Chapter Text
“For the last time, Father, Aila is going to be fine,” Captain Li Lai of the Fire Navy said, leaning back in his chair, an exasperated look on his face. “She’s more than old enough to spend a little extra time alone with Airen.”
“She’s seven,” Liu Lai pointed out from where he leaned up against the wall of the spacious officer’s accommodations. “The way I’m hearing it you practically won’t have any winter leave this year. Orders straight from the top, they’re going to have the navy working overtime hauling half the damned army to the other side of the continent. It’ll take months, under near constant steam.”
“That’s what the rumors are saying,” the younger man sighed grimly. “Nothing too official, but you know the way commanders in the cups talk.”
“Only too well,” Liu nodded. “That means you won’t even have had a month with your daughter the entire year. She’s at the age where that sort of thing really isn’t good for her.”
“You worry too much. Aila’s a strong girl, she’ll be alright,” his son replied. “And as I recall, when I was seven you were out across the sea, earning your scars, while I was back home with Mother and the rest,” Li pointed out. “And I think I turned out alright.”
“That’s exactly what worries me.”
“Ha ha ha,” the young captain rolled his eyes.
“It’s not too late to change your mind, you know. I could still pull a few strings with Admiral-”
“For the last time, no,” his son held up his hand. “I’m not abandoning my men to do all the grunt work moving loads of landlubbers in the freezing cold, going home to visit my family while they’re kept from theirs.”
“You’re too stubborn for your own good, you know.”
There came a faint hint of a grin. “They say it runs in the family.”
“So they say,” Liu returned it, shaking his head. “At least make sure to write them.”
“As often as the hawk flies,” his son promised. “Maybe I’ll remember to send something your way once in a while.”
“That’s my boy,” the scarred veteran opened his arms expectantly.
“Aren’t I a little old for that?”
“One lesson fatherhood will teach you: your children are never too old for that.”
Li shook his head. “Fine, but only because we’re alone.”
“Naturally.”
Father and son shared a quick, but tight embrace in the low orange glow of bronze lanterns, the sounds of the nearby harbor now rendered audible.
“If they don’t run me too ragged in the meantime, I’ll try and make it up to the Caldera estate before I ship out in three days,” the young captain promised.
“I’d like that,” Liu nodded. “But in the meantime, I suppose I’d better be heading back that way myself.”
“If you want any sleep tonight,” Li nodded. “You really should take a carriage more often, you know.”
“Walking keeps you in good shape,” the older man had already slipped on a long, hooded, burnt red winter cape. “When you’re my age, you’ll understand.”
“My Agni bless me with so many years,” his son smirked, snapping off a quick salute.
“And many more besides,” his father returned it briefly, before turning, sliding open the well-worn steel door, and stepping out into the night.
The veteran soldier was but a hundred feet from the sea, the mighty Sovereign-class cruiser Inexorable looming visibly over the city streets and dockside faculties that defined this little harbor, and the town that had sprung up around it. It was but one small port of many such dotted around the shores of the home island, notably only for its relative proximity to Caldera – only around two hours journey by foot, at a brisk walk. That Li’s ship had been assigned here for its due refit was less than coincidental.
Liu hadn’t wanted to attract any special notice – from anyone – tonight, and so he had left his hired guards back at his estate. It left him more time alone with his thoughts, and if he could brave the vicious battlefields of the Earth Kingdom with no bodyguards, then the roads and towns of the home island itself were hardly going to intimidate him.
Still, that didn’t mean there weren’t some risks associated with walking down dark streets alone in the dead of night. As the war had swallowed up more and more of the Fire Nation’s highest quality manpower, the policing competence back home had sadly diminished. Street gangs, not a few with some military training themselves, were more active than ever across the home islands. Especially at night.
Liu pulled his winter cloak tighter about himself.
As he wound his way through the maze of old buildings and new, darkened steel barracks and workshops placed side by side with white stone buildings of the classic style, the scarred veteran’s mind soon turned away from his son. Darker, heavier matters clouded his thoughts. What he had seen, that night not long ago. What he had heard. What his comrades were going to do.
The greying man shook his head sadly. It was one thing when it was about deposing a lone usurper, ideally without any bloodshed, and returning the true heir to the throne. But the cold-blooded murder of a child, one not much older than little Aila? One of the last two children of the ancient and venerated royal family, pure-blooded descendants of Agni and Sozin alike? When the even true heir himself asked that there be no such measures, no such violence? It was madness. Pure, simple, myopic madness.
To commit such a heinous act as the unprovoked shedding of sacred blood, that of a child no less, in a time where the true line was already so dangerously thin was certain to draw the ire of their patron spirits upon the nation, with disastrous consequences. Agni and his host would doubtless turn their backs on the Fire Nation, and for his own part Liu felt that merely suggesting it would be more than enough to see the guilty banished to the purgatorial underworlds for a very long stint before being allowed reincarnation.
And even beyond that, the girl was young enough to be his granddaughter! If not for the likes of her, then who were they fighting for?
