"How well do you know the firebending art, Zuko of Agni?"
Jeong-Jeong had removed his mole-bear cloak, his leather armor, his undershirt; he stood before Zuko, scarred body revealed, much to the amused giggles of passing-serving women. Zuko had removed his own shirt, but he was nowhere near as defined as the war-torn man before him.
"…Not as well as you, General," he tried, awkwardly. A small, rare smile escaped the edge of Jeong-Jeong's lip.
"Humility. A rare thing," he said simply. Aang was sitting cross-legged beneath one of the pomengranate trees, Momo curled up in his lap and asleep, tired out from the days events. Aang himself was having a hard time keeping his eyes open, but he was trying, desperately, so he could see Zuko firebend. The airbender had already forgotten the incident with Fong.
Jeong-Jeong assumed defensive stance and awaited Zuko politely. Zuko mirrored him, but as he lowered himself into the position he felt a rush of fear in his veins – in the wastes of Acchai, amidst the heat and war of the outer-lands, Jeong-Jeong had fought his way against very odd, and defeated them all. How many fights had this General won, how many masters put to shame, how many men killed? And here was Zuko, striving to remember the breathing and motion his Uncle had taught him, with the fear crawling beneath his skin like a slow poison.
Suddenly he knew he couldn't do it. The General was too strong, and his fear was too great; for the first time he was ready to avoid a battle, to surrender if necessary – for he couldn't fight the General, couldn't hope to survive a moment against his ferocity –
And then the fire came, and he could no longer stop it. He had to survive it.
Jeong-Jeong's flame was white as snow and blazing, a brutal reflection of the man, hotter than the dungeons of hell against Zuko's skin. He had never seen the like it before, not even from his savage sister Azula, and deflecting the first blast was terrifying.
He managed to keep his feet, to find his way around the courtyard, trying all the while to defend himself from the pure inferno that was Jeong-Jeong. The General said nothing, offered no council or advice; only attacked without mercy, arms as pillars of flame.
He was too close to Zuko now, and his white fires were hot against his skin. In parrying moves they crossed and punched and blocked and kicked in vain at one another, as Jeong-Jeong was impenetrable, and Zuko too quick to catch. The exchange emboldened Zuko, and when Jeong-Jeong released a particularly vicious jet of flame, he spun towards the General wrapped in red fire, a tornado of red and white.
The result was disastrous and immediate: Zuko's fire was extinguished like a weak candle flame, and then Jeong-Jeong had his arm behind his head, so that for half a second Zuko was forced over and staring at the ground – and then Jeong-Jeong's knee crashed into his stomach and sent him flying across the courtyard.
Zuko had enough to time to crawl to his hands before Jeong-Jeong had him by the back of his neck, cruel and suffocating with the strength of his grip. Then there was the hot, white pain of Jeong-Jeong's fearsome flame against his back, and Zuko roared in agony and kicked up his legs behind him, releasing red flame into the General's face.
It phased Jeong-Jeong enough to release his hold on Zuko, who had hardly hit the earth before he spun, boring into the General's abdomen, igniting his fists once more. The General rebounded off of him and spun him away, but not well enough; Zuko sent a high, flying, fiery kick in his direction, slamming down his heel into the nook of the General's neck and shoulder, hoping to throw him off balance.
Jeong-Jeong remained solid as a rock, and suddenly the terror was back as his fingers crushed Zuko's ankle and he threw him clear across the grass, followed by a ribbon of flame. Zuko fell to his back, catching and extinguishing it, letting the higher fires pass over him like flaming angels – but then Jeong-Jeong was above him with in a blaze.
"Not good enough," Jeong-Jeong's words were piercing. Zuko spun up from his back and kicked out a great, brilliant yellow jet of flame, straight into the General's face; Jeong-Jeong bore through it effortlessly like he was parting water, face emotionless as stone.
Song, who had just entered the courtyard to witness their performance, dropped her cleaning and raced down the hall. The passing servants regarded her suspiciously, but she was too excited and afraid to speak, and she burst through the women's quarters without stopping to bow to any of the Lord's daughters.
"Katara!" Song was in the doorway to the private garden, where Katara and Toph were practicing their bending, until Hama came for their last inspection. "Toph! Katara! General Jeong-Jeong – he – with new man, mitra-Sahadev – they – they Agni Kai!"
Katara and Toph, crying out in disbelief, followed Song as she ran back out towards the courtyard, yelling at anyone who would listen what was happening in the courtyard.
Zuko was fighting now, fighting for his life, the burn from Jeong-Jeong's fire still screaming on his back. Katara and Toph entered the courtyard and immediately ran back to its edge as one Jeong-Jeong's white fires exploded against the wall beside them.
