Chapter Text
Prologue
Zhao stared down at the maps and charts littering the table. Years of work and research lost in moments. Years of work.The moon, as if to spite him, cast her light through the porthole, illuminating the reports detailing the unmitigated disaster the siege of the North Pole had become, the humiliation.
The lanterns surged with his rising temper, light flickering across the walls of the ship. He’d had it all within his grasp, the complete decimation of the Northern Water Tribe, his place at the Fire Lord's right hand…and it was gone, all of it.
Well, not all. He calmed his breathing, and the flames dimmed back to their normal glow. Not all. He had achieved some successes amidst the failures, and would have at least a measure of revenge on the people most responsible for his losses. When the Fire Lord received his missives, Iroh would be declared a traitor and be completely removed from the line of secession, as would the stupid boy locked in his hold. Best case scenario, the Fire Lord would order his son's immediate death for his numerous transgressions. Once added together, the prince had managed to achieve quite a long list of treasonous actions, enough that they could not be ignored. Zhao had thought long and hard about telling the Fire Lord of the true events that had occurred at Pohuai stronghold. It would reveal his own failings, but, even though it galled him to admit the Avatar had been in his grasp and escaped, he hoped it might provide the extra push needed to make the Fire Lord act. It would be well worth it if the result was Ozai having the family embarrassment removed quickly and permanently. Stupidity and disrespect was one thing, but treason? One unpunished act of treachery had a tendency to breed others, and the Fire Lord was quick to stamp out even a sniff of it.
Once he had the Fire Lord’s orders in hand, he could teach the brat a lesson in respect to rival the one his father had given him, although perhaps not so publicly. Zhao rubbed a hand over his mouth, pleased with the thought. While the mess at the North Pole had been more due to Iroh’s interference than Zuko’s, the boy had attacked him when he had been tactfully withdrawing from the field, and if not for the arrival of Zhao's men, might have gotten the upper hand. The very idea of that was more humiliation than he could bear, however, the arrival of Zhao's soldiers had tipped the scales in his favour, and the possibility of defeat was only an unpleasant memory, mostly. Zhao touched the smarting wound on his side. Zuko’s flurry of fiery rage when he had been officially arrested for treason had been very entertaining, but the dishonourable little cur had drawn a knife on him. A knife!
Although he wasn’t sure the boy had actually intended to kill him with it, the blade had still hit home, and that was not something to be forgiven easily. Zhao glared at the offending weapon where it lay on his desk. It was an ornate thing, the handle inlaid with pearl and an inscription etched into the blade, clearly earth kingdom in design. A traitor's blade for a traitor prince. He ran a finger along the hilt, his side twinging with pain.
Maybe he would get the chance to return the favour.
A few days to a week, that's all. And then he would know the Fire Lords decision, and the matter could be put to bed, so to speak.
Soothed by the thought, he examined the other papers, reports about the Avatar he had gathered before the…recent unpleasantness. Leaning back in his chair with a smile curling his lip he looked over the rough sketch sent him from Gaipan. It seemed he had been given one more trump card to play.
One of the water rats that had attempted to infiltrate his ship was not only the Avatars companion, but according to this intel, he was also the son of Chief Hakoda of the Southern Water Tribe. Hakoda was a nasty thorn in the side of the Fire Navy. Even though his ships were primitive, better suited to pirates, they were fast and raids were deadly more often than not. The man himself had led action against the fleet in the Mo Ce sea which had resulted in the worst naval defeat in recent Fire Nation history. Well, before the North Pole.
Zhao tapped his fingers against the rough paper of the scroll in contemplation. There was an opportunity here - a way to play this to potentially capture the Avatar and take out the Water Tribe scourge with one hostage. It would take careful planning, but he was certain it could be done.
And while he was planning, he would break Hakoda’s son. It would be a balm for Zhao’s wounded pride if nothing else.
He paused reading the last reports when there was a knock at his chamber door.
“Enter,” he called.
Lieutenant Ro saluted as he stepped over the threshold. “Admiral, the prisoners are ready for you.”
Zhao pushed himself up wincing as his stitches pulled, an indignity he would be paying back to Prince Zuko. What man of the blood used blades? One whose bending was weak, he supposed.
“And the result of the questioning?”
