All Aboard the Good Crack Ship Pianzula
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When Fire Lord Azulon decides to make Piandao pay the penalty for his desertion, he orders one hundred elite soldiers into Shu Jing to arrest him. Their subsequent defeat is legendary.
When Fire Lord Ozai decides to make Piandao pay, he sends a single teenage girl.
"I have a proposition for you," the princess says to him. "I'm hunting a traitor. I would be honored to have a great master such as yourself accompany me. You'll find that I am most appreciative of the skills of non-benders."
Piandao says nothing, because he is consumed with the ceremony of preparing two porcelain cups with hot black tea. Like nearly every other item on his estate besides a few swords, his tea service is not antique. Even the few he does own, pre-war swords adorning the walls, pieces forged in an era that prized craft over utility, do not belong to his family. If this bothers her, as it does many nobles, she does not let it show.
He takes one cup and presents it to her. The princess takes it, and when his fingers brush against hers he is struck by their hard, calloused tips. Soldier's hands. At thirteen. She faintly smiles at the miniscule reaction in his eyes, then takes a long, slow drink from her cup. She lets the scalding black tea wash over her tongue, savoring the heat as well as the flavor. If he hadn't felt her hands first, Piandao might be impressed by the show of fortitude. It's really just a circus trick; heat redirection with the tongue. He's fairly sure she's never learned the other uses for it.
But... she does have soldier's hands at thirteen.
"I am honored to be considered for this mission," he says, "but I am retired from the military. My responsibility is to my clients and their weapons purchases."
"Retired." She runs a calloused fingertip around the rim of her teacup. The nail is long; unbroken, unburnt. He ratchets down his chances of survival. "I was under the impression that your departure from the military involved less-than-savoury details."
"If you are referring to those rumors, I am fairly sure that former Admiral Jeong Jeong is the first deserter in our country's long history."
They share a smile over propaganda, but then she tilts her head away from him and takes a longer sip. In profile, the princess is quite striking; womanhood in early bloom. But still thirteen. A woman wouldn't feel the need to preen in front of a man her father's age whose once coal black hair is tinting more towards steel every year. It is flattering, honestly, and because it is flattering he suddenly realizes it is deliberate.
He laughs.
The princess turns back to face him, the skin around her eyes tightening in mild annoyance. His humor is a strange animal for her to see, because who laughs around a young woman with soldier's hands at thirteen? "Princess Azula, I will accompany you on your mission," he says, because even if he beat her in a fight he would be a fugitive for striking royalty. "Before we leave, might I ask you for a small favor?"
"You may."
He glances over her shoulder at Fat, who has been a spider-fly on the wall. With the ease and understanding borne from years of close association, his butler exits the room. A minute later he returns, silently lays out a calligraphy set before the princess, and again takes up his position glued to the wall. Princess Azula never once regards him as he moves around her, performing his servant's duties. It is the first reaction from her today that he knows is not calculated.
He gestures to the blank paper spread out in front of her. "When you write your name, you stamp the paper with your identity. So it is that warrior's stamp their identity on the battlefield."
"You want me to write my name? That's it?" The princess narrows her shining golden eyes at him, then lowers them to the paper. She stares for a moment, then passes her tea cup from one hand to the other. While she holds it, she lowers her free hand and extends a single, slim finger. The brush and ink sit unused as she chars the paper, using delicate, precise motions to sketch out the characters for her name: the feminine form of the constellation of the Azure Dragon of the East.
When she has finished, she looks up at him even as she downs the last of her tea. The princess smirks around the teacup at the unspoken joke: As if either of us needed to figure out who I am.
"Fat," he says, grinning back at her, "pack my bags."