Sighing sadly, his thoughts slowly turned to Colonel Cheung. Whatever Xi claimed, Liu doubted that the man’s death, if such had truly happened as he had been told – and there was little enough way to verify for himself that it had – was truly the beginning of some general purge. The elderly minister had never served in the army himself, but as a military man Liu knew that not only would killing a handful of them have a fairly negligible effect on the ability of the veterans of Ba Sing Se to organize should the Dragon call for a general revolt (and surely he was the only one who could), but also that subtly killing off the officer corps drawn from an army over two hundred thousand strong was utterly impossible. Ursa could not hope to hide such large-scale killings as would be required to debilitate their military capacity from the court, the remainder of the army, or the general himself. If anything could inspire a broad-scale revolt, that would be it.
No, whatever the true reason for Cheung’s supposed murder was, Liu was prepared to bet a substantial fortune that it was not because the usurper planned some general, quiet purge of the officer corps. Regardless, it was not his primary concern. That was, and had always been, the triumph and well-being of the Fire Nation. After the loss at Ba Sing Se, the death of Prince Lu Ten, and the breaking of the Dragon of the West, the nation was at its lowest ebb in decades. He had thought General Iroh the man capable of taking the reigns and righting the ship of state, it was what had brought him to Xi in the first place, but after seeing the man himself, even in good physical condition? After hearing his voice crack, his words like nothing so much as the death rattles of wounded men? As much as it hurt to admit it, his old commander was in no shape to lead anyone. That left but one currently viable choice with the legitimacy to ensure that their nation would not stumble within sight of final victory.
Even if he did not believe that said royal widow was currently preparing a general purge, the absolute last thing they needed right now was a theoretically all-powerful autocrat becoming paranoid. They could not afford to see her striking out at whoever she deemed suspicious, so focused on the internal enemies that kept trying to kill her that she lost sight of the great dream at their heart of their nation these last ninety-five years.
But if the usurper knew just who it was that was really plotting against her, there would no need for any great purges. She would have no need to take the risk of creating many new enemies by eliminating mere potential ones, not when she could ensure stability by cleanly excising a small and distinct group of people for definite reasons. It would be easy enough for him to lead the Imperial Firebenders straight to a gathering spot of her enemies. She would have the clear evidence she needed to rid herself of the distraction and maintain a leader’s proper focus. It seemed like the best chance they had.
General Iroh himself had said that what he wanted now was stability in the Fire Nation, not further turmoil or bloodshed. What was a loyal soldier to do, but follow orders?
He had met Ursa only a few times in his life, all in her capacity as Prince Ozai’s bride, and so knew little about what he could expect from her. But General Iroh he had followed proudly into battle for many years, and Azulon’s firstborn he knew to be an honorable man. If Iroh swore to do everything to see the conspirators’ lives spared in return for his information, to see that their families were left untouched, then Liu could be certain that he truly would. His fellows’ grasp of reality might have been warped by storms of emotion and their proposed crimes unforgivable, but their intentions had been, at the root, honorable. They deserved at least a slight clemency for that.
For himself, the old soldier turned politician would accept whatever fate the usurper – the Fire Lady – chose to mete out. Likely it would be execution, she would want someone’s head after the attempts to take hers, even if he himself had not been directly involved in any of them. For the rest, if General Iroh agreed to pressure her to merely strip them of power and banish them instead putting them all to the sword – and Liu had every confidence that he would in return for names – then a woman in such a precarious political situation as herself would likely agree.
It wasn’t a betrayal, the scarred veteran told himself, as his steps took him the through the quiet gloom surrounding the nighttime docks. He was saving these misguided souls, preventing them from committing a terrible crime in a fit of blind madness. He was remaining faithful and true to the principles of fidelity, hierarchy, and duty which they all claimed but had twisted to allow them to simply act on their own desires and hatreds with a thin veneer of personal honor. It was he, after all, that was going to obey they actual wishes of the man that they professed to follow, not merely what he thought those wishes ought to be.
His mind more and more made up with each passing step, Liu made his way further and further into the maze of buildings that surrounded the drydocks, the sounds of the sea fading behind him and the specter of the distant extinct volcano looming ever larger ahead. He passed a handful of still open wine shops, a house of ill-repute, and a handful of people still about, largely beggars or drunks, but the further inland he walked the less and less active the already mostly empty streets became. The chill breeze that marked the first true sign of the oncoming winter picked up as he went.
Neither the wind nor the quiet buildings around him quite kept another sound from reaching his ears. A cold shudder passed down Liu’s neck, a sadly familiar feeling he had learned to trust on the battlefield a dozen times over. His head didn’t turn, but his hood was allowed to flap a little more loosely in the breeze, his ash-grey eyes glancing subtly from side to side.
He was being followed.
Two men, either side, using buildings for cover, he noted, picking up his pace and watching as the unknowns, dressed in dull red and grey clothing, did the same. They’ve done this before. Possibly ex-military.
