::Important to Note:: This story follows canon only up until The Library in Book 2. Appa was not stolen and transported to Ba Sing Se, although as originally intended, the Gaang still headed to the city. From the time they leave The Library is where this story diverges and is no longer canon.

Iridescent Clouds

"The heaven of modern humanity is indeed shattered in the Cyclopean struggle for wealth and power. The world is groping in the shadow of egotism and vulgarity. Knowledge is bought through a bad conscience, benevolence practiced for the sake of utility. The East and the West like two dragons tossed in a sea of ferment, in vain strive to regain the jewel of life." –The Book of Tea

Their world came to an end, or at least, the hope of their world. The blow was, perhaps, even more crushing with the buds of hope being so new, so fresh and easily squashed. That burning ardor of those few up-starts intent on overthrowing their oppressors fizzled and they vanished. Their raucous shouts for revolution fell silent, a mutter whispered only in the darkest corners of unsavory taverns. Their urgency and their fire banked as quickly as it grew, a transient burst of passion and will and unity… crumbled so quickly with the loss of one individual. Of one symbol. They huddled now, in their holes and their meeting spots, making plans and tossing them away, but mostly they reminisced and dreamed of the 'what-if's' and the 'could have been' and they cursed the name of Avatar for yet again abandoning them. Yet none stepped forward to make their own change, and perhaps that was the most saddening of all. The most pathetic.

Perhaps, such an observation, a judgment was too harsh. Perhaps they could be forgiven their cowardice, their weakness. After all, none had expected such a thing to happen. Their spirits were broken, their last hope shattered and their forces too scattered to put up a true protest. They squabbled amongst themselves, bickered over disappearing land and tighter rations as refugees from the North and the South and the West poured in until the walls of Ba Sing Se burgeoned and they starved and fought and died just beyond. A graveyard to mark the once grand entrance into the greatest city in the world.

A city that had become a haven and a prison.

A city that stood as the only marker for the grave of the Avatar, fallen so unexpectedly. Yes, perhaps that was it. Perhaps the sudden emergence and the equally as sudden loss of their prophesized hero had broken the people entirely. This great hero, this last Airbender, nothing but a lone child, the last of his people come from the void to bring them hope. Yet, that faith was already under question, after all, what was a child to do? A naïve, foolish, brash child? But they hoped, and they laid those hopes upon his shoulders and the city watched as the mythological Sky Bison sailed for their city, among oohs and ah's and applause, or fear. Considering how the city was run then, and somewhat even now, it was no surprise how trepidation mixed so easily with excitement.

The city watched from over its walls as blue fir lit the sky, and their child hero fell to a child murderer. What was the irony in that? It left a bitter taste on the tongue, and equally cynical laughter to fill the silence when questions of 'what about tomorrow' arose. Of course the battle had been epic, they were all sure. The noise alone was enough to prove such a thing… but all became clear of the Avatar's fate when the great Bison's anguished wail filled a sky lit white and blue and purple by lightning. The smell of death and burnt zephyr lasted for days and those who patrolled the wall resigned or moved posts, returned to their families and peers with paraffin faces and quaking hands and hollow eyes.

They'd all seen war, they all expected war and battle… but to watch their great hope fall at the hands of a child… to watch the fate of their world dictated by children whom even experienced warriors held not a candle to in power…

They were shaken. Shaken and subdued and for a long time Ba Sing Se was left in peace. The death of the Avatar, the triumph of Princess Azula and the sudden, deafening silence of rebellion afforded the Fire Nation arrogance to leisure. After all, who was there to stop them now when the most powerful being in the world could not defend against another child? They never left, even to the day, the crimson tents and flame standards could be seen in the distant hills and trees, each standing at impasse with the other until orders came to move or retreat or make that final stand.

