Woohooo another update!

My life is a bit more organised at the moment. I have long periods at night where it's just me and my computer. And that's good. I like that. I think I'm getting a second wind with this fic. I felt bogged down before but now I'm starting to feel like I can actually finish this. It's a great feeling.


"Lee, where on earth have you been?"

Zuko was attacked as soon as he entered the shop floor. Xi Quan clung to him, his thin hands shaking uncontrollably. He smelled very strongly of drink. Zuko stared about the airy room slowly, hot shame and guilt running through his chest as he took in the destruction around him.

Now he remembered what happened last night.

"Ruined! All of it!" Xi Quan's knees were weak. Zuko looped an arm under his shoulder, guiding him carefully to the nearest chair. "Everything broken or stolen... I-I don't know how..." He was blabbering unconsciously, no longer looking at Zuko, who was fighting back the urge to be sick.

What have I done to him?

Zuko looked down at his feet. The ground was scattered with broken pieces of brick, scraps of paper, and loose tiles. It wasn't just him – people must have come in afterwards, shaking the place up and taking everything they saw value in. There was barely anything left, and what did remain, was broken and scattered about. Zuko closed his eyes, the earth pitching horribly beneath his feet. It seemed like such a good idea at the time. How could he have been so thoughtless and idiotic?

"Are you insured?" Zuko asked quietly, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. It was a new idea, but business owners had quickly taken to taking out policies to protect their meagre livelihoods against theft and arson. "Surely you would be covered against something like this."

"They won't pay." Xi Quan hiccupped. "Not all of it. Not enough to rebuild. They said they can give me half. I'm lucky to get that. Some places have already gone out of business." His head sank into his hands, the man emitting a low moan. "What will I do Lee?"

"You want my advice?" Zuko crouched down so he was eye level with his boss. Xi Quan looked up, his eyes red. What could he say to him, really? How could he absolve himself? Zuko decided to be dreadfully practical. "Take the money and run. Get what you can and leave this town. Find somewhere nice on the coast or in the woods. Even if you could rebuild, they're just going to shut you down." Xi Quan's stare had dropped to his lap. Why didn't Zuko tell him? He would be overjoyed, wouldn't he, to know that one of his presses was still safe?

Because he knew he was in the wrong. Zuko had destroyed the place, and left it open to be ransacked. He didn't have the nerve to tell Xi Quan the truth because he knew the man would hate him. Zuko rose to his feet, crossing his arms. He crossed into the back room, surveying the damage. Several of the large cabinets had been toppled over, their drawers utterly ransacked. The lead tiles crunched beneath his feet as he stepped gingerly over the broken furniture. Everything was in pieces. It would take days to clean this up.

"It's not like the place itself is damaged." Zuko tried to sound optimistic as he entered the main room. "Well..." He stared at the broken hole in the wall. "Mostly." He swallowed. "You can still get a good price for the building."

"I spent forty years in these walls." Xi Quan's words were beginning to slur. "I started as an illiterate sweeper and became the master of this press. I've made this my life, Lee. I can't just walk away from it." His head dropped onto his chin, face crumpling. Zuko turned away from the man, the remorse threatening to consume him entirely. He'd done some terrible things before – some monstrous, inhumane atrocities. He'd killed before, yet he had never felt so overwhelmingly guilty and shameful in his young life. What he had done was more emotionally reprehensible, more personal. He had destroyed a man's fading livelihood, and stayed to watch the fallout, in a private intimacy. Zuko cursed himself inwardly, at once longing to own up to his actions, and knowing that he could never look him in the eye and speak the truth.

One thing was for certain – his apprenticeship was done. Before the week was out, Zuko would be back in the wilderness, scrapping with thousands of other fit young men like him, desperate for any bit of coin they could lay their hands on.

And he completely deserved it.


The moment Ursa opened the door to her home, she knew something was wrong.

It wasn't the strange man standing in the hallway, fingering the edge of one of her husband's most prized paintings. It wasn't the housemaid dragging a heavy trunk down the carpeted stairs. It wasn't the nurse muttering to herself with a pencil and paper, half-heartedly rocking her youngest son to a fitful sleep. It was Enlai, who sat on the foot of the stairs with his head bowed, spectacles dangling carelessly from her hand.

"Enlai?" Ursa closed the door behind her, a knot tightening in her stomach. The man at the picture turned to her, looked her up and down, and with a smirk, made a note on his pad and walked into the sitting room. Her nurse looked up, and without comment thrust the infant into her arms. Her husband didn't seem to have heard her, his head remaining bowed. She sat down beside him quietly, touching him on the shoulder. He jerked up as though he had been burned, eyes fixated on her. He looked absolutely shattered.

