When Ozai wakes, it's to a dim haze that clouds his vision enough to convince him he's dreaming. Everything has a strange, ethereal glow to it as wisps of the haze curl through the air above his lush bedding and he blinks lazily and rolls onto his back. It's almost peaceful, he muses, taking in a deep breath as he arches his back off of the bed in a languid stretch. But as soon as he finishes the breath, his lungs start to burn and the acrid smell greets him like an old friend.
Smoke.
He's stumbling out of bed before his brain can even fully demand the action, trying to spot the source of the wisps of smoke. Nothing in the room is on fire, he finds, but he can feel flames distantly in his core, his bending easily pinpointing its element in the adjoining rooms. Panic surges through the Prince as he realizes how much fire there is. It would take a dozen benders to contain such a flame and disperse it. This raises the question of why the dozens of bending guards let the fire get so out of control.
A soft cough draws his attention, looking back at Ursa's form beneath the covers. She's groggily waking, but she's visibly dazed by the smoke. As a firebender, Ozai knows he possesses a semi-immunity to light smoke inhalation, but he was well aware of the fact that she didn't have the same privilege. He doesn't try to be gentle with her as he drags her from her spot, pulling her against his chest before he lifts her into his arms and forces her to stand.
"Ozai, what…" She starts, but he's already tugging her towards the doors to their suite. Smoke is rolling in from the crack between the door and the quickly blackening floor, and he braces himself as he throws open the doors. They're met with a wall of midnight fog, Ozai's eyes burning and throat itching violently. The uncontrollable watering of his eyes combined with the darkness created by the smoke makes it impossible for him to see where he's going, but he knows the halls of the palace like the back of his hand and navigates from the room to the best of his ability.
When he breaks through the smoke, the pair immediately try to gasp in as much fresh air as possible. It's only somewhat effective, the air in this part of the hall being marginally cleaner than the pungent air that had clouded their chambers. It's enough to clear Ozai's head, though, and now he tries to hear past his pounding heart to listen.
The crackling of nearby flames, the groaning of slowly yielding support beams constructed mostly of wood, the lazy woosh of air being forced through the halls by the fire—he strains his ears to hear past it all. Only then does he hear the distant chants. He can't make out the words, but the methodical, ominous tones are enough to tell him exactly what they're facing. This isn't an accidental fire gone unnoticed, this is an attack.
"We need to get the children and leave." Ozai murmurs, his voice gruff as he tries to clear the itch, "Now." Ursa seems to come to life, suddenly, eyes widening and flashing panic before she pushes past him and races down the hall. He calls after his wife, immediately running after her, but while he has strength, she has speed and he loses her in the blinding smog. He presses on anyway, but it seems a fruitless pursuit. Zuko and Azula's rooms were a short distance from their own, hardly much of a walk under normal circumstances, but as he passes by several blacked out windows, a support beam gives out.
It crashes down in front of him in a shower of scalding embers and even more plumes of smoke. He flinches away at the last minute, and it's only when he feels the trickle of hot blood down his nose and cheek does he realize that a few splintered shards of stone had caught his face, slicing across his brow, nose and cheek. The pain doesn't register. None of the inconveniences matter much as he latches onto the existing flames of the fallen beam with his bending and jerks his arms back in a basic form, dragging the fire and the heat that came with it away from the wreckage and towards himself. It scalds him for a moment, the element roaring and twisting in the air before he shifts his weight and tosses the heat against the blackened windows. It hits the glass impotently, and Ozai is already bolting over the cooled debris towards what's left of the hallway that had housed his children's bedrooms.
By Agni's grace alone, the first room seems mostly intact. Azula's door hangs open, her crib empty and the heavy blankets missing. Ozai can only assume Ursa's beaten him here, and moves on to Zuko's room at the end of the hall. He's met with nothing less than chaos, skidding to a halt as the scene unfolds before him.
Ursa indeed has Azula in her arms, her torso bent forward protectively over the wailing child. Between the Prince and his family stands what looked to be palace guards, their armor coated in heavy layers of soot and ash, but when they advance on her and the children, he comes to the realization that these particular guards were either spies or traitors.
Either way, Ozai doesn't hesitate in summoning precise jets of fire from his fists and charging at the assailants. He's in mid-pounce when a hand fists in his hair and painfully yanks him out of the air, throwing him to the ground unceremoniously but refusing to release the hold on his aching scalp.
