Days later, The Earth Kingdom Royal Palace is lit in all shades of astounding light. Copper turns flame vibrant turquoise. Lithium grants it astounding pinks. Borax brings about green. Potassium spawns purple. The colors paint the walls around them, creating a spectacle for all in the Upper Ring to see from wherever they are. Waterbenders shoot impressive streams of water and ice into the air, forming fantastic arches that catch the colors of the flames. It's a rainbow of light and color to announce their honored guest, and the beginning of a ball that would honor the Avatar's miraculous return and a new era of assured peace. The elite of the elite wander the surrounding lush gardens, basking in the awe of the scene and appreciating their own importance.

Ozai is sickened by them.

These were his peers, formally. He'd go so far to call them his inferiors. Once upon a time, they would have bowed to him, even cowered at his power. He was their Prince, no matter what nation they hailed from. A Prince of the most powerful nation hailed their respect. Yet now they walked by him as if he were any commoner, brushing his shoulder as they wavered drunkenly and giggled at the spray of water as one of the benders bursts their great ice arches. His lip curls in a sneer, and it takes all his restraint not to shove the person to the ground.

He was meant to blend into this crowd. Starting fights would be detrimental to that. So instead he adjusts the crisp collar on his stolen robes and continues on. The Fire Nation dignitary—new money, he assumed, from the garish patterning and cheap quality—he'd acquired this identity from was roughly his size, if a bit rounder in the midsection. Ozai had rectified this by tying a sash around the larger waist of his robes. Otherwise the clothing seemed to belong to him. He was of the Fire Nation, wearing their colors and looking every bit the part of an upstanding dignitary. He walked with the poise of someone raised from birth to do so, hands clasped in front of him and over the dagger hidden in the folds of the sash around his waist. He nodded politely when acknowledged, but never bowed. Even in disguise, it was not his place to bow to those beneath him.

"Mr. Yamato!" Ozai doesn't initially respond, unused to the name. He then recalls that that's the name of his supposed identity, turning to the man who'd called for him. Some Water Tribe man of some importance trots over before slowing down, brow furrowing in confusion.

"Mr…Yamato? It must have been longer than I thought! Hardly recognized you, but I'd know that style anywhere. You look well." He and the original Yamato had looked almost nothing alike, but this man had apparently only known him by his horrible taste in outerwear. The resemblance would have to do, at least long enough to get him his audience with the Avatar.

"Yes, it has been some time, hasn't it?" Ozai answers archly, not particularly interested in carrying a conversation with him. If he did happen to properly remember what Yamato actually looked like, he would risk having his cover blown. He's not eager to hide another body tonight.

"Lost some weight, bulked up a little—" He grabs Ozai by the shoulders and practically shakes him. Ozai grits his jaw hard enough that he fears for his teeth, struggling to keep a straight face, "Your wife's got to be happy with that."

"Mmhmm." Ozai's already turning away.

"What, you're not happy to see me? I know things have been tough with the council, I heard there's a whole…" He waves his hands in an abstract gesture, "Restructure, but come on, lighten up. This is supposed to be a fun night. Why don't we go grab a drink and catch up?"

"Restructure?" He seems to take Ozai's lack of protest as an acceptance, tugging his sleeve and pulling him along towards a long table made of ice set up in the gardens. Drinks slide across it as they're prepared, the man ordering something for them.

"You don't need to play dumb with me. I know all about it." He winks and Ozai tries to decipher any of what he's talking about, "I won't tell anyone."

"What do you know?"

"Testing me? I didn't know there would be a quiz on your letters." The drinks arrive, and Ozai grips his tightly. It's some kind of overly sweet fruity concoction, and his nose crinkles in distaste as he sips it.

"Humor me, old friend."

"Ah. Well…the restructuring of the Fire Nation. At least how it's governed. It's been fifteen years, it's about time." He says with a shrug, easily drinking his own fruity mess. Ozai stiffens, setting his cup down.

"I…see. I'm sorry, it escapes me. I'm not sure if I mailed my last letter. What is it that I said in the last letter you received from me?" He leans on the ice of the table, trying to seem casual.

"Oh! I think I'm up to date. You told me about the new frontrunner for the next Fire Nation Royal Family. Something to get all those warlords in line. Exciting stuff!" Ozai can't hide his reaction. The ice under his arm sweats and melts, and he sits up and speaks like he'd taken a physical hit, dazed.

"Ah, yes. Next…royal family."