It didn’t come as much of a shock, then, to find another pair of men waiting for him at the very edge of the little harbor town, right at the border of the forested road that led back to Caldera City. Both wore nondescript outfits of dark reds and muted greys, one with a hooded winter cloak not dissimilar to the nobleman’s own and a cloth mask covering half his face, and the second sporting a bare, bald head and a long pointed black beard.
“Nice night for a stroll, huh?” the bearded man said, leaning against a dull steel wall with arms crossed over his chest. “Or maybe something more?”
Liu halted, holding his position right in the middle of the street, to put maximum distance between himself and any advantageous ambush point. One of the figures who had been walking alongside him emerged from a side alley, also masked but not cloaked, to stand alongside the other two already there. The fourth figure remained conspicuous by his absence. He glanced around warily, unsure if there were even more of them.
“You seem a little lost,” the little gang’s apparent spokesman went on. “You’re dressed a bit too nice for a dump like this place.”
The scarred man’s eyes narrowed a little. His clothing wasn’t of any especially high quality – that would have defeated the entire point of visiting his son quietly and alone.
“You’ll fit much better up there in Caldera,” he nodded vaguely in the capital’s direction, then continued with faux sympathy. “’Course, we’ll let you head back that way, but first we’d like to ask if you might consider… making a donation to a few hungry, down on their luck vets?”
“I don’t have any money,” he replied curtly. “You’re wasting your time.”
“Gonna be that way, is it?” the thug said to the low chuckles of the two men beside him. “You know the Domestics ain’t about to come running?”
“I speak nothing but the truth.”
“We’ll just see about that, won’t we?” the bearded drew his sword from a well-oiled scabbard, a weapon Liu recognized immediately as being army standard issue, save for a few personal markings. “I’m gonna come over there real nice-like and make sure you’re not holding out on us.” He took a few steps forward, with an affected air of nonchalance. “Stay nice and still while I pat you down for a coin purse and you might just make-”
The back-alley goon stepped just within striking distance of the older man, and without any warning at all, abruptly threw himself into a lunging strike. The point of his sword darted out quick as a pouncing lynxwolf, aimed right for the retired soldier’s throat. Liu’s reflexes must have dulled with age, for the sword’s edge still managed to catch the edge of his neck as he twisted aside, drawing blood and sending a sharp wave of pain through his old scar there.
The assailant staggered a step too far forward, overextended, but was quick on his feet and already whirling back around to face his prey. But he wasn’t fast enough, for the scarred noble’s right fist had already risen, and a burst of red-orange flame caught him square in the face. The all too familiar acrid stench of burnt flesh hit the veteran’s nose as the swordsman let out a piercing scream, blade falling from his hands as he fell to his knees, clutching a smoking face. He was already forgotten.
War had taught Liu to waste neither time nor words. Even as he spun to face his other attackers, he was transitioning seamlessly into a familiar kata. His left foot swung about in a spinning kick, and a low wave of bright yellow and orange took the legs out from underneath two other men charging with daggers drawn, only the traditionally fire-resistant clothing of the homeland saving them from much worse. Bodies struck pavement with meaty smacks, daggers clattering audibly across stone.
But there wasn’t a moment to spare for them, for the telltale whoosh from behind already had the veteran warrior turning back around instinctively. A blaze in his hand caught the one aimed at his back, dispersing it in a harmless but dazzling crescent of sparks. He immediately counterattacked, advancing first one, then two, then three steps forward in perfect synch with swings of his balled fists, punctuating each with a head-size orb of fire hurled right back at the other firebender.
The other, semi-masked man had already folded his fingers into a triangle and now thrust them forward, dispersing a fireball as harmless streams of energy along either side of his body in a standard defensive technique, and likewise catching the second and so dissipating it. His lack of experience showed in the way he’d failed to notice that the third move in the sequence had been deliberately aimed lower – this fire blast passed right beneath his arms, catching him right in the stomach.
All firebending contains explosive potential, but Liu had put a little extra force into that particular move, and so the detonation was especially fierce. The firebending thug was hurled back half a dozen yards by the sheer force of the attack, sliding roughly across the cobblestone street. His tough clothes were charred away about his midsection, smoke rising from his abdomen and the smell of more seared flesh filling the air. Still, he was visibly trying to sit up and his opponent was in no mood for mercy. The nobleman’s conjured flame as he brought his left hand whipping back around was such a bright shade of yellow that it was almost white.
Abruptly, there came a sudden lance of pain in his back, driving the breath from his lungs. The fire clutched in his hand fizzled and died away. He stumbled forwards a step, head lolling forward almost limply, grey eyes wandering down to the point of a knife emerging from his chest.
“Got ‘em,” the triumphant words of a whole new voice rang in his ears, somehow distant and deafening all at once.
They were just here to kill me. A terrible realization came far, far too late for Liu Lai. Xi set this up.
Blood poured from the scarred nobleman’s chest as the blade was ripped right back out of his flesh. The world around him grew fuzzy and dark. He sank to his knees, then his hands and knees. His breath came rapidly, his body hyperventilating as his wounded heart pounded on the inside of his chest. His ears rang out as though a titanic bell tolled within. More crimson stained the light grey cobblestone.