"Ta Min." His voice shook. "I... I wondered where you were..." Enlai looked back down at the paper in his trembling hand, his heart hammering madly in his chest. This was what he had been dreading, most of all. He didn't know how he could do this. He was terrified. "I should have waited, but I thought you would be home, and-" His voice broke off, and he screwed his eyes shut tightly. Ursa watched the man silently, the fear growing in her stomach. He was an extremely mild-mannered man; courteous, soft-spoken, shy. Everything Ozai wasn't. It was why she loved him. "I've sold the house."

"What?" Her voice was a piteous cry, more plaintive than she liked. Ursa was surprised more than horrified. Enlai set down the papers, and thrust his glasses back on his face, taking her free hand. "Why?"

"Preventative measures." He spoke like a true man of letters. "Our position isn't economically sound. We would be best to take what we can get now, while there's still a market." He was stroking her hand gently, squeezing her fingers. He was crippled with guilt. He thought he was robbing her of a hard-fought position and tantalising dreams.

"Are we leaving Ba Sing Se?" It was her immediate fear. She had struggled, for years, to stitch together a ragged little life in the city. Even if they were on false pretences, she had children, a husband, relatives, and friends. And now her son. Ursa wouldn't leave them for anything.

"No, no." He shook his head. "There's no need now." Enlai released his hold, and retrieved his papers, going through the numbers yet again. "I've found the top floor of a quaint little house we can rent. It's a little smaller," and shabbier, although he wouldn't mention that, "but we'll live comfortably enough. The price I got for the house is good, it will pay off all our debts with plenty left over." It was true, Enlai struggled to live within his means. Even he, with his magical flair for balancing the most questionable books, couldn't make a lifestyle fit for his family on a clerks' salary without taking out a few loans. "It may seem insane right now, but I promise you Ta Min, we'll weather this better than most if we prepare now. Please-"

"Oh, stop babbling." She sounded terse when she didn't mean to. Ursa leaned in to kiss her husband on the cheek. The infant in her arms squealed at the movement, fussing. "Hush Kazu." Ursa admonished him. "You think I care how we live?" He looked up from the paper. She force a smile, feeling tired and strung out. Ursa was too emotionally drained from the morning, and this new revelation had no effect on her. As it was, she didn't care. What was a change of address? She had seen both extreme luxury and intolerable poverty in her time. Ursa defied the throes of social class. If anything, she was most upset that he had made the decision without her. "Where is the new house?"

"Near the factories." Enlai admitted, the quaver slowly leaving his voice. Ursa fought back a shudder. It wasn't the worst part of town, but it had a well-deserved reputation. "It's on a market square, well-lit at night – well." He coughed awkwardly. It was.

"Rooms?"

"Three bedrooms, separate sitting and eating rooms, and an attic with a window. Plenty of space for us all." His voice grew slowly with confidence. He expected tears and pleading from this woman – really, he should have known better. Despite her pretty looks and slim white hands, her arms were deceptively strong. She was wonderfully delicate and tough as old boots all at once. "Now, I have to take an inventory of furniture. We can't keep it all..." He looked at her apologetically. "You're going to have to go through your things."

"All right." She took it all in her stride, gently rocking the baby in her arms. "I'll pack light."

"No no, not light." He said hurriedly, touching her shoulder. "Just... frugal." Enlai rose to his feet. "Thank you for understanding Ta Min."

"Of course." She turned her attention to Kazu, her infant son, listening to Enlai's footsteps fade into the sitting room. "Mummy can handle this, can't she?" She murmured in the baby's ear. "If she can hold her own against the worst men in the world, what's moving house, hm?" She bounced Kazu on her knee.

The baby laughed.


He could hear footsteps.

At first, he thought the low thud was his own heart beating in his ears. But his own pulse in his throat thudded differently. Faster. It rose in anticipation.

It was somebody else.

Tears of relief clung to his long lashes. Something deep within him, that had been stretched and strained to its absolute limits, broke. The cry rose from his chest, and on a simple, base instinct, he arched his back, screaming as loud as his withered lungs could let him.

"Help!" His throat rasped painfully. It wasn't a scream. It was the hoarse, brittle cry of a soul that was breathing its last. He didn't know if the faceless footsteps on the other side had even heard. He sucked in another lungful of air to try and shout, but his voice was dead in his throat, and he could manage only a pitiful groan. He realised then that every muscle in his body was as tight as a coiled spring. The boy who didn't know his name fell slack onto the mattress, panting from the strain.

The footsteps had stopped. He thought with a sickening horror that perhaps they had already left, his single cry had gone unheard. The single candle of hope he held close to him in the unwavering darkness sputtered, and went out.

Someone was at the door.

His head shot up, the rest of him immobile. He heard the unmistakeable clink and rasp of a lock being drawn at the door. A creak. And then the room was flooded with light.