Numbed with desperation and the need of survival, fear no longer gripped Zuko. Calmer than before, he met Jeong-Jeong's attacks and began to return them. There was no style or grace in Jeong-Jeong's fighting: only the raw fury and brutality that had so often embodied the fighters in Balda Haram. Zuko though of Longshot and his perfect aim; of SmellerBee, and her lust for battle; of Jet, and the warrior of his spirit, the way he could shred among a hundred soldiers and escape without a scratch.
Subconsciously he began to slip into his state of elated, barbaric ecstasy that used to consume him in his fights against the soldiers. Jeong-Jeong suddenly found himself against a different opponent; with fluid skill Zuko adopted the General's technique and began to seek out his weaknesses.
Jeong-Jeong knew what would need to happen next.
The General's fists were seeking Zuko's flesh, but Zuko was keeping just enough distance from him, and in a sudden attempt to trap the other firebender, Jeong-Jeong swept his arms down the earth and set the ground ablaze; but Zuko had kicked out the flame from under him and slammed his heel into Jeong-Jeong's ankle, so the man's footing was lost. Zuko grabbed the man by one arm, turned him over, and stared at him with one victorious hand still flaming.
Then white metal flashed beneath the dying sunset, and the flesh on Zuko's arm rent open.
He cried out and stumbled away from the General, who's bloody dagger he had already wiped and slid back into his boot. The servants on the borders of the courtyard had not reacted, but Zuko was holding his arm in shock, and Aang was on his feet.
"Aye! Tha' ain't fair –"
His statement bewildered Toph, who was closest to him, getting the play-by-play of the fight from her sister. Even without seeing she could feel the anger consuming him, but as he took a step towards the duel she grabbed his arm and hissed to him.
"What are you talking about? It's an Agni Kai."
"This ain't no Agni Kai!" growled Aang, trying to loose her grip. "Least not no more! He pull' a dagger on Zuko!"
"So?" the girl's indifference startled him. She didn't seem to understand his meaning of 'fair'. "That's an Agni Kai. If it were a regular duel they wouldn't use firebending at all."
"Nah, s'not right," said Aang, and he was getting angry at the girl now. "In Agni Kai you use only firebending, it's breakin' the rules if'n you pull a knife –"
"Look, twinkletoes, I don't know where you came from," said Toph, and suddenly she was prodding the airbender's chest with one threatening finger. "But here you don't ever interrupt an Agni Kai, and you don't complain about stupid things. We don't do fancy duels. Funny bending steps don't save you from thieves out here."
A brief desire rose in Zuko to accuse the General of cheating, or foul play. But one look from the man made him realize that this wasn't cheating.
This was how you survived in Acchai. This was an Agni Kai. This was a duel. And when it broke down to the naked truth, you had to be willing to pull daggers. You had to be willing to stab in the back. You had to be willing to do anything – anything to keep the blood inside your body and the breathe in your lungs.
Anything to stay alive. That was the truth in Jeong-Jeong's eyes, and the memories in his scars.
Zuko strode to the side of the courtyard, were his twin broadswords lay amongst his clothes, and drew them with a shrill, biting ring. Jeong-Jeong already had his sword-club in hand.
There after they fought a true duel, though Aang watched helpless and confused from the sidelines, and Zuko struggled against Jeong-Jeong's skill. Metal clashed in the air like captured thunder, and fire roared in brilliant streaks of red and white and yellow, burning up the ground they fought upon and scorching their skin until their hands were arms were red and blistered. Their weapons became hot and heavy, but only Jeong-Jeong's blade was red. In movements too calculated and accurate to be possible, he cut Zuko twice more, once upon his back and once on his shoulder. Zuko refused to acknowledge them, but kept his defense and his footing, at least long enough for a crowd to assemble in the courtyard, awed at the performance.
Zuko was getting weaker with each step, but he dare not show it. Song and Katara were watching the Agni Kai, eyes as big as plates, and muttering all the happenings to Toph.
"He's got him, there – no! He lit his sword on fire! Zuko, he did – but the General, he's stronger, he's – oh! He nearly tripped him, he's go him by the arm now – he go a hit, Zuko hit his stomach, but – oh, the General planned it, he – oh, no, he could've crushed the whole side of his face with that blow –"
Song was muttering on incoherently, but Katara was silent and staring, entranced by the beautifully dangerous duel raging before her, captivated by the savage, concentrated strength of the General – and the desperate, ferocious wildfires of the man called Zuko.
Inevitably the moment came when the General found the stranger's weak spot and attacked; with a harsh burst of fire he smashed into the back of Zuko's leg, sending him flying to the earth. With one last, desperate attempt Zuko slashed his sword at the General's face, but he could not tell if he managed to strike. Then he hit the ground and the air flew from his lungs, and he knew he had been beat.