“M-Madness…” was the last word to pass his lips.
In the dead of night, a mercenary stalked the docks.
His was a life defined by paradoxes. He was a cripple, a maimed invalid who could barely write the characters of his own name with his remaining hand, and yet he was stronger than almost any man in the nation, was more deadly than a whole squad of soldiers put together. It had been scarcely a year since he had truly begun, and he already had the record to prove that. If his country knew the full truth of his deeds, it would undoubtedly condemn him to a lifetime in the Boiling Rock, and yet when it came down to it, he simply loved it too much to let himself be used to plunge it into chaos. That was what had brought him here tonight.
Well, that and the promise of a payday greater than anything that he or anyone he knew had seen in their entire lives.
He had begun his current investigation with only two solid facts. One, that someone, or more likely a group of someones, wished the Fire Lady dead, but did not want to do the deed with their own hands. Second, that they wouldn’t want a repeat of what happened when they tried hiring him.
The first step was therefore simple: look to see if anyone else from around the home island had taken the job. That wasn’t as difficult as it might seem to uninitiated. “Assassin”, at least on the level above that of a common street thug, was not a wildly popular profession, and the clientele were both very demanding and highly selective. If you wanted any chance at the truly big jobs, the ones that might actually be enough to let you kick up your feet on Ember Island drinking rice wine for the rest of your days, you had to know the people who knew people. And know those people the mercenary certainly did.
Their profession was infamously tight-lipped, no one more so than himself, but even so the sums of money that would have been commanded by that sort of contract had a way of showing themselves – the finest delicacies, exotic imported liquors, the prettiest girls, tailored robes, refurbished weaponry, wild celebrations atop luxurious yachts, maybe even a sumptuously appointed villa to call their own. In a line of work where a gruesome demise was never more than a single botched job away, it was a rare man indeed who long hoarded his coin.
He had already confirmed to himself that it wasn’t so. That was as he suspected it would be. Not many locals, even his trade, would want to put an endless target on their backs by accepting the guilt of regicide. The fact that most of the best among them were veterans themselves, and so had at least residual qualms about committing the ultimate in high treason, only added to his certainty. If they wanted assassins that they could count on to do the deed, his quarry would want men from abroad. Find the right people, and they might not even have to pay them to take a shot at the Fire Nation’s highest leadership.
It was following up on that line of reasoning that had brought the towering assassin here, winding his way through a back alley amidst a grid of identical dull metal buildings by the sea in the dead of night. He passed through a door that ought to have been securely locked, but was not, and found himself amidst the clutter of a disorganized warehouse only half-full. He closed the door quietly behind him, took several steps deeper inside, and then dutifully wrapped his metal fists thrice against one of the crates. Then he did it again. And then a third time. It was a few seconds later when his keen eyes zeroed in on movement, one bit of cloth stirring amidst a whole disorderly pile of it.
His contact for tonight was a taller man than most – the top of his head came all the way up to the mercenary’s nose. But where the maimed assassin was bulky and powerfully built, the other man was so slender and gangly he was almost reed-like. A hooded cloak was wrapped around his body, a cloth mask across his lower face failed to entirely conceal his prominent, hawklike nose, and strands of greasy black hair dangled down beside dull brown eyes. Feng wasn’t the man’s name. Or perhaps it was, and he merely went through their whole charade as an elaborate exercise in double bluffing. It mattered little either way.
Feng had many competitors, of whom Li Jie was only the most publicly known. A place like Caldera City thrived on secrets, and where there were buyers there would always be sellers. For his own part, the mercenary found the former dockside tramp a more reliable source than most. Perhaps he might not always be able to get an ear into the meetings of the high and mighty, but everything they did, from the Fire Lady to the lowliest bureaucrat, made ripples amongst the tides of humanity that existed to carry out their orders. If one learned how to properly discern and interpret those disturbances, one seldom needed any eyes within the palace itself. And Feng had perfected that art to a degree that few others could match.
“You’re early,” the weedy man commented.
“It’s a good business practice. You’ve looked into the matter I asked about?”
“Depends. You got the gold I asked about?”
The assassin nodded once, flinging a leather coin purse the informant’s way with his remaining fleshy hand. Despite his unassuming appearance, Feng caught it in a surprisingly agile display of his reflexes. He opened it briefly, rolled the coinage around in his hand, and then it promptly disappeared into the folds of his cloak.
“Right then,” he nodded at the mercenary. “What you wanted was news of foreigners, ‘specially those coming in all suspicious-like. Well, have I got something for you.” The mask made it difficult to tell, but it certainly sounded like the man was grinning. “Feng always comes through.”
“Then let’s hear it.”
“Some of my friends in the bars and pleasure houses down by the harbor heard some funny stories from some sailors, not two days ago,” he said. “Tales of strange men, with foreign accents, not found on any ship’s register. Kept to themselves, didn’t talk much. Hard-looking men, lots of lean muscle and intense faces. Gave the sailors the creeps. Captain didn’t tell them anything about who they were or why they were on board, just that they weren’t to be disturbed. Was easy enough – they slept in their cabin, fed themselves, didn’t even come deckside once in the whole ten-day journey from over in Bai Haian.”