"Yeah, well, like you said. They've been looking for a long time. Obviously they couldn't put anyone from the old one in any position of power—I mean, even if they weren't all dead, they were kind of…" The man looks for the right word, finishing his drink. It seems after just one moderate drink he's already talking rather freely, "Crazy. I mean who keeps a war going for one hundred years? And then when everyone is getting sick of them, kidnaps this girl from some colony and forces her to marry his son that, lets be honest, no one really liked to begin with, just to try and make them what? More relatable? Yeah, right. It didn't keep them from getting rebelled against, if that's what they were going for."

Words like that were grounds for execution. Treason. Ozai stands quickly.

"I really must go."

"Hey, we barely even caught up!" He calls after him, and Ozai pauses in his enraged egress.

"Well, you are right, aren't you?" He can't even keep a conversational tone anymore, his words chilled and lethal. He walks back over to the man, putting a too-warm hand on his back and guiding him away from the bar. He seems nervous, now, something about the shift in Ozai's tone and stance warning him of danger. Ozai leads them further into the paths of the gardens until they're back at the entrance.

"Where are we going?"

"I must show you something." Ozai guides them back out, the guards acknowledging them as they leave.

"Oh. You bring me a present?" They head down a path on the outside of the palace walls to a line of carriages parked alongside. The area is empty, all its inhabitants and drivers preoccupied with the festivities. Ozai opens the door of a specific carriage and settles inside.

"Something like that. Join me, friend." There's a moment of hesitation, but he slowly climbs up into the carriage. He only gets about halfway in before he sees the slumped body of the former Mr. Yamato. He goes to scream, but Ozai is faster, securing a hand over his mouth and yanking him down into the seat next to the corpse.

"I'm afraid I'm not Mr. Yamato." Ozai says with a grin, "But you do know of me." He's shaking under his hand, eyes flicking between Yamato and Ozai.

"If you scream, I will kill you." Ozai continues before slowly lifting his hand, drawing the blade from his robes. He keeps it resting on his lap casually.

"Wh—who—please don't kill me—who are you?"

"Silence. I have the knife, so I get to ask the questions. But I will grant you this one, as a curtesy." He holds the knife up, pointing it into the man's throat and dragging it to tease the skin. It leaves an angry pink line, but no blood is drawn, "How did you put it…ah, yes, the son nobody liked. I am Fire Prince Ozai, son of Fire Lord Azulon."

The man's eyes go wide, his throat tensing with a strained swallow. He does something Ozai doesn't expect, crumpling onto his knees in the cramped space of the carriage, his elbows resting on Ozai's lap as he clutches at the stolen robes. He sobs like a child and Ozai recoils in disgust.

"I didn't mean what I said out there! Have mercy, please Prince Ozai I—" Ozai shoves him to the floor of the carriage, planting a boot onto his ribs hard enough for a crunch to resonate in the small space. He cries out in pain, writhing beneath him.

"Enough! And you have the audacity to call yourself nobility. Sniveling like a child on the robes of another man. You don't even deserve the privilege of laying a hand on me. On your Prince." Ozai brushes his robes off, sitting back but keeping a boot resting on his broken rib.

"What do you want from me?" He whimpers.

"Well, I did just bring you out here to kill you. What do you have to offer?" Ozai studies his blade, turning it over in his hands.

"I…I have a ticket! A ticket to—to talk to the Avatar!" That gets Ozai's attention, his examination of the knife stilling.

"I see."

"Yeah! Not just anyone can have a private talk with him. But if you have one of these—" He fishes in his pockets hurriedly, hands shaking, "You get fifteen minutes with him. Alone." He holds up the pass. Ozai snatches it before he can consider pulling away, nodding.

"This is very, very interesting. I wasn't aware of this. It seems you were useful after all." He tucks the paper into his robes, lifting his boot from mans side. He slowly crawls back into his seat, scooting away from the corpse. He favors his ribs, hunching over.

"You're letting me go, right?" He practically whispers, struggling for air. A lung must be punctured.

"What you've given me tonight is invaluable." Ozai starts softly, reaching over and tilting the man's chin up. He sees the hope in his wide blue eyes, reveling in that hope for a moment before he stabs the knife into the man's throat with his other hand.

"The proper punishment for your words tonight is execution. I grant you a quick death for what you've given me, in both information and token." He slides the knife out of his throat, wiping it on the seat of the carriage before tucking it away again. The man bleeds out quickly, and Ozai sits back, contemplating as the body across from him cools. He looks out the window at the stars, lights and flashes of water flying into the air.

It really was a beautiful night.


