Letter to a Disgraced Son
An Avatar: The Last Airbender fanfic by Lunatique
This story is for The Silver-Tongued Lion, an awesome fan who helps me believe in myself. Lion was also kind enough to improve this piece through excellent beta-reading.
WARNINGS: Lots of horrible events and possible triggers including suicide, mentions of mutilation (self- and otherwise), implied consent issues, severe emotional trauma, and Body Horror. This is not a happy story, proceed with caution.
He closed his eyes and listened to the forest rustle and chirp outside his tent. A wind rippled the canvas as it passed, carrying sounds from the camp. Even through the thick material of the tent the sun above the forest canopy called to his own fire. He focused on that flame, blotting out the memory of the screaming man with the ruined face.
He did not stir when he heard footsteps outside and felt the inner fire of one of his firebenders approach, crackling with urgency. The firebender stopped to speak to the guard posted at the entrance to his tent. He did not know whether to feel pride or sorrow at the way they observed the formalities, hunted down and in hiding here in the wilderness.
"A report from the scouts sent out to the garrison, Colonel," his guard announced.
Jeong Jeong opened his eyes. "Enter."
Corporal Yu entered, out of breath. The remnants of his heightened meditation senses picked up the wavering of her fire as she knelt before him. "Commander. I received word that the scouts you sent out are bringing back a man who has been seeking you around the garrison."
He waited, and her silence was taut before it broke.
"He- he claims he was sent by your lord father."
"How long?"
"Within a quarter-hour, sir."
Jeong rose to his feet, the weight of his full armor pressing at him as it had even in sleep these past days. He put his helmet on and left the tent past Corporal Yu. She fell into step behind him, as did others in the camp as he went.
A short walk from camp, he caught sight of the scouts and the man they held between them. The man, blindfolded so he would not know the way, was no longer young and stumbled with what looked like weariness in addition to his temporary blindness. Jeong quickened his steps to meet them.
The two parties met and came to a stop with a few paces in between. The scouts removed the man's blindfold, leaving him to blink in the sudden sun, and Jeong heard his heart in his ears.
"Hui."
"Commander?" His men looked to him.
"Old man." He grasped Hui's shoulders, feeling every bone under the papery skin. "Old man, why did you come all this way?"
"Colonel Jeong. Oh, it has been so long." Hui tried to kneel, but Jeong did not release his grip.
"You must rest. Come to my tent and lie down." Jeong resisted the urge to embrace the old man, memories of sneaked sweets and rides on baby rhinos threatening to overwhelm him.
"Please, sir. First, my task." Hui looked to the scout on his left.
The scout took folded sheets of paper from behind his breastplate, and was about to hand it to Jeong when he met the old man's gaze. The scout gave the letter to Hui instead, who pressed it into Jeong's hand.
"From your father." Hui closed his eyes a moment, swaying in place.
The men took over Hui from him, almost carrying the old man as they guided him to camp. Jeong wished he could push them all away and carry the faithful servant on his own back, but he found himself unable to relinquish the thin sheets in his hand, not even to put them behind his breastplate.
He followed Hui and his men back to camp, too numb and too slow to lead. He watched as though in a trance as the men laid Hui down in his tent and in his bedroll, and nodded when Hui urged him to read the letter. It seemed to burn the fingers that held it.
Hui tried to keep his eyes open, no doubt to watch him read as he had watched for Young Master to take his medicine and mind his studies. Now, though, age and tiredness defeated him as his eyes dimmed and then closed. Once Hui's thin snores filled the room, Jeong forced his arms to move and opened the letter with a rustle.
To Colonel Jeong Jeong, formerly Commander of the Hu Xin Garrison:
He almost laughed. That was his father, precise about his rank and post as always. He traced the familiar handwriting, the graceful calligraphy some could hardly believe came from a lifelong military man. Jeong realized he was dawdling, dreading to let his eyes move down the page, and made himself read on.
The events of these past days reverberate with us all even as aftershocks in the wake of an earthquake. Each man must restore calm as best he may, yet perhaps I will ease your heart by speaking to the fears closest to it. I am well, as are my lady and those of my household. Rear Admiral Jeong and the Lady of Fangming also send word that they remain at peace for the nonce. Major Jeong has not yet sent word, but I am told that there have been no disturbances at the Southeast Garrison. We may hope his more distant kinship to us will spare him the danger.
Jeong Jeong's head grew light at the reprieve. His father, lady mother and junior mother, little Cheong-ah who was surely a young woman now, elder brother Yeong, elder sister Hyeon, foster brother Myeong with all their families—all safe, for the moment. For how long, though?
