Chapter Thirteen: Politics-bending

Zhao's ship was on the horizon again, Iroh noted. Zhao's ship had three catapults to their one. Zhao's ship had not yet sent a hawk. It was not unusual for ships to be in the same area, nor was the lack of direct communication strange; most ships simply passed each other by, already flying the flags that signaled their basic orders. The Wani flew no flag save the Fire Nation's, because they were on no mission the navy supported. Zhao's black flag meant Special Assignment.

Iroh watched the flag fluttering through a telescope that someone else had set up for him. Nearby, Zuko was running through his morning drills with only the barest of flames, as he had been since he returned from Omashuing; he was, surprisingly, heeding doctor's orders and avoiding overexertion. His form was not the cut-glass perfection of his sister, but it was good for his age. As it always was, when he was simply moving and not worrying. When he did not think he was being watched, or judged. It had taken two spats with the Avatar and one report of a very determined Agni Kai for Iroh to realize this. There was more his nephew could learn, of course—there was always more to be learned!—but…

But.

Iroh stood on deck with his ruined hands, watching Zhao's ship on the horizon.

"Prince Zuko, please come here. Today you will start on the advanced forms. I will ask Crewman Teruko to demonstrate the—Prince Zuko?"

His nephew did not look elated, or proud. His nephew did not look anything like a boy who'd been begging to learn the advanced forms since his little sister had first surpassed him. His nephew looked like Iroh had served sky bison veal for lunch.

Lieutenant Jee coughed very pointedly, somewhere to the aft. It was the kind of cough that said I told you to tell him.

"Uncle. I… my fire..." Zuko would not meet his eyes. "I disobeyed Father's orders, and… and I don't regret it! But Agni is really mad, I think, which is stupid because what I did was right—"

It took Iroh a moment to untangle the meaning behind these words. Losing his fire made much more sense than his nephew obeying doctor's orders.

"Ah," Iroh said. "This happened much sooner than I anticipated."

Zuko did not seem to find this reassuring. At all.

"I believe I know how you may regain your fire, Prince Zuko. First, though," his eyes drifted back to the horizon, "we must practice something else. Are you acquainted with politics-bending?"

"I don't think that's a thing, Uncle."

"Your tutors seem to have overlooked the subject, yes."

Zhao was getting all manner of royal letters lately. First the Fire Lord, now the Dragon of the West. He needed only Princess Azula to round out the set.

And perhaps Zuko. Something to remember him by.

But since he'd yet to hear back from the Fire Lord about simply sinking the Wani and being done with things from a distance, he'd indulge this little lark.

"Lieutenant, set course for the Prince's ship. General Iroh has invited me to tea."

Zuko poured for Commander Zhao and kept his gaze very far from his Uncle's hands, which were tucked up his sleeves and hidden by the table.

The first rule of politics-bending, Uncle had told him, was Don't let your opponent know you cannot smite them with lightning.

A sealed scroll sat on the table between the men, a centerpiece that Zhao had eyed but had not inquired after.

"I am curious, General," Zhao did not touch his tea, "why you really called me over here."

"Is my new white dragon blend not reason enough?" Uncle also did not touch his tea. For very different reasons.

"Of course, General. And how are you doing, my Prince? Recovered from the dragon pox?"

Zuko had two jobs. One: pour tea. Two: Do not talk, I am just as serious this time as I was the last, Prince Zuko. Your job is to listen, and learn.

This would be easier if Uncle would stop baiting him.

"Unfortunately, my nephew has lost his voice. Too much shouting." Uncle smiled benevolently at Zuko, who resisted the urge to shout something like I don't shout that much. "What brings you to this area, Commander Zhao?"

"I'm expecting a reply from the Fire Lord. It seemed prudent to remain within range of my objective." Zhao turned his cat-gator smile on Zuko. "What about you, Prince Zuko? Have you spoken to your father lately? Oh, please forgive me—I forgot you can't answer. Feel free to simply nod."

Zuko kept his lips together and refused to shake his head.

"No? How strange. Perhaps the palace ran out of hawks."

Zuko opened his mouth to say That's stupid, then shut it again.

Uncle cleared his throat. "Nephew, this tea is growing cold. Could you please fetch a new pot? The Commander and I will wait."

Zuko grabbed the still-steaming pot and left the two men with their full cups. He shut the door behind him. And pressed his good ear to it. Listen, and learn.

Iroh and Zhao did not drop their smiles, but they let the steel come out.

"You are quite far from the rest of the fleet, Commander," Iroh said.

"I have my orders."

"And the message you await?"

"Clarification on accepted collaterals," Zhao replied.

Iroh let out a slow breath, and nodded to the scroll on the table. "Perhaps this will clarify things. It is our best guess, based upon observed headings and sites our target would find significant. At the observed rate, he should be there by the solstice."

Zhao reached for the scroll like he expected it to bite; he reached for it, without ever taking his eyes off of Iroh. Broke the seal, and read, and set it back down. "Crescent Island. If you know where the Avatar will be, why aren't you headed there?"

