Whoo! Its hard to get chapters out so quick, but I'm trying. This IS a Zutara, don't worry, it's just definitely not a usual Zutara.

I want to explain two things that might be bothering people. Yes, Aang has an accent, I'm sorry : ( but there is a reason. Unlike Zuko, Jet, Sokka, and other characters, Aang has had very, very little education, and the accent is supposed to portray this gap. You'll see other characters with speech differences like his later on. Song's will start to come out more in later chapters.

This story is also a Jetzula, but its a weird Jetzula…but I guess Jetzula would always be kind of weird so…eh, whatever.

Break

Azula threw the cloak over her shoulders and straightened her hair. She was standing in the parlor of her father's house, and a carriage was waiting outside for her. She had no proper, jeweled pins to put in her hair, so she let it fall free, knowing her gorgeous locks would make all the snobby noblewomen jealous enough to do it themselves. She was wearing another of her mother's dresses: a gold one with white trim, devastatingly perfect on her slender body, and polished, re-painted shoes that looked far more expensive than they were worth. Azula knew how to take little, and make it seem like much.

"Where are you going tonight, my niece?"

Iroh was not dressed up. It was dark outside already, and the man was in his evening-robes, with a cup of hot jasmine tea in one hand. His eyes were weary with worrying for his nephew, and with tears he had shed with the passing of Ursa. The lines of sorrow in his face were etched suspiciously deep at this particular grief.

"To a party, Uncle," piped Azula cheerily. She took off the near table and slung it over her shoulder.

"And who is escorting you?" s

"Oh, Uncle," laughed Azula. She pranced towards the old man, who stiffened as she kissed his cheek. "Don't you worry. He's just another caller. They're all the same to me, you know… I think I have his name written down somewhere, however…"

"I suppose it doesn't matter," Iroh said forcefully, after Azula faked looking through her purse a few moments. "Just ensure that you are back before midnight. Your father may be… preoccupied, by I find it still necessary to worry for you."

"And glad I am you do!" smiled Azula, and kissed her Uncle's other cheek. As she passed him, making towards the door, she caught his aged, experienced eye.

Wicked gold flashed against suspicious yellow, and she exited into the night.

Jet was standing beside of the carriage, looking absolutely infuriated and miserable. He was in a somewhat-respectable suit stolen from the stores of a nobleman in a northern estate, and it was a horrible size; he was too tall for it, and it didn't completely get down to his shoes, but around his thin frame it was also too flabby and roomy. He looked more like a refined beggar than anything, and his huge flop of dark hair (which he had neglected to comb) was falling over his piercing eyes like a curtain. His face was set in a horrible, embarrassed scowl.

"Good evening, Jet," Azula said, still cheery. Jet's scowl deepened and he didn't reply, only helped her into the carriage as the driver stared, awkward and confused, at the couple. Jet got in shortly after and sat, sulking, on his side of the couch. For a long time they rode in silence, with Jet fuming against his own carriage door, glaring out the window. Azula waited, in a long silence, as the carriage bumped and rolled along the streets, until the boredom encompassed her.

"You haven't complimented me, Jet," she said gently. "…I wore this dress for you."

Jet turned and grabbed her wrist, but this time Azula expected it; she slithered from his grip, and before he could regain his hold, she took the side of his head in her own hand and kissed him fiercely. Angrily, he returned her kiss, punching the side of the carriage in swift hatred for himself.

"Don't be angry, love," hissed Azula, and her smile was wicked against Jet's furious, unbearable desperation. "Tonight you are the warrior once more."

"If you're lying…"

She silenced him with a treacherously soft kiss that no less suited her than a tutu would suit a grown moose-lion, but it did it's job of confusing and distracting him.

"I have never lied to you," she purred against his lips. "…I never will."

He did not trust her. She could see it in the infuriated depths of his dark eyes, hear it in the harsh tones of his voice. She didn't care. She would be disappointed if he trusted her.

