefers vegetarian temple food." 

“I see.” The lady purses her lips, and takes another hard look at Sokka. “This guest — how old is he? I might finally have a rival for these old bones here in the village, after all this time.” 

“Oh, well.” Li shrugs, casual as you please. “Grandpa’s getting up there. A little more than a hundred years old, right Ming? And really spry for his age too — sometimes, I feel like he could just float away on his own little cloud.” 

“Yeah,” Sokka says weakly. “Really spry. Really healthy, for an old, old man who’s exactly a hundred and twelve years old.” 

The little old lady harrumphs. “Don’t you move a muscle,” she commands, and then disappears into the stall’s back room. 

The moment she’s gone Sokka seizes Li’s sleeve and hisses: “They’re looking for us! And you’re just telling random shopkeepers that we’re with the vatar-ay?” Across the square, the platoon looks like they’re done with fancy hat guy, and they begin a slow procession down the row of storefronts. Sokka can’t hear a thing of what they’re saying, but after a few short seconds a crate of cabbages gets thrown off a stall and bursts into flame. 

Li shoves him off. “Shut up,” he hisses back. “Auntie’s not just a random shopkeeper. You’ll see. And don’t look anyone else in the eye!" 

It's a nerve-wracking five minute wait, watching Zhao's men inch closer to their store; but soon enough the auntie is back, with an equally short figure close behind. Both of them are carrying baskets significantly smaller than what Li brought here, but when they heave them onto the counter, Sokka understands. 

They're all big ticket items: vegetarian food, soap, spices, sugar, salt. Jars of soy sauce and pickles, solid bricks of tea. There's medicine in there: the ginger root that Katara ran out of when they got sick is the only thing that Sokka recognizes, but there’s a lot of little pouches with little tags of paper attached, all carefully detailing when and how to use their contents. There’s textiles too — thick, plush and red wool blankets, new bedrolls, boots. Then Auntie plunks a bag heavy with coins in front of Li, and when Li takes it, he immediately frowns and protests. “This is way too much for what I brought you, Auntie.” 

“You’ll shut up and take it,” she snaps back. Then in a voice loud enough to carry: “You won’t have trouble bringing all this up your mountain alone, right? Go on, get moving before Agni sets on you, boy!” 

“What?” Sokka blurts out, confused. “But he’s not alone —”

All the other shopkeepers avoid his eye, and Li grabs one basket and tugs Sokka away from the store. “Let’s go,” he says in an undertone. Sokka doesn’t argue, but when he tries to pick up the pace Li tugs him back. 

“Don’t look like you’re in a hurry. We’re law-abiding Fire Nation citizens who have every right to be on the streets.” Li himself walks in a brisk, business-like stride, but hugs corners and takes the twistiest route through the town proper, avoiding the platoon in the central plaza. Sokka matches Li’s pace, eyes glued to the white stone pavement and heartbeat thundering in his ears. 

“Is this a rebellion? Do you have a secret society of people with awful haircuts?” Sokka hisses at Li. It would be nice to know that he’s in the hands of professional ne’er-do-wells, but Li doesn’t bother answering. He just seizes Sokka’s elbow and drags him suddenly under an awning and into a dimly-lit, kinda gross-smelling establishment. The guy behind the counter — a big dude with the same shaggy, unkempt hair — just nods at Li and tilts his head vaguely toward a curtain in the corner. Li nods back at him and tugs Sokka under the curtain, and they emerge right next to the town’s stone walls. 

No watchmen, no archers.

“Is this a secret entrance?” Sokka wonders. “Or — a secret exit?” 

Li snorts. “Up and over, Water Tribe.” He squints at the wall, which is at least seven feet high, and even loaded down with a heavy basket strapped to his back, a running start is all he needs to scrabble over the red tile capping it off. He takes a moment to drop his basket over the edge, and turns back to Sokka. “Gimme your basket, then I’ll swing you over.” 

The basket goes up with no problems, but —

Sokka looks up, and up, and swallows. The sun is dipping down the western sky; it’s not yet sunset, but the light behind Li is softening. When he sees the look on Sokka’s face, Li softens too. His hair falls over his eyes when he leans over to reach out a hand, and for the first time since Sokka’s met him, Li actually smiles: a small, crooked thing. It reaches his eyes. “I got you,” he says, soft and encouraging. 

Sokka takes a deep breath, and he jumps. 

~

When the sun is starting to dip down the sky, La calls a halt. All the flamedrops are raisins now, and the sun peaches and ash bananas are all dried out too. Aang had lost interest somewhere along the way and is hunched over a small pile of dried fruit; Katara is startled when she realizes that Aang is sulking. 

“Aang?” 

Aang’s head snaps up. “Oh. You guys are done.” 

“It took all day, but that’s better than waiting for Li to come back and light the ovens.” La surveys their work with a self-satisfied smirk, and at Katara’s and Aang’s blank looks, she sighs again. “Air Nomads air-dry their food. What do you think the Fire Nation does? My brother keeps the ovens going day and night during harvest season, but they went down to the village today.” 

Oh, right. Sokka! 

“Did Sokka go with him?” Aang asked. “Monkeyfeathers, I could have come with!” 