It wasn't much, really. A lantern burning in the hall cast a sliver of dull orange light into the tiny cell as the door was pushed open. But to the nameless boy it was blinding. He had no physical memory of ever seeing light, and he screwed his eyes against the painful glare. At the same time, he struggled weakly against his chains, only partially aware of the incoherent babble of words that leaked pitifully from his mouth.

And as soon as it came, it was gone. The door closed, and he was left alone in the darkness.


Sokka awoke with surprisingly little ceremony.

It was as though he had risen from an extremely long sleep. His neck was stiff, his throat dry, and mind heavy and clouded. It was the dull pain in his side that flared up when he tried to rise, that sparked his foggy memory.

There was a fight.

Sokka's eyes snapped open, and he snapped up, straight as a board. His breath died in his chest. Katara and Dad oh Spirits what happened are they all right? He made to jump out of bed, when a light snore resounded near his left. Sokka rubbed his sleepy eyes, blinking.

Aang was snoring right beside him. Sokka frowned, and for the first time noticed the three sleeping figures in the cabin, shadowy and hazy in the dull lamplight. Aang was on his back, a hand thrown over his eyes to cover the light. Toph lay stretched out along the foot of the wide bed, resting her cheek on a crooked elbow. Her blind eyes were closed, chest rising falling steadily. Katara sat just beside Sokka, on a spindly bedside stool. Her head was propped up by her arm, and Sokka curiously waved his hand before her face. Nothing.

Sokka leaned against the pillows, letting out a little half-laugh. It seemed so silly, in a way. The four of them crammed into this little cabin, Katara sleeping where she sat up. He didn't realise that she'd sunk into a doze just a few minutes before, after a strained bedside vigil. Sokka pushed the blankets away carefully, trying not to wake the three bodies around him. His mouth tasted of sand, and his insides groaned with hunger. He needed something to eat and drink, now.

He managed to make his way out of the room without disturbing anybody, making his way silently down the hallway. It was punctuated with a few hanging lanterns, and he seized the first he could. It was warm in his hands. Sokka tried to piece together the fight in his mind, turning the flashing images over and over in his head. He remembered his father killing the commander of the Raiders, and Katara rushing up to him. He remembered intercepting a soldier, coming away with blood and pain. The last thing he could recall was his father's tearful face. Then everything faded into blackness.

They must have won. He wouldn't be free to walk the halls otherwise. Sokka let his fingers trail on the walls, shivering. He wore nothing but a pair of trousers, and the air below deck was cold. Clothes second. Food and drink first. He wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into a leg of something roasted and fleshy. Ox-cow or ostrich-horse would be good. He would even take moose-lion at this point. Sokka closed his eyes, visions of food dancing before his eyes. He could almost smell it.

The kitchens were empty. Sokka rattled around, but he couldn't find much. A couple of pieces of ships' biscuit, some raw flour, a few wilted vegetables. The image of food vanished before his eyes, and he had to content himself with the few bits and pieces he could find. The water casks were bone dry, and Sokka sucked on his tongue silently, his mouth fuzzy. Maybe Katara had some fresh water stored in her skin. He thought briefly about waking her up, but decided against it, heaving himself up from the lopsided table. His side was little more than an uncomfortable niggle at this point, and he was able to walk quite freely about.

Dad. Sokka turned on his heel, picking up his pace. Shame grew in his stomach. Why didn't he try to find him sooner? Sokka wasn't worried about whether or not he was okay – he knew his father, and had an absolute belief that he was invincible. He wanted most of all to show his father that he too, was all right. He wanted to show off the mark. He was even a little proud. His first battle scar. His proof.

The door was locked. Sokka frowned as he tried the handle, but it didn't budge. He stepped away from the door, thinking. It must have been very late, somewhere near dawn. He was most likely sleeping. But why sleep with the door locked? It was a stupid risk.

"Dad?" Sokka kept his voice low, pressing his cheek against the cool metal of the cabin door. The passageway was lined with small rooms, one or two bunks in each, and he didn't want to awaken any of his fellow tribesmen. "Dad, are you awake? It's me, Sokka." His stomach complained, loudly. Sokka waited for a few moments with slumped shoulders. He stepped away from the door, turning to leave, when the sound of creaking metal met his ears. Sokka paused, his eyes meeting with Hakoda. He looked like a skeleton in Sokka's low-hanging lamplight. The door swung open, and Hakoda engulfed his son in a ferocious hug wordlessly. The breath was knocked out of Sokka, the lantern slipping from his hand, shattering on the ground. Hakoda wasn't just embracing his son; he was leaning on him, his knees weak. There were no words in any language that could justify the emotions roaring in his chest. For a moment, just a moment, he forgot about what had happened, and what he had done. But eventually, Hakoda willed himself to stand on his own feet, attempting to regain what little composure he had left.

"Come in." His voice was cracked and disused. Sokka followed his father obediently, taking a seat on the edge of the lower bunk as Hako locked the door. "Here." A shirt was thrust into Sokka's hands, and he pulled it over his head eagerly. "How... How are you feeling."