"Look'it here! I caught a Prince." Ozai growls, immediately attempting to get up and return to his assault, but the guard—traitor, Ozai realizes, as he looks into dull golden eyes partially obscured by the traditional helmet of the Royal Guard—keeps his grip in Ozai's hair tight and slams his fist into the ground. It yanks Ozai's head along with it, drawing a cry from him as the side of his head connects with the stone floor.
"I knew we'd smoke you out. Didn't think you'd be so easy to catch, though." The world spins out of focus as Ozai tries to blink it back into one image, the voice sounding miles away, "Maybe consider a haircut." The traitor chuckles and the solid heel of a boot slams into Ozai's side, drawing a hiss from him. He's about to retort, the venomous words already on his tongue, but the whole area suddenly seems to rattle for a moment before the deafening sound of charred stone giving way resonates through the hall. Glass shatters as the walls contort, sending a fine spray of stinging shards into the bare skin of his back.
The doorway to Zuko's room is hardly more than a charred pile of wood and rock where Ursa had once stood, flames licking at what few pieces of wood remained intact and sparks popping out sporadically as if to bite at the shocked guards standing before the rubble. Suddenly, Ozai doesn't have much time for words.
He can't reach the guard from his awkward position on the floor, one arm pinned beneath his own weight and the guard's armored hand fisted in his raven hair. He's just out of his reach, but in one solid twist, Ozai slices through his hair with a fire dagger and uses the new freedom to kick the traitor in the stomach. The enraged Prince transitions from the kick onto his feet and into a defensive pose gracefully, easily sending one last flaming kick to the guard's head that sends his helmet skidding across the floor and forces the man into the nearest wall. The sound of the solid thump is satisfying enough, but he doesn't have time to focus on it when the small group of guards charges him.
They're dispatched almost too easily, a number of them being nonbenders and one even seeming young enough to be a teenager, wide green eyes blinking as he rips the boys helmet off and slams him into the scorching wall. They both practically hear the sizzle where his skin meets the heated stone and begins to cook flesh.
"We're going to play a game, peasant." Ozai growls, his fist closing around the other's slender throat. The armor was much too big on him, the protective cuffs around his neck giving Ozai more than enough room to comfortably wrap his fist around it.
"A-A…a game? I don't unders—" Ozai clenches his hand and the boy chokes, clawing at the powerful grip denying him air.
"Let me elaborate." He heats his hand, his prey's neck starting to blister as well as his own hand, but he doesn't pay it much mind, "If my family is alive, then your outcome will be favorable. If they are dead, then I will cook you alive, starting from the bottom up." Ozai can feel that his grin is too wide, bearing too many teeth to be friendly, and it has just the effect he had hoped for. The boy is shaking under his hand, tears streaming down his cheeks and dripping onto the Prince's scorched wrists.
"Now, start digging." He throws the peasant at the rubble of Zuko's doorway, watching as he nearly slips in the blood of one of the fallen guards. It only spurs the boy on, his fear doubling as he tears apart chunk after chunk of scorching debris and throws it aside. He won't shut up, though, nervously babbling.
"I don't have anything against your family, really I—I wouldn't want to hurt a kid! Or kids. I mean one of them's a baby, right? That'd be messed up to kill a baby. We just were gonna…" Ozai's brows arch but he lets him babble as he digs, "Well, we…"
"What? I don't suppose you were going to offer to take them on a midnight stroll." The Prince says indignantly, resting a foot on the boys hunched back and leaning his weight into it, "Don't lie to me. Who are you, and who is orchestrating this?" The boy seems to get a second wind, glaring up at Ozai.
"Everyone."
"Don't be coy, I want answers." Stone starts to crumble near the top of the collapsed doorway as the boy pushes a larger hunk of rubble out of the way.
"That is the answer. This is a collaborative effort by all the nations to take your pompous family and its tyrannical ways down. The Earth Kingdom, the Water Tribe—it's all of us. Even some of your own citizens." There's a smugness to his tone that makes Ozai's lip curl in distaste, "We already killed the Fire Lord, it's over." The boy stops in his digging entirely to study how Ozai takes that news, but for the most part, he doesn't visibly react.
"And my brother?"
"General Iroh? We'll find him. He escaped our attack on his base near Ba Sing Se but we got his son." Ozai had a creeping suspicion that got meant something far darker. His nephew was most likely dead.
"What were you saying about not wanting to kill children?" The boy blinks, immediately returning to digging with renewed fervor.
