"He tied her to a tree?"

"And said he was going to save her from the pirates, something of the sort. He had her necklace, too. Dangled it over her neck. In hindsight, I think that might have been his strange flirting. Or . . . no," Iroh sighs. "They were children, at the end of it. Zuko was a little older than you and your mother was even younger."

"Dad tied Mom to a tree? As a hostage? And threatened her? To save her from pirates?"

Iroh nods and Kaz falls back. The image Iroh is painting, all these small stories about Dad, don't really have a place in his mind. He can't imagine Dad tying Mom to a tree or threatening anyone. Well, maybe threatening someone. But it's hard to believe that Mom and Dad didn't have a great beginning. And that Dad held her hostage because he wanted to capture the Avatar.

"I can't believe he actually thought . . ."

"Well, Zuko definitely came to his senses. It took many more trials and some more mistakes, but he did join your mother and the Avatar eventually. I am proud of him. He had a good heart, even during all this time. And there was, of course, that time he freed the Avatar from the awful Zhao. Wore a mask and everything. Did it without bending, too," he coughs. "I always felt that Zhao must have realized he was the Blue Spirit."

Wait. "Uh. Can you repeat that?"

Iroh looks amused. "Zhao, the general I'm telling you about — there was a time when he captured the Avatar and Zuko went and freed the boy dressed up with a mask."

"A mask? A Blue Spirit mask?"

And all of a sudden Kaz remembers that his original desire to come to the prison had stemmed from his want to scour the Fire Nation's records on the Blue Spirit. He hadn't done that, of course, due to his distraction. It would be so hilarious and terrible if all the stars aligned here, and he doesn't know what he's hoping for. "Dad was the Blue Spirit. The criminal?"

"Yes, I suppose. He was very wanted in the Fire Nation for quite a long time after that. And it fed legends, although I don't think Zuko's intentions at the time were noble. He was defending his honor and his country; he was a little distressed that even his alternate persona was wanted," he squints. "But also, Zuko was a constantly distressed teenager. I don't quite blame him, he had a lot on his shoulders. All he wanted to do was do right by his throne. And he felt that he was unable to do so."

"The Blue Spirit is big, and strong, and he rescued the girl from the pirates."

He's really been entrapped in a lie all this time, hasn't he? And Iroh hasn't told him about half of their adventures yet. For all he knows all of the stories that his parents have told him over the years are true. And that would be terrifying and also sort of magical, if the Painted Lady really exists and if there is a temple somewhere in the world that's built backwards . . .

"Azula says that Dad used to care a lot about his honor. Well, she makes fun of him because of it."

"Zuko always cared very much for his honor. He would always do what he thought was best for his nation and his legacy and throne first. He cared about it very much. And that's why he was intent on capturing the Avatar and then overthrowing his father and Azula."

"But if he cared so much why didn't he keep trying? He lost to Azula and then he and Mom left and they never came back. They never even tried," he tries not to make his tone bitter but he knows the acidity is channeling through him anyway.

Iroh stares at him through the bars. "I would not want to be too presumptuous, Kazou, but it does not seem that you know what occurred after the final battle."

"What happened? They lost and they ran away and then they didn't come back," he snaps.

And yet the other man is patient. "And yet you do not know what happened from their side of the story, do you? Perhaps they were just trying to survive. They lost the war and everything they'd ever cared about. Your mother lost her family and your father lost me as well —"

"Didn't Dad care so much about the Fire Nation, though? Wouldn't he come back?"

As always, Iroh remains serene in the face of his fits. And this is a fit. When Kazou finishes talking flames spurt from his mouth, incensed by his rage, and sparks flicker off his skin. They flare into the cell, but his great-uncle isn't impacted. "I am giving you questions, Kazou. Not answers."

"Why are you so cryptic?"

And to that he receives a pursed smile. He wants to destroy this place and something burns out of his throat again. The stupid walls in this prison don't scorce because they're meant to keep firebenders. If they were made of something like wood he would have burned it down several times over. He never loses control like this anywhere else. "Fine. Don't be helpful. But tell me about the Blue Spirit. Mom and Dad used to tell us stories about him. Or, well, stories about him helping people."

"Ah. I don't think the Blue Spirit helped as many as they said. They likely just told stories. After all, he was just Zuko in a costume mask."

"A costume mask?"

"Yes."

"So the mask came from somewhere?"

"It was his mother's, I believe. Your grandmother's. She watched plays, you see, enjoyed theater. She kept a wide collection of masks in her rooms and near the palace theater. I'd assume that Zuko took one with him before his banishment."

"My grandmother . . ." he hasn't asked about her yet. He doesn't want to. But he doesn't quite understand the other part of that. "The palace has . . . a theater."

"Of course! A great place, boisterous and fun. Days at the theater were fine entertainment for the royals . . . in my time," he concludes, looking at Kaz's tilted brows. "I would assume Azula wouldn't have kept that tradition around. She was never that close to her mother. She probably ignores all of her things. Perhaps she's burnt the last ones."

"Oh. It must have been strange to have a large royal family. It's just me and Aunt Azula in there. And all of her nobles."

"You call her your aunt?"

"She is, isn't she?" Kaz says back carelessly. A knock sounds from the corridor. He'd asked the guards to alert him when it passed five hours after the afternoon so that he has time to return back to the palace. That night he'd been late three days ago had led him to injure himself, and he's been attempting to hide his slight limp for the past few days even though he's sure everyone is aware of it.

