Chapter Text
Haytham: “We worked to see this land united and at peace. Under our rule, all would be equal. Do the patriots promise the same?”
Ratonhnhaké:ton: “They offer freedom.”
Haytham: “Which I’ve told you, time and time again, is dangerous! There will never be consensus, son, amongst those you have helped to ascend. They will each differ in their views of what it means to be free. The peace you so desperately seek does not exist.”
Ratonhnhaké:ton: “No! Together they will forge something new— better than what came before.”
Haytham: “These men are united now by a common cause. But when this battle is finished, they will fall to fighting amongst themselves about how best to ensure control. In time, it will lead to war. You will see.”
Ratonhnhaké:ton: “The patriot leaders do not seek control. There will be no monarch here. The people will have the power, as they should.”
Haytham: “The people never have the power. Only the illusion of it! And here’s the real secret: they don’t want it. The responsibility is too great to bear. It’s why they’re so quick to fall in line as soon as someone takes charge. They want to be told what to do. They yearn for it! Little wonder, that, since all mankind was built to serve.”
—Assassin’s Creed III
Fire Nation, Royal Palace
Zuko started before he even knew what he was doing.
It was a compulsion. He made a request to the kitchen. He picked up the red lacquer bento box when it was ready. Then he left through the back entrance of the palace and walked out of the caldera towards the long, private road to the prison.
The guards always said the same thing.
No activity. No movement. Nothing to report.
The high level of security he had been obsessed with implementing was doing as well as he had hoped. But he was always vigilant.
He strolled past the terrorists and serial killers and assassins to his father’s own solitary cell. It was nighttime, but that didn’t matter much in a prison. It wasn’t like his father could go anywhere. Despite the odd hour, he played the same routine. He knocked. He asked for a chair.
And he always waited for his father to speak first.
“Well, if it isn’t Fire Lord Zuko,” Ozai emphasized, as if the title was a joke, “it’s a surprise to see you again so soon. It’s only been, what, a day?”
He moved himself forward to sit cross-legged in front of the bars separating his side of the prison cell from Zuko’s. The guard walked in and placed the chair in front of the bars for the Fire Lord before walking out and closing the door behind him.
“Two. You can’t tell the days apart in here,” he noted, taking a seat and tucking his robes underneath him.
“Not easily. They all bleed together after a while. The man who used to scream every morning is gone, and now my routine is off,” he mused.
“Another prisoner?”
Ozai gave him a tired look that meant, ‘Obviously, you idiot.’
Zuko made a noise of exasperation. “Well, at least he’s not screaming anymore.” He looked down at the bento box he was holding. “I brought you something.”
His father lazily raised a brow at that, although it was not a surprise. “Did you, now? It doesn’t smell like dinner.”
“It’s not. It’s leftover wagashi, from New Year's. And obukucha tea.”
Ozai thought aloud for once. “I didn’t know the festivities had passed already.”
“Yeah. But the kitchen has food leftover, so I brought you some.”
“The new year is upon us already. And here I still am, rotting away in this freezing, gods-forsaken cell.”
Zuko paid the apt comment no mind and handed over the large bento box, which wasn’t designed to carry tea, cups, and desserts, but he had insisted the kitchen staff do it anyway. It was easy to carry.
And bringing a picnic basket to a federal prison would have felt idiotic. Even more so than going to his horrendous father for advice.
Ozai took the handle, his hand barely brushing against his son’s, and he set it down on his side of the bars on the tile floor. Curiously, he opened the top compartment and found two small white and gold cups and a tightly closed metal thermos. After pouring some of the green sencha tea into a cup for himself he saw the dried plum and tied sea kelp popping up a little from the bottom of the cup, as expected— a custom for the new year.
“Do you really wish me good health and happiness this year? I find that doubtful.”
His son didn’t answer, thinking for a moment. Ozai took a sip of the tea, enjoying the warmth and flavor. He never got tea in prison, and in mid-winter, his cell was too cold for comfort, even in the temperate climate of the Capital. It felt quite nice.
“Are you simply trying to cajole me into giving you more advice? These attempts are quite juvenile, you know.”
Zuko took another moment before he responded, trying to remember his uncle’s advice from years ago to be very careful when he said anything in the presence of his father or his sister. They remembered everything. And were smarter than him, although of course his uncle hadn't mentioned that bit. He wondered for a second why he had brought good-luck tea, really. He didn’t mean it that way.
To him, it was simply the tea people drank around New Year’s Day, as per tradition. It occurred to him for a moment that his father considered the actual meanings of Fire Nation traditions, and the implications of Fire Nation cultural practices. Zuko wished he was as cognizant about the deeper purpose of such long-practiced traditions. His parents, his uncle, and schoolteachers had told him such things since he could walk, but Zuko had rarely paid attention enough to remember anything they said— only when it interested him greatly. Most of it he simply tuned out, finding it boring. But he realized how ironic it was that he was Fire Lord and yet he didn’t really know the basis for many of the traditions of his own country.
He watched his father take another sip from his cup.
“...I don’t really wish anything for you anymore,” he finally answered, “good or bad. It’s just tea to me.”
That caught Ozai’s attention, and he locked eyes with his son, who was sitting still on his chair with no expression on his youthful, scarred face. It was unusual.
Ozai sighed slowly. Sometimes Zuko could be surprising.
He wondered if something of import had happened since last they spoke, because Zuko was rarely so contemplative. And when he was, something dire was often on the horizon.
“Do you want a cup?” He asked his son, deciding to be equally surprising himself.
“Sure. Why not?”
Ozai poured him some tea, passed it over, and they drank in silence for a moment.
