Well, here it finally is! I know I said a while ago that I was going to write a companion piece to my main fic, and well, here it is. Woot. The next chapter of that one is going to start delving into this back story, so I thought it was probably time for this to get up here. Of course, 'Ashes to Ashes' will always be my first priority. Otherwise it will NEVER be finished.
That being said, you can also enjoy it as an entirely self-contained story. It's only going to have a very very small number of original characters, and I'm going to do my best to keep it in canon. That's not hard though, considering we know almost nothing about what happened before Zuko's birth.
I'm going to do my best to make it exciting and intriguing and all that, without being too OTT. I just think that "Ursa was engaged to Ozai and they got married and had babies" is boring as hell. So I'm going to jazz it up. :D
I hope you enjoy it.
I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
- 'The Wasteland'
Prince Iroh accepted the steaming cup of tea with a short incline of the head, taking a delicate sip. Jasmine. The vigorous leaf was fast becoming his favourite. The Crown Prince inhaled deeply, curling his toes inside stout, mudcaked boots. He had walked for hours, on foot, braved possible death and almost certain imprisonment, and finally sat in wait inside a dimly-lit tent in the most secluded corner of the shadowy valley.
"You have some nerve, showing your face here." Iroh rose to his feet as a figure loomed in the doorway of the tent, silhouetted against the late afternoon sun. "Tell me why I shouldn't send your head back to your father."
"Kazu." Iroh dipped into a low, almost sarcastic bow. It was utterly against royal protocol; every living soul, even his own son, was to prostrate themselves before him upon meeting. But the son of Roku bowed to no man. "It is an honour to be in your presence."
"Honour my foot." Kazu crossed his arms, eyes glittering. He had aged in the twenty years since Iroh first laid eyes on him – he was white-haired, bony, and grizzled. He didn't have much left in him. Not after the life he had led. "What are you doing on my land?"
"I have come to make an offer." Iroh gave up on his half-hearted pleasantries. "Shall we sit?"
"I'm fine with standing." How old was he now? Seventy? Eighty? It was amazing, that he had a teenage daughter. Iroh tried to guess. Old enough to see Sozin's comet, the last time it circled the earth. Old enough to know Air Nomads. Old enough to remember his father's death. The bitterness and melancholy of long-faded memory stuck to him like the grime on his tattered boots.
"Very well." Iroh tried recalled the prepared argument in his mind. This could go either way. Kazu would either accept his offer wholeheartedly, or he would tell him to leave and never come back. Iroh was ready for either response, expecting the second. "Kazu, you of all people are aware of the situation between your faction and ours."
"You're hardly a faction." Kazu cut in, sneering. "Cut to the point, Iroh."
"All right." Iroh smiled calmly. "The fact is, Kazu. I'm not interested in fighting you or your forces. Azulon is resolved to stamp you out, but I have no desire to end the lives of my fellow countrymen."
"You think you can swear peace? You think you can walk in here and expect me to believe that you will lay down your sword?" The elderly man narrowed his eyes. "Do you take me for a fool?"
"No." Iroh shook his head. "You are a smart man Kazu. And a wiser one than I." He paused. "I-"
"Out with it, Iroh."
"I am here to make a proposition." Iroh drew a folded sheet of paper from inside his clothing. "Of marriage." Kazu froze. "My son, to your daughter."
"You're insane." Kazu said flatly. He didn't take the paper that was offered to him. "How could you think I would ever give Ursa up to you?"
"Because you know you're losing." Iroh said calmly. "Because I have a vision for the future of the Fire Nation. It is bright, Kazu. Only when the houses of Roku and Sozin reach peace, will we have unity."
"There will never be unity." Kazu's hands were balled into fists. "There will never be peace, whilst the Fire Lord reigns. The only way to bring harmony is to tear down the facade your grandfather spend his life building." Iroh remained silent. "To put the lies to rest. You may have thought that the Fire Nation has forgotten what he did. But the Sages remember. I remember. His attempts to rewrite history will fail."
They have already succeeded. But Iroh held his tongue, keeping the same calm, serene expression on his face. He watched Kazu pace and forth before him, watched his hands reflexively clench into fists. After some time, he whirled around, snarling at Iroh. Fire was in his eyes. Kazu snatched the paper, combusting in his hands. He let the contract fall, the fragments of paper curling into ashes. They both watched it die wordlessly.
"Get out." Kazu spat at Iroh's feet. "Leave and I will not have you killed." Iroh's eyes were trained on the scattered ashes. "Go."