"I'm fine." Sokka forced himself to smile, trying to placate his father. He could see the man was teetering dangerously close to the edge. "Just a bit sore." Hakoda sat down heavily beside him, head sinking into his hands.

"I should never have let this happen." His voice was shaking. Sokka rested a hand on his shoulder, listening wordlessly. "I let my emotions get in the way. I ignored the safety of my men, o-of you..." Hakoda shook his head. "It won't happen again."

"We're in enemy territory, everything is a risk." Sokka tried his hardest to be practical, diplomatic. "Nobody blames you Dad. Not really." But Hakoda couldn't look at him.

"Three of our men were killed." His voice was empty and hollow. Sokka froze. "Paka, Kamik, and Ulo. We fought them off, but..." The teenager closed his eyes, fighting the urge to be sick. He knew Ulo since he was a boy. He was only a few years older than Sokka himself, the closest thing Sokka really had to a friend throughout his childhood. He was just nineteen. "We're going to commit them to the ocean in the morning." Hakoda was beside himself. "I did this to them." Sokka was blinking rapidly, trying to shake the tears from his eyes. "It's my job to keep my men safe." Hakoda breathed. "The way I acted today was shameful. I can never be forgiven for what happened to them. To you." Sokka turned to look his father, starting to feel disconcerted at his father's words. "I am not fit to lead these fine men." Hakoda looked as though he had aged ten years in the space of a few hours. Sokka's stomach lurched, and he let out a muffled cry. He couldn't handle his father talking like this. It shook him to his very core. "These men need a leader who will look out for them, and place their well-being over his own selfish needs."

"Dad, no-"

"They deserve better than what happened this afternoon." Hakoda spoke with resolve; he had been turning this over in his mind for a very long time. "They deserve a Chief who will be entirely selfless. Who will not fall to weakness and cause needless death." He shook his head, eyes closed. He felt tired. Tired and old.

"Dad, you can't-"

"Traditionally, the elders decide on who will be our next Chief." Hakoda tried to speak with conviction, a frank practicality, but he could not keep the tremor from his voice. "But I will let the other men decide. They can put it to a vote. They know better than anyone."

"Dad, please-"

"I won't leave them, not while I can fight, but I cannot stand at the helm and give them orders. Not after the reckless things I've done."

"Dad, stop it!" Sokka stood up, his eyes dry. "Listen to yourself! You had a moment of weakness. We all do, all right? You think I haven't done things I'm ashamed of? You think I don't have moments where I wonder if I can do this anymore? You don't think I never question if I deserve this responsibility? I do, all the time. And it was you, you who told me that none of that mattered, that I had the spirit of a warrior and a leader." Hakoda stared at his feet. "Dad, what you did today was human." Sokka sat down beside his father. He paused for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. "You wanted vengeance because someone you loved was taken from you." His voice hitched. "I-I understand Dad, completely. She was my Mum. You don't think I want them to pay for what they did to us?" Hakoda was wringing his hands, eyes half-lidded.

"Kya wouldn't have wanted this." He still spoke in that familiar defeated, hollow tone. Sokka's shoulders slumped as he realised his little speech at failed. "She would never have wanted blood spilled in her name."

"Well, she's not here." Sokka spoke very quietly. Hakoda pressed his lips together, setting his jaw. It took every ounce of him to maintain his crumbling composure. It was a deadly blow, to hear those words from his son's mouth. True as they were, it was a fresh knife wound in his heart, stabbing at the mutilated, broken mess. Sokka took in a sharp breath, trying a different tack. "Dad, I've... I've lost someone recently, too." He shifted a little closer to Hakoda, watching his twisting, turning fingers. "I haven't told you this before but... When we were in the North Pole, I became, well, close with Chief Arnook's daughter." Hakoda turned rapidly, staring at him. "I swore that I would protect her with my life, and I would never let anything happen to her." The rest of the story hung in the air, already told. Hakoda had heard that Yue was dead. "If I could lay my hands on the man that did that to her..." Sokka didn't finish, he didn't need to. "Nobody is ever perfect. We do some really terrible things. Sometimes, we don't mean to. Sometimes, we think we're doing what is right." Sokka could feel the sharp blue eyes staring at him, boring into his soul. He laid it out for him, openly. "When I was alone in the South Pole, I wanted so much to prove myself to you, to show that I could be the perfect warrior. Even a week ago, when we took this ship together, I still tried to show how good I could be. I wanted to be that perfect person." Sokka sighed. Devestating realisation had dawned on him, in the quiet little cabin. "And I know now that there's just no such thing as perfect. This idealised warrior I was trying to be, you, he didn't exist. He never did. I used to think that you were the most amazing man in the world Dad – I still do," He added quickly, correcting himself. "But I used to think that you were completely faultless. But you made a mistake. And yes, we paid, but..." Sokka mulled it over in his head, trying to articulate the rambling, twisting thoughts in his head. "It shows that you're human. You shouldn't ever try to be perfect. You'll always fail if you do. You're capable of doing wrong, like the rest of us. And... And I'm happy, knowing that. Because if my Dad can make a mistake, and still be the most amazing, loyal, and brave person I know, then I know that I'm going to be fine." Sokka looked awkwardly down at his feet, unsure of how his father would react to his little speech. Hakoda stared at him silently, his chest flushed with that strange mixture of emotions. But a new sensation rose in his heart. Pride. It swelled within him, leaving him almost euphoric. What Sokka had said touched something deep within himself – his own personal fears and uncertainties. His soul mirrored Sokka's in that he was enveloped in that same personal journey for that idealised, unattainable model of cultural perfection. He pushed himself farther and father in the pursuit of greatness, the same way his father had done. And his father, before him. But Sokka, with just a few words, swept aside generations of self-conscious doubt in his statement that they were all only human, and that was all they should aspire to be. Sokka was enveloped in another bone-crushing hug.

