WiltingDaisies94: May is finally here! It's so bright and warm, and I'm thrilled to see spring after all this time. I hope wherever you are, in your various countries or states, that the flora are blooming and the sun is out. Happy spring!

And after that Hallmark card introduction, time for story-related stuff. Now you all know about the conspiracy going on right under Zuzu's nose. Jhou, Ayza, Jo Kai Mei and Orii (bet most of you had forgotten about him, huh?) are all in on it, and they have roles to play in the execution of Jhou's brilliant plan (but we'll get there).

Since we've reached a chapter multiple of five, it's time to another dedication. This chapter goes to JemiLover101; thank you for all your reading. I love how much you care about Zutara, and I'm sorry I don't always give them to you. But you stick with me anyway, and I appreciate that!

Chapter 25

I focus on the target, visualizing it crawling closer to me. If I can just hit it, I know, somehow, that everything will fall into place. That's just it, a matter of calming my own mind and centering myself.

It's very late. The courtyard around me blazes with torchlight; I can't see the firebenders working them, but a fresh set should just have moved into place. It's long since midnight and the whole palace is likely asleep in their beds.

I'm wide awake. All this planning for the Dance of Streets has ripped apart my mental capabilities; I can't sleep without draining my body as fully as my mind. So it's dark and it's late, and there are insects buzzing nastily in the trees around me, but I'm going to shoot up that target no matter what.

Keep steady. I raise my hand and push my second and third fingers together. I plant my feet, feeling the hard ground beneath me, and line myself up with the target. I think I'll begin with some of the smaller projectiles I've been working on. I'm fond of them; they are tiny streams of fire, thin as needles, but one hit to the throat and you're down.

I channel my energy into my hand, feeling the familiar stir in my stomach as the power floods through me. It's an addictive skill, firebending. The control is intoxicating, the sense of superiority – it's no surprise the Fire Nation has always been the toughest contender in political authority. We are a people of supreme conviction.

Tiny jolts of fire shoot from my fingertips, marking the target's face with perfect, even strokes. But it's too easy from this small distance, and I move back ten paces. Much better.

Conviction, I consider, is more important than ambition. The two can work in harmony to produce great results, but individually they are destructive. With only conviction, there is no ability to focus, no specific drive to be found. With only ambition, victory is a hollow, shortly won thing.

I aim again, and this time my shot goes a bit wide. I move my hand farther to the left and jab at the air; the projectile goes hissing through the air and scorches the side of the target beautifully.

I would never choose to have a different bending ability. How the Avatar ever became an airbender baffles me; why choose such an inconstant, flighty element to hold so much power? Air is everywhere at once, existent but not visible, an element with no sense of direction… no sense of conviction.

"Well that's a little harsh, don't you think, Zuzu?"

I pivot as the phantom voice reaches my ears, poised to strike. I look around sharply, attuned to the least sound, but only the same noises of fire and night float towards me.

Turning slowly, scanning the perimeter of the practice ground, I hold up my hands again. I must be imagining things; with my lack of sleep it wouldn't be a completely irrational explanation. I shake my head and stretch my arms behind my back, shaking loose. Focus, it's all about focus.

The target's mysteriously gotten farther away. I squint in the dim light, knowing I haven't moved any farther away. I shoot another projectile, but the practice ground elongates as it moves through the air. For a brief moment I'm under the impression that my fire will never reach the target.

"I wouldn't worry too much. You've not had trouble reaching goals in the past; what should make this round any different?"

It's that same taunting voice and I growl I frustration. Squeezing my eyes shut furiously, I wait, my hands pressed into fists, every muscle ready to spring. I breathe, counting the seconds as the air goes in and out of my lungs.

When I open my eyes, the practice field has returned to its usual size and shape. The target hasn't budged, and the same margins mark the perimeter. The torches lighting the open space are still glinting in their familiar manner.

But something isn't right. The creepy feeling surrounding me should be hint enough, and I'm not entirely sure why I'm still standing here. Perhaps I know how ridiculous I'll feel being scared away from my practice session by some irritating hallucination. I am the Fire Lord, and for all the world I will not run from an enemy.

"Well that's a new philosophy, Zuzu. Last I remember you were very good at running away. Almost fond of it."