The party was of special magnificence, mainly because it commemorated some anniversary of the Chosen King – not his birthday, but perhaps the date of his marriage, or his discovery by the Advisors. The Chosen King was believed to be reincarnated at each moment of his death, and it was up to the Advisors of the reign to locate his new form.

The room was coated in dusted gold; huge tapestries hung down from the walls, of all different shapes and lengths and hues, to bring in an air of festivity and wonder. The windows were lighted with rows of burning candles, and the floor was so clean, the light of the crystal chandeliers was practically glowing from the ground. Plush satin couches and mahogany chairs lined the walls, bordering the great, endless tables piled with delicacies: fruits from the far east and the deep southern jungles, barrels of breads and bottles of old wine, and the sides of roasted meats that stood evidence to the family's wealth.

Jet said nothing to any of them. Azula was able to talk and gossip casually amongst them, dazzle them with her wit and style; but Jet was not of their kind. He was not civil and pretty. He was a warrior.

Several of the guests had taken to staring at the wild-looking man, and to avoid further suspicion Azula forcibly brought him to the dance floor. He remained rigid as a board as they swept around the other couples, saved only by the exceptional grace of Azula.

"Do you see the man near the dining-table?" she whispered suddenly into his ear. Jet gave the faintest of nods, his body stiff with discomfort, which vaguely amused Azula.

"He owns nearly all the butcheries in the southern Union. All the finest meats go to his table, and to his friends. They don't pay a dime. He leaves the rotting pieces to sell at market. Fifty-two have died in Balda Pera from his spoiled meat."

Jet's hand tightened briefly on her waist, and she continued, building the righteous fury.

"The men gambling in the corner? They are landlords. Last week they cut their land's working-pay in half. Two pence a day. They sent the workers who protested to the gallows."

"That one, the Lord Kadar… he has raped three of his serving-women. His wife had one of them hanged, when she went to her for help. I suppose she thought she was lying."

"The soldier in the corner? He killed an innocent woman last week. Accused her of being an airbender, and beat her to death…of course, he received no punishment."

"They will all be punished," Jet snarled it. Azula had harnessed the terrible, all-consuming rage of a scorned soul. To serve the plight of the weak embodied Jet, to fight for freedom and truth and justice, and dancing like a mindless toy amongst this den of thieves and lions, he was an angel of death and vengeance.

All he needed was to be unleashed.

The night ended with a final goodbye from the man of the house. He raised his glass to the ceiling and cried out drunkenly, unaware of the hating eyes that followed him in the crowd.

"My good men, and women," he grinned and winked at some lady in a red dress. "Thank you all for your good company. Amidst the barbarians of our lifetime, I am glad to have friends such as you. May the spirits smile upon us! Even though – well I suppose they already do, don't they?"

He laughed, lifting up his silver goblet filled with expensive drink, and guzzled it down.

Jet made a move to follow him right then and there. His twin tiger-hook swords, sheathed but sharp, were hidden beneath his coat, strapped against his back. Azula stood before him and bared the way, one white hand on his chest, until nearly all the nobles were out the doors. Jet was trembling, shaking with unappeased rage.

"Where is Zuko?" she asked in a whisper.

Jet followed the corrupt with his eyes. Sinners, liars, stealers, killers, all worthy of death, followed by the eyes of vengeance incarnate.

"Acchai," he whispered it, too infuriated to fight her anymore, and she allowed him to follow the noblemen out into the night.

Azula smiled to herself and took a glass of wine from the table. Outside, there erupted the sounds of screaming women and yelling men, the roar of stone being thrown at an invisible foe – for Jet, free and fierce and bloodthirsty, was slaughtering his way amongst them, Azula's own terrible ghost.

Break

"Who is it? I can't tell. They're all on horses."

"It's Sokka! He's ok…he's with General Jeong-Jeong."

"Who are the two guys behind him?"

"I…I don't know. I can't really see them."

"Ha! Welcome to my world."

"Shh."