Ro kept his eyes off the charts and on Zhao's face. A good officer, loyal to the Fire Lord, and loyal to him. Perhaps he would be due a promotion after the made port. “Three seasoned fighters who might be withholding information,” Ro told him, “we have had them transferred to Commander Tsung’s ship, as you requested. Aside from the boy, the rest are cannon fodder.”
“Excellent, lets get them on deck. Bring Hakoda’s whelp too, let him see what happens to men who raise arms against the Fire Nation.”
The weather on deck was frigid, Zhao hated the poles, he hated the cold and he hated the Water Tribe. What kind of people chose to live in these conditions? Savages, to every last man and woman. He warmed himself as he watched his men pull the bound prisoners out of the hold and force them to their knees. They glared at him, and he looked calmly back. These barbarians had destroyed his fleet, but only with the help of the Avatar. The Fire Navy would have won the day if the fight had been fair.
Hakoda’s boy was clearly the youngest. Stripped of his boots, belt and outer coat, he was glaring and shivering, apparently even water rats felt the cold when removed from their furs. Zhao stared back, keeping a smirk off his face. The kid looked small and bony, barely old enough to hold a spear, let alone fight with one.
The other prisoners were a rag tag bunch, ranging in age from perhaps twenty to close on sixty. A sorry lot, who were due a sorry end.
Zhao nodded to First Lieutenant Chen, who stepped forward to pull a prisoner out of the line by his stupid tuft of hair, dragging him until he faced the remaining men. Zhao nodded again, and without sound or hesitation, Chen drew his blade across the man's throat. He kept his grip in the prisoner's hair until the last of his life was gone, spilled across the icy deck. A few of the men began to pray; perhaps they were pleading with their snow spirits. Pointless, pathetic.
There was a visceral feeling of power in this; it made him feel alive like nothing else could - to control life and death with a flick of a finger or a nod of the head. Watching the prisoners' faces as they realised there was no avoiding their fate. Some gazed forward, brave and determined. Others, their features creased in fear, turned their eyes to the moon in supplication or pleading.
They all died the same though.
Hakoda’s sons eyes were open wide in shock and fright, like the world was ending right in front of him. Perhaps it was, he was just an unblooded child.
Or, he had been. Now he’d had a taste of what his future held.
Zhao nodded; Chen dropped the dead man, and pulled out the next.
By the time he was done, the deck was slick and stained. The moon remained impassive to her peoples pleas, casting long bleak shadows over the endless ocean.
Chapter 1.
Sokka had never felt so afraid in his life. He’d faced certain death before, when the Fire Nation ship had emerged out of the fog at the South Pole like some giant, marauding serpent from a spirit tale, ready to crush him, and he had been the only thing standing between it and his people, his sister. Watching that metal monstrosity break through the ice, he had known a fear right down to his bones, his knees had shook, and his breathing had been nothing but wild gasps.
But it hadn't been like this. He’d been prepared to fight, because he had to, and perhaps he hadn't done fantastically at beating the bad guys, but he hadn’t given up. And he would have kept going until death took him; a good, proper, warrior’s death.
If, you know, Aang hadn't shown up to save the day, or get kidnaped or whatever.
This was different, he was completely and utterly powerless. What he had just witnessed, up there on the deck was terrifying in a whole new way. Watching as each man was pulled out of line and murdered right in front of him. Not knowing who was next, too frightened to even feel grief or anger, all the while watching grown men, with beads in their hair and full beards, like his dad, watching them die with their eyes wide in fear and desperation. Their blood had been dark and shiny, like oil against the metal of the deck.
Yeah, that had been true unthinking terror and Sokka thought he might never recover from it. Even now, some unknown period of time later, he was still shaking, and he was honestly relieved he hadn't soiled himself up there. Small victories.
Speaking of small victories, he wasn’t alone in the ship's dirty, damp hold. In his own cage, bruised, barefoot and glaring, with his hands manacled in front of him, was Prince Zuko. And wasn’t that a weird turn up for the books? Sure, there had been a lot of yelling about traitors on both sides, during the various interactions between him and Zhao, so clearly there was some power struggle taking place. But it was still a very strange thing to see.