His father was entirely too kind to an unworthy son. Jeong gazed at the wall of his tent, yearning to see the people his soul ached for. It was not the distant ties of blood to them that might save the brother of his heart, but to Jeong himself.
For the first time in his life it seemed almost a blessing that he had lit the pyres of two wives in five years, the second with their stillborn son. They, at least, were safe from the crime of being his loved ones.
General Jeong sat with the women of his household after the royal messenger had left. Even in the twilight of his life he filled the room with his build and bearing, his grey head as proud as it had been when he inspected thousands of soldiers who trembled at every flick of his eyes.
The lady of the household, born of the house of Han, sat across the desk from her husband. The lines and folds of her face mirrored his like signposts of their shared journey through the years. In her hands was a letter whose seal, the golden flame of the royal house, glinted in the low light.
The General's junior wife Miju sat behind her lady and to the right, traces of a lovely youth still showing through her middle age. Pressed close to her sat her daughter Cheong-ah, a younger version of her mother just coming into womanhood.
Lady Han put down the letter, the fine paper trembling with her hand before she released it.
"And what will be my Lord General's response to this summons?" She raised her eyes to his.
"What I have done all my life, my lady. I do what I must."
"You will plead Colonel Jeong's case before the Firelord, then?" Her voice caught on the mention of her youngest-born.
He reached across the top of the desk, and she rested her hand in his with the ease of long familiarity.
"I will do what I must," he said, "for us all."
She searched his eyes with the look of one who found something she did not want. "My lord..."
The junior wife and her daughter looked to each other. Cheong-ah opened her mouth to speak, but subsided at a look from her mother.
"I must ask that you be kind to me yet again, after a lifetime of kindness." The General gave the lady's hand a squeeze. "Seek not to deter me. I do not think this old heart could bear it."
The lady squeezed back as her breathing trembled in and out. She closed her eyes, steadying herself. The junior wife put a hand over her mouth while Cheong-ah looked from one adult to another.
"Know that you have been my solace and my light, always." The General placed his other hand over his wife's. "No honor I have earned in my life can compare to the privilege of keeping you and our children safe."
"No woman had more fortune in her mate." Lady Han gazed on her lord's face as though to commit it to memory. "But what light is there for the moon without her sun?"
His throat worked as she drew away and her hand slipped from his. His hand reached toward her again before he stopped himself.
Lady Han drew the junior wife to sit across from their lord before sitting off to one side. He reached across to pat Miju on a shoulder as quiet sobs racked her form.
"I know I ask much of you, but be strong for your lady—and your daughter." He looked past her to Cheong-ah, who frowned in worry while she fidgeted with her hair. "You gave this old man such comfort, and so beautiful a bloom on a tree all but withered. Provisions have been made for you and Cheong-ah no matter what becomes of this household."
The woman shook her head so fiercely her topknot came askew. "My lord, I could not- how could I ever leave-"
"Father." Cheong-ah sprang to her feet, trembling. "Please don't go. Take me with you."
The General held out an arm, and Cheong-ah ran around the desk to be clasped to her father as though she were still a little girl.
"This is one journey we will not take together, child. You will take care of your mothers for me?"
"I will." She nodded against his chest, her arms holding him tight. "But only until you come back, so please be home soon."
The old man bowed his head over his daughter's. "That's my girl."
As the women left his room, the junior wife all but fainting and supported by her daughter, the lady of the house turned back. A look passed between husband and wife, holding conversations decades in the making that would not be done in decades more.
At the same time, as though on an unheard cue, they bowed to each other. Then she was gone.
He sat for a long moment, eyes closed, as their footsteps faded down the hall. Finally he took a sheaf of folded sheets from his desk, and raised his voice so a servant outside could hear. "Have Hui brought to me. I have need of him."
You will recall our conversation when you were assigned to the garrison at Hu Xin, the letter continued. It seems our fears for that province were well-founded. I can only imagine the toll it took on your garrison to hold so restless a place.
The memories returned all over again at his father's words: The contempt in the common people's eyes even as they kept their heads down, the soldiers that kept turning up in alleys or sewers with their lives crushed or cut from them. Some of his men had turned brutal in response while others turned craven, but the same fear soaked through them all.
The retaliatory measures ordered by your commanding general seem to have fanned the flames, as I and other retired generals repeatedly advised in the war council.