"You will die, Kazu." Iroh said carefully as he slowly raised his gaze. "Azulon will not allow this to continue. He will stamp you out."
"I will die before handing my daughter over to the Fire Nation." His voice was a low growl in his throat. Iroh's face was impassive as ever. "Leave!"
Iroh left without another word. His voice was silenced in his throat as he crossed the tent, stepping out into the dying light. His eyes seemed to be trained on the ground in front of him, but he caught sneaking, darting glances of the landscape around him. He walked quickly, his welcome wearing dangerously thin.
It was unfortunate, but not unexpected. Iroh wasn't entirely perturbed about what he was about to do. It would hardly be the first band of rebels he had mercilessly crushed – although they would be the first in red. But it had to be done, for the good of the Fire Nation. How could the country expect to achieve its destiny, when it was fighting within itself? The last threat of civil war would be –finally - stamped out. Unity would finally be achieved - but it would be washed in blood. And he would have the perfect bride for his son. The granddaughter of Roku and the great-grandson of Sozin would together create the greatest Firelord the world had ever witnessed. Iroh wasn't going to let anyone get in the way of his plans.
Any means necessary.
"What are you still doing up kiddo?"
Ursa's head jerked up at the sound of her fathers' voice, a smile breaking out over her face. She sat cross-legged on her bed, playing cats' cradle with a loop of twine. The string dangled from her fingers, forgotten as Kazu sat down carefully on the edge of the spindly stretcher.
Spirits. Five sons he had fathered, but none came close in his heart to his daughter. Ursa had become his life, the reason for what little fight and vitality he had left. She was a decade younger than her siblings, the last fruit her withering mother could give to him before she died. A living miracle, born from an elderly woman who had bled her last five years before.
He would die for her in a heartbeat.
"What were you doing?" Kazu lifted the piece of string, looping it carefully around his fingers. "Show me." Ursa smiled, taking the twine and swiftly threading it around her fingers. A strand of hair slipped into her eyes and blew it away carelessly, golden eyes staring at the string.
"Put your finger in the middle." She held out her hands. Ursa had woven a web between her bony fingers. His lips twitched in a smile as he humoured her, watching as she slipped her middle fingers out of the noose, pulling tight. "See? You're trapped." Ursa held her tongue between her teeth as she carefully wove her fingers. She didn't want to mess this up.
"Now what?" He watched her. She was a rather awkward-looking child, in all honesty. Her fourteenth birthday – the summer solstice – passed some months before, and although she had grown several inches in her limbs, she was still flat, boyish and angular. Ursa had always refused to grow her hair long, and it barely covered her ears. She looked more like a lanky boy than a girl. Kazu thought she was beautiful.
"Look." Ursa was smiling again as she pulled her fingers away. "You're free."
"Clever trick." Kazu remarked. "But it's not helping you get to sleep is it?" He took the strong from her, threading it over his own head for safekeeping. "Come now, it's time to sleep." He pulled aside the covers, watching the girl wriggle inside her makeshift bed. Ursa lay her head down, still feeling awake. "We're on the march tomorrow, you need to maintain your strength." He kissed her on the forehead, his beard rough against her skin. "Sweet dreams, Ursa."
"All right." She smiled at him, her expression fading as he ducked out of the tent. She watched his shadow fade, before throwing aside the covers, heaving a sigh. She wasn't tired. Ursa was wired, and she didn't know why. There was an odd energy throughout the camp. It was like a coiled spring, or a tightly strung cord, on the verge of snapping. She heard through rumour that Crown Prince Iroh himself had visited their meagre little camp, with the intention of brokering some sort of peace. She'd heard that her father had thrown him out.
Ursa sat up slowly, pulling her knees to her chest. She turned the idea over and over in her mind, but she couldn't make sense of it. Why did her father refuse to negotiate with the Prince? Why did he banish him with threats of death? Ursa was young, but she saw and heard almost everything that went on in the camp. Although the men tried to hide from her the ravages of war, there were things that just couldn't be disguised. She knew her family and friends were exhausted and demoralised. She knew they were losing. Ursa knew that this couldn't continue. She'd seen the maps, overhead scraps of gossip. It was one of the many things that kept her tossing and turning at night. She couldn't stand it, knowing that while she lay sheltered in her tent, her brothers went out, raiding small towns and encampments. While she was left to read alone, the elders gathered in secret council. It infuriated her. It wasn't even her age – she found out that her brother Taku first rode into the night at fourteen. It was because she was a girl.
