"Can I —"

"Yes."

"What?" he frowns and pauses near the entrance to the room, staring across at Azula's wall of fire. He would've talked to her outside of her rather formal showing hours but his question is time-intensive (or rather, he's impatient) and he thinks that this is the way they're technically supposed to communicate. The sheer idea of Azula being rather relaxed in terms of protocol is funny, but he supposes that if what he reads in his books is true she is. "You didn't even listen —"

"Prince Kazou," she says, a strangely exhausted lilt to her tone, "as long as you abide by your protocol and continue training with your hours, do whatever you want. I don't have time for your incessant requests on allowance. I'm not your mother."

One of his feet clangs on the marble floor, stepping back. Has he bowed yet? No, he hasn't. He should do that. He quickly falls to his knees and starts counting out the seconds on the ground, letting the numbers pass through his mind. He doesn't really want to think about what she'd just said. I'm not your mother. No, she's not. Has he been treating her like one? He winces. Yes, a bit, and that's hilarious. Azula is definitely not mother material.

Of course she isn't actually his mother, who has dark brown hair and kind eyes and a crinkled smile. Azula rarely smiles and doesn't touch him. She seems to stand him at best. Maybe he's overthinking how much she cares about him at all.

"Get off the floor, Kaz. Go. I have advisors to deal with."

At least she doesn't sound that terribly condescending. He quickly nods and doesn't look up again before running through the pillars that make up the room's side. At least he's been given the go-ahead. Perhaps this was good; she might have denied him if he'd finished his question. Can I go to the prison? Can I talk to your old guard? I want to know about the Blue Spirit. It's a true story.

Yes, it's fine like this. She might have denied him if he'd finished speaking. It still slightly burns, though, and his lips tighten as he starts towards the weapons room. He's already completed several hours of bending practice so now he gets to use his swords.

Technically nobody in the palace is aware that he's Zuko's son. Technically. But it's obvious who he is, and he's heard enough rumors to prove that the vast majority of the staff, at least, are aware. He hadn't helped the matter by starting to train with weapons, the tools of a nonbender, apparently how his father used to.

He's already done enough research to know that the Blue Spirit was one of the most wanted vigilantes in the Fire Nation for a time. He'd once freed the Avatar. But the records of his actual sightings — if there even is more than one — will be kept in the archives near the prison. So he'll need to go there. The sun is almost peaking overhead, so that means that he has a few hours to practice and go through his inane and yet important etiquette lessons before leaving. But it's also lunchtime — perhaps he should go get something to eat before starting. He's hungry too.

He taps his fingers on a nearby column, deliberating, until the small pangs of his stomach win out and he decides to turn back to one of the tearooms. He's sure the chefs will have something ready for him, hot and spicy in a way Mom was never able to cook. Fire Nation cuisine scalded his insides at first but now it's fine.

And then when he turns around his stomach suddenly settles. "Lord Nen?"

"Prince Kazou," the portly old man laughs through his thin lips. "How great to see you here."

He mockingly bows and Kaz has to hold himself in. It's not the lack of formality, the way his head doesn't bend too far to the ground. It's the tone, the condescension. He straightens up so that he has a small advantage in terms of height and stares the man in the eye. "I could say the same, Lord Nen. I live here. Why have we been . . . sent your presence today?"

He's snapping, which is fine, because Lord Nen is the worst of Azula's sycophants possibly because it's never clear whether or not he is one. On one hand he's a simpering fool; on the other he's quick to undermine Kaz's authority and make rather encompassing statements. He's in Azula's block of the council but he still feels like an enemy and he makes the prince want to shake. But he can't do that so he lets all of his energy go by flexing his fingers behind his back as the other man's eyes twinkle. "Cursory rounds, Prince. Regular duties."

"And those would —"

"Terribly boring things, Prince. I wouldn't want to bore you."

What would Azula say? That's starting to be one of the games he plays with himself. "Don't interrupt me, Nen. What are you doing here?"

He holds up a hand, his greying hair brushing against the collar of his ostentatious robes, trimmed and full of far too many colors. "I apologize, Prince. I only mean to bring reports back to the palace for the Fire Lord."

Reports on what Kaz wants to ask, but asking too many questions would make it seems like he perceives the wily and disrespectful old man as a threat. Which he doesn't. Not very much. He's less of a worry than the clear softliners and the people's representatives. Nen wants to uphold the status quo, and Azula has to rest with that even if she doesn't completely agree.