For seven long years Ba Sing Se stood under siege, hunch backed and puttering along on its final leg, a bleak hope to those residing within, counting down the days until Fire Lord Ozai grew bored of the stalemate and crashed through their walls. None doubted the time would come, and perhaps it would be soon… what were walls when the skies were riddled with flying machines and even the great Spirit of the World could not stop such insane intent?

~ 彩雲 ~

The wood of the shōji clacked sharply open, the cool, moist scent of rain wafting in on the small breeze, bringing with it an almost immediate chill. Still, the viewer leaned forward, golden eyes closing and lungs breathing long and deep of the early morning air. This time of day, when Agni was still an ember in the pale morning sky, the air was the most fresh it would ever be. Ba Sing Se, the city of walls and stench, although here in the Middle Ring, things were not nearly as bad as the Lower. It was not until he came to this cage of a city that he realized how accustomed he'd grown to the ocean, to the splash and rock of the waves against his small ship, to the endless starry sky and the smell of salt and clean, clean air – only ever spoiled by the smells of the ship… and what was that to the fetid air of Ba Sing Se?

Zuko braced his elbow on the window and sighed out, the itch to move and go and leave and act crawling beneath his skin as it always did. Every morning it came, with the first rush of the fire-giving sun, and every morning he found himself in meditation, though today was particularly restless. Something would happen soon, he supposed, seven long years there had been silence and relative peace, though denial seemed much more apt a description.

BANG!

Zuko jerked, eyes snapping open and head whipping around to face the door to his small room with thinning lips. Well, he had thought it was a bit too silent, even at this early hour he might have thought the little miscreant was a fire bender with her sleeping habits. Lips twitched before his expression mellowed to impassivity and he was trailing across the room, tabi barely whispering across the tatami, out into the hallway and into the room almost next door. Of course, the entrance couldn't be quiet, normal. What would be the point of making an entrance if it wasn't dramatic, after all?

Silence fell with the snap of the door and the small girl crouched in the middle of the room with stone twisting between her palms froze and looked up, eyes wide, rounded like a squirrel-toad before it's swept up for a meal. The stones hit the floor and those emerald eyes were nearly bulging at him when Zuko did little more than arch a lone brow.

"Now what are you doing so early in the morning? When you should be in bed or meditating?"

Silence answered him, those eyes he adored so much, so silently, falling to the floor as she shuffled in place, biting at her lip and shrugging. Of course she was the perfect image of repentance, but he was far from fooled. Halcyon narrowed, glinting warningly when she looked up beneath dark lashes.

"What if you had woken your Grandfather? He's not such a young man, and the elderly need their rest."

His tone was chastising but still she snorted, hands slapping over her lips in a giggle. Of course, Uncle hardly considered himself old, if his shameless flirting was anything to go by – but indeed he was getting on in years, and he'd settled down to this sedate life with surprising ease. Zuko worried sometimes that the monotony would send the old fire bender to an early grave.

"He, he, Grandpa is already awake!"

She was pouting now, safe in the assurance she was in no real trouble and Zuko hummed thoughtfully, fingers tapping on the doorframe.

"Regardless, you know better than to bend inside, Xiaoli."

"Yes, Papa."

A small huff, cheeks puffing out and lips pulling down in discontent. Zuko blinked and she huffed again, arms crossing and pout increasing. It never worked, well sometimes it did, but usually not. Didn't stop her from trying though. Zuko shook his head, turning with a beckoning hand, might as well start the day since everyone was awake. Yes, something was definitely going to happen soon. Life had become too easy, too simple… and Agni knew the Spirits seemed to take great pride in upending his life.

Little feet thudded on the floor behind him and Zuko shook his head, grabbing at the scruff of Xiaoli's shirt as she dashed by. For a five year old she was incredibly… lively. Maybe it was an Earth bender thing.

"Ah, ah, don't run. The last thing we need is you breaking your neck on the stairs."

"Ugh. Yes, Papa."