Zuko couldn’t believe how quiet the prison was. It was quieter than the Boiling Rock. So much quieter. When the guards weren’t walking around or moving prisoners back and forth from the shower room there was nothing but thick, dead silence. Like being trapped in one’s own mind. Thoughts took over, with nothing to drown them out. In an effort to try to be a more mature ruler like his father had suggested, Zuko tried to be more conscious of what he was doing.
He knew he often did things on gut impulse, without really thinking them through, and sometimes lied to himself or blocked his own thoughts so he wouldn’t consider the truth of a matter, even in his own mind. It drove him crazy. And he knew it was a part of the reason he couldn’t lightning-bend. He didn’t have full control of himself. But the heavy stillness of Ozai’s prison cell, coupled with the intense quietness of his father, made him consider his own mind for a moment.
He wondered why he really did bring things to his father’s cell. Why he came back when he knew it was a bad idea. Even after being denigrated and denounced by him. And why he tried to bring things to make Ozai, of all people, feel better. A man who had abused and belittled him over the years, interspersed by such rare moments of parental love.
Zuko stared down at his hands, wrung in his lap, struggling to understand his own emotions. Just six months prior he had been firmly in support of having his father killed. Executed in public. And just months before that, he had wanted nothing more than to go home and be embraced by the same hand that had burnt off almost half his face.
And yet, there he was, sitting in the cell again. Wondering why he had come.
Zuko blinked, not fully knowing the answer, but after taking another second looking around the dismal, desolate room, and the iron bars separating them, he could think of one of the answers. And it wasn’t one he really wanted to think about.
He felt bad for his father, in a way.
The silence was deafening. In his chilly little cell, there was no escape. No release date. No hope on the horizon. No one to talk to. Nothing to pass the time with while waiting for death. Even the only window at the top was tiny, and heavily barred, barely letting any moonlight into the cell. Only in the upper quadrant, near the ceiling, or the far wall. The only things in the cell were a mattress on the floor with one bare pillow, and a metal toilet with toilet paper in the back corner. No comforter. Not even sheets.
Guards had told him that prisoners in solitary would often hang themselves with the sheets.
Zuko looked at the pathetic excuse for a bed in the corner, and remembered the bed his father used to sleep in. Back when he was a child, and his father was actually a father, and not a stranger.
It was a lovely bed. Large and very wide. A custom-built one, hand-carved, and passed down through generations. The tall four posters were black wood, decorated with gold-painted scrolls. At the top there was expert latticework with depictions of dragons and deer-foxes in pastoral scenes. The wide expanse of the feather-down mattress had been covered in the nicest silks, or silk-covered down comforters in winter, and the colors changed throughout the year. Crimson red, midnight black, light gold, muted purple, and emerald green. Delicate embroidery of cranes or good luck tassels or phoenixes taking flight. There were always comfy pillows by the headboard.
And, of course, his mother… usually curled up on her side, under the blanket. Beautiful and warm and always a relief to come home to after a terrible day.
It was difficult to blink back to reality and take in the dingy, bare mattress sitting right on the rough tile floor. His father's new bed.
No sheets.
Then, another thought came out from the fog. Another emotion. And Zuko tried not to push it down, because he knew if he did that, it would just make things worse. He worried that his father would commit suicide. And, if he did, despite everything that Ozai had done to him, and to the world, Zuko worried that the guilt that would come after would be overwhelming.
With a shallow breath in, Zuko tried to accept the feeling. Then he let it out. He remembered that Uncle Iroh told him a way to get to a clearer qi space was to accept the feelings one was trying to deny. Then you can deal with them with your clearer qi-path, he remembered.
“My goodness. You’re really thinking about something,” Ozai muttered, breaking the silence after watching his son struggle for a full minute. “Worried The Avatar’s going to lock you in here, too?”
“No, I’m not. Just eat. Aren’t you going to open the other one?”
Zuko gestured to the elaborate bento box, which looked very out of place in his cell.
Ozai opened the lid to the second compartment and peered inside at the elegant, expertly made New Year’s wagashi, which were quite familiar to him: flower petal mochi, steamed rice-flour cakes, dango, yokan, and an Earth-Kingdom-style mooncake.
It felt strange to see the wagashi in such a desolate place. They were too pretty. Too perfect. They were meant for the sunny tea rooms of sophisticated wives and elegant palaces. Not solitary confinement. When Ozai picked up a piece of plum flower mochi and took a bite, a memory faded into his consciousness, one of another, far more pleasant New Year’s celebration, years ago.
The Royal Annex, which was usually sparsely and elegantly decorated, had been filled with decor. Garish ornaments clashed with the understated artwork and gilded moldings of the Annex, clearly for the sake of the children living within its walls. That morning, Ozai and Ursa had helped their children hang red paper lanterns, paper cuttings, door couplets, kadomatsu bamboo shoots, and plum branch arrangements around their family's chambers, for the occasion of the new year.
Once everything had been set up, the four of them sat down for tea service in their living room. It was much like a normal day, save for the court musician, plucking a zither in the corner. Ozai had never been very fond of court music in the background, preferring the sounds of the fountains in the gardens alone, but had acquiesced to his wife’s request given the holiday.
Also at her request, the chabudai table in their living room was filled with wagashi. The desserts, almost too beautiful to eat, were laid out in rows on black lacquer trays before them. No effort required. There were servants and master chefs to do all of that painstaking work. For Prince Ozai and his family, the wagashi simply arrived at the desired moment, along with matcha and servants, on standby in case they were needed.
The Fire Prince simply looked at them for a moment, curious. The wagashi were in endless colors and combinations, some made to look like flowers, animals, and even spirits. There were orange peach-shaped mochi, cherry blossom nerikiri, red bean cakes, mandarin-shaped daifuku, Earth Kingdom mooncakes, and a white hanabira mochi shaped to look like what Ozai guessed was the rice spirit.