But this time, Hakoda wasn't leaning on him.


He wasn't going back to sleep.

Zuko turned on his side, staring out into the dark. He couldn't see much in the night, but he knew the little room intimately. Two sets of bunks against the wall, a lopsided chest of drawers beneath the window. His own trunk at the foot of his bed. Three hooks on the back wall for clothing. A faded rug across the uneven floorboards. The room was arranged with almost military precision. Contraband had to be hidden underneath the beds. Shoes in a line by the door, biggest to smallest. Five boys, aged five to twenty-one, shared four beds; the room was too small to afford clutter.

Zuko thought it was deliciously comfortable. One thing that struck him, was that the little room was always warm. No matter how the wind howled outside, Zuko never needed more than his thin blanket. Zuko listened to the soft pattern of breathing around him, punctuated by the odd murmur. Somebody was snoring. If he wasn't so strung out, he would have been lulled back to sleep in minutes. But there was no rest for Zuko. He hadn't slept a full night in over a week.

He was cracking up. Zuko sat up carefully, paying heed to the top bunk above him. He crossed his legs, leaning against the bare plaster wall. Exhaustion left his limbs dead and eyes itchy, but his mind was alert. There was no way he could sleep with what went on in his head. He felt as though someone had him by the head and feet, and they were stretching him, seeing how far they could pull before he snapped in half.

His bending. His mother. Jin. The city. Xi Quan. Azula and his father, too of course. And Uncle. They all whirled around in his head. Every time he closed his eyes, somebody's face flashed before him, and he was left feeling sick. He felt as though he left everybody down, every where he turned, there was somebody who he had hurt. He'd failed everyone. Most of all, himself. Zuko clenched his hands into fists, willing, for what felt like the hundredth time, for flames to appear in his palms. He knew it was there. He still felt warm. Fire still obeyed his hand. But nothing could make the flames burst anew. Fire ran through his veins, but it was blocked. He didn't have the rage within him or the understanding of the sun to create fire. He was still stuck in a sick limbo, and he was getting desperate. A Prince of the Fire Nation who couldn't bend. It sounded like a joke.

Somebody was up. Zuko's eyes snapped open. Through the other side of the wall, he heard gentle pottering. The fire being lit, the pot being filled. Plates being shifted. So their mother was up. Zuko thought for a moment, and scooted forward, rising to his feet. He pulled on his clothes haphazardly, blundering about in the dark. He may as well get up now. Perhaps a cup of tea would help him feel better. That was something that his Uncle always said. Zuko's stomach cramped at the memory, and he forced the image out of his mind.

"Morning." He forced a smile at the woman crouched in front of the stove. Shan started, looking over at the boy. "Can't sleep." Zuko explained, sitting on the edge of a chair. "I heard you and I thought I might as well get up."

"Fair enough." Shan blew on the fire, trying to coax life back into last night's dying embers with wood shavings. "Breakfast isn't ready yet, but you'll be first up." First up got first dish. It was the rule. She sat down with a groan. Nothing else to do until the water heated up. "Anything planned for today?" Zuko gave a half shrug. "I heard about Xi Quan." She clicked her tongue. "Terrible business."

"Who told you?" Zuko raised his head, heartrate quickening. He hadn't told anyone that he'd essentially lost his job – apart from Jin. How could she have found out?

"It gets around." Shan got up from her chair, testing the water with a finger. Still lukewarm. "I spoke to my sister yesterday, she knows you work there. Is he going to try to start again?"

"Not much point." There was a painful knot in Zuko's stomach. "They're all going to be shut down anyway. I told him to take what he can get and leave."

"That's very practical of you." Shan hunted around, looking for a certain tea she knew was wrapped in a twist of paper. "He won't take you with him, then?"