This time it's right in my ear, and I spin around, a stream of fire issuing from my right hand. "Who are you?" I yell. "Show yourself!"

A giggle that absolutely makes my skin crawl ripples across the field, echoing between the torches.

"Coward," I mutter under my breath. Summoning the power in my core, I form a massive fireball in between my hands, easily four times the size of my head. Opening my arms wide, I push upwards, shooting the ball high into the sky over the practice field. The fireball speeds into the air, glowing fiercely.

As it arcs into the air, I shape a smaller stream of fire, this one with a pointed edge. Grunting in effort, I heave the fire into the sky as if I were throwing a spear. It hurries after the first fireball, and hits it dead center.

The larger fireball explodes into hundreds of smaller ones, showering down over the practice field, lighting up the entire area. I can see everything as the fire descends, arcing in a dome shape before it disappears.

But still, I see no one.

"It's all in your head," the voice whispers, everywhere at once. "And it's outside too. Up and down, side to side, it's all around you, Zuko. Like the air."

The last word echoes, reverberating in my mind. It's such simple language, but it resonates with freakish power. "Avatar," I hiss, realizing at once who I'm dealing with. "You cannot frighten me," I call out, my tone threatening. "Locked away, deep under the ground – why would I fear your pitiful threats?"

More giggling. "I haven't threatened you," he replies, and I rotate to where the voice emanates from. "And I said nothing about fear. I think you're jumping to conclusions a bit, don't you?"

"Leave, Avatar." I hate not being able to see him; it places me in the secondary position, which I'm sure he knows. "And take your ghostly presence with you."

"You know," the Avatar's voice continues, a much more gleeful ring to it, "for someone who monologues so insistently about conviction, you're very bad at recognizing it in others."

I sneer. "Oh?" I toss back contemptuously. "What conviction does a boy trapped eternally in a crystal prison have to share?"

The Avatar makes a noise that sounds rather like he's clicking his tongue. "Hostile, Zuko, very hostile. That's not much a way to treat the person in control, is it?"

"You have no power anymore, Avatar," I growl. "You are trapped, and before long I will see you dead."

There is a pause and I wait. There is no reply, and all at once, the torches flare out, extinguished.

That's impossible. Unless a dozen of the most talented benders in the palace have all instantaneously fallen dead at their posts, there is no reason for the darkness. I glare through the blackness, calling for my fire.

But I blink, and before it comes, I find myself inexplicably standing in the throne room inside the palace. There are footsteps in the hallway, and instinctively I conceal myself behind a curtain. Voices are entering the room; one is furious, the other calm. I peer around the end of the curtain, and what I see makes my eyes widen.

I see myself, brimming with anger, storm across the room. The torches blaze upwards, the flames growing as the other me stalks past. I can't tell where I am in time; what has that infuriating little Avatar done to me?

"Traitor!" Other Zuko is roaring at the figure I can't see. "How do you dare betray me like this? You have been my accomplice in every stage of this endeavor, and now at the threshold of victory you place yourself in my way? How do you dare?" He spits on the ground in disgust. "But then in this family, I suppose I should be used to the backstabbing of kin."

I pull back behind the curtain in shock, realizing that this isn't some sort of trick – it's a memory. I recognize this conversation, and I know exactly who Other Zuko is talking to.

"Calm yourself, Zuko." The familiar voice carries through the room. "Anger only clouds judgment, and I know there is a heavy storm over your decision-making. You must be rational, nephew."

Iroh.

I remember this moment, the day I discovered my favorite uncle's betrayal. A knot tightens in my stomach; it smarts cruelly enough to think about it when the event resurfaces in my mind, and now that wretched Avatar is forcing me to relive it. I curse him with all my might and try to block out the sounds of fighting. It's an argument I know by heart.

"Don't patronize me, old man," Memory Zuko snarls. "If you were anyone but my uncle I would have had you imprisoned and tortured on charges of treason before you had even a minute to protest."

Iroh's shaking his head now. "Zuko, there was no treason. This is not who you are; I worked to bring you to the throne in only the best of ways. You know this behavior is wrong."

Memory Zuko gives a terrible laugh. "You worked to bring me to the throne? Ha!" He should be crossing his arms about now. "That's shit and we both know it."