“It’s hard to open these.”
He looked up at his young son, seated across from him at the table.
Despite the apparent difficulty, Zuko was smiling a little, his gold eyes twinkling as he opened his envelope, pulling on the shiny red and gold strings, trying to open it as fast as possible. Ursa had picked out traditional, elegant red envelopes, with white, gold, and red strings for decoration. And Ozai had written the children’s names on their envelopes, as was expected. They both knew Zuko and Azula looked forward to the tradition every year, even though they had no real need for money. They had everything they could ever want.
Ozai supposed they cared more about the meaning of the money gifts: it meant that they were loved and cherished by their parents.
Even though he had never been one for sentimentality, and the practice was quite indulgent, Ozai always gave his children plenty during New Year's, and their birthdays, and for the celebrations in midsummer. After all, he remembered being a child and never receiving anything, and the pain that had come from that. He watched Zuko slide the paper money out of the envelope, and Azula followed suit, her tiny hands working quickly.
“Wow!”
For Zuko, there were four paper notes, worth four hundred gold coins in exchange, and for Azula, three notes, being the younger sibling. But she smirked nonetheless, looking at the exchange value and the image of a much younger Azulon on the paper note, her namesake.
“Thank you, daddy.”
Zuko looked up with a pleased expression. “Thank you, dad.”
“You’re welcome.”
Zuko’s gaze flicked back down to the money and the table between them. The arrangement of wagashi and the tea set took up all the space on its surface.
“Where should I put it?”
Ursa extended her elegant hand. “I’ll put it away for you, dear. If you want something, just ask. I’ll take the money out for you then.”
Zuko obliged easily, handing it all over to his mother right away.
Azula wasn’t so sure. “I want to keep it!" She clutched it tightly. "It’s mine. Why do I have to give it back?”
“Let her keep it,” Ozai sighed.
Ursa looked over at her small daughter, fighting the urge to scold. “Fine, dear. You can keep it. Ask one of the servants to take the envelope to your room. Nicely,” she added, and Azula rose from the floor cushion to approach their servants on the other side of the grand room.
Zuko picked up a tiny green nerikiri, shaped like a leaf. “Can I put some money in the box at the temple when we go today?”
Despite the general lack of religiosity in the Capital, the royal family went to the temple on every New Year’s Day, in a show of thanking their ancestors and the spirits, and to pray for safety and good fortune in the coming year. It was the last religious tradition left, really, although pretty much void of meaning. Just a ritual. The meaning of common habits like leaving out mochi and daidai for the spirits was mostly forgotten, with only a select few remembering the actual meaning of the ancient traditions, and barely anyone remaining who really believed in it.
“Sure. We’ll give you some coins to put in the box.”
Ursa nodded, elegantly pouring matcha for her husband and then for herself and Zuko. Ozai watched his butler-manservant bow his head to Azula and hand her something. She came back to the table holding New Year’s Day cards and handed the stack to her father.
“Souzu gave me these. He said I could bring them to you.”
She put them in his hands and went back to her seat, kneeling on the zabuton cushion.
Prince Ozai looked over the decorated cards, each with some form of a tiger on the front, the writing in gold-painted characters. He handed the first one to Ursa, immediately recognizing the address, and she opened them with excitement.
“Oh, these are from your grandparents in Yamamachi!” She opened them and began to read, smiling as she did so, “‘Happy New Year, Zaodan family. Thank you for everything you’ve done for us in this past year. Please remember our heartfelt appreciation. We miss you all dearly during this winter season. We thank you for your visit this fall and wish to see you again soon. We are praying for good health and happiness for each of you. May good fortune fall upon you. May wealth and treasures fill your home. May the five blessings come to you.’” She stopped reading and looked up at her children. “Do you remember the five blessings?”
Azula answered right away. “Longevity, wealth, health, virtue, and a natural death.”
“Very good, Azula. I’m going to keep reading. ‘We wish that you will all have a flourishing year. Prince Zuko and Princess Azula, we wish you good luck in school and at the Royal Firebending Academy. Honored Prince Ozai,’— they really wrote ‘honored’,” Ursa chuckled at the idea of her parents writing with such formality, “‘we wish you good luck in the competitions this year and in all your other endeavors. For dearest Princess Ursa, our beloved daughter, we pray that you will have another successful birth and a healthy baby boy.’”
Ursa lowered a hand to her newly pregnant belly, thinking of the child growing inside her. “‘Congratulations again on the pregnancy. We look forward to celebrating another precious grandchild. Please write to us soon and let us know of your health and how the pregnancy is progressing. Cheers to the New Year of our Honorable Lord Sozin, ninety-three.’”
“How do they know it’s gonna be a boy?” Azula asked.
“They don’t,” Zuko answered, “They’re just hoping, ‘cause it’s good luck to have a boy.”
Azula scowled at him. “No, it’s not. It’s good luck to have a girl. I’ve always been luckier than you, dum-dum.”
“No arguing,” Ursa stopped them, “Not today.”
She took out two pochibukuro envelopes from her parent’s package, more playful and childlike than the ones she had picked out. Cherry blossoms and red strings for Azula, and a cartoon-style tiger with gold strings for Zuko.
Ursa looked over her children with a motherly gaze, perfectly plucked eyebrows slightly raised. “Are you going to be good now?”
“Yes, mom,” Azula forced out. She wanted the rest of her gifts.
Zuko's eyes beamed up at her sweetly. “Yes, mom! Promise.”
She relaxed her face and held out the money envelopes for them. “Here, then. From your grandparents.”
“Yay!”
“Sweet.”