"I don't deserve it." The tone in Shan's voice made her hands still. She turned, looking very hard at him. He was guilty of something.

"Why do you say that?" She watched his reaction carefully, in the light of two candles and a lamp. Zuko looked up at her, his eyes oddly wide. He lowered his gaze to his knees. "Lee?"

"I did it." He rested his head on clenched fists, sounded oddly hollow. "I broke in the night before and took all the most valuable things. I thought it was the smart thing, to make sure we got them before the Fire Nation did." He may as well tell her. If Jin and her brother knew, everyone would eventually find out.

"In theory, yes." Shan sat down, aghast. She thought he was such a smart, practical boy. Why would he do something so reckless? Somebody must have put him up to it. "Have you told him?"

"No. How can I?" Zuko ran his fingers through his hair, making the black locks stand on end. "How can I look him in the eye and say I destroyed his livelihood? He won't understand why I did it. I don't understand."

"Do the honourable thing." Shan said firmly. Steam rose from the hot water. And she set aside enough to make tea. Into the rest went what was left of last nights' cooked rice, two handfuls of azuki beans, and a little ground ginseng root. Her Juk was frugal but invigorating. "If somebody wronged me, I would rather they tell it to my face than try to hide it." Shan let a large pot of green tea on the table to stew, turning back to her pot of Juk.

"He'll hate me."

"Probably." She clicked her tongue. The poor thing. She did feel sorry for the troubled boy. Sure, he screwed up, but it wasn't as though her own sons were innocent. He obviously had a lot going on, more than what he was letting on. "He might see it as a blessing, in the end."

"Maybe." Zuko looked at his knees, glumly. He was too tired for this. Do the honourable thing. He sighed heavily. She was right, of course.

But he'd stopped doing 'the honourable thing' a long time ago, it seemed.


There was nothing more invigorating than early morning air.

Azula loved it. She rose with the sun, every morning, and every morning without fail, she would stand in meditation and contemplation for several minutes in the cool quiet, watching the sky alight with fire, feeling the first rays of the sun on her face. She stood now on the prow of the ship with her arms behind her, watching the rising sun breaking over the waves. It was so soothing. For a few minutes, she was able to forget everything that threatened to torment or break her. She was on top of the world. She felt as though she was flying. She'd always wanted to fly.

"Princess Azula!" Already, there was someone to annoy her. She closed her eyes, forcing back a groan, and turning, silently. The Fire Nation commander prostrated himself before her, forehead touching the ground, before rising breathlessly. He had been waiting for her to rise. "It seems the rebel leader we took from Ba Sing Se has awakened."

"All right." Why were they telling her this? Azula stared, waiting for him to leave. "Yes?"

"Well, it's just..." The commander looked at his feet. "He's behaving very oddly. Your Highness." He added quickly. "He seems to have no memory at all, and it's rather distressing. I was wondering if we could consult a physician when we next land."

"Ugh." She rolled her eyes. Why were they asking her about this? Did this really need to be brought to her attention? Azula had forgotten almost entirely about the rebel boy in her care. She had far more pressing matters. At least he wasn't going to die on her. He needed to be fit and healthy for his arrival in the Fire Nation. These sorts of public displays were less exciting when they were already dying. But it could be a problem. People may have hang-ups over punishing a man who couldn't remember his actions. He might protest his innocence. That certainly wouldn't give people a good feeling. "I'll handle it." She would get him into the light, draw him out. He wasn't going to talk to any of her soldiers, and he certainly wouldn't drop the act for a doctor.

"Very good, your Highness." He bowed deeply, backing away from her. Azula sighed as he left, and turned back to the ocean, inhaling a deep lungful of cold, salty air.

Finally, she could finish her meditation in peace.


The new place was going up without a hitch.

Renshu paused to watch its construction on the way to work. As a carpenter of moderate interest, working mainly with bricks and wood, he watched the laying of steel with interest. Judging from its foundations, the building was going to be at least ten floors in height, looming over the factories that surrounded it. General Mung was smart. He didn't want his stronghold to be in the traditional palace, screened off from the city with rolling lawns and rows of walls. His centre of power was going to be in the true heart of the city, the densely-populated industrial core. Nobody was going to get away from him.

The sign had been painted on a large sheet of plywood, spiked into a patch of dirt. A large smelting plant and a paper mill had been demolished to make way for the new building. Rather than expand on what had been built, Mung ordered the entire area to be cleared, declaring he would build from the ground up an administrative and judicial stronghold the likes of which Ba Sing Se had never seen.

He wanted to build something that would scare the shit out of them.