“And the name of this ship?”
“I was getting to it,” he groused. “These men were from the Baise Huoyan.”
That’s a trading ship belonging to House Meili, the mercenary mentally noted. He’d seen the large cargo barge several times before, it being a relatively common sight in and out of ports around the capital. He’d even been a passenger on it himself, for a job he’d once taken over in the colonies.
“And you know what? There’s more. Some of the girls say that sailors swore they heard twanging sounds below decks, especially at night, and they found a few barrels with brand new holes in ‘em.”
Foreign archers, smuggled covertly into the heart of the Fire Nation? His pulse didn’t quite quicken, he was far too professional for that, but he definitely had a good feeling about this lead.
“Now the next part, none of the sailors saw,” Feng continued. “But some of my boys hanging out by the docks spotted something else. Get this, when the Domestics were getting ready to do the standard checks on an inbound cargo ship, some toady in a bureaucrat’s robe came up and flashed some papers at ‘em, and they backed off right quick. The boys didn’t know what to make of that.”
That will be someone from Domestic Affairs, the mercenary concluded. No other ministry would be able to pull rank so easily within the home island’s borders.
“And these strange foreign men,” the hulking assassin asked his contact. “What happened to them?”
“They got off the ship, dressed up like proper Fire Nation types,” he answered. “Met a carriage a few blocks over, pulled the blinds down, and rode off just like that. The boys didn’t see where exactly they went, but it definitely could’ve been the royal city,” his eyes were fixed on his customer’s. “It all sounded pretty suspicious to me.”
“Without question. Can you point me to the carriage’s driver?”
Feng nodded once. “Name’s Lee Jin. Carriage for hire. Works the area around the southern docks, mostly. I can point out his usual routes on a map.”
“And the bureaucrat waving the papers?”
“Xiao Fu. Some jumped up dockside bean-counter with a talent for brown nosing. Not a very brave man, or so I've heard,” he snickered. “I’m sure he’ll love meeting you.”
The large man kept his stoic expression. “Very good. Are there any other things you’ve heard about suspicious foreigners?”
“Nothing nearly like that, no,” he shook his head. “Just some sketchy folks ‘from the colonies’ with suspect papers, hawking wares in back-alley markets and slipping the occasional Domestic a silver coin or two. Didn’t figure that’d interest you.”
“You figured right.”
“I know my customers,” he said, with a trace of pride.
“That you do,” the assassin replied, with a simple nod.
Uncle wasn’t doing well.
As the Fire Lord, Zuko was almost always busy with one lesson or another, as they tried to cram decades’ worth of education in politics, firebending, military strategy, court life, history, ritual, and so much more into the space of a handful of years. Uncle had been busy too, or at least that’s what Mom said. She had asked him to help her out for a little while, to make sure that everything in the Fire Nation was running well, and then he would get to decide what he would do next. The young ruler-to-be had done his best to keep it off his face, but part of him had been a little jealous about that, had wished for the thousandth time that the crown had gone to Uncle, where it belonged, and not to him.
Zuko had never really understood Grandpa Azulon. The old man had always been distant, and stern, and scary. He’d never seen his father’s father smile, not even once in his life. Even Dad had smiled at him at least a couple of times, especially when he was younger. He especially never understood why his own grandfather had decided that he needed to die for what Dad had said. Mom said that he’d changed his mind before she’d spoken to him, that he’d never really meant it, but the boy guessed that was just her trying to comfort him, to make him feel safer after Dad was suddenly ripped away. Grandpa always meant what he said, and never changed his mind. Whatever Mom had said to him in their audience had to have been the most convincing stuff ever if he’d gone back on his decision even on what turned out to be his deathbed.
But the more Zuko saw of Uncle Iroh in the days following his return home, for once he felt that he genuinely did get Grandpa, or at least his dying wish. The fun-loving older man who loved playing the tsungi horn, Lu Ten’s indulgent but proud father, the war hero who always had an exciting battle story to tell and foreign trets to dole out, and even the doting uncle who liked to ask about his favorite nephew’s firebending studies (and who smiled about them a lot more often than Dad), all of those things were gone. In their place was… nothing.
Whenever Zuko saw him, which was not that often, Uncle did not smile. He did not joke, or tell cool stories, or ramble on about silly games or what plants made the best sorts of tea. He’d attended less than one full meal with the rest of his family in all the time he’d been back, and even then, he’d barely touched some of his own favorite foods before retiring to bed hours before sunset. It was almost like his uncle had died alongside his son at Ba Sing Se, and what was left walking around was just a hollow shell. If Grandpa had known, or even guessed, what had happened to Uncle then Zuko couldn’t honestly fault him for deciding the throne had to go to Dad, had to go to him instead.