La just snorts. “Of course he didn’t take you — we just broke you out of Zhao’s prison. I don’t think there’s enough blasting jelly on this side of the ocean for a repeat performance.” Aang wilts. La doesn’t notice. “Besides, isn’t a waterbending lesson a better use for the Avatar’s time than a grocery run?”

“Definitely a better use for mine,” Katara decides. Then she frowns. “Where did you learn how to waterbend?” 

It’s La’s turn to be nonplussed. “I’m not a waterbender,” she says coldly. 

“Of course you’re not. But you know how.” Katara gestures toward the small bags of dried fruit. “I didn’t know I could do that, but you did.” 

“You even knew the principles behind the forms!” Aang pipes up. “Monk Gyatso always said that knowing how to do the forms is only half the mastery, and you knew the theory behind the forms too. That’s impressive!” 

La starts looking uncomfortable with the praise — odd, because Katara was suspecting La to be one of those girls that liked being better at things than everybody else. “The fruit was just a hypothesis,” she starts. “The theory was easy enough to derive once I learned the form.” 

“But where did you learn the form?” Katara demands, impatient. “I’ve been desperate for a master since I learned I could bend, and you live in the Earth Kingdom and know more than me!” 

La blinks. “Ah. Well. Wait here.” She turns on her heel and strides back into the house, and when she disappears Katara slumps down into the dirt next to Aang. 

Idly, she reaches out her hand, breathes in, and when she breathes out she pulls. It’s not perfect yet, but she can feel the water in the leaf in front of her, and when she tugs harder, the leaf bows in her direction, dragging behind it a tiny branch, a stem — 

“Um, Katara?” Aang’s voice is quiet and really unsure, but it’s still enough to make Katara jerk in surprise. The water follows her; it tears out of the leaf, which collapses onto the forest floor, shriveled and brown.   

“I don’t think you should practice that on plants,” Aang says with a wince. 

Katara stares at him, and then glances meaningfully at the pile of flamedrop raisins in front of Momo. 

“I mean, plants that are still alive?” Aang reaches out and cups the shriveled leaf in his hands. “Doesn’t it seem wrong to you? Like, the plant is begging you not to take the water away?” 

Katara frowns. “There’s a little resistance, but… plants are plants, Aang. I don’t think they can even think, and they definitely can’t feel.” 

Aang opens his mouth to answer, but the door to the house bangs open and La strides back out, her hands full with a nondescript crate that she sets down before Katara. 

“This collection might be more useful to the Avatar than to you, I’m afraid,” she drawls. “There are more benders per capita in the Water Tribes than there are in the Fire Nation or the Earth Kingdom, but the disparity in population still makes waterbenders extremely rare. Consequently, the scrolls for them are also rare. Everything my brother and I have are from the Northern Tribe; I expect any surviving Southern texts can be found in the home islands, taken as trophies by the Southern Raiders.” She glances at Aang. “I’m glad you already have your tattoos of mastery; we don’t have anything from the Air Nomads. Sozin ordered a thorough book burning, and if anything survived him, they’ll be housed in the Dragonbone Catacombs in the Caldera.”

Then, she opens the crate. 

They’ve got a whole cache of bending scrolls in there — not just firebending, but earthbending and waterbending too. Rage nearly overtakes Katara’s good sense when she finds the blue casket of waterbending scrolls, until La explains where she and Li had gotten them. 

“Scrolls are a popular trophy to have among Fire Nation nobility. Captured bending scrolls are a fun party favor for Fire Nation aristocrats.” Then she smirks. “So Li and I decided to… liberate them.” 

Their new friends may be thieves, but they’re thieves with a very narrow set of targets. Katara forgives La for all her rudeness when she digs out a scroll titled The Rudiments of Water Healing.

“I’ve read through all of these scrolls, but that set in particular requires a waterbender’s touch,” La tells her. It doesn’t show on her face, but Katara bets that it burns La to admit that she can’t understand a thing about these scrolls. A very tiny part of Katara is crowing at the chance to get one over La, who’s been annoyingly good at everything Katara’s seen her do, but she ignores that part and focuses on the first half of what La had just said.

“You’ve read all these scrolls already?” Katara looks at the mass of scrolls neatly arranged on the ground and frowns. “But aren’t you a non-bender?”

La takes a moment too long to reply. “It’s to the benefit of a practitioner of any martial art to study a variety of styles,” she says smoothly, and when Katara looks sharply back at her she gets the same smug smirk from La that’s been throwing her off since the moment she woke up. “Learning these bending forms is useful, even if you have to learn them cold,” La continues, smile still frozen on her face. “I’ve incorporated them into my own fighting style over the years to great effect.”

She’s not lying. She’s also not telling the whole truth. But — 

“So you’ve studied all of these?” There are five waterbending scrolls, excluding the two that were about water healing. 

“Of course I’ve mastered them; they’re not particularly difficult,” La sniffs. “You run into earthbenders here and there, and it’s good to know how to counter the pebbles they throw in your direction. And waterbending is occasionally useful,” she allows. “If you’re facing enormous brutes with no finesse.” 

Katara lets the backhanded compliment slide in favor of what’s important. “So what you’re telling me,” she says slowly, things finally clicking into place, “is that you can teach me waterbending?”