A week. That was what the sign claimed. One week, and the centre would be up and running, ready to "supervise and execute all new administrative decrees." Renshu was convinced the characters for 'execute' had been coloured in slightly blacker ink. He'd seen the new laws. Everybody had. They were plastered on every stretch of wall that the Fire Nation could touch. It was the ninth decree that had him worried most of all. "All earth benders are to present themselves at the administration office for identification and processing." He wasn't sure of the exact wording. It had him and most of his friends talking. What was identification? A card? A special badge? His friend Mao Ling said they might tattoo them with a number. That way, there was no fudging or disguise. One man thought they could just be taken out back and put down, like a lame ostrich-horse.

Whatever it was, he would face up to it in a week. Some people could slip under the net without being caught, but not him. Too many people knew where he came from. He thought briefly of writing a will, but he realised when he sat down with a paper that he had nothing to pass on to his wife and children. Nothing but a fading name that would be remembered only by a handful of elderly, a pile of unpaid bills, and a bending pedigree that was being washed away with each passing generation. Nothing he would wish on anybody.

Renshu turned away from the sticks of the building, walking briskly with his head down, trying not to catch the gaze of the soldiers he passed by.


"Mai, have you been in bed all morning?"

Mai lay with the blankets around her waist, propped up by a thick stack of pillows. With one hand she held a book to her eyes, the other folded behind her head. The remains of breakfast was cast on a tray, resting on the floor. Mai's eyes flicked from the text to Azula, who stood in the doorway with her arms crossed.

"Does it look like I've been up?" She gestured around the room. Mai wasn't often a lazy person, but on mornings like this, she struggled to find something to do. They were two weeks away from the capital city, with no real activities to engage in on board. Ty Lee had the stupid bear to play with, and Azula was always busy with odd little jobs and commands, but Mai had nothing to entertain her. She hated going out on the deck, with the cold, salty air. The crew were all idiots, and she couldn't talk to the Dai Li. They unnerved her. "What do you want?" Mai was forgetting her place. Azula bit her tongue however, stepping into the little room.

"I have a little problem. Remember the rebel we found in Ba Sing Se?" Mai nodded, closing her book. "He's been blubbering about the place, claiming he has no idea who or where he is. The guards think he has some sort of amnesia." Azula rolled her eyes. "He's obviously faking to try and get some sort of mercy. I don't have time for it. I need you to get the truth out of him."

"What?" Mai set the book aside, sitting up a little. "Why?"

"Because, people like him are useless when they sit there denying everything. Can you imagine what a mess his execution would be, if he claimed his innocence until his last breath? Someone might say we have the wrong person."

"What if you do have the wrong guy?"

"I don't." Her eyes narrowed. "I don't make mistakes like this. I don't care what you do or how you do it, but I want a confession from him." Mai slid out of bed slowly, a deep frown on her face. "What."

"Why me?" The girl crossed her arms as she stood up. Azula shrugged.

"I thought you might like something to do." She examined a fingernail. "I can trust you with this. I thought about Ty Lee, she does get along better with boys." Her lip twitched in a smirk. "But you know she gets. I can trust you to keep your head."

"Of course you can." Mai let her nightclothes puddle on the floor, reaching for her favourite scarlet dress.

"No, don't wear that." Azula approached her, shaking her head. "Remember the green clothes we wore when we left Ba Sing Se?" Mai nodded. "Wear those."

"You want me to pretend I'm from the Earth Kingdom?" Mai was frowning again. "I can't fake something like that. Anyway, what would an Earth Kingdom be doing, walking free on the ship?"

"You're smart, aren't you? Think of something." Mai didn't respond. Azula smirked again. "You don't have a problem with this, do you?"

"Of course not." Mai shook her head. Inwardly, she was struggling to process what Azula had ordered of her. Was this some sort of test of loyalty? Was this punishment for Zuko? What was the point of this? Did she want to psychologically torture him? "I'll get him to talk."

"I know you will." Azula turned away from her, heading out of the room. "If you need me for anything, I'll be up on the bridge. But you won't need me, will you?" Azula had made it clear; she didn't want to be disturbed by any details about this. She wanted the job done. Until then, it didn't interest her.

"Of course not." Mai watched her leave, crouching down before the carved trunk against the wall. She rifled through, the green fabric plainly visible amongst the various shades of red and black. Mai rose to her feet with the dress in her hands, catching herself in the mirror. She didn't look anything like an Earth Kingdom girl. Her eyes were the wrong colour and shape. She was too pale. Her hair was all wrong. But she'd done it before, lying about her identity to the most powerful man in the Earth Kingdom, and successfully tricking him. This would be a cinch.

No one was better than her at hiding their true emotions.


Zuko's nerve had failed him, yet again.

He'd spent another morning helping his boss to clean up, sweeping up the tiny tiles and at Xi Quan's behest, throwing them out. The ageing man mainly sat there quietly amongst the ruin, watching his apprentice work. Zuko couldn't say anything to him as he sat there in his brooding silence. His voice was stuck in his throat, whenever he tried. He knew it was wrong, he knew the best thing to do was to own up. Do the honourable thing. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't bear the weight of the blame.