Both children began opening the envelopes while Ozai filtered through the stack of nengajo cards to get to the one he wanted. Ursa placed her hand on his thigh in silent support and looked over to see what he was reading. He set the others down and opened the simple, blood-red one, with no decoration except for the character for the Year of the Tiger stamped in gold. He pulled out the note inside.
“From your father?” She asked gently, barely more than a whisper.
“Yes.”
________________________________________________________
恭贺新禧。
祝您的家人過一個快樂和健康的一年。弄瓦之喜。願這孩子堅強。
蘇瑾新年賀詞九十三。
________________________________________________________
He frowned at the short and very formal card. Just long enough to not be completely improper, written with haste when Iroh had no doubt scolded him for not writing one for them.
“What does it say, dad?” Zuko asked. “Is it from Firelord Azulon?”
“Yes.” Ozai cleared his throat. “‘Happy New Year. I wish that you and your family will have good health and success this year. Congratulations on the pregnancy. I wish for your child to be healthy and strong. Cheers to the New Year of Sozin, ninety-three.’”
A silence passed among them. Zuko and Azula watched their father’s expression closely, because something was going unsaid; the tension in the air was strange, but clearly evident.
“It’s longer than last year’s,” Ursa whispered softly, so only Ozai could hear, and not the servants.
He looked over at his wife, at her gentle gaze and the comforting expression on her beautiful features. She rubbed his knee affectionately, trying to soothe him.
“Aren’t we supposed to give good wishes to each other, too?” Zuko spoke up. He took a sip of matcha and winced at the slightly bitter flavor, not quite old enough to be used to the taste of it.
Ozai just stared at his son in silence, still frowning.
“Of course, darling,” Ursa replied, “I think that’s a wonderful idea. What are some of your wishes?”
He thought for a moment. “I… I wish for father to be happy and healthy and have a long life, with many children and lots of grandchildren. And I wish for him to win all of his competitions this year. And I wish that Uncle Iroh and cousin Lu Ten will be happy this year, too. And I wish that Iroh and Lu Ten will do well in battle, and bring Fire Nation victory… Also, that mom’s baby will be strong and healthy. And a boy. And at the temple today I’m gonna wish that the new baby is a bender, too, because that’ll make dad really happy.”
Ursa’s amber eyes sparkled, radiating joy and pride. “That’s beautiful, Zuko.”
Prince Ozai kept silent, simply considering the innocent child across from him… his own creation. The boy’s charming face was full of earnestness, kindness, and conviction.
Ozai wondered how long it could possibly last.
And he wondered why he couldn’t stand it.
It was a struggle to come back to the present. A part of him wanted to remain in his memories. In the past. Before everything had become so dark. Before he had become so dark. Before everyone had been lost. Before the death, the sadness, and the loneliness had come sweeping in like a great tsunami wave.
“Are you gonna say anything?”
Zuko sounded annoyed, and possibly concerned, but Ozai wasn’t sure. He was lost in his own thoughts, too distracted to care.
“Thank you for the wagashi.” The words barely sounded inauthentic.
He picked out another one and ate it.
Zuko scowled. “You’re being really strange tonight, dad. Maybe you’re finally starting to lose your mind in here.”
“I could have done with something stronger than tea..."
“What were you thinking about before? You drifted off. You were somewhere else.”
Ozai took a sip from his cup and a thought briefly passed through his mind.
“Time’s a strange thing, isn’t it?” You can only go forwards, he thought to himself, looking at his son. It was bizarre that for so long he had been in control of Zuko, but then, so suddenly, the tables had turned, and everything had reversed. And now his son was control of him. He couldn't go backwards, to live in what had been. Only forwards. Into a time during which Zuko was in control. Zuko, of all people.
Even Ozai knew that time wasn’t really to blame for his problems. Or even The Avatar, when it came down to it. He knew he was the main one responsible. The one to blame. He looked up at his son.
After all, he was the one who had ruined that beautiful face. He was the one who had crushed out the optimism and kindness in Zuko. He was the one who couldn’t bear to look at him, day after day. The earnestness and innocence and a gaze free of any pain at all.
He was the one who couldn’t bear to be the only family member suffering.
And Ozai had fulfilled his own secret wish. He wasn’t the only one suffering anymore. Gone was the pure-hearted kindness and naïve joy in his son's gold eyes. Gone was the angelic handsomeness.
Zuko’s eyes had nearly become a mirror, one with feelings quite familiar to him: sadness, indignation, anger, and angst. Frustration was set into the furrow of the one brow he had left. The scarred side simply wrinkled up, the slit of an eye narrowing. He glanced at the burnt fraction of an ear he had left and a slight wave of nausea rolled through Ozai, which he knew wasn’t from the sweetness of the mochi. It was one of those supremely rare moments during which he felt a little twinge of guilt.
He considered himself for a moment. He wasn’t sure anymore why he thought this would be better— making everyone else suffer, too. It hadn’t given him the satisfaction he thought it would.
“What’s wrong with you? Why are you being so weird?” Zuko wondered what was bothering him so much.
He watched his father look down at the tile floor.
“...I don’t feel well.”
“You’re going crazy in here.”
Ozai made a noncommittal noise. “What do you want, Zuko?”
“I just wanted to have a conversation about life in court.”
He played with his nails. “To what end?”
“To ask if you have any advice for how to deal with the councilors and— change the opinion of the whole court, really.”
“If I explained those topics thoroughly to you, I think you’d miss bedtime with that girlfriend of yours. And you’d be here until the sun rises.”
“Give me the gist, then.”
“Why should I help you? You took my throne away from me, then you put me in this cell—”
“—actually the Avatar was the one who put you in prison, not me—”
“And now you’re coming to me as a Firelord, asking for help from the very man whom you usurped. The father you betrayed.”