Aside from the furious looking prince, the rest of the accommodation was stark. Lit by a single torch against the far wall and formed from ugly floor to ceiling metal bars, the cells made up for one half of the space and contained nothing but a chamber pot each. There wasn’t much in the rest of the hold either, but what there was made Sokka extremely nervous. A table, a chair, a barrel and a pair of ominous looking hanging chains with an even more ominous looking hook dangling from the end of them. The sort of hook you hung meat on to dry or smoke...Yeah, not very reassuring, especially after everything that he had just witnessed.
Reluctant to dwell on it, Sokka turned his eyes back to Zuko. Frankly, despite the slightly dubious nature of the company provided, he was happy not to be alone. It gave him something else to focus on rather than the rolling fear in his guts. And...oh spirits, he didn’t want to think about it.
So instead, he attempted to form some sort of expression that wasn’t related to gibbering in fright, and examined his cell mate as obnoxiously as he was capable of, which was quite obnoxious, even if he did say so himself.
Zuko looked like he had been on the losing end of a fight with a polar bear dog. His stupid plume of hair was bedraggled and limp, knocked askew so it lilted slightly to the left. His right eye was so bruised it almost looked similar to the scared one, and his mouth was puffy with a split lip. Good, Sokka was glad to see he wasn’t the only one having a really bad day.
“What?” the prince snapped, scowling harder and making his face look even more awful, which was impressive.
Sokka pondered him for a moment, letting his eyes trail slowly over the ripped clothing and dirty feet. He was wearing white for some baffling reason. Didn’t the Fire Nation wear white for mourning? Or was that the Earth Kingdom? Was Zuko even still a prince, what with being locked in a damp hold? Or was there some sort of serious coup afoot? So many questions. The answers could be useful to know, all information on the enemy was good information. He could use it when he got out, and he would get out. His mind automaticity sheared away from the remembered flash of blood and the gurgling wheeze old Mammak had made as his last breath left him.
“Just enjoying the view,” Sokka gasped, blinking away the memory and forcing his tone up into something light. He hopped it was light, he could barely hear it though the rushing in his ears.
“What view?” Zuko croaked, his voice, by contrast, sounded like he had shouted himself raw. But, yelling seemed to be his usual method of communication, so perhaps that shouldn't have been a surprise.
“Your ugly face, all beat up,” Sokka informed him pleasantly. “Never thought I would be happy to see you, but here we are.”
“Shut up, peasant,” Zuko muttered.
Aware of the line of solid bars separating them, Sokka made an expression vaguely reminiscent of a smile, although the feeling was all wrong on his face, with the blood of his sister tribe still staining the bare soles of his feet. He hated the Fire Nation. Hated them. “Make me.”
And whoa, maybe he should remember firebenders didn't need to touch you to kill you, as smoke issued from Zuko’s nostrils like steam out of a kettle. But that was it, no fiery death. Perhaps he was just too tuckered out. Well, murder, mayhem and attempted kidnap was hard work, maybe even princelings needed a nap after a hard day of subjugating and warmongering.
Once he had confirmed that nothing was actually on fire, Sokka felt a little bolder. “So,” he tried, conversationally. Although his voice warbled a little on the word, he felt he was doing well to hide the fact he would rather be screaming. “Prison, huh? Seems like your sparkling personality made an impact on old Captain Mutton Chops.”
Zuko blinked at him a little. Perhaps he had taken a bang to the head, or maybe he was always this slow to process. “Mutton chops?” he asked, with an edge of confusion. Ah, possibly it was a vernacular problem and he just wasn’t familiar with the terminology. Sokka made a gesture to indicate Zhao’s sideburns.
The prince’s face registered recognition, and then returned to its customary scowl. “Zhao's a fool,” he snarled.
“And yet you’re the one in jail. Boat jail. A jail boat.” That got a low growl, but Sokka ignored him, “And Zhao is out there sunning himself on the deck and murdering prisoners of war like it's going out of style.” Sokka tapped a finger against his chin, mockingly. “Hmm.”
Zuko continued to scrunch his battered face up in a glower like he’d just eaten rancid turtle seal meat. “Murder? People get executed in war, that's what happens to...” He paused, apparently reluctant to finish the sentence.
Sokka smiled, and this time it felt good and nasty, “Traitors?” he offered, helpfully, keeping his tone sweet, despite the feeling of fear that went swirling through his guts again. It was so powerful it made his limbs feel weak and he was glad to be sitting so he didn’t embarrass himself falling over. This time however, the fear brought with it a rush of anger. “See, I get being killed in battle, that is war. But helpless, bound men? No trial? Not even a deceleration of their sentence?”