"We're doing what we have to to end the war. It's not pretty." Ozai pushes away from him, watching more of the doorway open up. Over the sound, he thinks he might hear a familiar wailing.
"Yes, well, I suppose lying is the least of your sins, then." The boy doesn't stop digging, but his motions get more aggressive.
"Considering what your family has done to the world, I don't think you're up for judging other people for their sins, oh, Fire Prince." With one last tug, the entire blockage falls apart and he sees Ursa huddled in the far corner of the room. She's obviously expecting another attack, twisting her torso to shield Azula from whatever threat was facing her.
"It's your lucky day, boy." Ozai says, gripping his shoulder and yanking him up onto his feet. He's about to speak, presumably to make another snide remark, but the Prince yanks a dagger from the boy's belt and whips it through the front of the false guard's throat before he gets the chance. He immediately topples to the ground in a spray of blood that spatters Ozai's starkly contrasting skin. Confused emerald eyes stare up at him, questioning.
"Having your throat slit is considered favorable to burning alive. Congratulations." He says dryly, turning from him and disappearing into Zuko's room. The damage done by the fire is more noticeable here, a good portion of the ceiling in the front of the room having caved in and littered the floor with the remains of the furnishings from the floor above. Flames weakly flicker on the debris, but it's clear that they've nearly burnt themselves out on the limited material.
"Ozai, what is this?" Ursa asks, straining to speak over Azula's cry.
"I'd wager that it's a rebellion. And a poorly thought out one, at that." Ozai answers, placing a hand on her back and ushering her out towards the hall. He pauses, though; having thought Zuko was behind her during the attack. He does a quick scan of the room and finds no sign of his son. The sheets of his bed are barely disturbed, only ruffled in the center as if he'd been carefully slipped out of them in his sleep.
"Where is Zuko?" He questions, and the panicked gaze she gives him reaffirms his suspicions.
"He wasn't here when I came in, they must have—" She's quickly working herself up into a panic. Ozai interrupts her if only to keep her from making herself completely useless in her panic.
"I will find Zuko. I need you to take Azula and get out of the palace." He doesn't need to tell her to take the underground passages; she'd been made well aware of them as soon as she'd become the Princess. She's already starting to argue, frightened tears spilling from her irritated eyes as she speaks hurriedly.
"I can't just leave without my son! I have to find him. I have to go with you, please, Ozai." She begs, but he's already pushing her through the doorway into the hall. She steps into the lukewarm puddle of blood just outside the gaping hole of the doorway, staring down at the peasant's body in horror.
"I will find him. Wait for me at the docks, but stay out of sight. Once I have Zuko, I will bring him to you." Her eyes search his for sincerity, and he returns the gaze unflinchingly. He can see that she's trying to formulate some kind of response that will allow her to stay, but she's as smart as she is stubborn and knows she's no match for the intruders and will only slow down Ozai's efforts to find Zuko. She's aware that the best thing she can do for her son is to leave him for the time being.
"Bring him back in one piece." She orders. He responds with a curt nod, the singed ends of his now shoulder length hair tickling his cheeks with the movement.
And then she's gone, hurrying down the hall to the hidden panel that had once been concealed behind a rich tapestry that hung from the high ceiling. It now hung sadly against the dingy wall, the ends of it burned an ugly brown and the golden threads along its edges having lost their luster. She closes the panel behind her with one last glance over her shoulder at him, and he's quick to shove some of the smoldering wreckage of the palace up against it. The escape tunnels only have so many entrances, and the more he can block off, the safer they would be.
He doesn't know where to begin searching for Zuko. He runs down familiar halls turned alien by the shifting stones and burnt rubble at random, peering into each room he passes but refraining from calling Zuko's name. Those few imposters hadn't been the only ones stalking the palace, Ozai encountering a small group of them every couple minutes. Some he manages to avoid, ducking out of their view or into an abandoned room, while he's forced to confront others that he can't hide from.
By the time he reaches the other end of the palace he's exhausted, sweating profusely, covered in soot and blood—whose blood was anyone's guess—and quickly giving up hope on finding the boy. He takes a deep breath as he leans against one of the more intact walls, but the air is too thick to do him any good. He hadn't taken a breath of fresh air in well over an hour, and it's starting to slow him down. His movements are less precise, more sluggish and awkward, and every muscle seems to be slowly giving up. And then he hears a cry that makes him jolt away from the wall as if a live wire has been run through him.
"Dad!"
