A/N: I own nothing of Avatar: The Last Airbender. Nothing at all.

This little vignette is how I like to imagine the Blue Spirit came about and takes place before Aang is released from the iceberg. I don't know if I want this to stand as just a one shot or continue it with other explorations of the Blue Spirit and if he ever returned after Lake Laogai. Let me know what you think!

He'd been handling the swords for a while. At first it was just something to keep him entertained, to stave off the encroaching boredom of being trapped on a ship. It was his Uncle Iroh's suggestion, after he suggested the brooding prince learn the sungi horn. The surly teenager opted for the weapons; musical instruments were not much use in a fight. In time he became at ease with the dual swords, using them as an extension of his arms and becoming as efficient with them as he was with firebending. It was such an exhilarating feeling, knowing that he was proficient in skills besides his natural bending. It was something Azula couldn't do, he was sure. She had no weapons outside her bending and agility.

The dao swords were liberating; they allowed him a certain anonymity when he wore them on his back. The swords told passersby that he was dangerous and fierce, not because he was from the Fire Nation, but because he was capable of slicing someone in half. If he dressed in clothes unaffiliated with his birthplace he found people looked at him with quiet respect and admiration instead of the outright fear and loathing his armor garnered him. It was this revelation that planted the first seeds of the Blue Spirit in his mind. That he could be someone he wasn't, but someone he wanted to be.

It wasn't until he was going through his uncle's endless array of knick-knacks that the seeds took root. He was digging though a pile of useless junk, separating it into a pile to keep and a pile to throwaway (his uncle fervently clung to the ornate tea sets and gaudy statues) when his fingers closed on something cool and made of clay. Pulling it towards him, he suppressed a look of satisfaction as he inspected it. It was fierce; it was sturdy, and it was blue. Perfect.

"What is this, Uncle?" he said turning the mask over in his palms. "Where did you get it?"

"Oh, at some festival months ago," his uncle replied. "I quite admired the depiction of the spirit of mischief."

"It's nice," Zuko added. He wondered how it would fit his face, but resisted the urge to try it on.

His uncle glanced at the ever-growing throwaway pile. "You should have it," Iroh told him. "Something nice to decorate your cabin with."

"Yeah," Zuko muttered still staring at the mask held in his hands.

"You should put it there now," his uncle continued, "so it doesn't get mixed up with the others."

Zuko nodded absentmindedly and strode out of his uncle's cabin. Iroh sighed in relief. His things were safe for another day.

Several weeks later Zuko's ship docked at an Earth Kingdom port to restock supplies and give the sailors and soldiers shore leave. They planned to stay at the port for several days, then head south, following an unsubstantiated lead on the last known whereabouts of the Avatar. It wasn't much to go on, but then Zuko never had much to go one save his determination and his honor.

The Earth Kingdom port was merely tolerant of the Fire Nation visitors, not interacting with them any more than they had to and giving them dirty looks behind their backs. It was something Zuko and his men had grown accustomed to, but it did not make it any more comfortable when it occurred. During shore leave Zuko reluctantly accompanied his uncle to the market, suffering through Iroh's leisurely admiration of anything and everything he came across in the stalls. The teenager drifted ahead as his uncle haggled with a merchant over an ornamental jade bowl engraved with a platypus bear laying an egg.

Zuko wandered through the stalls looking for nothing in particular and ignoring the merchants who called out to him. What he really wanted, what he would never admit to anyone not even himself, was a distraction from this fruitless hunt. Just a few hours of not being himself, not being an outcast whose life had become inextricably linked with a near mythical being. As he walked he looked down at his feet, clenching his fists and fighting back angry tears as these traitorous thoughts crossed his mind. That was how he ran right into his distraction.

Had he been looking where he was going he would have noticed in front of him the community billboard plastered with signs advertising everything from an old pair of shoes for sale to a sword fighting tournament. Since he was not looking where he was going he walked directly into the billboard, knocking his head hard against the wooden surface. He grunted in pain clutching his forehead and waiting for the stars in front of his eyes to clear. When they did, his distraction presented itself so clearly it was obviously a sign from Agni himself. Go forth, my child, and kick everyone's ass at sword fighting.

Zuko grinned in spite of himself. This will be fun.

Zuko dressed in all black, shedding his association with the Fire Nation and firebending. He would no doubt be discriminated against if he wore his nation's colors. This was a contest specifically excluding benders. His face was instantly recognizable, his left eye was marred with a very visible red scar and his top knot screamed Fire Nation. He covered his hair with a black hood and his face with the blue mask pilfered from his uncle all those weeks ago. He entered the contest simply as the Blue Spirit, a moniker that would also be given to his alter ego by those bitter at having been bested by a masked vigilante.

The tournament began in the morning and was fairly simple. Two men fought first and then the victor of that fight would face the next challenger. If the victor lost the next fight his challenger would face the next fighter and so on until only one man remained. His prize was ten gold pieces and the reverence of the other warriors. There were twelve participants and Zuko was the fifth challenger. It quickly became apparent that though this man was a masked stranger, he was a fierce fighter and dominated his first few opponents.

He handled his dao swords with exceptional skill and grace, parrying and attacking with the poise befitting a prince. The twelfth challenger, the champion of last year's tournament, entered with the ring with a devilish grin on his face and a pair of broadswords himself. Finally, Zuko thought, an even match. The challenger was several inches taller than Zuko and quite muscular. His tongue was just as sharp as his swords but Zuko kept his silence. He said not a word to his opponent's taunts, but merely bowed with a sword in each hand.

The battle begun and they appeared evenly matched. Neither could touch the other with their blades. It was as if Zuko were fighting a mirror image of himself, each attack was met with a corresponding block and Zuko could feel his resolve waning. Finally the prince saw an opening, however slim, and took it. His opponent dodged just in time but not before Zuko's blade sliced several fine hairs off the challenger's goatee. It was the only blow either had come close to landing, and Zuko was tiring. He had been fighting all day with only short breaks between each round. Twenty minutes and still neither had given up any ground. Zuko had felled his previous opponents in nearly a third that time.

Finally as Zuko felt as though his arms were about to break off he found another opening. In the past few minutes his challenger had become the aggressor, leaving Zuko mainly to defend himself. As such the goateed swordsman had left his lower body much undefended and Zuko, not above such sly tactis, slid his foot under his opponent's, knocking him to the ground. As he fell, Zuko managed to knock one sword out of his left hand.

Once on the ground Zuko pinned his opponent's right hand with one arm, and placed the blade in his other arm across the man's neck. The tournament official called the match in Zuko's favor and he withdrew his swords. The felled challenger grudgingly accepted Zuko's proffered hand and bowed to him. Zuko returned the gesture with a smug grin hidden behind his blue mask. He received his gold and stealthily slipped away before any of the other men could accost him with questions or congratulations.

Zuko removed his mask and black clothing under the cover of trees near the harbor. He had not wanted anyone, not even his uncle, to know of his activities. He decided that the Blue Spirit would be his own little secret. A person he could become when being a banished prince became too much. When no news of the Avatar became too discouraging. When he had to fight back tears because of what his father had done to him.

The Blue Spirit had none of those troubles; he was a silent and skilled warrior able to gain trust and respect despite a hidden visage. Unlike Zuko he had no nationalism to display, no honor to regain and no impossible goals to achieve. The Blue Spirit was everything Zuko was not, yet everything Zuko yearned to be.

The Blue Spirit was free.