Jeong-Jeong stood over the heir of Agni, smoking sword pressed to his white throat, Zuko winded and sweating from the fight. For a moment, a vague look of disappointment entered Jeong-Jeong's face.
Then something wet fell down across his eye and he blinked instinctively.
Bewilderment overcame him. Jeong-Jeong raised his free hand to wipe the sweat from his head, which was dripping into his eyes. Zuko was staring, fists still wrapped around either one of his swords, gasping for breathe, a sliver of red shining along one of his blades.
Jeong-Jeong withdrew his hand and looked at it. A streak of red was on his palm.
Katara was breathless, heart stopped beneath her sari. Her eyes were fixed on the firebender beneath Jeong-Jeong's blade, powerful as any man she had seen and yet…and yet – her heart fluttered, and she hardly heard Song when she whispered:
"…He cut the General."
"No," Toph's smile was one of horror and disbelief.
Jeong-Jeong stepped away from Zuko and bowed. Zuko, wincing from his burns and cuts, rose slowly from the ground, and did the same.
"Go dress your wounds, firebender Zuko. We leave tomorrow at sunrise," he stated, and with the simplicity of this statement, Zuko felt the General's respect for him.
"Airbender Aang, come with me," said Jeong-Jeong, beckoning to the boy. I will take you to the tower peak. You will show me the use of your glider, and whatever else you know of your art."
"Yes Sa', Gen'ral Sa'," Aang piped, but he stole aside to see Zuko first before leaving.
"You ok, Zuko?"
"Savvy, Aang," Zuko winced, obviously not in best shape, but feeling fuller and more respected than he ever had before in his life. Aang nodded, and a servant came to lead Zuko to his lodging for the night. Katara, heart still fast-paced and fluttering, confronted the General.
"I could heal your wounds, General," she offered. "And…and the warrior Zuko as well."
"I need no healing," said the General plainly. "And he must carry his wounds as proof of his worth. You will not dare to suggest this to him. I am sorry, Princess. You should prepare for the journey tomorrow."
Katara hesitated, but Zuko had already disappeared around the corner, into the nearest hall. Her eyes fluttered and she returned to look at the General.
"Yes…yes, I suppose I should…"
Break
"There will be a rhino-drawn desert-coach for every five girls, and one for Hama and her servants. The soldiers will pack their own sleeping rolls, but it is summer and I find no need for tents. The rations for the sky-bison will have to be strapped to the top of its cage – but we will need a dozen more camels to carry provisions and water, if we hope to cross the Desert."
"I have three more camels I can spare," said Fong shortly. "And perhaps a goat-mule. But otherwise I have no more to offer."
Sokka was standing before his father's study-desk, surrounded by the dark red walls hung with stuffed animal heads and furs, crests from defeated tribes and the helms of fallen warriors: trophies he horded and surrounded himself with, his own little self-worshipping shrine. His father was sitting in a leather-lined chair, irritated and awaiting his dinner.
"We will be short, then," said Sokka, and he was trying to keep his voice level. Being in his father's private study always unnerved him. "If we are attacked – if we lose any stores, it is possible a good part of the company will not make it to Masabi."
"Then you, son, should ensure the caravan is not attacked," snarled Fong. "After all the time you've spent in the desert with the General, you should have picked up a skill or two."
Sokka took a deep breathe. He had been through this dance before.
"It will not depend solely on my skill," he managed. "But the strength of the caravan."
"Do you not lead this caravan?" Fong was pushing him, as he always did, to the edge. "Have you not already checked its strength? Ensured your men are loyal and fit to fight? If not, I suppose I will find someone else to protect the dowry."
"I am the best you have. And I remind you, that your daughters travel in this caravan too," he hissed. Fong leaned forward with fire in his eyes, and Sokka knew what was coming.
"I hope you do not speak of the younglings," he snarled. "You're mud-skinned sister and the blind babe. They are not my children, anymore than you are. I charged you to keep Ravi, and Inau, and Vulha safe, and as many of the other brides as possible. But do not think I value your precious ones anymore than I value that airbender peasant. I will pay my debt to Long Feng, and I will keep my palace, and you can rot in the sands, bastard-son."
He stood roughly, scattering a few of the books and scrolls on his desk (which Sokka knew he kept there only for show of his supposed brilliance) and began to walk towards the door. Dinner would be ready soon, and the cooks were making his favorite tonight: roast lamb and rice. Sokka spoke very lowly as his father neared him.
"Mother always said you were nothing but a child."
The blow came just as Sokka had expected it too. He did not react, apart from the raw force of his father's hand, which spun his head to the right.
Fong leaned in close to his son's ear. Sokka did not look at him, only kept his eyes forward, humiliated and furious, hands shaking slightly at his sides.
"Your mother was a whore," snapped Fong, and stormed out of the study in a rage.