The throne room is the last room he has yet to check, and it was the source of the call. The massive, imperial doors lay shattered on the ground. The stone of the floor had obviously been manipulated with earthbending, and the large slabs of marble stood against the ruined doorway. As he staggers into the room, he finds the throne room has taken the most damage out of any room in the palace. The ceiling is completely engulfed in flames, huge chunks of it missing entirely and revealing the moon and stars above. It has the advantage of emptying the smoke from the room, but it does nothing to relieve the oppressive heat provided by the multitude of fires burning freely. Expensive tapestries, rugs, wooden columns, and the wooden arch above the Fire Lord's seat all provided ample fuel for the fires.
Under the flaming arch, he sees a form lying lifeless and bound; the flames from above creeping dangerously near the corpse. Ozai kneels before it, pushing him onto his back and looking down at the bloodstained face before him. The hard lines of his fathers face had seemed to have finally softened, his pale golden eyes having already started to gain a post-mortem haze. The cause of death is clear, Ozai notes, as he pushes aside the Fire Lord's outermost sleeping garb and sees the spears of stone lodged deep into his chest and abdomen. It draws Ozai's attention that not only were his robes damp with cooling blood, but there were traces of quickly evaporating water as well.
The boy hadn't been lying. This was a group effort of separate nations to take down the Royal Family, and it was succeeding. Iroh's son, the heir to the throne now that Azulon was dead and Iroh was the unofficial Fire Lord, was dead. Iroh had apparently escaped, but the chances for his survival when any of his troops could be spies or traitors were slim. His own chances were slim, he realizes, as he feels a sharp pain in the back of his thigh when he attempts to stand.
He initially assumes it's an injury he hadn't noticed, but when he touches the spot he finds splintered stone jutting out of his skin and feels warm blood start to soak into the thin fabric of his sleeping pants. He has enough sense to drop to the ground as more shards coming flying at him, watching them slam into the mural behind the flaming arch and shatter.
"Dad!" He hears it again, muffled this time, and rolls onto his back with a pained grunt as he grinds the residual glass shards into his skin. There's a huge amount of faux guards and blatant rebels alike in this room, even more emerging from the shadows that he hadn't bothered to check on his way in. He curses his own carelessness.
"Don't resist, and we'll let your son live." The closest rebel, dressed in dark Earth Kingdom greens, says. Ozai's eyes shift from the man's face to the squirming toddler in his arms, a strip of bloodstained cloth tied around his mouth and behind his head. His mop of black hair is clumped oddly, and after a long moment of speculation, Ozai realizes it's with the boy's own blood. A wound on the left side of his forehead that starts halfway through his brow and disappears beneath his hairline is bleeding sluggishly, leaking between his eyes and down his cheek to join the frightened tears.
"Is that so?" Ozai grits out. As much as it pains his pride to do, Ozai stays flat on his back as he speaks, not wanting to give the rebel any excuse for killing Zuko. The only movement he makes is the clenching of his fists at his sides.
"Yes. This will go better for both of you if you cooperate, Fire Prince." The way the rebels spit his proper title make indignant rage boil in his gut.
"Very well." Ozai responds after a long silence, his gaze flickering to the ceiling as it lets out a low groan. The remaining support beams shudder ominously.
"On your knees." The prince forces himself to repress the grin pulling at his lips, shifting to put his knees beneath him and sit up. The stone buried in his thigh protests, the shifting of his muscles pulling against it painfully.
"Put your hands on the floor." The ceiling gives another groan, chunks of stone raining on them like scalding hail. Ozai does as he's commanded, waiting for his moment to strike. Rock closes around his hands and over the apex of his calves, locking him on all fours before the rebel. It complicates his plan somewhat, but he grits his teeth and attempts to start taking in deeper breaths of the tainted air.
As the rebel approaches, Ozai stays in what could be considered a mock position of respect, his elbows meeting the floor and his knees curled beneath him with his head bowed to the point of nearly brushing the floor. He listens for the man's distance, grinning as he hears him ascend the last steps. He draws a final, exceedingly deep breath that tastes of blood and smoke, and when he releases it, he cranes his neck back.
A vibrant plume of flame leaves the space in front of his mouth, just barely skittering over Zuko's head and striking the rebel squarely in his smug face. If he could have taken in a proper breath of fresh air, the fire would have torn the flesh from his skull in that instant, but instead it sears his skin and ignites his hair. The man screeches, stumbling back and dropping the toddler in his arms as if he were some inconsequential object.