It wasn’t until midafternoon, several days after General Iroh had returned to Caldera, that the young Fire Lord finally contrived some time away from his tutors at a time when the former happened to be free. He, or rather Private Sang of his perpetual escort, located the rapidly greying older man on one of the palace’s many internal balconies. Overlooking a private courtyard well out of the capital’s sight, Zuko’s uncle knelt on a crimson cushion opposite a low lounge sofa of foreign design, the brass and onyx table before him set out with a full tea set that looked from a distance like it had barely been touched.
Slowly, cautiously, leaving his constant escort of Imperial Firebenders posted at the conjoined room’s interior door, the boy made his way to the portal separating the inside of the palace from the balcony. He took a moment to collect himself and take a deep breath or two. When he felt ready, the boy gave the portal’s side a handful of gentle knocks, then quickly withdrew his hand.
“…Yes?” came the eventual reply, several seconds later.
“It’s… me, Uncle,” Zuko said. “Can I join you?”
“You may.”
At that, Zuko brushed aside the veil of semitransparent crimson curtains that stood in his way, feeling the temperature drop several degrees as he stepped outside. The Dragon of the West had his head bent and his eyes closed, kneeling on his cushion as if in meditation. Gingerly, propelled by some instinct to be as quiet as possible, the Fire Lord made his way to the low-lying lounge sofa across from the old man, perching himself upon the edge of it. He stared across the onyx table at his uncle, who took a good little while to even open his eyes. When he finally did, they were noticeably bloodshot.
“What brings you out here at this hour, nephew?”
“I wanted to see you. We haven’t talked much since you got back.”
“I suppose we haven’t,” Uncle dipped his head just a little. “My apologies.”
“No, no, it’s alright!” Zuko hurriedly waved both his hands, shaking his head. “I’m not mad. I get it. I get what you’re going through.”
“…I pray to every spirit I know that you don’t, and that you never do,” Iroh sighed.
“R-Right,” Zuko nodded little nervously, his mind only just realizing how offensive his words could have come across as. “I just…”
“I know,” Uncle nodded at him. “I know, nephew.”
“Anyway,” the boy continued with a swallow, reaching down into the sash at his waist and extracting a short, ornate hilt embedded in an equally elaborate foreign scabbard. The pearl-hilted dagger slid so smoothly out of its casing that it seemed to be covered in oil, the highly polished steel blade reflecting the sunlight with a mirror’s sheen. The war trophy was in absolutely immaculate condition, Zuko had spent some time making sure of it before coming. “I thought I’d bring you something. You already have all the tea you want, so…” he shrugged a little bit helplessly. “You sent this to me, remember?”
Uncle gave a languid nod.
“See what it says?”
He took a brief look at the inscription running along the side of the blade. “Made in the Earth Kingdom.”
“Oops,” Zuko hurriedly flipped the pearl-handled dagger around. “I mean, now see what it says?”
“Never give up without a fight,” Iroh said drily.
“Yeah,” he replied, staring anxiously over at the general’s care-worn face. “You thought that that would be good a good message for me, right? So… you know… I thought…” he trailed off, a little awkwardly, when Uncle took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
“I know you mean well, Zuko,” the older man said quietly, after a moment’s pause, “but I would ask you to please put that away. The memories it brings back are not pleasant ones.”
“Sorry,” the boy said, a slight flush on his face, as he hurried the jam the knife back into its scabbard, and the scabbard back into his sash. “I didn’t mean to-”
“I know,” he repeated. “That knife is yours now, Zuko. I want you to keep it.”
“O-Okay…” his eyes wandered downwards, towards the table and the fine tea set lying neglected all over it.
“If you would like to give me a gift,” his uncle continued, “I would like something with more of… you. It has been over… two years since we have properly spoken to one another. Why don’t… why don’t you tell me how your studies are going?”
Inwardly, Zuko groaned just a little. He spent most of his days thinking about those already because Mom asked him to. Uncle now wanted him to do it some more? The greater part of him quashed that irritation before it could show.
“Master Akihiro says that my forms are coming along well. He says I’ll be able to do the whole set of Striking Tigersnake katas perfectly before springtime if I keep at it,” Zuko said with a trace of pride, trying not to think about the fact that Azula had already mastered that style months ago. “He says I’m really far ahead of most kids my age.”
Dad would say that that wasn’t enough. That he was behind the curve for the children of the royal family, and that he needed to do more just to catch up to where he ought to be. Mom still said she was proud of him, though. He hoped Uncle thought more like Mom.
If he had hoped to catch a glimpse of an approving look on his revered uncle’s face, though, the young Fire Lord was to be sorely disappointed. The older man’s rapidly-greying, care-worn face could muster no smiles for him this day.
“Do you… wanna see me show you what I’ve been practicing?” he stood up, raising his hands and bending his knees into the opening pose as he must have done a thousand times by now. “I can do it for you now, right here if you-”
Uncle shook his head, just once. “Not today, please.”
“…Oh,” Zuko’s eyes were downcast as he sank back onto the sofa.