In his darker moments Jeong Jeong wondered if he would have been like General Bei in his circumstances, risen to his post by the murder of his predecessor, a steady fire under him to get results in an intractable province. It might explain much, but could anything excuse the cruelty to the populace—and Fire Nation soldiers? He still saw in his sleep the faces of the the private who had cut off his own fingers rather than serve, the sergeant who had been keeping a collection of rotting ears. What justice was there in a cause that made ruins and monsters of good men?
I understand why you felt compelled to side with your men. It is the code I myself instilled in you, to stand for those that serve under you.
Jeong swallowed at the pride and pain in his father's words. Did his father blame himself in any measure? If only he were here that Jeong might throw himself at his feet and assure him that his father was responsible for only the best in him. It was the son's own rashness, his unquenchable rage, that was to blame.
Though conflicting reports have flown about, I have been able to ascertain that General Bei challenged you to an Agni Kai when you questioned his orders. Perhaps he felt threatened by the love your men held for you. The fear and envy in small men are not difficult to understand, though their actions may not be easy to predict.
As always his father saw too deeply, even into matters Jeong had taken pains to keep from their correspondence. He should have seen the signs in the way Bei had seemed bent on making Jeong carry out the worst of his orders, even the ones beneath a Commander's rank, and in the looks of pure loathing Bei would cast his way. Perhaps then things would not have come to this pass. Perhaps.
There comes a time in every man's life when he reaches his limit and all paths but one seem impossible. For General Bei it may have been the moment you prevailed over him and made his humiliation complete by sparing him. For you, Colonel, it may have been when he repaid your generosity with treachery. The tragedy was that the garrison's two commanding officers reached their breaking points in the same breath.
Jeong Jeong fought the urge to clap his hands over his ears at the scream that resounded in his head. He felt again the rise of his inner fire as Bei ordered his arrest, flinging charges like bolts of fire: insubordination, treason, aid and comfort, anything he could think of. The pressure of the flames had lifted Jeong's arms, flooded through him to pour into that lying face.
And what Jeong had felt while Bei screamed, what he still felt, was not horror but sick satisfaction. His entire body tensed, trying to keep his mouth from twisting in a leer at the memory of fire claiming its due. The paper crinkled under his hand, and he relinquished his grip before he could do even more damage.
Once the old servant had taken his leave the master of the house sat at his desk, sheets of paper stacked on the polished surface, writing brushes cleaned and in their place. His hands were in his lap, and his face held the intense relaxation of a focused mind. His breathing slowed as his concentration grew. The air in the room seemed to swirl into him and from him, its warmth rising and falling with each breath.
Jeong Jeong stared at the letter on the floor a long while. Hui turned over in his bedroll and muttered as though in reproach, and Jeong picked up the letter to resume reading.
The events that came after are well known even here on the mainland. We have heard of your exploits as you resisted arrest to escape the garrison, and how a sizable portion of the garrison joined you. The occupation force will not be at full complement until it is fully reinforced, leaving it ill-positioned to defend itself, much less to search for its renegades. Bei, of course, asserts that you are a dangerous rebel and traitor who attacked and seriously wounded him. There are many at court who believe him over your protestations of innocence.
So it was as he had feared. Bei was feeding a firestorm, as were the mood at court, the Jeong family's enemies, and the unsettled situation in the Colonies. Say what one might about Bei's abilities as a general, he knew the game of insinuations and half-truths in ways Jeong could not begin to understand.
I can well imagine the pressures that rend you in two. You hope to secure favorable dispensation for the men who have thrown in their lot with you, and are loath to relinquish at this time your foremost leverage in that negotiation—your own person. Yet neither can you turn your back on the call of family, the ones you love who may suffer for your sake.
Had there been a moment in his life when Father had not seen through him to his core? Would Jeong himself ever read the hearts of men as his father could at a glance, and still have compassion on their myriad flaws and contradictions? What he would not give to speak to Father face-to-face, even through the bars of a prison cell. Father, at least, would know what to do.
It appears that I, too, have reached a crossroad with only one possible way forward. My own words in your defense will be as leaves on the wind, and your surrender will lead to your own death for no gain. This, therefore, is my command as your father and senior military officer:
Jeong Jeong's eyes froze on the next line.
Never return.
The paper was the first to catch. A corner of the sheets on his desk burst into flame and started to curl, but the old general did not spare them a glance. Sweat rolled down his face, hissing on his skin. The heat rose without abating, and flames erupted in a bookcase, a flower arrangement, the floor. Smoke filled the room and poured from the general's nose as he breathed out, black and filled with the stink of burning.
Never return. I forbid you to yield yourself and throw your life away.
Jeong Jeong stared at the letter, his shaking hands creasing the fragile paper.