“It wasn’t about betraying you. Not everything’s about you. It was about the war and the future. It was about supporting The Avatar. I didn’t do it to spite you. I did it because it was right... I suppose you never even think like that,” he muttered in frustration, “‘cause you never care about what’s right or wrong.”
Ozai’s expression was grim. “You’re not a martyr. You may have convinced yourself that you went against me and joined The Avatar for some lofty cause, but in reality you know you wanted my throne and you would do whatever it took to get it."
“You’re wrong. It wasn’t like that. I changed my beliefs. I thought Iroh would become Firelord, not me. I thought I was too young, anyway. I am too young. I just wanted— to be on the right side of history. I wanted to stop feeling so guilty about everything I was doing. I thought about my own karma. Not about getting some kind of personal revenge on you. If that was really how I felt, then why would I come to visit you like this? Bring you tea? And why would I have not killed you before? On the Day of Black Sun?”
Ozai looked down at the sweets in the bento box before him and felt nauseous again.
“Why would I help you?”
“Because it’ll add a little spice to your otherwise boring life in here?” Zuko mused, shrugging. “It’s not like you have anyone else to talk to. I bring you food. And tea. That’s nice enough. I’m not going to negotiate with you. I’ll do whatever I want. If you don’t want to talk, then don’t. You don’t have the upper hand here.”
“I have the knowledge," Ozai countered. "And the experience."
Zuko huffed. “Will you help me, or not?”
“You don’t deserve it.”
“Fine. I’ll just go, then. Enjoy your dessert,” he huffed, setting the teacup on the ground.
Ozai looked up at him, curious as he watched his son head towards the door.
“Oh, wait— I have one question before I go. Not an advice question.”
“What?”
“Do you know a woman named Amara Miyazaki?”
Ozai’s gold eyes flicked up, searching his son’s expression. He hadn’t expected to hear Zuko mention her. “Amara Miyazaki? Where did you hear that name?”
“I’m asking you a question. Not the other way around. Do you know her or not?”
“I knew her. She was a friend. But I’m sure you already know that by now.”
Zuko said nothing.
“She moved back to the Capital then, didn’t she? Trying to come into power now that I’m gone? Smart girl…” he looked away, thinking about her. “She’s worked her way into your court already, hasn’t she?”
Zuko considered for a moment whether or not to answer him. “I hired her.”
“What title did she take?" He held his finger up. "Let me guess. Executive administrative officer? Head advisor?”
“Head advisor.”
“Hah. How was I able to guess that? I suppose my brain isn’t decaying as quickly as I thought. You hired her. Of course. That opportunistic woman wouldn’t shy away from your court. Not when you’re so desperately in need of help and leadership.”
“What’s your opinion of her?”
“She was a child prodigy here in the Capital. She’s a little older than you; you wouldn’t have known that.”
“Child prodigy for what?”
“That’s not the proper way to speak, Zuko.” He cringed. “You can say: ‘Why was she known for being a child prodigy?’ Spirits, you’re such a dimwit sometimes.”
Zuko bristled. “Answer my question—" he ordered harshly, "what’s your opinion of her?”
Ozai took a second to think back.
“She’s just as intelligent as she is beautiful. And very socially gifted. A natural problem solver. With her upbringing, she’s well-educated and well-suited to life in court. She skipped two grades in school and was top of her class at Akihara. She’s a very talented classical singer. A nonbender. And quite charming, too. But she’s… an opportunist. And a competent one. Gets it from her father,” he explained, meeting his son’s gaze. “He worked his way up from poverty to the Caldera itself— something most people considered impossible.”
Zuko's eyes narrowed at that.
“Why were you friends with her?”
“Why be friends with anyone? At the time, we shared common interests. We were interested in similar ideas. We’re both historians. We both earned degrees in history and political science at Akihara. So, we had plenty to talk about. Besides, she was dating my closest friend, Veras. We ran in similar circles.”
“I thought you didn’t have friends… I thought you said having friends was a waste of time.”
Ozai scowled, but then he remembered the conversation, many years back, and relaxed his face. “I didn’t say that. I said that your friends seemed like a waste of time. Not my friends.”
“A waste of time? Oh, you mean they couldn’t do anything for me... You’re so selfish,” he complained under his breath. “And why’d you say ‘opportunistic’ like it’s a bad thing? Who isn’t opportunistic in the Caldera? And in the whole Fire Nation? Maybe not Mai… but most people here are. Including you and me. Why do you think it’s so bad?”
“I don’t really believe in good or bad actions. I believe in useful and foolish actions. But don’t underestimate her, Zuko. Her lovely face and singing voice could fool you into thinking she’s not a threat. She can be. And she doesn’t pledge fealty.”
Zuko made a face at him. “You mean she didn’t pledge fealty to you. You’re just trying to paint her in a bad light ‘cause she stopped being friends with you. Maybe she just figured out that you’re an asshole and cut you off.”
Ozai tilted his head at him.
“You wonder why you have trouble getting people to support you when you address others like that?”
Zuko exhaled in frustration. “You deserve it.”
Ozai rubbed his temple. “Nevermind. She’s fine. But she’s just here now because there’s a power vacuum in your court and head advisor is a very powerful position, second only to you, when wielded correctly. And she’s a talented woman. Ten times smarter than you. Don’t underestimate her. That’s all I’m saying.”
“I won’t. I should get going now. It’s late.” He stood, like he was going to walk out.
“Are you really going to go now after coming so far to see me?”
“It’s not that far. And you said you’re not going to help me. I’m not going to stay and try to convince you. I don’t need your help.”
Ozai raised his brows at that. “Really? Why'd you take a whole hour at the end of what was no doubt a busy, trying day to come visit me? You'd rather sit in this horrid little cell and shoot the breeze with your father than go have fun with your girlfriend?"