"Alright," he says shortly and turns away, only for Nen to place his large and greasy hand on his shoulder, over his robes. He tries really hard to hold in his shudder but something escapes — he smells like death.

"And what would you be doing, Prince?"

"None of your concern, Nen, but I'm going to go get myself some tea." Yes, tea, he thinks. The way we make it in the shop, a calming kind. Tea reminds him of the shop and of Mom and Dad. He likes going to the kitchens and boiling the water himself, letting it cool just a little before adding the leaves and then drinking it. The staff don't really mind, are almost used to it.

"Ah, tea," he smirks before leaning in and whispering into Kaz's ear. "A love of tea runs in the family, doesn't it? General Iroh had quite a taste for it, although Prince Zuko and the Fire Lord never cared much for it."

"Fantastic," he tries to move away but to no avail; his shoulders are being gripped tightly. It's absolutely inappropriate for him to be manhandled like this (and he's sure that he read in one of his books the other day that it's illegal). He can't exactly offend Nen terribly but if that man doesn't stop right — "Wait. General Iroh?"

His father had told him about his 'father', a man who taught him about dragons and tea, and Azula had later claimed that this was his great uncle, our infernal uncle, General Iroh.

If the stories his father told him are true then the man was virtually his father, especially now that he knows that it was Fire Lord Ozai who gave him his scar. They built a life in the Earth Kingdom colonies together, and the man was a fan of proverbs and jasmine tea. He'd had a tea shop. He's sure the majority of that is a lie and yet . . . "Yes, of course. General Iroh, the Dragon of the West? I'm sure someone of your illustrious upbringing knows all about him. We went to the academy together, all those years ago," he lips twist. "A pity what happened to him."

"What happened to him?" he asks with underlying excitement, belying his interest in the subject. He willfully ignores the look he's given; like he's just been caught. It's okay for Nen to realize his ancestry. Kaz still won't outright admit it and that's fine. He can deal with the man's hand for another minute, with his awful stench.

"I'm not sure, really, if he's dead or in prison. Considering nobody has come for him I'll admit that I think he's probably rotting away in a cell."

His heart pangs but he can't say anything out loud. He doesn't know Iroh, doesn't know his great-uncle, but if what Dad said is true — and for whatever reason he feels like this part may be correct — then he definitely doesn't deserve life and death in prison. He remembers his father telling him about the man who helped him with his sword fighting, who constantly lifted him up, who taught him that firebending came from the breath. The man loved the game with the tiles, Pai Sho, even if Dad never did. He was a good person. Good people don't deserve to rot like that.

"I see," he speaks through his teeth before pushing aside Nen roughly, not allowing himself to ask the man another question. He shouldn't mix personal and political matters. He's relatively surprised when he's let go. But then he hears a telltale cough from the corridor he's almost sprinted across.

"You see, Prince Kazou, the former General Iroh is kept at the bottom of the Caldera City Prison. The highest security there is, of course. Only the royal family is allowed in. And I know that the Fire Lord doesn't care about him so it's likely he's dead. Or mad," he laughs. "Guards make for terrible company."

"Why are you telling me this?" he hates how he sounds like a boy, how he feels like he should know the answer to this question. He doesn't want to turn around and belay the confusion and terror he knows is written across his features.

"You should know about high-profile cases as the Crown Prince. It's your duty to ensure that the prisoners stay prisoners. They're the highest enemies of the state."

"I'm well aware," he chokes out and makes a move forward before a darker tone eclipses the man's political play.

"I am loyal to the Fire Lord."

That makes him stare back, his eyebrows narrowed into a hard line. "Never doubt my loyalty to this nation and the Fire Lord, Nen. You're speaking out of place."

"I'm sure I am," he speaks calmly. "You would do well to prove me incorrect."

The insinuation is clear. "I have to prove nothing to you. You have no idea what I've done so far for this nation and for the Fire Lord and what I'm willing to do. I've given up — I've given up everything."

His stutter has almost completely gone away. Azula says that strong speech and conviction is something he must have as Crown Prince. He's the Crown Prince.

He has given up everything for the Fire Nation. He left everything behind and he hasn't found himself here at all — so what's left but to be a good ruler? At least he can keep fear, can keep power, can stay strong. Once upon a time the insinuation that he couldn't be a good bender was what burned. Now the sheer feeling that he might be inept in this role that belongs to him . . . that might be worse.

"To serve the Fire Nation is a gift, Prince Kazou."

He doesn't answer, just stalks out into the sun and into the next wing of the palace. Nen can construct whatever he wants out of his silence.