I know you, for I had the joy of raising you under my own roof and watching you rise from boyhood into the man you are. If you were driven to such straits then I know, sure as the compass points north, that there was an injustice done. It is your sacred duty to fight it and I command you not to turn from that path. Would you leave your plow ere you reach the end of the row?
Jeong let out a rush of air as though he had been struck, flames on his breath.
Do not fear for your family. If the Firelord does not heed my final message then there is no hope for us, with or without your capitulation. Most of all he would lose the warrior clans, and this he cannot afford.
Jeong jumped to his feet and swiveled about like a cornered thing. In a distant corner of his awareness Hui rose, gaping in alarm. Jeong tore out of the tent, stumbling and falling in the blinding sun. He needed to be far from here, anywhere that he might stop- please-
"No, he's still in there." Cheong-ah tried to force her way back in, only to be barred by servants. "Father!"
"Cheong-ah."
The quiet voice carried through the roar of the flames and the fears of the household gathered out in the night. Cheong-ah turned to see her mothers at the front of the throng, Lady Han standing straight and alone, Miju leaning on a maid.
Cheong-ah ran to them and threw herself at their feet. The tears on her face reflected the fire in bright trails. "My lady, please."
"On your feet." The lady's eyes never left the flames. "The women of this house do not grovel on the ground."
"We can still save him." Cheong-ah grasped at Lady Han's skirts. "If we put the fire out. He's a master firebender, surely he'll be all right. Please!"
"You are deluding yourself." The lady grasped Cheong-ah's arms and jerked her to her feet, holding her in a grip that made her wince. "You must realize by now, the house only burns because he does."
"You're lying! He would never leave me." Behind her a rafter gave out with a sound like cracking bone. "How can you watch him die like this? You always hated us, you hated him you monster-"
She went stumbling from a blow to her face before she steadied herself, a hand to her cheek.
"...Mother?"
"Apologize." The junior wife, standing between her lady and her daughter, lowered her hand even as fresh tears sprang to her eyes. "Do you think there is anyone here who would rather walk into those flames as my lady? Do you?"
"But I don't... I can't..." Cheong-ah covered her face with her hands. "Why?"
Lady Han went to her and pulled her into an embrace. "Because your brother is a deserter, they will say. That I brought forth with my own womb a traitor into this world."
"No." Cheong-ah put her head to Lady Han's bosom, sobs convulsing through her.
"It is what you will hear. My lord and my son may fight and die for their truth, but I will live for mine." She looked on the house, the flames undulating in her eyes. "I will live for you."
One arm holding Cheong-ah close, Lady Han stretched out her other arm to the girl's mother. The wives locked their hands together as the light of the dying house flickered over them all.
Inside the fire burned low, nearly sated in the final throes of destruction. The figure that sat upright among the wreckage of the master's room was almost recognizable as a man, embers glimmering in hollow sockets as though with intelligence, flames pulsing like heartbeats between exposed ribs. In the face, burned black to the skull, there seemed a grim kind of satisfaction at a necessary task performed.
"Commander!" Hands held him back as he tried to run, crushing him with their weight.
"Release me." He struck out with fire, dislodging their hold. He heard cries of pain, but it was better that they learned to stay away.
"Young Master! Colonel, please." Hui hobbled toward him, the faithful fool who had half killed himself to deliver tidings of disaster.
Jeong grasped the front of the old man's shirt. "What has my father done?"
The old man did not flinch. "What he had to."
Jeong thrust the man from himself, knocking him to the ground, and spun away to roar forth flames into the world. The force of it flung the letter from his grip into the air, where the paper disintegrated in a wash of red. Pieces of classical calligraphy fluttered in the air before they, too, went up in bright points. The fire took the last scraps of his father as surely it had Father himself.
Moments or days later he found himself on his knees, staring at the ground. The light had changed and he heard hushed movement.
"Young Master."
Jeong stood and staggered, then steadied himself. Feet scrabbled to his side, but he just looked and Hui came no closer. Jeong turned his back to the man and started walking.
"Colonel?" Against his will he recognized Corporal Yu's voice. "What should we do?"
"Whatever you like. Flee. Surrender. Die." He did not slow. "I care not."
Footfalls followed him anyway, Hui's labored steps and the curt march of soldiers. Fools.
Never return. He threw down pieces of his armor as he went. His topknot weighed his head down, and he would cut it off once he could think to stop and find a knife.
He walked away from the ashes of himself, never stopping lest the yammering in his soul catch up to him. Burned clean of hope, attachments, and sanity, he traveled down roads only he could see that all descended into fire.