She huffed, pouted and took off again as soon as Zuko released her. She would be fine though, still, he couldn't help the knee-jerk reaction with every risky decision she made. Children were hard – why had no one told him that the insomnia baby phase was the easy part?! Not to mention every angry parent they had pounding on their door because she'd beat up someone else's son. Zuko grimaced, almost slammed his head into the wall at the very thought of what puberty was going to be like.

"Ah, Li, you're awake, good, good. Come help your old Uncle, it seems we have a rush this morning."

The boisterous voice called from the small 'kitchen' area Zuko stepped into, a smiling 'Mushi' already brewing tea for the first customers. The regulars and those which Zuko found the easiest to bear. Although their wagers on his 'love life' was off putting, after 7 years of the same he was more than accustomed to it.

"Yes, Uncle, of course I am awake."

The stare he fixed the wryly grinning old man with bellied their usual circumstance. Very rarely was Zuko not the first in the household awake.

Apron tied in place he set about preparing for the day and when the first bell chimed along with muttered cackles and the hushed whisper of tabi, Zuko was already sweeping out of the back, flicking the curtain aside with a hand and gesturing the old men to their table. IT was always the same, two pots of tea, one black the other oolong, and they would set up their Go or cards and wile away the morning with gossip and news and scandal and bets.

"Oi, Li, good morning."

A chorus of voices rang out, some with waves others with familiar grins and Zuko dipped a half bow, returning the smile with a long-practiced smile of his own. Amazing how content he'd become with this life, despite those waking moments of restlessness.

"Good morning, your tea is ready here."

A pause, an arched brow as the old codgers chuckled.

"Unless of course you've decided to break tradition?"

The question was sweetly asked, a teasing quirk turning smile to smirk and one of the men, Po , snorted a discontent sound.

"Bah, s'bad luck!"

Zuko offered them another polished smile, more pointless words – and so the day began. A slow day, though crowded, people came and they lingered, sipping tea and watching the drizzle from beyond the doorway. The day droned on, seemingly endless in the monotony and sleep itched at the back of his mind, tugged at eyes and left movements lethargic. The quiet atmosphere contributed to this, and Zuko found himself lingering on lost trails of thought, nothing particularly important or deep, but the mind wandered on days such as these and he knew, before the sun had even risen to noontide that he would be venturing out in the night.

He itched for action, for movement.

Xiaoli scribbled on homework in a corner, intent, brow furrowed in concentration. Zuko smiled at her, scrubbing fingers through her hair as he slipped into the back of the Jasmine Dragon, ignoring her squawk of outrage as he passed. Uncle was waiting in the back and the day rinsed and repeated, the occasional stops only to assist Xiaoli with her calligraphy or arithmetic or reading. She was incredibly smart for a child so young, so very studious and driven and every cooing compliment paid by a patron never ceased to leave him swelling with pride for her. Though, she could have struggled and Zuko would have loved her no less.

A couple of crones came in, folding their hands in the billowing arms of their hanfu after folding and hanging their parasols by the door. Zuko almost groaned and fled back to the kitchens when he spotted the young woman trailing after them. Of course they were around the same age, and of course the elders had their amusements, and of course many of them found his mystery so very alluring, and the prospering business of his Uncle perhaps more so. They teased and needled and questions because why ever doesn't such a handsome young man have a lady? Well, there was quite a simple explanation to that, but Zuko forever smiled for them, cheeky and coy as they expected and brushed the questions aside with inane answers.

And suffered through their flinging wonderful young ladies at him.

Of course, they were harmless for the most part, desiring nothing more than introducing the young and fulfilling their gossip with potential matchmaking… and of course, the utter joy of the old in watching the young cringe and duck in complete shame.

Uncle was especially bad about such ridiculous things, even condoned and egged them on! Zuko glared at the man as he came puttering out of the kitchen a broad smile and wide spread arms.

"AH! My favorite ladies have come at last. As always, it is such a pleasure to host such beauties as yourselves."