Katara quietly hushed Toph as their father glanced in their direction, silencing them with a look. His three other daughters, all pale and plump and unpleasant, sniggered and remained sickeningly proper.

Sokka was motionless atop his ostrich-horse, eyes fixed on his father, the great Lord Fong. The cheer had died down, but there were smiles on all the servant's faces, and several of the soldiers (forced to wait by the entrance, for there was not much room in the courtyard) were grinning proudly beneath their scars. Even Jeong-Jeong, it seemed, had the slightest, most undetectable hint of a smile.

Zuko could do no less than watch, awed, at the raw love and faith and pride they had in the Aurora Tribe warrior. Sokka did not respond to it, besides a slight nod to a few he knew personally, regal and humble upon his steed, the embodiment of true lordship. Zuko could no longer doubt in the man – despite all of his childish behavior on the train, when there was need for leadership and strength, he was a man to depend on – one who would truly take a knife for you.

The only ones who did not, in any way, seem pleased to see him, were three of the women who stood behind General Fong with their heads bowed; they were fat, and their faces were covered with clothe. Zuko had never seen a niqab before, but he wisely chose to accept it, and not cause a cultural clash. Aang, who Zuko guessed had seen this kind of dress before, was remaining silent and tense upon his own steed.

The General Fong was scowling. His great, dark beard was bundled up and odd-looking beneath his long face, and his graying hair was tucked and hidden beneath an aged warrior's helm. Whereas Jeong-Jeong was terrifying because of his barbaric soul and ferocious loyalties, Fong was only frightening in the way an overgrown child was frightening. He seemed a petty, jealous sort of man, but this was all the more dangerous – for he had power, and petty children with power are capable of far more cruelty than barbarians with common sense.

"You are late, son," he said, and his tone was malicious. "It seems I placed too much duty upon your shoulders. Or is it so difficult to for you to catch a train?"

"There were difficulties on the way, father," said Sokka, and Zuko could hear the veiled disdain in his voice; both men hated each other, though the reason escaped Zuko. "There were… earthbenders, causing trouble. I had to abandon the train. Luckily we stumbled upon Jeong-Jeong's camp."

"We?" Fong seemed to acknowledge Zuko and Aang for the first time. "Who are these men?"

"They are…" Sokka turned his head around, just enough to catch Zuko's eye. "…friends of mine. They were on the train with me. The boy, especially, helped me to escape."

"Who's he talking about, Katara?" Toph muttered quietly to her sister. Katara tried to crane her neck around to see the newcomers.

"There's one with…oh, he has a horrible scar…it's all over his eye…"

"Ouch. What about the other one?"

"Well he's – he's got a blue –" suddenly Katara burst into a smile, and had to grab her sister's hand. "It's a blue arrow tattoo! Toph, its an airbender! Sokka found him!"

"No way!" Toph squeezed Katara's hand, ignoring the biting remarks of her sisters to keep quiet. "I never doubted him. Not for a second."

"You two! Dismount and come forth," roared Fong, and his demeanor was anything but friendly. Remembering Sokka's words, Zuko dismounted without protest, and without reaction to the accusing, infuriating tone of the Lord. How Fong could be related to Sokka was beyond him.

Aang dismounted too, but he was by far the more nervous of the two; whether it was his presence as an airbender and the history of persecution he was sure to have, or some other unknown cause, the eyes of the Lord, and of those around him, were making him visibly uncomfortable.

Instinctively, Zuko went down to one knee before the Lord, though he was unused to any of the customs of Acchai. Aang hesitated, and then followed his example. Fong made no move, or attempt to dissuade them, but examined them thoroughly, as a hawk examining his prey.

"You. You have the tattoos of an airbender."

Zuko could see Aang, from the corner of his eye, head tilted to face the ground, body stiff and rigid as a board. He was not all comfortable in this position, and his clear, grey eyes betrayed this.

"Yes, Sa'. 'Cause I am one, see, Sa'."

"Coming to Acchai to escape the Union, were you?" growled Fong, and there was more than a simple, informative inquiry in his question.