“I can do things on my own. I’m not going to negotiate with you.”
“Sit down, Zuko. I’ll talk to you. For a minute, at least. But you need to ask me something specific.”
He sat again. “How do you convince members of the court to come around to your way of thinking about something?”
“I’m assuming simple fear of you won’t be an effective motivator," he began, because Zuko wasn't as intimidating as a normal Firelord. "So, really, you’re asking me about the art of negotiation.”
“Sort of. Yeah.”
“You need to identify something they want and work with them so they’ll go along with your plan. Are you five years old?” He sounded genuinely annoyed at him. “You don’t understand how cooperation works? A quid pro quo?”
“Alright, I’m leaving. Man, you’re just—” he was going to swear again, but cut himself off, making a frustrated noise instead.
Ozai laughed. “You’re such a child. Ridiculous... And you think you can run this country. What a joke. How complicated is it to find out something they want and negotiate with them so they’ll do what you want in exchange? Or, to find out something they don’t want and threaten them with it if they don’t do what you want? It’s as clear as the sky is blue. And yet you’re somehow perplexed by such ideas.”
“I’m going. I’m not asking you how to blackmail people, dad. You don’t understand what I’m saying, and I’m not going to sit here and waste my time listening to you talk down to me—”
“What did you mean, then?” Ozai interrupted.
“I don’t mean—” he paused, huffing. “I meant— how do you get people to come around to new ideas? New ways of acting? New ways of thinking? I didn’t mean they do something for me and I do something for them in return. I meant really convincing them to follow a different philosophy organically. With no need for a quid pro quo. Following a new ideal because they want to."
His father's gold eyes widened. “You mean your fantastical airbender utopia idea? An era of ‘peace and kindness’?” He mocked Zuko’s words from the Day of Black Sun.
“You're making a joke of it, because you’re a piece of shit, but— yeah, an era of peace and kindness. But not a utopia. Of course that doesn’t make any sense. I mean an era of cooperation and mutual hard-work. Working together instead of constantly trying to tear each other down. With compassion and… a focus on the non-war related aspects of the Fire Nation that used to make us so great."
He raised a brow. "Such as—?"
"The other things we used to be known for. Before Sozin was ever born. The way things used to be— I’ve heard about it. We used to be known for great art, great music, great food. Literature. Culture. Firebending arts. Worshiping the spirits in our ways. Having cultural celebrations that are about something other than the war. Honoring our ancestors. Trading with people of all races, not just taking from them. We could focus on promoting the better aspects of the Fire Nation. Innovation. And the good in our people. And push people to do what they’re called to do— whatever they’re good at," he started pacing, thinking out loud. "And the people who are good at those things will prosper, and we can be known for things other than the war. And we can start seeing firebending as a martial art and a practical skill instead of it just being about burning people to a crisp. I’m not talking about a utopia. I never was. I’m talking about a different, modern Fire Nation, inspired by the old one— long before Sozin. We used to be great in a different way."
Ozai stilled at that, considering his son's words carefully. "You're talking about a time before the industrial revolution, Zuko."
He looked over at him. "Yes. But we can still be inspired by those times."
"We were different then. And we were on a nearly level playing field, hundreds of years ago— with the Earth Kingdom, specifically. Not the other nations. But that dynamic changed long ago. We progressed."
"The other nations can get what we have. We can share our advancements. Not force it on them, but offer it up. For sale," he imagined. "Make money off it and be a valuable part of the world, in our own way. We have the technology. They have the food— more than us, anyway," he sighed, "We don't have to use our technology to oppress others. That's just what people did before. We can inspire others. And make wealth for ourselves, without need for the colonies."
His father scowled a little, but let it go. "Selling technology is all well and good. But how are people here supposed to eat in the meantime? They can't take a bite out of a tundra tank or an intercom. Are you quite sure foreign people will want these things as much as you think they do? They seem to be mostly happy with their ignorant, primitive ways of life. You're gambling. If you bet wrong, there won't be enough food here."
"I think they will."
"That's your bet. But what's your role in all this? Are you in business, now? Who's going to run these operations, you? Who's going to buy these pieces of technology? Are you going to sell them to middle merchants? Offer them up in international trade? What's the going rate for a jet ski? Five cows? Six? A bushel of wheat?" He toyed with him.
Zuko glared down at the floor, shoulders tense. "I don't have all the details worked out yet."
"Clearly. In the meantime, a human being starves to death in about two weeks. Eventually the reserves in the country are going to run dry. People in the ocean-side or river towns will fare better, because they have access to protein. But what about people in the cities? The suburbs? The mountains? While the price of a single cup of rice sky-rockets? I've noticed I don't get rice anymore. That wasn't a coincidence. It's too expensive now— too rare, isn't it?" Ozai mused. "That's not a good sign. That's really not a good sign. No wonder you came to me."
"The Earth King will cut a deal with me."
Ozai pondered that, and forced himself not to make a comment in response. "Hmph."
"We're all starting to get along, and you don't understand that. We're about to reach a peace-talk," he explained, "The first one in well over a century. All the major kings and lords. It's amazing. We're cooperating. Every nation. It's something you never could have imagined before."
The ex-Firelord raised a brow at that, but held his tongue.
"We're about to reach total global cooperation. Once people can see I've helped achieve that, it'll be better here. Once the Earth Kingdom food comes in, things will get better. Besides— I'm giving people here lots of things. I'm not just criticizing them, like you said. I'm helping them."
"You're giving people things? What are you referring to?"
"Freedoms," he answered, meeting his father's curious expression. "Freedoms they didn't have before. Freedom of the press. Freedom to read whatever they want. Freedom to organize peacefully. Freedom to make their voices heard to government— we're taking comment cards from members of the public. Freedom of speech, in general. I always wanted that."