She'd tried for years to disguise the fact. She wore trousers beneath her tunic and kept her hair short. She even tried for a time to speak from the back of her throat, pretending she had a deep voice like a man. But it was all a farce, a stupid pantomime, and she knew it. Even though Ursa took firebending lessons from Sage Zhihuan and he said she was a sharp young pupil, her father wasn't interested in hearing about how she could take down three soldiers if given the chance. She was his little girl, his princess, and he wouldn't hear of anything else.
She'd considered running away, more than once. When the frustration and humiliation rose, threatening to overcome her, she wondered if it were really possible to just walk out of the camp, and leave the stigma behind her, assume a new name, where she wouldn't be Roku's granddaughter. She ached to be nameless – no, not only nameless, but totally faceless. To break away from her world of war and rebellion, of rations and slipping away in the night. She had never even been inside a town market.
One time she even got so far as to pack what few possessions she truly treasured into a worn rucksack. But when she tried to step past the billowing curtain, something faltered within her, and her resolve crumbled to dust. Ursa knew that she could never leave the only world she had ever known, the only people who loved her. So she kept her head down in books. She trained alone, pinning pieces of paper to tree stumps. She pretended often to fall asleep on her fathers' shoulder, picking up some valuable titbits of information in hushed whispers.
But at the end of the day, she was a fragile little girl, tucked away in relative safety while the world turned around her. Ursa sat once more on the bed with her legs crossed, resting her chin on a hand. Shadows and firelight flickered in the gloom, like a puppet show projected on the walls of her tent. Ursa thought briefly about trying to read in the dark, but lay down instead, watching the shifting shapes on the ceiling. Her mind was far away, thinking most of all about the prince who tried to barter peace with her father.
It was the sound of a man screaming that brought her back to earth.
It preceded the alarm, which sounded a moment later, a high-pitched, shrieking horn which tore mercilessly through the night. Ursa felt as though she had received an electric shock. She sprung to her feet, quickly disentangling herself from the twisted sheet. The sound of clashing metal came much sooner than she expected. And much closer.
What happened to peace?
Panic rose in her chest, and she sank onto the edge of her bed, struggling to breathe through the crushing fear. There was a voice shouting in her ear, pulling her away from the bed. Ursa screamed, fighting against the man. It was several moments before she recognised one of her five brothers.
"Come on!" It was Shiku, twenty-six years old, the youngest of the five men Kazu called his sons. He was pulling a cloak over her head, dragging her out of the safety of her tent, into the madness and blood of the darkness. He held her close, one arm about her shoulders. In the other, he held a drawn sword, the blade engulfed in flames. It was his favourite weapon, a trick his father had taught him. Ursa tried to look out at the chaos around her, but everything was a blur of light and fire. She kept her head down, looking at her feet. It was hard to keep pace with her much taller brother, who did his best to keep to the darkness. But soon, they had to stop, forced between two burning tents by several armed men.
"Stay behind me." Shiku pushed his sister back, holding the blade out before him. He wasn't afraid of the men. He wasn't afraid of anyone. He had seen enough death and pain to lose any fear of either. Ursa crouched behind him in the gloom, fear closing her own throat. She didn't share her brother's courage. Her fanciful visions of fighting her way past the army had died in her mind, leaving only a cold terror in the ashes. Shiku managed to cut them all down without breaking a sweat, the charred, dismembered corpses falling limp at his feet. Ursa peered between his legs on her hands and knees, gagging at the acrid stench. "Come on." He took her by the hand, taking a few steps before reeling back, eyes widening as he stared at the carnage before him. The soldiers that ambushed the men had set the tents alight, hoping to catch their prey sleeping. Most of the men were fire benders, engaged in hand-to-hand combat, supported at the rear by a team of precise archers. Her father's men were losing. They had been caught unarmed, unprepared, in the night. Many of them were already asleep. Some of them were drunk. None wore any sort of armour, save the watch, who already lay in the dust with cut throats. Black smoke billowed into the sky, choking the moon and stars. The air was filled with the cries and screams of the dying, his skin flushed from the close fire. But worse – they were entirely surrounded. With one hand, Shiku pulled his sister close, brandishing his flaming sword.