Zuko opened his mouth again and Sokka cut him off. “Men on their knees, butchered like cattle-sheep, and with less dignity.” he smirked and he suspected it wasn't a pleasant expression. Spirits he was angry, but anger was good, it kept the terror at bay. “What did you say you were down here for again?”
Zuko had another blinky moment of processing. Maybe he had been hit in the head, he was certainly beat up enough. “That...” He paused and licked his lips, “If that's what Zhao did to those men, then that is wrong,” he said at last. Then he returned to a mega, scrunchy faced glare. “He’s wrong, and a traitor to our nation. And when my father hears of this, he’ll be punished.” With this pronouncement he looked slightly less like he was constipated, and went back to his regular level of scowling.
“Do you really think the Fire Lord doesn't know what his soldiers do?” Sokka asked, baffled. “I thought he was supposed to be the supreme leader? The big boss man who rules with an iron fist.” He demonstrated an iron fist of power beating its subjects with his hand, in case Zuko got confused again.
“Of course he doesn't know! And when he does, he’ll stop it, and Zhao will be dealt with,” Zuko said with the conviction of a man who had spent a lifetime repeating the same nonsense to himself in the hopes that if he said it enough, it would become true. In another life, Sokka might have felt pity for him. But here and now? He just felt contempt.
“Right, the Fire Lord is known for his mercy,” Sokka sneered with his whole face and then some.
“He’s not cruel without reason!”
“I see, so it’s people like you and Zhao who are to blame?”
“I wouldn't!” Zuko said, his volume climbing in his indignation. “I wouldn't allow such dishonourable practices aboard my ship! Or in my navy, I would stamp it out. Even in war people, prisoners, should be dealt with properly. There are protocols, rules.”
“Right, sure. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
They fell silent for a while. Zuko steaming (literally) over his honour, or perhaps the rather shitty example of his nation's idea of honour, which was honestly non-existent as far as Sokka could tell.
Sokka just wanted it to be last week. Last week when he was going to see if he could get Yue to go on a date, when he was with his sister, and Aang, and when he hadn't witnessed an old man be slaughtered with less care you would give to a pig-chicken. Hadn't seen the fear in his eyes, hadn't heard the frightened squeal that escaped through his teeth, hadn’t realised even brave warriors pissed themselves at the moment of death.
He didn’t want to think any more, but he couldn't stop, everything just led back to the helpless terror.
So, talking it was. “You never answered my question, your royal princeliness.”
Zuko graced him with another ugly scowl. Did he even have another expression? Or was it just that or confusion? “Why should I tell you anything?” he asked.
“Do you have something better to do? Perhaps write a lovely flowery speech for your subjects? Maybe you would rather recite the names of your dead? That’s what I’ve been doing, and it’s getting a little tiring, what with the ever growing list. So humour me. Why are you stuck in a dirty prison hold on Mutton Chops’ floating abattoir?”
“A mistake,” Zuko muttered.
Sokka snorted. “A mistake? They locked you up in here by accident? Or wait, was it a case of mistaken identity? Is that,” he waved a hand in the general direction of Zuko’s face, “is that a common fashion statement for rogue Fire Nation teens? Did everyone get one to match your royal visage?”
That earned him a scowl, with some added growl, and a bit of smoke. Nice.
“It was a mistake. When my father hears about it, when he hears my side of the story, he will order my release.”
“And what? Zhao will let you go? Just like that?” Sokka asked dubiously. That didn't make any sense.
“Yes.”
“So Zhao hasn’t captured you to use against your father?”
More confused face. “What do you mean?”
“I assumed he’d captured you as a… bargaining chip, like for a ransom or something. Or that he wanted to overthrow the Fire Lord. You know, politics.”
Zuko looked slightly aghast. “People don't want to overthrow the Fire Lord, he’s… he’s the Fire Lord!”
Now it was Sokka’s turn to do some blinking. “Which is a good reason for wanting to overthrow him, no? I mean aside from the fact he’s a warmongering, colonizing, culture destroying, murdering, tyrant. Apart from that, there are always people who want to overthrow their leaders. It’s a power thing.”