Iroh sets out the teacups with practiced ease, each one an exact distance from the other. The beautifully handcrafted cups were art in and of themselves, and he's sure to be extra delicate with them as he lays them out on the massive table of the Earth King's sitting room. Being invited to serve tea to the Avatar was an occasion of great importance, a once in a lifetime chance and certain opportunity to let everyone in not only the Earth Kingdom, but the world, know the Jasmine Dragon was a place of fine tea and quality. The highest standard—

He jolts as he hears the shattering of fine china, looking up at Zuko as he stands over what used to be one of the aforementioned artworks that was a teacup.

"Ah…that wasn't too expensive, was it?" He asks, coming over with the tray of remaining cups. Despite his time in the Lower Ring, he had already made great strides in learning the manners and customs of the nobles. He had some edges that hadn't been quite smoothed out, though, and Iroh wasn't in any hurry to do so. They were part of his personality. The gold used to mend cracks in pottery.

"Only priceless." He says with a short laugh, taking the tray from him and setting it on the table, "Don't worry, we'll hide the body." He teases, coming over and scooping up the little shards before tucking them into a pocket of his apron.

"When's the Avatar supposed to get here?" He asks, and Iroh nods in understanding. He must have dropped the cup in his nerves. He puts a hand on his nephew's shoulder to still him as he busies his hands with already perfectly straight napkins. He's been full of nervous energy since he'd arrived in the Upper Ring, but it had reached a peak when he was given the opportunity to set foot in the palace.

"Soon. I'm sure he is having a wonderful time at the party. He's not due for these private meetings for another ten minutes." Iroh continues his work of setting out the teas, each kettle being rested over toasted embers to keep it warm but not scalding. He steps back to appreciate his work. Zuko fidgets with his own apron, unused to it.

"Do you get to serve tea to people like this often?" Zuko asks.

"Hmmm…not recently, no. Haven't had the opportunity to serve many Avatars." He responds, settling in his seat near the doors to the kitchen, crossing his arms, "But this will be a good opportunity for you. Working with me in front of the Avatar himself, I'm sure you all will get your permanent passes in no time."

"It probably would've been better if Azula came too." It still settles with Zuko in an odd way to call his sister by a different name, but it's something he's been learning to come to terms with. The whole situation is one that's taking time, especially with only their mother to fill in gaps left by the scroll. Even Iroh had not spent as much time near their father and couldn't accurately tell them which facts were entirely Azulon's lies. Ozai would have been the best source of information, and they all knew it. None of them spoke of him.

"Probably. But her temper is still a bit…unruly for this setting." Zuko smiles at that, shaking his head.

"You already figured that out about her, huh?"

"Somehow—" The doors open, interrupting them and drawing their attention. Iroh bows respectfully, looking over and tugging Zuko to bow alongside him. He does so, awkward and unpracticed.

"You guys really don't have to bow to me." The Avatar smiles, returning the bow respectfully, "But thank you." He looks at the setup before him, and Zuko can't help but repeatedly avert his eyes. This was the Avatar. The most important person on the planet, bridge between the Spirit World and the physical, master of all elements, and child or not, he was someone so far above Zuko's own station in life. He felt unworthy of standing before him, even knowing his actual heritage.

The Avatar seems to notice, trying to start some kind of casual conversation.

"This smells great. Herbal tea?" He takes the lid off one of the many kettles, leaning over to breathe in the steam. Iroh nods, coming forward.

"Ah, yes, you have a good nose. It's a peach blend. One of my most popular at my store. Feel free to try any of the teas I've brought. I'd like to hear the Avatar's feedback." His back straight, hands held on his lap, tone formal, Zuko can see the similarity to Ozai, if somewhat slight. It reminds him that they are in fact related, somehow.

"Call me Aang." He pours his own cup and Iroh steps back, having been prepared to do that himself had he been asked. Aang looks at both of them, confused by Zuko seeming to be staring at anything in the room and Iroh standing stiffly beside him, "Are you going to have any?" He asks as he settles into the too big chair prepared for him.

"…with…with you?" Zuko asks, finally looking directly at him. He just smiles, shrugging, sitting in the chair with his legs folded cross legged. Hardly formal or dignified.

"We would be honored." Iroh pours them each a cup, handing one off to Zuko, "I hope you're enjoying your time in the Earth Kingdom, Aang. We've been waiting for quite some time."

Before Aang can answer, the doors swing open again. He smiles just as invitingly at the newcomer, but Zuko and Iroh freeze where they are. The guest stills as the guards stationed outside close the doors behind him.

"Ozai?" Zuko is the first to speak up after he's overcome his surprise. Ozai seems to be fuming, running a hand through his hair to control his temper. He's wearing odd robes he's never seen before, gaudily patterned and speckled in a strange way near the bottom. He tries to continue questioning him, but Ozai holds up a hand.