“I just… don’t feel I’d be able to properly appreciate it right now. Perhaps…” his voice was soft, “Perhaps some other time.”
“Alright,” the boy nodded, his head and shoulders perking up just a little. “When you’re feeling better, you’ll come and see me train?”
“…Of course I will.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” the young Fire Lord bowed his head briefly, before remembering he wasn’t supposed to do that anymore. At least not before the other person had already bowed lower, bowed longer.
“Mmm…” thankfully, Iroh didn’t seem to notice the breach of protocol.
“So yeah, firebending’s going pretty well,” Zuko continued after a spell. “I do wish Master Piandao would come by more, though,” he confessed. “He goes just as hard, but he at least tells a lot more interesting stories than Master Akihiro. But Mom says I have to spend lot more time with him.”
And I’m better with swords than firebending, he admitted, if only to himself.
“Well… the position isn’t called ‘Sword Lord’” Uncle pointed out.
Was that a bit of a joke? The Fire Lord wondered, though Iroh’s expression hadn’t changed one iota. Still, it gave him hope.
“Well maybe it should be!” he declared with an almost exaggerated exuberance. “Swords are worth way more time than a lot of people think. Azula says they’re for peasants who can’t firebend, but she’s wrong.”
“…Maybe you’ll issue a decree on the subject someday.”
“I’ll definitely do that!” he nodded vigorously.
At those words, a quick flash of something in his peripheral vision momentarily drew the Fire Lord’s golden gaze across the courtyard.
Is there something on that other balcony? Zuko asked himself, glancing briefly in that direction but not immediately catching a glimpse of anything.
“Besides… fighting,” Iroh grimaced, “what else have you been learning about?”
“There’s some big ritual thing that Mom wants to do,” Zuko said with a sigh, shoulders slumping a little. “It’s been taking up a lot of my time this last little bit. The whole thing is really long, and there’s a lot of chanting, and I have to do it in front of everyone. But…” here the young Fire Lord straightened up, clenching his fist, “Mom says it’s to help Lu Ten and everyone else who died at Ba Sing Se, so I couldn’t say no. I promise I’ll get it right!” He looked up at Uncle and put on his best brave face. “You’ll see – I won’t let them down!”
“I… I’m…” Uncle’s face faltered, and he closed his eyes again. “I’m sure… sure he would appreciate that. Truly…” he wiped just below his left eye with a sleeve. “He would, Zuko.”
Zuko’s expression also wavered as his uncle lapsed back into silence, but he kept it as firm as he could. If there was one thing, anything, that Fire Lord training was struggling to impress upon the young boy, it was that one day the entire nation would look to him to strengthen it, to provide it with direction and reassure it when things looked dire. Good facial control, they said, was absolutely essential for the job. Some days they worked so hard on it his face got sore.
There was a period of yet more silence in the courtyard, as Iroh continued to be lost in his own internal world, and then… there! There was definitely something on the other balcony, Zuko knew his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. Doing his best to seem nonchalant, the young ruler gave a yawn, rolled his shoulders, and then stretched out his arms above his head. Then he stretched his neck a little, and in the process looked directly over at the opposite balcony and just what it was pressing itself so low to the seating.
Was that… Azula watching them from over there?
Minister Xi’s idea, Ursa had decided, was a good one.
Azulon’s old head of Domestic Affairs was on to something when he had said that the Fire Nation needed something to reinvigorate its spirits after the multiple severe blows it had suffered in quick succession this year. It would be months before their spring offensives would have the chance to properly reassert their dominance on the battlefield. As things currently stood, any festival could not be something overly bombastic, for boasts of the nation’s vast military superiority and achievement would only ring hollow after nearly two years of grueling siege warfare had just ended in resounding failure. No, what the people needed right now was not the triumphal roar of a battleship’s furnace but the simple comfort of a hearth-fire. At her instruction, Xi had had his ministry put together a number of proposals for her, and the Fire Lady believed that she had found the most appropriate one for these trying times.
The Rite of the Spirit Lamps was said to be a boon to the souls of the recently-deceased, invoking the blood lineage that tied the Fire Lords back to the Sun Father to create a great beacon in the spirit world, guiding wandering souls back to the sacred halls of their ancestors, preventing them from becoming trapped, restless, angry ghosts that plagued their living relations. It had not been performed in over thirty-two years, though whether that was due to the late Azulon having had no time for it, being physically unable to perform the rather involved ceremony, or simply no longer caring was anyone’s guess.
It was a long and solemn ceremony, to be performed in public by the Fire Lord, beginning just as the sun began to dip below the horizon and ending almost an hour and half into the night. It was quite a bit of an ask from a mere eleven-year-old boy on his first real public act as the formal ruler of the nation, but when she’d talked it over with her son, explained the purpose of it all, Zuko had been adamant that he could do it.
“If Lu Ten and all the rest could fight for six hundred days for all of us,” her firstborn had loudly declared, “then I won’t let two hours of throwing fire and praying stop me from helping them!”
Ursa would readily admit that she had rarely been prouder of her son.