“Not in the Fire Nation!”
“Wow, smells like denial in here.” Sokka wafted a hand in front of his nose. “But if there was someone who would do something like ransom a prince back to his Tyrant Lord, then Zhao would be that person. He reads like a power hungry kind of guy – judging from his very tedious monologuing, he seems like the kind of man who would thirst for it.” He paused to see if Zuko had anything to add, but he was just making his angry face and staring at the floor like it had personally offended him. Who knows, perhaps it had. Sokka sighed. “I’m just saying, if power was a thing you could bathe in, Zhao would be submerged neck deep in it twenty three hours a day, and the remaining hour he would spend gloating in the mirror about the other twenty three.”
Zuko seemed to consider that, frowning slightly with his lower lip pushed out a bit. He looked, almost…hopeful.
That was interesting. Why would he be hopeful that Zhao might be holding him for ransom? The only conclusion Sokka could come to was that whatever he was being detained for was much worse. “What other reason does he have for keeping you prisoner? If not for political clout?” Sokka asked.
The hopeful expression changed into something... shifty. Somebody had clearly been a very naughty Fire Prince, and he knew it. Zuko did not seem to be very good at hiding his feelings, unless those feelings were anger. He fidgeted in place a little, looking even more guilty. “There was a misunderstanding,” he said at last, “and Zhao hates me. So he’s planning to use that misunderstanding against me.”
“Please, be more vague.” Sokka rolled his eyes, even as he once again waved off Zuko’s attempts to speak. “So he wants to use this misunderstanding to turn your father against you? That makes some sense, I guess.” Sort of.
“What would you know about it anyway?” the prince snapped, “You’re just a peasant.”
He loved that insult just a little too much. “I'm the son of a chief, I learned about politics.” Mostly from Gran Gran, but whatever.
Zuko’s freakishly yellow eyes widened a little behind scar tissue and bruises. “What chief?”
Oh shit. That was the kind of information that was not good to give out to the enemy. Damn it. “A small, unimportant one,” he said. And wow, convincing. Very good, Sokka.
Zuko stared at him with his nasty cat-snake eyes. “That’s not information you should share with…Captain Mutton Chops,” he offered, after a moment.
“Why do you care?”
“About you? I don’t. But I don’t want him to get anything he wants. Not information on the Avatar, not information on your people, nothing.”
Pettiness. Sokka could get with pettiness, he was the king of petty. “You really hate him, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Well. That makes two of us, I guess.”
“I guess it does.”
………...
Taiju pulled his eye away from the peephole and carefully closed the hatch when the door to the chamber opened. He straightened and saluted. “Admiral Zhao.”
“Lieutenant Taiju, at ease.” Zhao said. He looked pleased with himself. “Anything to report on the prisoners?
“Not much, sir. They’ve been discussing...politics.” To be honest, Taiju had been a little disquieted by the idea of someone overthrowing the Fire Lord, you just didn’t mention that sort of thing in casual conversation, not if you wanted to keep your head on your shoulders.
“A thrilling discussion I’m sure. And how are they enjoying the facilities?”
“Mostly they’ve just been baiting each other.” Well, the Water Tribe boy had been doing most of the baiting, and the prince most of the yelling but it didn’t seem worth getting into the specifics unless he was asked. He also opted not to inform Zhao of the rather unflattering words used to describe him. The only thing the prisoners seemed to agree on was the dubious nature of the Admirals parentage (a weasel-snake and a pig-chicken had been offered as possible options) and a variety of colourful insults regarding his facial hair.
“Well, keep me updated. A few more days and we’ll up the stakes.”
The Admiral’s smirk gave Taiju a chill. He respected Zhao as a soldier and a leader, and had been nothing but outwardly loyal to him. But he didn't like him. He didn't like what he had done with the Water Tribe prisoners and he didn't like the sort of things he did in his private life. He didn't like the idea of what he might do to the prince, if his father did strip him of his birthright, it was unlikely to be a quick or kind end. Prince Zuko was a traitor, and he should be shipped back to Caldera to be put to death as was right and proper, but it should be at the Fire Lord's hand, and his alone.
Still. It was none of his business really, not unless he got instructions saying otherwise. In many ways he hoped he didn’t.
“Yes sir,” he said.