"She is," Iroh agrees before rising from his bed and watching as Kaz collects his robes. "Next time we will talk about what happened after the North Pole, Kazou. Your decision today will be hasty, but for once I will recommend that you not have regrets."

"How do you —"

"You are like your parents," Iroh mumbles as he gestures for his great-nephew to leave. "Rash. And you need to improve your questioning skill."

"Do you need help?"

"What?" he flounders forward, elbows catching on the bush he's standing behind. "What — no! I'm fine."

"Why are you acting like you're trying to sneak your way into your own palace? You're here already. You rule this place, don't you?"

And is she laughing at him again? Yes, she is. When Kazou rights himself again he sees Rini standing outside of the bush with her hands on her hips. "Shouldn't you have left early today? It's dark."

"I'm heading to the gate," she says as he pulls himself to his feet. "Then I saw you and thought that I should return the favor. Because you, you know, helped me out."

"I don't need help. I'm not doing anything."

"It definitely looks like that," she deadpans, and he groans, picking leaves off of his cloak. Maybe sneaking around his own palace wasn't the smartest thing to do, but he really can't have this getting back to Azula, especially if she hated her mother.

"You're so disrespectful," he notes back as something like a joke. She's technically being loose with her rules. Sure, they had spent a few hours talking into the late night that day ago and she hadn't had to use formalities with him. It had been an easy conversation, something fluid and lighthearted. Nobody talks back to him at all besides his assorted family members, and Azula is mad and Iroh obviously is also short a few cells. He thinks that conversation could have been friendly.

But his words make her turn her head down. "I'm sorry, Prince Kazou. I won't —"

Oh, Agni. He really doesn't have a very developed sense of humor or inflection. "I was — it's fine, really. I actually do need . . ." he stutters through. "I—I do need a bit of help."

That light is back in her eyes and she claps her hands excitedly in the dark. The sound reverberates through the wing and he rapidly holds up his fingers to his lips. "Quiet! Nobody can know I'm here."

"We're whispering?" she asks. "Why are we whispering? You can do whatever —"

"I don't want to explain it," he lets go quickly. "Do you know . . . the old Fire Lord and Lady, before my aunt. Do you know where their rooms are?"

While she thinks some time to ponder over the question he reaches for her arm and pulls her behind another bush. She falls into place gracefully besides him, far less lanky and awkward. He shouldn't be trusting her with this, this random girl from the kitchen, but his conversation with her about his favorite foods and the turtleducks had probably been one of the best of his life. He's really not the best with people. And maybe he's being a little too trusting right now. He — he really shouldn't be.

He has a feeling she won't betray him.

A foot away underneath the brush she's resting her chin on her palm. Her hair is braided in random pieces today rather than falling apart in the back, and it looks choppy and cut unevenly. It's characteristic and frames her open face in a strange way, but it still works.

Rini's features are trusting and she hasn't second-guessed his inquiry at all yet. So she's either a very good spy or truly is trying to help him. Too fast, Kaz. Think this through. You're so desperate for someone who'll talk to you. You're so weak.

"I don't . . ." she struggles. "I've never gone anywhere like that at all to clean."

"Ugh," he thinks again. "Is there any place you're not allowed to go?"

She shrugs, her hair hitting her shoulders as she whispers back. "A lot of the south wing, definitely. But I don't know why."

He supposes that's a place to start. This quest is of his own curiosity and nothing else, so he can take his time as long as he doesn't get caught in the wrong space. And anyway, Azula doesn't know about Iroh. He can pass himself off as just curious and brash. It's not like the description is inaccurate. "Okay, I'll start there. Thanks."

He rises from the spot but she hisses into the warm air. "Where are you going?

And Kaz supposes he definitely can't tell her about this stupid decision. "Nowhere. You should go home," he says coldly, turning back to face her where she's still leaning in the bush. She doesn't flinch like he's expecting, just pauses for a moment before biting back.

"Okay, Prince."

She rises and starts moving in the opposite direction. When he's halfway across the yard he turns back his hood and checks to make sure that she's gone. Then he whisks himself away, stalking awkwardly around the back of the palace's buildings in an effort to avoid the guards, something rising in his chest.

It's almost sunup by the time he locates the palace's theater — it's in the south wing, as Rini had said, a rather dilapidated building. He supposes it's been a few decades since it was used, since this entire wing was, so it's mildly understandable. And by the time he finds a collection of masks he can see the sun rising through windows filled with cobwebs.

Kaz isn't quite sure what the Blue Spirit mask actually looks like so he doesn't think he'll find the exact one, especially if his father took it from his mother years ago. Most of the masks in the chest are made of wood and rotting after years of disuse. He pulls one out that's half eaten and then drops it on the floor. He won't find his father's but he wants one that's blue — not only because of the original character but also because of his mother's heritage.

After throwing several decomposing pieces onto the floor he stumbles across the back of the stack, masks made of metal, strong and sturdy, forged the way they are. One at the very back is carved smooth and blue, wave symbols drifting across it in patterns. It's painted in variations of silver and blue and grey, sparkling slightly in the sun, and shapes like a circle to hide the top part of a face. It looks very water tribe. It looks —

What is he doing?

All he wanted to do was do right by his throne. And he felt that he was unable to do so.

I'm going to do what you couldn't do. What you were too weak to do.

Your decision today will be hasty, but for once I will recommend that you not have regrets.

With an inaudible sigh he grabs the smooth disguise and puts it against his chest. He can be fueled by this. He'll do right by his throne — he can make everyone proud.