There are already waterbenders rushing forward with wavering bands of liquid following their hands, moving to extinguish the blaze of the man's hair. Ozai uses the distraction to his advantage, heating the stone restraints enough to weaken them before he snaps the earth from his hands and reaches behind himself to do the same to the ones bracing his calves. In the same motion, he stands and scoops Zuko up, already halfway across the room by the time the attacks continue.
Ice shards come first, and he easily dispatches them with a short motion of his free arm that summons a thin wall of flames. When the slabs of stone come, he ducks behind what remains of a decorative pillar, clutching Zuko to his chest tightly. He can feel the boy shaking, his cries muffled by the gag as he clutches at his father.
"Shh…" Ozai murmurs somewhat awkwardly. Comforting children had never been his expertise. It certainly doesn't help when both flames and rock collide with his impromptu cover, only serving to make Zuko flinch away and cry with more fervor. Ozai lets out an annoyed sound, looking to his goal. A short distance away, he can see the largest hidden panel in the palace, designed for this purpose exactly. The connection to the escape tunnels in the Fire Lord's throne room is the most stable one and was the hardest for any other bender to penetrate, consisting of only solid steel. Reaching it without being impaled was serving to be a challenge, though.
As if by pure luck, the ceiling gives one more shudder before nearly a third of it gives way at once, falling like a dying animal around them. Support beams, marble and thick roof tiles pound against the ground and the chaos of the rebels trying to avoid being crushed is loud enough to make his ears ring. Ozai barely avoids losing a leg to a heavy, scorched stone. He clutches Zuko close, trying to hear over the boy's whimpering for the sound of his assailants. There's no sound but the crackling of flames and the fading ringing in his ears. The Prince doesn't waste the chance, darting from behind the cover and speeding over to the hidden panel to the best of his ability in his current state.
The panel is a work of Fire Nation technical mastery, the locking mechanism only being triggered by a strategic series of fire blasts that only the Fire Lord and his direct descendants were allowed knowledge of. Admittedly, it had been a number of years since he'd been taught the combination and the squirming child in his arms was doing him no favors. It takes several unsuccessful tries, but when the door finally unlocks, Ozai makes a relieved sound and stumbles into the pitch-black tunnel. He barely has the strength to yank the heavy door shut behind him, the momentous effort sapping the last of his strength as it closes and locks with a definitive sound.
Ozai finds his body sliding down to the rough floor without his knowledge, Zuko falling into his lap. The Prince manages to tug Zuko's gag off before his arm falls limply to his side. Ozai's not dying, he's sure of that, but the exhaustion brought on from smoke inhalation and blood loss is taking its toll on him. His eyelids droop, and he rests his head back against the cool metal of the door. It's not comfortable by any means, the mechanisms of the lock digging into the raw skin of his lacerated back, but sleep still nags at him.
"Where's mom?" Zuko finally speaks, his voice weak and quivering.
Ursa. He knows she's waiting for him at the end of this tunnel system, but the thought of actually making that trek is one Ozai has trouble wrapping his head around.
"Where's mom?" Zuko pesters, and Ozai lets out an annoyed growl. He supposes he has the boy to thank for forcing him to stand.
"She's waiting for us." Ozai grumbles, more dragging himself forward than walking. Zuko is asking more questions, but the roaring in Ozai's head drowns him out and he spends the duration of the trudge in pained silence. The tunnels seem to go on forever, the air thick and musty, but suddenly he's stumbling out of the tunnel's concealed end. When fresh air meets his lungs he could practically praise Agni for the privilege of breathing it, but there's still just a hint of smoke in the air.
Looking back, he can see the palace in the distance. It's little more than a bonfire, now, the tallest points crumbling in on themselves as the flames reach higher into the night sky. His home, his life, everything he'd ever known had been in those crumbling walls. Distantly, he feels something pull at his insides but quickly forces the feeling down. He doesn't have the energy for grief.
Zuko's weight suddenly leaves his arms, and he whips his head back around to see Ursa cradling Azula in one arm while propping Zuko on her hip and holding him with the other. She's speaking to him in soft, motherly coos and it's remarkably effective at silencing his cries. Or at least, he thinks it is. All of the noises of the area blur together into a confusing slur. The sound of the waves crashing on the shore, the crackling of the distant blaze, and Ursa's murmuring—it's all one and the same.