"Well…not exactly, Sa'."

"What do you mean? Tell me."

"Well, Sa' – I came with me friend 'ere, 'cause like you said, the Union was tryin' to get us. But it ain't the only reason we came, Sa'. 'Nother friend of ours wanted me ta'…to 'elp Zuko 'ere, 'elp 'im with 'is own things."

"Zuko?" said Fong coldly, turning his eyes to the firebender. "That is a highly dishonorable name, in this part of the world."

"…It is the same in the Union then, sir," said Zuko, but he was boiling gently on the inside against this wretched Lord. Sokka suddenly dismounted from his steed and, thankfully enough, came to their aid.

"Father, let me vouch for them: this is Zuko of Agni, and Aang, who was born in the south. They have their own business in Acchai; but they need some direction, I think. Both of them are good men, but they would not do long on their own in this land."

"You seem to already have a set mind on their matter," said Fong suspiciously, crossing his arms across his broad chest. "When you brought strangers to our door I thought you were leading in prisoners, or worthy soldiers – but it seems they are merely two peasants from across the mountains. Why should I care for their fates, or let them stay in my home?"

"Please, Sa', we didn't mean no 'arm, we jus' –"

Aang didn't have time to react. Fong's hand hit his face like a thunderclap, and the boy, stunned and aghast, tumbled blindly into Zuko. Momo leapt from his shirt and flew, straight and screeching, at the Lord's face – but with one crushing hand he grabbed the lemur and threw him violently to the earth before his airbender. The poor creature crumpled there, whining, its body bruised, as Zuko tried to steady Aang. Around them, servants were gasping in shock, and suddenly Sokka's hand was around his father's wrist, an iron vice.

"You bastard –"

Fong twisted his own wrist and loosed Sokka's hold, and then there was a horrible snap, as the Lord bent his son's elbow around and pinned his arm against his back, excruciatingly fast and fluid; Sokka let out a loud, startled gasp of pain before Fong's boot crashed down on his back and sent him flying, face-first, into the dust.

No one else in the courtyard had dared to speak, or move. Sokka writhed on the ground, massaging his damaged arm, as a staggered Zuko tried to prop up Aang, still dizzy from the unexpected blow. Jeong-Jeong's knuckles were white on the reins of his tiger-stallion.

"Do not think I forget the merits of my title," he snarled, looking at Aang now, as though Sokka's rage meant nothing to him. "You spoke out of turn, airbender. Do not let it happen again."

Sokka stood slowly from where his father had kicked him, and Zuko, amazed at the collective and well-managed fury in the warrior's gaze, felt heat under his fingertips as the anger began to consume him. Aang stumbled back down to his knee, massaging the side of his face.

"I want them both to accompany the caravan to Masabi," said Sokka, loudly and fiercely, and straight into his father's cold, unmoving face. "Aang is an airbender, and Zuko a firebender; there are dangers on the road and they will be employed to defend the company."

It was the strangest moment Zuko had ever witnessed. The courtyard was silent, and besides the startled gasps and shocked looks from a small few of the servants, no one seemed stunned that the Lord had just beaten Aang or Sokka. Jeong-Jeong had hardly moved, and definitely remained calm when the Lord laid hands upon the Prince, and the soldiers at the gate were apathetic. Zuko felt his fingers digging into the earth, to help extinguish the flame of fury that was seeping from his skin.

But suddenly there was also Sokka, saying he wanted them to go with him to – where was it? Masabi? Zuko tried to remember if Jet had ever mentioned it to him – but the thought of Jet made him question, in the entire depths of him, why the hell he was even here."

I need you to find out who you are. The truth about Agni. The truth about…about everything.

"It would have been simpler to say that first, wouldn't it, son?" snarled Fong. Sokka twitched, ever so slightly, but did not react as his father studied him, smiling conceitedly. Zuko's hatred deepened ever so unbearably, and his fingers began to smoke gently.