"And take my nephew into Fire Nation waters? He has only just recovered from his last case of dragon pox, Commander. I will not let him relapse so soon."

Zhao pushed the scroll away. "As bribery goes, General, you could do better. I've already received a higher offer."

"My brother is persuasive. And good to his friends, while they remain as such. But tell me, Commander Zhao: would you rather be known as the man who captured the Avatar, or the man who fears poison in every cup?" He looked down at Zhao's tea, still untouched. Just as his own was. It was a message, and Zhao had not failed to read what he believed into it. "Or, perhaps, the traitor who killed a prince of the blood. Princes are not just forgotten, Zhao. There will be questions. Do you think my brother will keep around a man who knows the answers? I do not think anyone will question your death so closely. If you do as my brother commands, the best you can hope for is to be forgotten. Capture the Avatar, and you will be remembered. It is the best protection I can afford you."

"The Avatar is your prince's only way home. Why give this information to me?"

"His father does not wish him to return to the capital. Is it so strange that I would feel the same? Go capture the Avatar. Leave my nephew to heal, Zhao."

"Thank you for the tea, General." The man was no longer smiling. This was the most Iroh could hope for.

There was a knock on the door. Zuko entered. He did not look surprised when Zhao pushed his way past, but at least he remembered to keep quiet.

Zhao's ship was steaming towards the western horizon, but still Zuko was not speaking.

"I did not think you actually lost your voice, nephew," Iroh tried. This was exactly the kind of situation tea was made for, but the pot had gone very cold, and Zuko did not seem inclined to reheat it. This was also what hugs were for, but Iroh did not think the prince was inclined to those at the moment either. So they sat in the silence of Iroh's quarters, until Zuko was ready to break it.

"My father doesn't want to kill me. He didn't order Zhao to kill me."

Iroh really could have used a cup of tea.

"My father will welcome me home. Once I have the Avatar."

"I am sure he will, Prince Zuko." He was sure Ozai would have no choice, if his son were a national hero. Heroes must first be tarnished before they could be discarded.

"Why did Zhao even believe you?"

"A man can convince himself of the ocean, if only he can find a grain of sand in his shoe."

His nephew reacted to proverbs as usual. His scowl was a reassuring return to life. So were his crossed arms, and the sudden fire in his eyes. "You sounded like Azula in there."

Uncle understood this as both highest insult and unintended praise. "Prince Zuko. I am the Dragon of the West, and I am your uncle. Both of these are true. Right now you are my nephew, but you must also become a dragon. Otherwise you will never hold the throne even if you sit it."

These were truths Iroh had not been planning to teach Zuko. Not yet, when there was so much else for the boy to learn—like how to relax for even the time it took to enjoy a cup of tea, or practice his firebending without looking over his shoulder to see who was watching, or smile without his father first approving the action. But he had thought he'd have years; he could not imagine his brother reconsidering the banishment any earlier, if ever. He had not imagined they'd find the Avatar. Yet the Avatar was here, and the Avatar was twelve, and the Avatar was like a rabbit-mouse who had not yet learned the fear of fire-snakes. His nephew might just rub Ozai's banishment terms in his face.

"...I'm no good at lying," Zuko said. "I'm not good at talking to the courtiers."

Iroh smiled. "Ah, but you are very good at telling the truth. So good, perhaps, that it wraps around again. Would you kindly heat new water? I believe it is time you learned to brew tea."

"I don't have time for tea."

"Second rule of politics-bending, Prince Zuko: there is always time for tea. And a corollary: tea is never just tea. Why do you think Zhao accepted my invitation?"

And so Iroh talked Zuko through brewing his first pot of tea, and told him exactly how his actions at Omashu looked to the Court. And to his father.

Zuko drank his tea as if it were not awful (which made Uncle feel offended on behalf of every good cup he'd ever served the boy), and interrupted so often his voice started to truly get hoarse. And a bit frantic.

"That's not why I did it!"

"That is your truth. But it is not the truth others saw. And the more you protest that you did it to save common troops and because those soldiers love their country and not at all because it makes your father look like—" a child-abusing psychopath "—he misjudged you, the more those at Court will smile and agree with you, and think they share in your joke. So you see, you are actually quite good at lying!"

Zuko put his head down on the table. "So Father thinks…"

"That you are blossoming into a successor to rival Azula," Iroh happily returned the earlier insult-praise. "Why, you took a whole city without fighting! Not even the Dragon of the West could do that, and he certainly did not do it at twelve. Your Father never had any major military accomplishments."

His nephew did not seem inclined to sit up ever again. The noises he was making were more commonly associated with sinking ships, or dying ox-horses. By this, Iroh knew he'd understood his first lesson in politics-bending.

"Why did we even tell Zhao about Crescent Island?" the boy finally groaned. "We could have lied."

"We could have, but the Avatar makes for quite the distraction. We want Zhao to be very distracted when we skirt the blockade."

That got the boy sitting up. "What?"

"I believe," Iroh said, "it is time you met the Masters Ran and Shaw. They may be able to help with your fire problem."