"You just say whatever you want without thinking," Ozai retorted. "That's just tactless. And counterproductive."
Zuko's face contorted in anger, thinking about the wrecked side of his face. Thinking about the Agni Kai.
"People deserve to speak their minds. That was something they could never do here during the war... without risking getting burned."
"And, how is this plan of yours working, son?"
He stiffened at the word 'son', sitting up straighter. "What do you mean?"
"How do people feel about this, then? Since you're apparently giving them what they want?"
"They're still upset. For now."
"Hmm," he pretended to be shocked in jest, "interesting..."
"Let's go back to my question. How do I get people in the court to come around to my way of thinking?"
"Do you mean fully embracing life here without the war? Without considering our country to be the best one? Considering other races as equals? Not enemies? Letting go of the past and looking forward to the future, one in which we are just another nation, and nothing special? Not in charge?"
Zuko nodded.
“You’re talking about a complete paradigm shift,” Ozai countered. “One that would take a tremendous amount of luck to pull off here. And you and I both know you weren’t born lucky."
“I don’t need luck," Zuko spat back. "I can do it on my own.”
“What makes you think people will want to give up conceptualizing the Fire Nation as the most powerful nation? The best race? And the country with the best military?”
“The military will never be what it had been. That’s over.” He waved his hand in the air, letting that idea go.
“I’m sure The Avatar made you release entire regiments after he took control.”
“I agreed to do it. We don’t need them. We’re not in a world war anymore. And he didn’t take control. We took control.”
Ozai shook his head at him. “How on Earth could the people here feel interested in the arts and building their businesses when they don’t even feel confident they’ll remain safe in the years ahead? That they’ll even be alive, with food in their pantry? I’m sure your economy is crashing for that very reason. Who wants to invest when they think you’ll be dead in a couple years at most, probably at the hand of your own citizens, and the entire country will be in upheaval... and will fracture into pieces? ” He emphasized slowly.
“That’s why you’re doing so well in here, isn’t it?” Zuko thought aloud. “You think everything’s about to fall apart, and you’ll get out? That’s why you keep on?”
He made an annoyed face at his son. “As opposed to what? Committing suicide? How?” He looked around his empty cell. “Shall I just bang my head against the wall until I crack my own skull open? They don’t even give me chopsticks in here...” he muttered.
“You think I’ll fail and the country will fall apart. And then someone will come in here and let you out.”
“I don’t know what will happen. This is all a strange dream for me. But it could be a possibility, yes. You’re obviously struggling quite terribly if you would come to me of all people. This must be embarrassing for you. And yet you come. Based on what you tell me, and what I can surmise on my own, I understand why. You have a complete philosophical separation from the people of this country. How do you think that could possibly go on for so long without them overthrowing you? Especially given your peculiar attitude about this ‘New Fire Nation’ that you envisage. This is a catastrophe waiting to happen. Your thinking is fundamentally different, down to the very core beliefs.”
“What do you think they think? Normal people here?”
“About your plan? ” He mocked the word ‘plan’ with his patronizing tone.
“Yes.”
Ozai’s sharp eyes held him in place. “That they don’t want to listen to the ramblings of a teenage ideologue. That you’re a moron. That you’re spinning childish fantasies,” he spat out quickly. “That they need their strong military and government back in place to protect them. And that they don’t want to work with boorish, brainless, backwater idiots from the swamps or the igloos of the tundra who still prefer to hunt with animal bones instead of actual weapons. That we are truly the superior race,” he placed a hand on his chest, “with a society hundreds of years more advanced, both technologically and socio-culturally. That we’re on another level, that we accomplished that ourselves, and we shouldn’t bow to those savages. Or even the educated foreigners in Ba Sing Se, our old oppressors, because they’re equally foolish and submit to a puppet king in an elaborate masquerade show, playing pretend that he knows what he’s doing and obsessing over him and his wives as if they’re actual royalty. They know what a real leader is,” he said through an exhale, "because they saw that in me, and in my father, and Sozin. Our people aren't going to play pretend that that spineless man-child Kuei, or even the Council of Five, are on the same level as us.”
Zuko lingered by the door, scowl firmly in place as he listened to his father’s racist rant. “Ba Sing Se is literally the biggest city in the world. Far bigger than any of ours. It’s gigantic. It doesn’t run itself.”
“Ba Sing Se itself is an impressive city, yes,” he conceded, “but the Earth Kingdom on the whole is agrarian. Urbanizing, sure, but agrarian. Almost everyone there are farmers, servants, or uneducated laborers of some kind. It’s not like the Fire Nation. We’re advanced. We educate our middle class. We have a true middle class, for one thing. We have a flourishing economic life and the arts and theaters and culture, these elements of our society that you’re so proud of. We’re not stuck in the rice paddies all our lives. We’re not out in fishing boats for weeks at a time, or out on the ice, barely able to find enough food to feed our families. We’ve moved past that. We’ve evolved. Almost all of our people have, except for the poorest five percent, a very small fraction. Although surely larger now that you're in charge."
His son nearly growled at that implication.
"Most people here have a standard of living that is so far beyond what anyone in any other country or throughout all of time has experienced. We’re so far past that kind of primitive existence that it’s laughable that you expect the people here to snap to your way of thinking in a heartbeat. Do you honestly think they want to consider themselves on the same level as simple hunter-gatherers, who can’t even build proper infrastructure, or aqueducts, or educate themselves? Most waterbenders don’t even use money with one another. They’re still on a trading system— a bartering system. We have investment bankers and lawyers and professors of economics... They have the man who steers the boat and the man who tries to stab the whale with a pointed stick.”