Iroh's voice softens. "Admittedly your succession was unconventional –"

"Unconventional?" Memory Zuko mocks, voice bordering on hysterical. I wince at the sound. "You mean because I murdered my sister in cold blood? Because the best thing that ever happened to me was my father's untimely death?"

"Many sacrifices have been made," Iroh replies, ever calm in the face of my emotional overloading. "And we should take care to look back at each with regret. If anything could have been done to change Azula, I would have been honor bound to try. But –"

"But what? But some people simply cannot be saved, so we must remove them?" A fist collides with the wooden armrest of the throne; pieces will crack off and one will lodge in the side of my hand; it won't be removed for months.

"Do not think for a moment that I do not live with the guilt of your sister's death every day. And I would be ashamed to think you did not feel the same," Iroh replies in the crisp tone I'd always interpreted as condescending. "It is always a sorrow when family dies."

"Not dies," Memory Zuko corrects scathingly, "is killed. 'Dies' sounds so passive and simple. It took time and energy to kill that bitch."

"Zuko," Iroh says sharply; he never approved of my cursing. "She was your sister."

"She was a radical cretin who stood in my way," Memory Zuko objects cruelly. "She would have murdered me without so much as batting an eye."

"And the reason you feel you must return that barbaric behavior?" Iroh provokes. "Speak the truth with yourself Zuko, the decisions you are making are not honorable." Here Iroh will look at me with frightful disappointment. "I taught you better than this, nephew."

Memory Zuko chuckles coldly. "You taught me that loyalty is the most important virtue one can attain. I suppose that's what makes this so very absurd; my faithful uncle, proving false his own wisdom."

"We are not slaveholders!" Iroh shouts. Memory Zuko will be surprised by this; my uncle was an eminently patient man. "We do not strip people of their basic dignity! If you wanted to keep her captive, lock her away in the lowest dungeons as a prisoner of war, I could have forgiven that. But this is unacceptable, Zuko."

"Hold your peace," Memory Zuko demands. "You were discovered attempting to free that waterbending bitch, that little peasant freak. You brought her around the southern side of the palace and tried to let her go."

"We do not hold people as slaves," Iroh repeats stolidly. "No matter what the offense, we do not degrade human dignity like that."

"You planned to set loose the only surviving rebel of the Great War," Memory Zuko bites out. "Do you know what might have happened if she'd been let free? Once word came out, every dissenter and rebel of the four kingdoms would have come crawling out of the woodwork, and they would have rallied around her!"

"My only excuse is that I am truly fond of you, Zuko," Iroh answers simply. "You are my nephew, and I have tried to make you understand with words. It is long past time since you have learned this lesson."

Memory Zuko sneers. "I marvel how you dare to disapprove. I've set in action your plans for the Air Temples, heeded your diplomatic advice time and time again –"

"For your own gain," Iroh argues, "and only when I insist upon it. Do you think I do not see your political agendas, Zuko? Your isolation of the Southern Water Tribes will be devastating, and even the neutral territory you've begrudgingly created in the Air Temples exists to make that possible power center obsolete."

"So now you would work against me? Sacrifices must be made; you know that better than most. But the slightest bit of difficulty and you seek to destroy me?" Memory Zuko snarls angrily; his interest in talking will soon end.

Iroh sighs. "Where has the goodness in you gone, nephew? You leave innocent people to be killed; I have supported you on your path to the throne because of the kindness your sister lacked. Why have you ripped that crucial value out of your being?" The last nail in the coffin is his next sentence: "You are just the same as your father."

The room fills with the sort of silence that can only be considered oppressive. There is no person in the world Memory Zuko hates as much at this time as the old Fire Lord.

"You've betrayed me, uncle," his voice hisses. "and like a common criminal, I will see you punished. For the high treason of attempting to bring about the destruction of my nation and my reign, you will die." A clap resonates through the hall, and I hear a shout. "Guards!"

"Family," the Avatar's voice whispers wickedly in my ear as the doors to the throne room bang open, "always makes such a touching story."

WD94: And another dream sequence... now you know another of Zuko's little secrets...

Daveshan, I hope this helps answer your question about why anyone would want to rebel against Zuko. Yes, his politics are good, but that doesn't stop him from being a 'benevolent dictator' type.