So suave, so smooth and they ate it up with giggles and pats to his hands and sharp 'tsk'ing not to get any untoward ideas, that they were all very contently married, thank you very much, although only a fool would turn down praise from such a dashing gentlemen.

Zuko gagged behind his hand as was expected, as was practice and shared an eye roll with a giggling Xiaoli from across the room.

"Ah, Mushi, Li, we have someone to introduce you to! Jiao, come here girl, meet Mushi, finest tea maker in the city and of course, our favorite gentleman."

One old lady beckoned there girl, Jiao, and she came, head bowed demurely and hands crossed in front of her. Zuko wanted to flee, but Iroh's vice-like grip on his arm stayed him. Of course he was made to bear the introductions, the pleasantries and the gushing of all of her wonderful qualities. The winking and sly looks were the worst of it, but Zuko smiled through, because Li was friendly. Li was very well acquainted with these people and knew that their matchmaking was mostly a harmless amusement. It didn't lessen the irritation he found in having these women practically hurled at his face – though they were much less… pushy about it than Fire Nation Nobles. Agni, if he'd had to go through that debacle… But bear through this particular nuisance he did, with good grace and when all was said and done the crones and the girl took their seat and Zuko promptly brought them their tea, dodged fingers snapping out for a pinch followed by a cackle and fell into the familiar, almost mind-numbing routine.

Just another day working the Jasmine Dragon.

~ 彩雲 ~

The city cloaked in darkness seemed desolate and bleak, the mazy, misting rain only added to the somber, muted atmosphere. The sickly green lanterns the Earth Kingdom was so fond of barely offered light to see by, and he had to wonder, not for the first time, how they traveled safely in such conditions. Yet, despite the opaque shadows the streets were still traveled. Citizens both upstanding and questionable roved the darkness, a second world waking beneath the moon. It was an hour of secrets and underhanded deals. Where the Triads ruled the streets and the thugs pretended to, but both bowed out at whisper or glimpse of Dai Li.

He couldn't blame them. The Dai Li – self-proclaimed protectors of Ba Sing Se's cultural heritage. The reality of their status as jailors. Tyrants run by a slimy little worm of a man with more cunning than he had any right to possess – and no conscience to taper it.

Booted feet skittered silent across tiled roof, body curling and slipping into shadow as though he were a part of the darkness. Clothes were already damp, but skin beneath remained warm and dry and he had to thank the small graces of his heritage. Further into the shadow he slipped, prowling the roofs of the Middle Ring with well-worn familiarity, but it was the Lower Ring he sought out. This was the warm up – this was the exhilarating part. Dodging Dai Li and unsuspecting spectator alike, like a wraith haunting the city. Indeed the Blue Spirit was the least of Ba Sing Se's haunting concerns.

Another wonder of these nightly runs were the Spirits themselves – minor things. Kamui and the like, drawn to the despair and the suffering and the hopelessness and the deceit of this place. Ba Sing Se, the greatest city in the world, a breeding ground of enmity.

He landed again, gloved fingers catching body, lurching forward in a roll before hood was tucked low over glinting blue once more, conceal mask and the length of braided hair from rain and voyeurs. Up he bounced, sashayed the well-trod path into the Lower Ring, breathed in fetid air made worse with the stench of wet. It was a miserable damp. That inspired melancholy rather than nostalgic lethargy and warm beds and warmer food. A hope and a skip and he was on the ground, slipping around too-sharp corners, angled and jutted as though built on the half demolished skeleton of a previous building. The streets were too narrow, the waste piling too high, the walkway more mud than stone and the shadows hung heavier. Candlelight a luxury to see peaking from curtained windows or flickering beneath tavern doorways – long gone were ominous green lanterns – there was no time to waste such luxuries here.

Not that the inhabitants would have welcomed them.

Coat tails flicked around shins, dao bounced silently at hip, knives a reassurance up sleeves and belted at waist – a dagger strapped to opposing hip. Perhaps a bit extreme, but he'd learned long ago not to take chances here.