“They’re not stupid. Not at all. They just have a different way of life than us. And I’m sure a huge part of the reason for why they don’t have as sophisticated a country as ours is because the war has reduced their population down to almost nothing now. The Northern Water Tribe isn’t like that.”
Ozai laughed snidely. “Yes, it is. And that’s how the Southern Water Tribe was before. The beauty of the Northern Tribe's ice-city is just an illusion of success and progress. They have arranged marriages and an oral tradition, with almost no interest in technology or education. They focus on spirituality and waterbending and hunting rituals. Oh, and tug-of-war, that’s fun," he mocked sarcastically, "But that’s about it. They don’t know what’s going on in the world. They just focus on continuing on the same traditions. Time after time, generating after generation. Hunting in the same way, getting married the same way, and doing the same things. No forward progression. No advancement.”
He glared at his father. “Why automatically assume their way of life is worse than ours?”
“Why is their way of life worse than ours?” Ozai echoed back. “That’s what you want? You want to go backwards? Sure, why not?” He played pretend. “We’ll go back to the old ways. Get out the fishing boats and spears. Burn the books for kindling— who cares? Let’s just sing songs and dance around the fire together. Who needs medicine, and math, and dining tables, and government programs? Let’s all just get along, like one big, happy family,” he ridiculed. “Do you want that life? The Northern Tribe doesn’t even allow their women to fight or read. Or to leave their house when they’re menstruating. Good luck getting your girlfriend to follow those rules. Aren’t you supposed to be a progressive?” He raised a brow at him. “What’s progressive about that way of life?”
When Zuko said nothing for a moment, thinking, Ozai sighed at him.
“Why is their way of life worse than ours? Because we have more,” he answered himself, “and we can do more. These other cultures, they’re still almost entirely consumed with gathering enough food to feed their people. That takes the vast majority of their resources and time. They're simple. Very simple. Only in a select few areas have people moved beyond that, and been able to focus on more things than how to get dinner on the table. Or— on an animal skin on the ground, if you're water-tribe,” he muttered in condescension. “Our people have many privileges. We can reach levels we never could before. And you want to take us back to the dark ages? Is that what you’re saying?”
Zuko nearly growled in frustration.
“No. And you know that’s not what I’m saying. I’m still thinking about what I want the Fire Nation to be like. And I didn’t say I want to make the Fire Nation to be like the Northern Water Tribe. Or the Southern Tribe. I asked ‘why is their way of life worse than ours,’ which is different. And you're wrong, by the way. They're advanced, just in different ways. Ways you don't understand, or refuse to understand. Their boats, their technology— it's useful, too. Just not in ways you're used to. We're not better than them.”
“We have a better standard of living, a longer life expectancy, a better education system, better material output, better weaponry, better technology, and a much more prosperous and populous society. We have hospitals. Universities. We exceed fifty million. They barely cracked five-hundred-thousand at their prime, because the way of their society has limitations due to their ridiculous obsession with ritualistic tradition and cultural seasonality. That should be obvious, if you paid any attention in school, which you rarely did.”
“I’m done talking to you. Your advice, like usual, is just you criticizing me and being condescending instead of helping me.”
Ozai laced his fingers in his lap. “I’m trying to teach you. That is helping you. You rarely listen to me with open ears."
“It’s not helpful. Goodnight,” he opened the door to leave.
“I will say one thing before you leave. These fifty-nine million people, your citizens, now, Firelord Zuko— they will starve in agony and tear each other apart if you don’t get this country under control, in razor sharp time. Weeks. Maybe days. An impending collapse is nearing with each passing moment, which you will be unable to recover from if you allow it to occur. Once people are truly starving throughout the nation, and it spreads into the middle class, all notions of organized government essentially fall by the wayside, and people resort to whatever methods necessary to feed themselves and their family. They will start killing each other. They will tear down the government. They will kill you. And the Fire Nation, this glorious country of ours, will fracture completely. As a result, the global economy will fall apart. Chaos will spread. Thousands will die. And it will all be thanks to you…”
Zuko looked back at him over his shoulder, gold eyes clashing with gold.
"But, yes— goodnight, son."
Holding in a breath, he stepped out and shut the door behind him.
On the entire walk back to the palace, he felt himself filling up with dread. The emotion began to consume him, his father’s haunting words sinking into his very soul.
It will all be thanks to you…
A/N:
- The opening quote/dialogue is from the final fight to the death between father and son, Haytham Kenway and Ratonhnhaké:ton, in Assassin’s Creed III, set during the American Revolution (quote begins at 2:40 — https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLAQLRB76Y8). BTW, not saying this relationship or situation is exactly like the one here, because it's not, but the core contention is. And, interestingly, the son's name, Ratonhnhaké:ton, means "he who struggles," which reminds me of another idealistic young man.
- I didn’t explicitly write this in the chapter, but I hope it was obvious that the pregnancy Ursa had in the flashback ended in a stillbirth. This can happen due to a virus, smoking/alcohol intake during pregnancy, the baby choking on its own umbilical cord, and other reasons. If you read biographies it’s pretty shocking how many women suffer with this, sometimes many times throughout their life.
- On Japanese New Year's traditions and tea: “Cleansing with Fire: Spiritual Bonfires during Japanese New Year” https://livejapan.com/en/in-tokyo/in-pref-tokyo/in-tokyo_train_station/article-a0000867/ + On Tea https://gjtea.org/obukucha/
- Chinese New Year’s red envelopes: https://www.allcolourenvelopes.co.uk/blogs/news/the-role-envelopes-play-in-chinese-new-year-celebrations#:~:text=Red%20envelopes%20are%20not%20just,as%20a%20gesture%20of%20goodwill.