So he left with tight lips. Xi Quan dismissed him for lunch, telling him not to bother coming back today. He was going to go home and sort through some paperwork, there wasn't much left to clean. Zuko didn't take any pay. He didn't expect any. The contents of the ransacked cashbox lay in the bottom of a trunk tucked away in Minsheng's back storage room.

Zuko stopped for a bite to eat, spending the very last of his copper coins. He couldn't go home and expect to be fed by Jin's mother, not when he didn't have anything to give in return. It wasn't fair on them, when they themselves were starting to struggle. He ate his bland noodles in a shadowy corner, picking morosely at his food. He didn't realise that he was being watched.

Zuko didn't go back home right away. Instead he wandered along the main bazaar, taking in for what could be the last time, the local smells, foods, and colour. Who knew if this would survive the Fire Nation purge? It wasn't long before he began to feel the familiar sensation of being overwhelmed, there were too many sights and smells and people, and he ducked into a side street, trying to clear his head.

It was this side street where he was attacked.

The four men came out of nowhere, catching Zuko entirely off guard. He was pushed to the ground, and as he sprung up to defend himself, was hooked behind his leg, and held down on the ground. They weren't particularly strong, but they had the element of surprise, and despite a valiant attempt on Zuko's part to escape the scuffle, he wound up forced on his knees, with a knife against his throat. He'd lashed out, caught one of them across the face, and he nursed a bloodied nose, glaring reproachfully at Zuko. He kept absolutely still, painfully aware of the knife pressed against his skin. He was held down by two men, the third preoccupied with his nose. The fourth man was staring at him in complete silence. He wore glasses. None of them looked like desperate pickpockets or thieves. They were too tidy and well-dressed to be muggers. Zuko cursed himself for being so foolish. He should never have let his guard down, not even for a moment.

"Is this him?" The bespectacled man was the first to speak. Zuko watched him carefully. He didn't look angry, or malicious. He was shocked, even frightened, his eyes very wide. "Are you sure?"

"With a scar like that? Yeah, it's him." Cold fear spread through Zuko's limbs at the voice above him. They knew who he was. He closed his eyes, trying desperately to think of a way out of this situation. Surely he could do something. Catch one of them off guard. But the knife was hovering over his jugular, and the two men held his arms down fast. He could fight them off, but not without getting his throat slashed.

"He's just a boy." He breathed. Zuko opened his eyes, watching the stranger step towards him. "How old are you?" What sort of question was that? Zuko licked his lips, opening his mouth.

"Sixteen." The mans' wide eyes flickered up to his friends, and he shook his head slowly. Zuko clenched his fists, trying to roll his shoulders. His arms were forced painfully behind his back, stretching at the sockets. "What do you want from me?" He spoke up sounding scared rather than defiant.

"Shut it, you." He was cuffed heavily around the head. "Enlai, I promise you, it's him. I know he's young but damn, we know what we saw."

"What do you me-" Zuko tried to talk, receiving another blow about the head in return.

"We saw you, you little brat!" The man shouted very close in his ear. "With this man's wife at the Green Leaf!" Zuko's mouth fell open. The tea shop where he'd met his mother yesterday. Everything fell into place. He was relived at first. They didn't know his true identity. He was still just Lee to them, no, not even that, just a nameless shadow they'd seen. "C'mon Enlai, let him have it."

"No!" Zuko shook his head furiously, wincing as a thin red line welled up in his neck. He struggled to keep still. "Listen to me, please-" Zuko gasped as the air was knocked out of him with a rather painful blow to the stomach. He looked up at the quiet, well-mannered man who had just kicked him.

"Stay away from Ta Min." The wide-eyed confusion from his face was gone. He balled his hands into fists. Zuko could feel the man who held him nodding in approval.

"No please," Zuko begged, steeling himself for another blow. "You have it all wrong, I-"

"You were hugging and kissing her in a damn tea shop in front of everyone!" The voice shouted in Zuko's ear. Zuko closed his eyes, feeling sick. How could we be so stupid? A muffled cry came out as he was hit around the head again, his ears ringing. This was spinning out of control. Did they mean to beat him to death, or just enough to warn him? What had happened to his mother? Would they punish her too, over this? Zuko received another kick in the stomach, trying very hard to force down the urge to cough. The knife already wore several drops of his blood.

"She-" Zuko forced down an involuntary cough, his torso spasming. His arms were numb. "She's my-" The man called Enlai stepped back, looking a little guilty. He didn't mean to hurt him, at least, not badly. Zuko sucked in a brisk lungful of air, forcing himself to speak.

"She's my mother."


I'm bursting to write the next one. So many things are happening in my head and my fingers are itching to get them all out. You won't wait long for the next one, I promise.