"My father is dead." Ozai states, already making his way towards the closest boat, "Lu Ten is dead." He adds over his shoulder. He sees tiny particles of glass and stone buried in the skin there.
"We're next, if we don't leave." He hums, untying the boats anchor. It's someone's personal fishing vessel, but he couldn't care less about its purposes. It was a vessel away from the palace, and that was all he needed.
"What are we supposed to do?" Ursa asks, watching him hop from the dock to the deck of the boat. His legs nearly give out when he lands, and he's reminded of the chunk of rock buried in the back of his thigh. He tugs it out with a grunt, throwing it into the water.
"Get as far away from the palace as possible, as quickly as possible." Ursa cautiously crosses the gap, looking up at her husband as he speaks in an almost bored tone, "And after that…" Ozai trails off in favor of heading to the controls of the ship. It's not a steam-powered ship, instead relying on the wind and its sails. She's fairly sure Ozai has little to no experience with such a thing.
"After that?" Ursa asks. He sighs, raking a hand through his cropped hair.
"We'll discuss that if we're still alive to discuss it."
15 Years Later
In the mayhem that was the afternoon rush in the Lower Circle of Ba Sing Se, it was impossible for the young man to pass through the streets without rubbing elbows with at least a few of the more unseemly citizens. He clutches the bag over his shoulder a little more tightly, feeling for the small satchel of coins buried at the bottom of the bag to ensure they were still there.
"Ah, so he lives." A kind, feminine voice draws his attention through the crowd and he pushes past a portly couple to reach the edge of the food cart.
"For the most part. Mom practically bored me to death with that speech I got." He chuckles, plucking one of the sweet rolls off of the tray as the woman sets it down. She gives him a warning look, but doesn't otherwise chide him for it.
"Come on, Lee, at least all you got was a lecture. It could've been worse." Lee shrugs, pushing the unruly mop of dark hair out of his eyes as he nibbles on the roll.
"I know, but that doesn't mean I enjoyed it." Lee huffs, "We needed the money. We always need the money. So I…took it. I'm providing for my family, why is that a bad thing?" He pops the last of the roll into his mouth, his cheeks puffing out as he chews.
"Because you'll get arrested, which, if you need a reminder, is bad." She answers. His only response is a roll of his eyes as he pushes away from her cart. He swallows heavily before speaking.
"Like I'm the only thief in Ba Sing Se." He murmurs, catching the back of a passing cart loaded with logs heading in from Agrarian Zone, "My ride is here. I'll see you later." He ducks low enough that the driver of the cart won't be able to see him should he turn and look back, and settles in an awkward position. His knees are bent beneath him, his feet planted against the small ledge at the back of the cart and his hands grip the rickety edges of the cart. He's done this enough times, but he never grows used to the splinters in his palms.
Despite that, it's still the most efficient way of getting to his family home near the woodworking shop unmolested and with his small amount of stolen coins intact. The cart jolts to a stop, and he nearly slams his forehead into a displaced log before he jumps off and crosses the street to avoid suspicion from the driver. It's only a short walk from there, and when he steps inside he can hear his mother already beginning to prepare dinner for that night.
"Mom? I'm home." He hears the shifting of pots and pans before she answers.
"You were gone for a while. You did get what I asked for, didn't you?" She asks, poking her head out from the kitchen. She's not very far away, what can generously be called a living room being too small to put much distance between the kitchen and the front door.
"Of course. You wanted a dozen sweet rolls, right?" Lee digs around in his bag, careful to leave the satchel of coins undisturbed as he tosses the bundle of vegetables to his mother. They weren't the freshest specimens, but in his mother's stew there was a good chance it would go largely unnoticed.
"Very funny." She chuckles, pulling open the bag and digging through it to examine the contents. Satisfied, she hums and disappears back into the kitchen. Lee's already attempting to slink off into the next room, acutely aware of the small weight of the coins in his bag, but his mothers subtle throat clearing stops him in his tracks. He fidgets, longingly looking at the thin, bedraggled door to privacy and fisting the fabric of his bag.
"You uh…you want some help, Mom?" He asks, his tone strained with false optimism.
"What a kind, unprompted offer." She responds, "You can help me peel the vegetables." Lee keeps his groan restrained, hesitantly setting his bag down and pushing it aside with his worn boot. He tries to keep his gate relaxed, but his shoulders can't seem to lose their tenseness as he steps up beside her. She pushes the cutting board—hardly more than a charred piece of wood—towards him with the overly ripe vegetables sitting atop it.