"I'm afraid I don't know who you're speaking of." He says lowly, a warning, "I was promised an audience alone with the Avatar. We can serve tea to ourselves." He sits in the chair opposite Aang, resting his hands in his lap. The picture of propriety.

"Don't do that." Zuko says, halting Iroh as he's going to leave, "You just vanished and then show up again here pretending to be someone else and act like you don't know who I am? How did you even get here? What are you wearing?" Aang sips his tea loudly, looking between Zuko and Ozai with wide eyes.

"Zuko, that's enough. This really isn't the time—"

"You don't get to tell me when to talk about this. Mom told me everything about what happened. That you left us, that you did it again. You would have had plenty of time to talk to us if you didn't keep leaving out of nowhere!" The embers heating the tea flare to life and become flames, licking at the clay of the kettles. Aang sits back, still clasping his cup between his hands. He sends out a small gust of air to dispel the flames.

"Did you guys come here to have me work this out between you? I'm not really sure that's what Avatars do, but I could—"

"Certainly not. I don't need help dealing with my son's inability to hold his tongue." Ozai turns away from Aang, standing and grabbing Zuko by the front of his shirt. He practically drags him into the next room. It's some kind of service hallway connecting the kitchen to the sitting room, the space tight as he presses him back against the wall. Iroh follows protectively, watching the interaction closely.

"I'm not your son, not in any sense that matters, considering you keep—" Ozai's firm backhand comes swiftly, too quick for Iroh to stop. He immediately comes forward and yanks Ozai away from him.

"Ozai! Stop!" He doesn't have the outright strength to hold Ozai back, so he lets him go when Ozai pushes him off. He keeps himself between the two of them as Zuko picks himself up off the floor, rubbing his cheek sorely.

"That boy has gotten in my way too many times. I haven't fought, and struggled, and killed to get here just to have him get in the way again. If either of you know what's good for you, you'll leave my sight this instant and not return until I'm outside of this damned Kingdom, let alone outside of this sorry excuse for a palace." He doesn't stay long enough for either of them to answer, disappearing back into the sitting room with a loud slam of the door.

"Are you alright?" Iroh asks, reaching over and cupping his face to inspect the damage. The area he'd struck is already an irritated red, surely going to leave a bruise within a few hours. Ozai hadn't held back, using all his strength. The thought infuriates Iroh, glaring back at the door he'd left through.

"I'm fine. He's hit me harder, honestly." Zuko continues at the panicked look on Iroh's face, "When we sparred! When he was teaching me to firebend. And—well I did threaten to kill him, once." He admits. It doesn't soothe any of Iroh's fears, but Zuko passes by him anyway and leans against the door, trying to listen to the conversation within.

"—down to firebending being outlawed nearly everywhere but the Fire Nation itself." Ozai's voice is clear through the door, intense as it always was.

"That doesn't make any sense. Why would they do that?" Aang's is softer, and Zuko has to press closer to hear it.

"I'm not sure how much you know of what happened while you were gone."

"Not a lot, honestly. There was a war?"

"And treason."

"Treason?"

"Against my family. The story claims the war was started by my grandfather, Fire Lord Sozin, and perpetuated by my father, Fire Lord Azulon. But in reality, this was no war. Not initially. My people, the Fire Nation, were extending our resources to all the nations—"

"Like they extended them to the Air Nomads?" There's a long pause. Zuko can hear Aang's pain through the door.

Iroh pulls Zuko back.

"Zuko, whatever Ozai is doing in there, it's not our concern."

"I'm not leaving; I still need to talk to him. I don't like him, but he doesn't get to just leave like that when we still—" A clatter of porcelain and china in the sitting room draws his attention, and Zuko doesn't hesitate to press back to the door.

"I was sent here to kill you, Avatar." The sound of a heavy chair scooting back, "Though I can elect against those orders if you were to assist me." He expects to hear something in return, some kind of fear or the whoosh of air. Nothing comes.

"I'm sorry. But the Fire Nation are the ones that wiped out my people. You still have your people, at least." Another chair scooting, "It's not fair of them to outlaw firebending, and I'll try to keep that from happening, but I can't support the family that started a war and destroyed my culture."

"Then I will speak to you again, in another life." A crash. Zuko bursts out through the door, ready to defend the Avatar, but neither of them are in the room. The guards that had been stationed outside rush in as well. The only evidence of where they disappeared is the shattered window taking up a large portion of the wall opposite the opulent fireplace. The heavy curtains billow and twirl with the unnatural gust of wind.