Then, they struck. Shiku knew, from the moment he saw the sheer number of the men that surrounded him, that this would be the final fight of his life. He didn't fight with the intention of saving his own skin; he did his best to take down as many of the bastards as he could. Ursa was torn from him, screaming, and with a roar he charged after the man who attempted to take her. He had tried to grab the girl by the hair, but her short locks slipped through his fingers after a moment, and she managed to kick her way free of the soldier and knock him down as her brother seized her by the elbow, dragging Ursa away. Together, the siblings almost managed to fight their way out of the tight knot of soldiers. Ursa was stronger than she let on, Shiku realised, and even though she wasn't formally trained, she had enough bending skill to force the men away with her fire. He didn't need to hide her behind his back, like he first thought. Ursa felt the rush within her, the rising adrenaline as she fought desperately for her liberty, if not her life. Shiku was knocked to the ground, and with a gasp, he collected himself, assuming a fighting stance, ready to continue in his desperate battle. But they weren't fighting him. The soldiers had all stepped back, forming a loose ring around the two children of Kazu, sealing their fate. He paused, confused, and it was a scream from Ursa that caused him to turn around. His face grew bone-white. Ursa's nails broke the skin of his arm as she desperately clung to him.
Before him stood a man in black. Entirely in black. Every inch of him was clad in black metal, from the clawed boots, to the studded breastplate, to his mask. It was in the shape of a dragon's head, covering his features entirely. The figure exhaled deeply, and smoke rose through the grill. He rose one hand. The glove was styled like a dragons' claw, with three-inch talons. Without a word, Shiku prised Ursa's hands from his arm, wielding the sword with both hands. It was his only chance.
But he never even had that. Before Shiku could take a single step towards the armed man, he raised one arm, letting fly a single, deadly accurate bolt of lightning, hitting the youngest son of Kazu square in the chest. The man uttered a short, single cry, the flaming sword falling from his hand, tumbling to the bloodstained earth. The flames died on the blade. Ursa's young, girlish scream tore through the night, rising above the clash of steel and the shrieks of the wounded. Shiku seemed to crumple in mid-air before collapsing to the ground, falling lifeless over his own sword. Ursa looked from the body of her brother to the looming man in dragon armour, hyperventilating with sobs. She struggled to think of some way to rescue herself. Perhaps she could evade his attacks, get close enough to strike. Never. Her soft, fleshy fists were useless against the perfectly honed metal. She would break her fragile bones against him. Ursa screamed as a jet of flame shot from his hands, flinging herself out of the line of fire. It caught the edge of her cloak, and she tore it away as she struggled to her feet, standing before the dragon in bare feet and pyjamas. Her face was wet with tears. Another long plume of smoke issued from the black mask, the figure walking slowly towards her. He wasn't afraid. He had no reason to be. Ursa tried to fire a shot at him, but he deflected the blow easily, and retaliated. Ursa was sent crashing into the legs of a soldier with a cry, winded and stunned. The figure bent down over her, seizing her wrist. He began to stand up with his prize, when a jet of flame arced through the air, striking him across the shoulder.
The figure turned, and a barely conscious Ursa was caught before she could hit the ground. Her eyes cracked open, and she struggled to prop herself up to see. Her vision blurred, but she was able focus on her father, who stood with his back straight, palms facing upwards in an open show of defiance. Kazu rested on the balls of his feet, facing the masked man with a snarl. He tried not to look at the body of his son, stretched out on the grass, but the image was branded on the inside of his eyelids, for ever. He didn't fight for him, there was nothing left there to fight for. He fought instead for his daughter, who struggled weakly in the arms of a soldier. The fight was short and desperate. Kazu was less strong than the masked man, but he fought with a fury and passion which emerges only when ones most beloved is in mortal peril. He placed himself in front of his daughter, refusing to budge. Kazu was old, but he lost none of his inner fire in his long life. He was the son of Roku, the last great firebending master trained in the old ways. He was the leader of the rebellion. The masked man couldn't match his firebending abilities. He was lighter than the heavily armoured man, and managed to knock him to his knees more than once. The rest of the men stood back looking on. This fight was personal, between the two of them. Kazu didn't spare anything in his furious onslaught. He had a very good idea of who it was behind the dragon's mask.
The problem was, Kazu fought with honour. He didn't see the twisting motion the armoured man made with his talons, didn't look behind him as he backed away to avoid a wounding blow. He didn't feel the spear in his chest at first. It was the sound, the sickening crushing and squishing of bones and flesh, that made him look down. Kazu sank to his knees with a soft groan as he stared at the throbbing lump of flesh pierced on the end of the spear.
He was looking at his own heart.