"So…" She murmurs, and he can already feel her amber eyes searching him and pointedly refuses to meet her gaze as he takes the knife from the counter, "You just went to the market, bought the food, and came home?" She stresses the word 'bought,' trying to keep her tone nonchalant but failing. Lee has to keep from accidentally scorching the potato in his grip due to his annoyance.
"Yes." He lies through gritted teeth, skimming the knife along the potatoes skin harshly, "Are you going to assume that every time I leave the house, I'm out mugging people for fun?"
"I'm not implying that you're mugging anyone, Lee, don't be dramatic. I'm just concerned. What if someone a little less forgiving catches you? What then? You know we don't have the money to get you out of a prison cell." Her eyes are so scared and worried that Lee finds a cold wash of guilt come over him and he's forced to stare intently at the potato skins as they curl away from the knife and drop to the cutting board.
"That's what I'm trying to fix. We don't have the money for anything, Mom. It's not fair to you or Jia, and I'm trying to fix that." She stills his fidgeting hands, carefully taking the wavering knife from him and setting it aside. She returns her hands to his and clasps them gently, her thumbs brushing over the backs of his heated hands. She looks so tired as she gives him the smallest of smiles, the tiny lines around her eyes growing with the movement.
"Your sister and I are fine. We don't need money, but we do need you. We're a family." Her slender fingers squeeze his, and he looks down at the matching paleness of their skin tones, "I don't know what I would do if I lost you." He breaks away from her grip and concern crosses her face before he pulls her into his arms and hugs her tightly. When he buries his face in her hair, he can see the graying strands hidden in her brown locks. She's young to be graying.
"You won't lose me—" His reassurance is cut short by heavy knocking on their front door, the beating so powerful he can practically see the hinges shudder. Lee is quick to cross the room before his mother can, pulling open the door just a crack before he sees the man he recognizes as one of the more affluent vendors in the Lower Ring with his hand fisted in the back of Jia's dark green tunic. Blood spatters the front of the fabric and smears across her chin and lips in a ghoulish parody of the lipstick of the Upper Ring nobles. Her vibrantly golden eyes seem to smolder with rage, her hands held in tight fists at her sides.
"I believe this is yours." The towering man growls out, shoving Jia forward until she's nearly nose to nose with her brother. He isn't intimidated, his eyes flicking from his sibling's to the man restraining her.
"Did you hit her?" Lee asks, his tone chilled and sharp. Heat prickles at his fingers, fire lingering just below his skin.
"She was picking fights and scaring off my customers." He snorts. Jia doesn't dispute him; she never seemed to have any kind of shame for a fight, instead making a motion as if she's about to spin around and claw his eyes out. Lee is quick enough to catch her hands and pull her into the house before she can dig herself into an even deeper hole.
"Did you hit her?" Lee repeats, standing between Jia and the vendor. The man snorts, annoyed with Lee's repeated line of questioning.
"Yes. And I'd be happy to do it again if she causes more trouble." He says flippantly, and Lee lets out an enraged noise as he draws his fist back. Weak flames flicker to life wildly behind his arm, uncontrolled and involuntary as he starts to throw a well-deserved punch at the opposite man. But the movement of his arm is suddenly halted as a firm grip finds his bicep and yanks back roughly, throwing him off balance and forcing him to stumble back into Jia. The collision nearly topples both of them before he regains his footing and she manages to brace herself against the nearby wall.
"I am so sorry, sir." Lee finds the source of what had stopped him, his mother's hand, still gripping his bicep, and glares at both her and the vendor as she apologizes, "It won't happen again." The vendor stares past her and down at him, seeming to be trying to decipher if he'd imagined the flashes of light around the boys fist.
"Is your boy a firebender?" He asks instead of acknowledging her apology. The laugh his mother gives is a nervous one as she releases Lee's bicep.
"No, of course not. Don't be ridiculous. He just has a very short temper." She turns her head to look at him, her eyes wide with concealed panic and her mouth pulled into a false smile that bares just a few too many teeth, "Apologize to the man, Lee." Lee lets out a sound close to a growl, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the floor as he speaks.
"I'm sorry. I guess." He snorts, gaze flicking to his mothers annoyed face before it returns to the floor.
"Jia?" She prods. He turns his head to look to his sister who's taken to leisurely leaning against the wall. She quirks an arched brow at the request.