Steps seemed too loud, even in the near silence which he moved, water splashing and skittering – and the world too silent even for the rain and the late Autumn chill, more winter now. Biting at exposed skin and finding every crack in clothing. Zuko allowed thoughts to wander, a thousand what if's and could have been's traversing mind as they were wont to do. A thousand regrets and mistakes that could never be corrected now. No matter how beloved the Blue Spirit had become. Indeed the name was something of a legend now, whispered of in excited mutters, gossip spreading more and more outlandish tales. A vigilante none could say for sure they'd seen, but who they all were just so sure was looking out for them. They whispered that it really was a Spirit, come to help them. Others contested it was a plot to lead them astray. More still sighed at the idea of some masked hero saving them from their bleak situations as he saved the unlucky from assaults or muggings or vengeful Spirits and even more disgusting humans with equally repulsive intentions.

Another splash, out of rhythm, out of place and muscles jerked and twitched, awareness spiking with the weight of eyes on his back. Zuko had to marvel at their silence until that point, or maybe he really was that out of it. Uncle did insist his brooding had only worsened with age. Still he moved onward, curiosity spiked with the lack of idiotic charging or demands and posturing. A stalker? A silent follower? A clueless wanderer who happened to be following the same path?

A sharp turn, unexpected, erratic – and they followed. He could feel them now, sense the heat of their body like a beacon in the chill air – the Earth Kingdom was ever so cold, a damp chill Zuko thought he'd never acclimate to.

This could be fun. Perhaps a game. Perhaps a test, to see how intent his little shadow was.

Pace picked up, a prancing trot – a tease for his pursuer – were they really so interested? Body lurched into action, gait quick but measured, and they were following, steps heavier- but careful. Experienced. Zuko had to thank the muddy streets, how much a gait told someone about a person. This one was a warrior. Stride increased, just above a jog – and could they keep up? They were fast, but that didn't speak for endurance.

A sharp turn, a sharper curve, hands catching and shoving and hurling body at what became breakneck speed and still his pursuer followed. Clumsier, heavier than himself – leaving a behind a trail of noise and grunted curses that Zuko silently mocked. His shadow was power, perhaps endurance – but he lacked the agile grace that so easily allowed the Blue Spirit to slip in and away with nary a glimpse to prove his existence. Heart was racing, blood pounding quick and alive – adrenaline pumping body and driving rationale to the brink, held only by well-practiced self-control.

He could taste their frustration, almost let out a mad chortle but bit lips chapped and dry, even beneath the Blue Spirit mask. Breath came heavier, sweat moistened skin, pulse pounded in his temples and still they ran and they ran. Cat and mouse through the maze of Ba Sing Se – and Zuko realized this was fun. Perhaps dangerous. There was little these streets could offer him to fear and his bumbling shadow was far from that.

But the chase was up now, muscles were screaming and knees quaked with every lurching change in direction. A final spin, a pivot that hurled body round while hands drew dao with practiced eased – met a flash of black steel – and when had he gotten so close – before the sweet cry of metal rang through the air and Zuko shoved. Blades were locked in an 'x', cradling the long, slender blade that bore down on him with almost worrying strength. His shadow was bigger than he expected, more powerful – but a twist of body, a jerk of swords to the right and down threw that balance – sent weight and momentum staggering forward, a stumble that was righted with grace and Zuko again applauded his little stalker turned opponent as he took battle stance, chin ducked low and hood shadowing the tell-tale mask.

His shadow stood and turned, face swathed in wrappings and body equally as shrouded in muted greens and deep browns – a strange neutrality of color that seemed out of place. Head canted, lips drew into a smirk and he surged to the left, a false start before lunging forward in a twisting sweep of blades – that his opponent caught and Zuko felt his arm wrench when the other simply held, as though rooted into the very earth.

So fascinating.