"No!" Ursa broke free of her captor, running across the grass and falling to her knees beside her dying father. He slumped forward on the ground, blood soaking Ursa's limbs as she clung to him desperately, sobbing. Ursa shrieked as she was dragged away by the collar of her shirt, swinging around in an attempt to hit the person to dared to separate her from her father. He was already dead, fire-yellow eyes open and glassy. The talons bit into her skin, drawing blood from the soft white skin as Ursa was hauled to her feet.
"Let me go!" She lashed out and kicked at him, her soft limbs completely ineffectual against the thick iron armour. Beyond the shock and terror and maddening grief was the petrifying conviction that she was next. "No!" She was pinned, her arms at her side as she was lifted in the air. She shot several jets of unheeded fire, writhing desperately in the iron hold of the masked man.
Then, she fell to the ground. Ursa gasped as she felt the grass beneath her knees, trying to stand. The figure had his hand on her shoulder, the claws threatening to break her skin once more. Her arms were shackled tightly behind her back. Ursa tried desperately to see through the mess of hair across her eyes, plastered to her skin with tears and mud and blood.
"Take her." For the first time, the masked man spoke. Ursa looked up at him, trembling. His voice sounded low and tinny. It was disguised, like his face. More steam erupted from the long nose of the headpiece. "This fight is over."
"No!" Ursa protested as she was hauled to her feet by two men. "No, let me go! You can't do this!" She craned her neck, struggling to catch another glimpse of the masked man who had destroyed her father and brother before her eyes. She dug her bare heels into the earth, trying desperately to slow the men who frogmarched her into the darkness. The masked man waited until she was gone before removed the helm, sucking in a deep lungful of the night air. It was cool, laced with the bitter stench of smoke and burning bodies, tinged with blood.
"Are there any survivors?" Prince Iroh turned to the men that approached him, head held high. The sound of fighting had dissipated into the black night. The battle – if it could be called that – was already over. His plan to ambush them in the night had worked perfectly. They weren't expecting a thing. Why would they, when that same afternoon, Iroh had offered peace?
"Some escaped into the forest as the alarm was raised." One of his commanders reported with a salute. "We're pursuing them, your Highness. And we found this one near the cliffs." Iroh watched impassively as the man was brought before him. He could from his clothing that it was one of Kazu's sons. The clothing, and the fact that the sight of Shiku and Kazu on the ground had brought him to tears. He was bleeding heavily from his head, his left arm severed below the elbow. "He is one of the resistance leaders, your Highness."
"I said no prisoners apart from the daughter." Iroh said coldly, staring down at the man. He was more dead than alive anyway, at this point. He was almost unconscious from the blood loss. He obviously had every intention of fighting to the death. Just like his father.
"Very well, your Highness." The night was quiet now, apart from the low hissing and crackling of fire, and the waning screams of Ursa being carried into the night. The soft groan that issued from the man as his throat was slit faded into the darkness, as the last man to die that night slumped onto the blackened grass, twitching and gurgling.
"So it ends." Iroh murmured to himself, rather than his men. He could still hear the girl screaming as she was being led away, her tearful cries rising like the flames into the blackened sky. Never again, would blood be shed on Fire Nation soil. Not while Iroh was in any position to challenge it. The final rebellion, the last retaliation from those who remembered the Fire Nation before Sozin had poisoned it, lay dead on the grass. There was no living soul who could challenge the Firelord's rule.
But in the end, it would be for good. Iroh wasn't ashamed of committing atrocities when the ends justified the means. Others had done much, much worse. These men sealed their own fates when they swore blood against the Firelord. Iroh wasn't a cruel man. He killed his enemies quickly, and only engaged in bloodshed when it was necessary. And this was absolutely necessary. He envisioned in his mind a new era, where the son of Sozin and the daughter of Roku would bring the world to its knees.
Iroh turned back to the body of Kazu, crouching over the corpse. It was perhaps the most dishonourable thing he had done in his life, having the man stabbed in the back, unaware. It was the only thing that left him feeling unsettled on that bloodstained night. He looked the body up and down, before reaching into the thick mane of white hair, extracting the gold-trimmed hairpiece. He held it up to the firelight, squinting a little as he examined it. Then, he broke into a little half-smile as he realised what the clasp was.
It was a royal artefact. Meant to be worn by the Crown Prince.
I always got the impression that Iroh was a bit of an evil bastard, back in the day. I mean, he did make a joke about burning Ba Sing Se to the ground in a letter to his family. So when he did at some point 'turn' good, it sure as hell wasn't before then. Definitely going to play around with that aspect. Feel free to disagree with me, of course
Plus, 'evil' Iroh is so much damn fun to write.