"What he said." She bites out, giving a smile similar to their mother's but with such a different intent that the difference is striking. She pushes away from the wall and stalks into their shared bedroom before the vendor can even respond. He narrows his eyes at her retreating form before returning his gaze to the distressed mother.
"Noriko, I've got nothing against you. You're a fine woman, but you need to keep your kids in line. Just because they don't have a father doesn't mean they're allowed to run around stealing—" His eyes flick to Zuko for a moment, "and picking fights."
"I know. Like I said, I'm so sorry for any customers you lost due to my daughter." Noriko murmurs, one hand clasping the other as she bows her head respectfully. Lee has to repress the urge to punch the man again.
"Is that so?" He cocks his head, a smirk pulling at his features.
"Yes." Her head remains bowed.
"Well, how about you prove it? I lost a good chunk of change because of your kid. Now, if you could reimburse me, I'd let this whole thing drop. The authorities don't need to know about her trouble making or your son's sticky fingers, for that matter." Noriko blinks, lifting her head and staring at him.
"W-We don't have any money to give you—" The vendor's hand grips the point of her chin and the words suddenly stop.
"Oh come on, now, I've heard the rumors. You don't have anything else you could offer to compensate me with?" Lee is now torn between throwing a punch and vomiting at his implications, reeling back and letting out an enraged noise. The man looks to him at the sound, uninterested.
"Why don't you run along, boy? The grown ups are talking." Lee doesn't even dignify that with a response, turning on his heel and stalking over to his bag. He gets on his knees, ripping open the bag and finding the stolen satchel of coins; it's weight heavy in his palm. He'd rather cut off his own hand than give in to this man's extortion, especially when he'd put his own neck on the line to steal this money, but he's not about to let his own mother sell herself for their benefit.
"Here." Lee stands and crosses the room swiftly, gently moving his mother aside and shoving his clenched fist into the vendor's chest, "Take your money." He can't find it in himself to look back at Noriko to see her reaction, shame settling heavily in his stomach. The man holds out his palm and empties the satchel into his hand, letting out a low whistle.
"Now where did you get a hold of this, I wonder?" He smirks, but Lee has no patience for his jabs.
"That doesn't matter. You have your money, do we have a deal?" The man studies him critically before he shrugs and dumps the heavy coins back into the satchel. He seals it and shrugs.
"I suppose. The authorities won't hear about you or your degenerate sister from me—" Perhaps he had more to say but Lee isn't interested beyond that point and slams the door in his face. He's seething, and he can just barely catch the flames of the stove roaring a little higher.
"Lee, where did you get that money?" She asks, but it comes out as more of a statement. He walks past her and grabs his bag off of the floor, feeling the absence of the coins' weight.
"It's gone now, why does it matter?" He spits back, clutching the strap of the bag too tightly. He can smell the fabric singing under his palms, "Why did he ask that of you? Why didn't you say no?" He demands, and when she doesn't look directly at him, he can practically feel the bile rising in his throat.
"There are things you don't know. It's better that way." In that one horrifying moment, he thinks of all the times that he and Jia had caused trouble and all the consequences had just disappeared. He remembers being led away by his mother after mysterious absences with eyes that shined with too much moisture and a trembling hand. He'd never considered, never even thought, something so depraved could have been the case. His anger quickly turns to disgust, and he has to sit in the rickety chair to keep from falling over. He'd known he'd gotten off too easily for stealing before, the charges being reduced to petty rumors and jokes at his expense instead of jail time, but he'd had no idea the real cost his own mother had paid for his carelessness.
He opens his mouth to speak, but he can't find the words. He rakes his hands through his shaggy hair, his breath leaving him in a plume of steam as he tries to control the whirlwind of emotions. Nothing helps. His skin feels too hot and sweat gathers on his brow. He hears her soft footsteps as she walks past him into the kitchen, and the soft tap of the knife meeting the cutting board is the only sound in the tiny house.
A/N: Welp, I'm back with yet another Avatar fic. This one is really experimental, being the first true AU (as opposed to canon divergence) I've done in years. It's kind of inspired by Anastasia, and a little by the Aladdin trilogy (not confirming which parts of the trilogy to keep from spoiling anything.) Hopefully I haven't lost too many people? Comments and reviews are encouraged, of course, just so I know I'm not screaming into the void.
Also, don't expect every chapter to be 7500+ words. This one was just so much exposition and set up that it got away from me. Regular chapters should be somewhere more around 3500 – 5000. ~Jiggle