He covered the falter with a knee aimed at his opponents side, grinned in hidden satisfaction when the lug of a man grunted and staggered back out of range. He was huge, and solid – perhaps a full head or more taller than Zuko and really, that was so very tiring. The people of this continent were practically giants.

But there was no time for that now.

The man lunged, sword striking out in a series of sharp jabs, leading with one leg, the other not far behind, weight ever shifting between the broad stance as he stabbed and slashed. It might have been barbaric, were he not so surprisingly graceful and Zuko found himself hard pressed to dodge the swipes and lunges – the excitement building as he sought out an opening.

There.

A misstep, the problem with uniform attacks. They were so very easy to memorize and when the opening came he moved, body dropping, catching weight upon one hand and sweeping out legs in a wide arch he had to stretch to reach. The man really was unbearably tall. A heel caught ankle as weight came down on the lunge and he could read the surprise in every tensing muscle as the stranger came crashing down and Zuko was up and flipping away, out of range of that deadly blade and potential anger.

A laugh, boisterous and loud – familiar and alien – froze Zuko in place. The rich, deep baritone shaking through him like a punch to the face. He was left to stare in incredulity as the stranger rolled onto his back, mud caked to his front and head wrappings a mess, traces of brown hair just peeking through.

"It seems the Blue Spirit really is as good as rumor says."

Hands clenched around blade hilt, silence lingering as the lunatic sat up in the mud, rubbing at the back of his head, another deep chuckle spilling from him. He was familiar, but not – the voice plucking at a memory long forgotten – evoked images of ice and war paint and a tiny, forgotten village.

Instead of speaking, Zuko canted his head in question, shoulder tensed and blades ready when the idiot stood and brushed the mud on his pants. Zuko scoffed loudly, as though that was going to fix anything! Agitation must have shown because the idiot looked up and Zuko wondered if he was grinning sheepishly to match the set of shoulders before he stood straight and sheathed sword after wiping it against his shirt.

Barbaric peasant!

"I was wondering if the rumors were true… I've actually had an ear to the ground for you for a while, you know."

More silence, though at least the fool seemed serious now. Zuko shifted, wary – because no one could be looking for the Blue Spirit for any benevolent reason. The brute stepped forward and Zuko stepped back, head lowering and swords rising in warning - prompting an open palmed peace offering, the hands shifting placating – but as long as the idiot didn't come any closer they were fine.

"Ah, not much of a talker huh?" He was rubbing at the back of his head again, but cleared his throat and straightened out – seeming to only get taller. "There are a few important things I want to talk about with you… some… sensitive information I may have." Zuko felt eyes he couldn't see on him, felt their intensity in the sobering weight of words. "That is, if you truly are what everyone says you are."

Hesitation. What was that supposed to mean? Confusion broke wariness, swords dropping a fraction though suspicion remained clear. The brute sighed.

"Here isn't the place to talk about this… and neither is tonight."

Another pause, another silence. He was listening.

"Meet me outside the University, two nights from now."

And just like that the brutish peasant with swordsmanship that promised a challenge turned and walked off and Zuko was left gawping after him, indignation warring with confusion and outrage and some completely ludicrous, humiliating touch of arousal. Because really! Huffing he sheathed dao violently and set off at a jog. It was late, more time than he thought had passed… and he had much to think about. None of which included considering how much better the brute-peasant might wield that sword without those ridiculous wrappings all over his head.

Notes: Xiaoli means 'morning jasmine'. It has no particular significance.
Lots of scene setting in this chapter. Hopefully it wasn't too mind numbing..

A Note On The Heights: Because ATLA is very Asian heavy on the culture scale… I went with shorter statures altogether. Katara – 160-162cm || Zuko 165-167cm || Suki 165-167 cm || Sokka 175cm || Toph 177-180cm. I adore the idea of a big, giant Amazonian Toph… and the idea that Earth benders are generally bigger anyway.