The tea is too bitter and cold. What does he have to do to get some hot tea? It is at least 90 degrees outside in the summer sun of South Carolina, and it feels just as hot in the parlor full of sweating, full-suited, rich politicians. At least it does to him, who at the moment looks like one of them in the completely buttoned-up grey suit jacket, a bowtie at his neck, the ensemble that was tailored for him just for the occasion. Sweat drips down his face and back. With this horrible heat, the tea could at least be warm! But he doesn't say anything, afraid that he would come off as Ozai's childish, whiny son.

He has to impress these sleazy men that are his father's colleagues, friends but judges, the leaders and noblest men of the city. If they think Ozai was of worth, a civil man with an even worthier son, heir to their family fortune, they will welcome Ozai in as one of them. He has to pretend to enjoy the company of these pigs, just a few hours more, until the house party is over, and then he can finally take off the monkey suit.

"Young Zuko, do you not like the tea?" Mr. Hei, a fat banker with an ugly mess of facial hair whom was trying to keep a conversation with Zuko says. "It is my wife's mother's recipe. I gave it to your maid earlier, to prepare."

Mr. Hei, this tea is putrid and I don't know how you can bring it to your lips. "Oh, no, Mr. Hei, the tea is very tasty. Tell your mother-in-law she is an excellent cook."

"How very kind of you, sir! I wish I could, but I'm afraid she passed just this past year."

Well, the old woman must have made up the concoction on her death bed, the way this slides down one's throat. "I'm sorry to hear that, sir."

"Quite alright, my boy, quite alright," Mr. Hei smiles. Success.

As another hour slowly passes, Zuko excuses himself from the suffocating banker and slips his way through the crowd of men throughout the deluxe home where he grew up. Once he reaches the stairs he fumbles for the dainty handkerchief tucked somewhere in his jacket and tries to wipe off at least his face. After an hour of drinking cold tea he realizes the sludge was actually cooling him down, and he looks for something to quench his thirst. A bottle of whisky and a few glasses sit on an end table, calling out. Even though he knows he doesn't have permission to drink, he's seventeen years of age, he finds that it satisfies him perfectly, and continues upstairs.

"Don't you know Father will lash out if he sees you with that?"

Zuko doesn't need to turn around in the empty corridor to know that his snarky little sister is smiling one of her awful smiles. "Don't you know you're supposed to be on the third floor, napping with all the other women?"

Azula takes Zuko's shoulder and turns him to face her. "He is going to be so disappointed in his perfect son."

"Get lost, you little witch."

Of course he knows it's a crude thing to say to his only sibling, but does it hurt her? Not at all.

Azula lets out a long, fake yawn. "Dear brother," she sighs. "You think that just because you put on a fancy suit and lie a little bit, you'll win Daddy's heart. As always, you're wrong. You'll never be his son. He will always see you as the failure you are. All he needs from you is a good image for the counsel, that way they can trust him, and when that happens, he won't need you anymore." She flips a strand of hair, her eyes closing slightly, then returns. "You will be kaput."

Zuko quickly shoves her pretty little shoulder against the wall and she barely flinches. "You will shut your mouth, Azula. Go upstairs. Now."

The harsh stare between their similar golden eyes are broken when a call is heard from the floor down: "Son! Zuko."

Zuko shoves the drink into his sister's palm and goes to look down the staircase. There Ozai stands at the bottom step, looking up at him. "Yes, Father."

"Join me in my study." Zuko watches as Ozai slips back through the crowd and eventually disappears behind his study's door; then he begins descending down.

"I will be here, waiting to say I told you so," Azula's slithering words haunt him until he is on ground floor, and he manages to shake them off.

With a single knock, Ozai permits Zuko to enter. Inside the room it is much cooler compared to the rest of the house, and Zuko's body relaxes a bit. His father is sitting at his desk, papers scattered across the oak finish, and he looks up. "Take a seat."

"Is it urgent, sir? Is something wrong?" Zuko is staring at the very regal-looking man before him, searching for something amiss in his expression.

After a moment Ozai replies, "I have requested you to inform of how pleased I am of your behavior today. I have received many comments and compliments on how intelligent, studious, and well-managed you are. You have made me proud, Zuko." Zuko wishes his father would smile. Just a tiny smirk would prove to Azula that Ozai wasn't using him, but he really did love him. But, Ozai carries on. "However. Some have mentioned that when they asked you of your opinion on the war, you portrayed no interest whatsoever. Is this true?"

The war, a civil war of their unique country had just begun a few months before. The South was seceding from the union, due to an argument that slavery should remain a lifestyle, or every man is entitled to freedom, including those enslaved. Zuko was raised that he was superior to the darker-skinned inhabitants of his town, supported the war and was proud that the South was beginning to secede.

"No, sir," he answers, astonished. He portrayed no interest whatsoever? What madness! "That is not true! I—"

"Shush," Ozai demands, and Zuko's ears burn with the tone he uses. "I realize that you are supportive of the war, but I've been told that it is clear that you are…confused, so to say, about slavery. It shows that you are weakened by the subject. Do you think otherwise?"

Zuko takes a moment, lets the accusation sink in. Confused? By slavery? The longer he thinks, he realizes that it is true. He has always questioned the ways of the South, slavery, why it is what it is, but distracted with the pride of his family and the South he has never really thought about it directly, avoiding it even. And now he realizes that he is troubled by the subject.

"No, sir," he replies, shame washing over him. "I cannot argue."

Ozai shakes his head and says, "Do you have any idea how that makes this family look? Your own Uncle is a Colonel of a Confederate regiment and your cousin is Lieutenant Colonel. It disgraces."

"I am sorry, Father," Zuko says. "Hear my plea, I'm sorry I've appeared this way, and I promise that I will prove my loyalty to the South. I will fix this anyway I can."

"You are right," his father looks up from a moment looking at his desktop; his eyes are piercing. "You will fix this. You are not a boy any longer. I have thought this over, and it is time that you prove your honor to this family, to me."

Zuko is sweating now, anxiously waiting. Ozai's next words make his gut sink: "You will enlist, Zuko. And you will bring great honor to this family."

Biting his tongue, Zuko stares at his father for a moment, then stands, and bows his head. "As you wish, Father." As he exits the study, totally winded, he knew he would not have dared to argue. He had to obey.

And now he was to be a soldier.

Civil Trials is an Avatar: the Last Airbender crossover alternative universe with the United States' Civil War based setting and time adventure/romance. This is a Zutara fanfiction. I apologize if some of the Civil War content may not be totally accurate; I did the best I could. Hope you enjoyed reading and I'll try to update soon! Thanks! –Peachesque

Avatar: the Last Airbender and all characters mentioned © the creators, not me.

EDIT: Aug 25-made some changes to this chapter, they are pretty important, so take note of them for the following story.