"General," said Fong abruptly, turning to Jeong-Jeong, who had not moved, or perhaps even blinked, since they arrived in the courtyard. "What do you say to this?"

In the vaguest, most undetectable motion, Jeong-Jeong caught the eye of the Prince.

"The thieves of Gihad wax worse every year," he said, and again his voice was full of threat and thunder and fire, and servants averted their eyes from him. "A caravan of our kind will inevitably attract their attention. It would do no harm to have two more benders in our ranks."

"Well then…at last, it seems, my son and my General are capable of making their own plans, without my council," said Fong with a witty smile, but there was veiled viciousness behind it. "If you can find room for them, they can accompany under your hand, General. But train them not to speak such rudeness to their Lords."

"Yes. My thanks, Lord Fong."

"Measure their strength as soon as possible, and report back to me tonight," said Fong nodding towards one of his daughters, the oldest and fattest of them all. "There will be no delay tomorrow."

"Of course."

Lord Fong turned and strode back to his tower, his footsteps loud and ominous against the ground. There was no movement in the courtyard until all were sure of his departure; and then, with one accord, a cheer went up, and a wave of adoring servants swarmed in upon Sokka.

Zuko and Aang were caught in the fray, but one sharp word from Jeong-Jeong and the frenzy ceased, developing into an organized chaos of praising women and cheering men, all of whom cam to bow their heads and shake hands and wish health upon the Prince.

Then, suddenly, someone grabbed Zuko's hand. He had to check himself before reacting with a blow, and probably saved the poor servant's skin for her. She had dark, braided hair and white skin, and there was a strange inflection on her tongue, but she took Zuko's hand in both of her own and touched her forehead to his palm, whole face veiled by the niqab, save for her soft, grey eyes.

"Peace and health to you, mitra-Sahadev."

She moved onto Aang then, who looked even more uncomfortable than Zuko, probably because he had never been respected his entire life. The daughters of Lord Fong were bowing their greetings to Sokka, whom Zuko edged closer to, trying to avoid the sudden throng of servants.

"Sokka! Sokka you did it –"

"Shh, Katara," Zuko heard him say, holding one of his sisters in a hug. "Don't say anything. Not yet. You neither, Toph."

"What's wrong with you, ponytail?" said the girl to the left of the sister Katara. Aang joined Zuko, finally, curling the frightened Momo to his chest, in time to see them both standing before Sokka.

"Go say your respects to my friends, sisters," Sokka said abruptly. Jeong-Jeong had finally dismounted and was waiting, ever patient, beside his Prince.

The sister Sokka called Katara came and took Zuko's hands in hers, bowing her head as the servant had done. When she lifted her eye again, her gaze lingered, unwillingly, on the horror of Zuko's scarred, left eye – then she moved on quickly to Aang, hoping Zuko didn't notice. Zuko had noticed; but he didn't care much about people staring anymore.

The second sister was blind, and had a harder time finding their hands. Once both women (and a good quantity of servants) had left the courtyard, Jeong-Jeong at last approached Zuko, beckoning Sokka away, to rest in his own quarters.

"I must see my warriors are provided for," he stated, and Zuko realized then how very great Jeong-Jeong was in comparison to Fong. "I will meet you here, again, before the dinner bell. I will see this firebending of yours, Zuko of Agni. As for you, Aang of the south, you will demonstrate your airbending, though I have no true master to judge you."

"S'ok," Aang shrugged pleasantly. Jeong-Jeong bowed briefly and left.

Momo regained his playful confidence a little while later, as Zuko and Aang sat waiting in the courtyard. It made friends with a few of Fong's dogs, and a funny game of tag was going on between the creatures. At some point during this time, Aang, making sure no prying ears were listening, turned to Zuko and said:

"Aye, Did you see that wom'n, Zuko? Did'ya? Sokka's sista – the one in the blue dress?"

"…Yes. I suppose," the girl had already slipped Zuko's mind.

"Yeah…she was somethin'...those eye's a 'er's, blue as the sky…"