All things considered, the Avatar seems to be remarkably calm.

They'd burst out of the window with a rush of air as soon as Ozai had attacked him, tumbling to the ground far below, and the menagerie of lights and color disorient him. He can hardly figure out which way is the ground, expecting a hard landing, but a rush of air stops him from hitting the ground. He lands softly on the grass, looking over at the Avatar as he catches himself as well, hovering on a ball of air before he lands on his feet.

"I understand." He says as he approaches Ozai, keeping his distance and staying light on his feet, ready to defend himself, "I know why you're angry. Losing everything you did must have been hard, and I will do everything I can to help your nation recover, but I don't think you're what's best for it in the long term. Especially since you're trying to kill me right now." He holds up the knife Ozai had brandished and lost in the fall, frowning at it.

"You know nothing of what's best for my nation." He growls, conscious of the people far off approaching from other parts of the garden to investigate the commotion. He could kill him here and now, but killing the Avatar in front of witnesses and guards was something he couldn't simply wait out. He'd be wanted by the entire world, certainly under intense scrutiny and unable to hide in anonymity. He stands, fire thrumming in his veins. It would be so easy to simply destroy him where he stands.

"Maybe not. But I can work with you to help it. The Royal family might not be what's best for them, but that doesn't mean it's the end of your nation. You can still help." The Avatar speaks softly, trying to coax him like a wild animal he's trying to tame. Ozai scoffs, going to turn away before the earth comes up to lock around his ankles. He looks down before looking back at the Avatar, fists clenching and fire bursting forth from them without a conscious thought. If the Avatar wanted to continue the fight, he'd certainly oblige.

"Wasn't me!" He raises his hands in defense. A heavy stone slams into his stomach, making him double over. The wind leaves him and it takes him a moment to catch his breath again.

"You again!" That damn blind girl. Ozai looks up at her as she stomps through brush and flowers towards him.

"You know him?" The Avatar asks, leaning around him to peak at her.

"I caught him stalking you earlier. I warned you to stay away, didn't I!" He doesn't let her get an attack in this time, grabbing her wrists in the middle of an earthbending form and lifting her off the ground.

"I'm getting tired of you, girl." He lifts his feet, the loose dirt falling away as he throws her to the ground, fire forming over his fists again. He's about to throw it down on her with all the rage she deserves, but suddenly his wrists are encircled in tight rings of earth. They're yanked behind his back, the stone fusing and locking his wrists together. The same is done to his ankles, and he falls to his knees when a chain whips forward and yanks back on the bindings.

The Dai Li part the crowd with their very presence, a mass of dark cloaks and hidden faces. This was all spiraling in a way completely out of his control. Ozai's blood runs cold, about to protest or fight, maybe even run, before another ring of stone circles his neck. It squeezes hard enough to keep him from breathing, grinding into his windpipe with fingers of rock. He struggles for air, gasping and thrashing, unable to do anything else as he's dragged toward the nearest Dai Li agent by the chain on his ankles.

"Wait—there's no need for that! You don't need to kill him!" The Avatar interjects, already taking on a stance to release the earth around his throat. Ozai crumples onto his side as his vision starts to swim and fade, the ground scraping his face painfully.

"We won't kill him. We're subduing him. We have questions." The Dai Li agent is already lifting him off the ground. He's face to face with the man and does the only thing he can with the strength left in him. He snarls, thrashing and slamming his forehead into the other man's face. There's a resounding crack as he shatters the man's nose, and the agent drops him with a cry. The stone around his neck tightens to a frightening extent, skin tearing and bleeding as he lets out a choked groan.

The last thing he sees is Zuko. He has the good sense not to speak, not to fight, but he's watching in quiet horror. He couldn't win a fight here, probably ever, against the Dai Li, and that helplessness tears at him on a visible level. His cheek is already purpling, yet he seems to at least care about what is surely the end of him. That's an interesting idea.

He's never considered what would await him if the Dai Li ever did actually capture him. He tells himself he isn't afraid of the thought as he's dragged further away from the crowd, more chains latching onto him where they can. He still can't breathe, the struggle of staying conscious becoming more of a losing battle by the second. The edges of his vision fade, going darker and darker as they disappear into some tunnel, the heavy door closing with a bang.

The walls are brick, barren and ancient. Immune to attacks by fire. His vision starts to black out further. His limbs feel numb, his lungs burn. An impossibly dark room, heavy boots. Metal replacing stones on his skin.

The world fades to black.


N/A: Officially gonna up the rating on this story, all things considered. It's just gonna get a little spicy.