So, it had been decided. Zuko would perform the traditional rite, alone upon the purpose-built ritual platform, with his mother and sister in attendance at their own pavilion. Ursa had no intention of compelling her brother-in-law either way, not after she had already asked so much of him. He would attend, or not, at his own discretion. Around them all would be the gathered masses of Caldera – at an appropriate (and safe) distance, of course. Once the rite had been fully completed, Ursa would give a solemn speech of her own to mark the occasion, and then the capital would experience a rare bout of night life as men and women ate and drank, first listening to traditional songs of mourning or death poems, and then toasting the deceased and celebrating the lives of those they had lost in story and song. Smaller, synchronous rituals would be performed throughout the Fire Nation, by the comrades or family members of the deceased, if at all possible, all the better to speed their martyred loved ones to their reward, be it in a new life or beyond this world altogether.
Since High Sage Sheng had been so opposed to this idea to begin with, Ursa had decided that it might be best to get advice on her own role in the age-old ceremony and the public speaking that came with it from an altogether different source – in this case Lo and Li. The two had been around the court a very long time, and so had born witness to Fire Lord Azulon performing the rite himself and making his own speech afterwards over eight times. That was an experience very few living souls could boast.
The elderly twin sisters had been Ozai’s creatures for as long as she had known them, though she knew little of the details of what use he had put them to. He had never cared much for public speaking, preferring to let his actions communicate whatever he thought fit for the masses to know. She did know that, before his death, her husband had been considering gifting their services to Azula. Still, whatever his plans for them had been, the two elderly women had been willing enough to stay on with his widow instead, and they had far more experience with such prolonged public displays than she.
“Do you think there’s anything I can do to help him concentrate?” Ursa asked from where she stood on the palace balcony, overlooking the square that had been chosen for the occasion. She recalled their family’s fateful final audience with Azulon and could not entirely suppress a frown. “There are sure to be thousands of people in attendance. Even with the Imperial Firebenders creating a cordon, he won’t be able to forget about all the eyes on him.”
Ursa was not of the blood of Agni, she could not perform the age-old rite, or else she would have done it in order to spare her son the ordeal. It had to be the Fire Lord himself.
“The best thing you can do, Lady Ursa,” said one of the sisters, whom she guessed was Li, “is to let the Fire Lord see that you believe in him.”
“Allow his young majesty to hear no doubt in your voice that day, to witness no fear in that pavilion.”
“A mother’s confidence is contagious,” they both said at once.
“He will look to you most of all during the first of the ritual lighting prayers,” one sister predicted. “That is when you must be at your most attentive.”
“After that, there is much repetition to the ceremony. As long as he is able to complete the opening, the rhythm will become much easier for him.”
“You think so?” the Fire Lady asked, her back to them, running one finger along the point of her chin.
“Yes, your highness,” both answered.
“Thank you for your vote of confidence,” she smiled faintly, amber eyes still fixed on their chosen square.
“You are wise to perform this sacred rite anew, Lady Ursa,” one of them told her.
“For generations, it brought peace and comfort to the bereaved of the royal city.”
“Such things are sorely needed right now,” both concluded.
The Fire Lady wondered how they did that.
“We are glad to see it return after so many years of absence. So too will be the rest of the nation,” one twin predicted.
“And we hope to see the fullness of it again, in time.”
“Fullness? Are you implying my son’s efforts are inadequate?” Ursa half-rounded on the elderly women, her brow creasing slightly.
“Of course not, your majesty,” the one that was presumably Lo said, bowing her head.
“We meant no offense,” the other did likewise. “We are certain Lord Zuko will perform admirably.”
“I’m pleased to hear it,” she turned back away.
There were a few moments of quiet atop the balcony, where the only sounds came from the early winter winds and omnipresent backdrop of the capital’s lively daytime streets. Ursa continued to stare down at her chosen stage, pondering the imminent future.
“The Rite of the Spirit Lamps is ancient and honorable.”
“And while we are certain your son will perform his role admirably…”
“This one will not be quite as it once was,” one pointed out.
“But what is missing is not his majesty’s fault,” the other sister added a little hastily.
There was another moment of near silence.
“Still, we cannot forget…”
“That in the fullness of the rite…”
“The Fire Lady plays a role as well,” the twins said together.
“She brings forth the hope of rebirth onto the stage, to be beheld by all.”
“You’re referring to the Fire Lord’s wife, not his mother,” Ursa turned to them and smiled a bit ruefully. “One can hardly substitute one for the other.”
“Well, he may be a little young for that now,” one of the twins smiled back, a little slyly.
“But I’m sure his highness will make some very fortunate lady very happy.”
“One day very soon,” Lo and Li finished as one.
Ursa supposed that it would soon be time to start thinking about arranging Zuko’s marriage. Briefly, she considered what she knew of the available young high society women in the capital, then wondered if there were any eligible foreign noblewomen of appropriately high station that were about her son’s age. Hadn’t there been talk of some “moon-blessed” young princess to the far north a while back? She’d have to have military intelligence look into that.