Chapter 29: Save You From the Pirates, Take II

Zuko lay on the deck looking up at the sky. It was stained with sunset pinks and reds, and a little hazy around the edges.

"...Oww."

"Lightning is the most advanced technique in firebending," Uncle said. "It is not unusual for a bender to go their entire life without producing so much as a single spark. Your progress is already quite astounding, Prince Zuko."

"Azula can do it."

"Your sister is, ah…" Uncle never seemed to know how to finish sentences about Azula.

"I could do it. When I was running a fever."

"You did have quite exceptional focus at the time."

The focus to not have a frog shoved in his mouth. He was never, ever telling Lala that his first non-exploding lightning had involved licking frogs. She would still find out somehow, but he wasn't going to tell her.

"Perhaps there is something on your mind, nephew? Some source of inner conflict?" Uncle was making his patient you can tell me, I have already heard it from Jee anyway face.

"No," Zuko said. "There isn't."

Whatever Jee and Teruko thought they saw up in that cave—

Well, they were probably completely right.

But he wasn't going to talk about it. He couldn't. Because it (maybe) (possibly) (definitely) was treason. And he couldn't bring his crew into that, and he definitely couldn't bring Uncle. Uncle was way older than him, basically ancient, and if he'd wanted to commit treason he'd have found a way long ago, and they'd been on this boat for months now so he'd have told Zuko by now. Instead, he just played pai sho through letters and exchanged tea recipes with other old people at every port and talked about flowers. Which was about as far from treason as someone could get.

Zuko had to decide this on his own, and he couldn't talk it through with Uncle or anyone else because that would be conspiracy to treason.

He rolled back to his feet. "I'm going to try again."

"Please don't, sir," Lieutenant Jee said, and tripped over a formerly frozen frog. He almost but didn't quite drop his pipa.

"Don't kick Zhao!" Zuko shouted.

"Sir. Please don't call him that."

"I think it's a her."

"...Sir. Please don't call her that."

Admiral Frog-Zhao continued her lazy hop amidst the music night preparations, coming to a stop next to Lieutenant Frog-Jee where he sat stoically ribbiting next to the rail. Frog cuddles ensued.

"If you didn't want me to name them," Zuko said, "you shouldn't have shoved them in my mouth." Revenge tasted a lot like defrosted frog.

Lieutenant Not-a-Frog Jee closed his eyes very briefly, muttered something that was either a prayer or a smiting request to Agni, and then sat down to tune his instrument.

"Frog alert," Teruko said, far too casually. Which was the only warning the rest of the crew had before boots stomped their way up the boarding ramp, and Not-a-Frog Zhao stepped foot on their ship along with a handful of generically masked firebenders for backup. Probably it wasn't a good thing for Zuko to feel smug-pride that Zhao thought he needed backup, but he did anyway.

"Ah, Admiral Zhao!" Uncle beamed. "I see you received my invitation to music night."

There had definitely not been an invitation to music night.

"What do you want, Zhao?" Zuko asked, letting seed lightning crackle over his fingers, because even if it hurt a little the look on the admiral's face was worth it. Besides, it was the first rule of politics-bending— 'Don't let your opponents know you cannot smite them with lightning.'

Zhao narrowed his eyes. And then relaxed. And then smiled. "I'm looking for Pikeman Kazuto."

"...Sir?" Kazuto said, pausing his setup of the chairs.

"You'll be pleased to hear that your transfer request has been approved." The smile stretched to frog-mouth proportions. "You'll be stationed on my very own ship. I know it's quite the promotion; you can thank me later. As for the rest of you… report to my staff sergeant for your new assignments. Per the Fire Lord's command, all non-essential personnel are to aid in our assault of the North. And of course, General Iroh, your services as a consultant would be most welcome."

...They were assaulting the North?

Zhao was stealing his crew?

His crew was non-essential?

Real lightning crackled around Zuko's hands, and it only hurt a little. "Show me the orders."

"Of course, my Prince," Zhao's smile was oily-slick, but his eyes were scared-frog-jumpy. He took elaborate care in pulling a scroll out, trying hard not to look at the blue and white sparks leaping in the hand he would have to set it in.

Zuko scowled up at the admiral, holding his gaze as he let positive and negative chi mix back together. The lightning went back inside him, where it lived now. Zhao set the scroll in his hand.

Zuko kept scowling. And kept holding the admiral's gaze. And it was really, really satisfying when he lit the unopened scroll on fire.

Ribbit, Lieutenant Frog-Jee said into the silence that followed.

"What," Not-a-Frog Zhao croaked.

"If Father wants me to give up my crew and abandon my quest," Zuko said, "he can write to me himself. Until then, I will be continuing to hunt the Avatar at the North Pole."

Probably that was a little bit of treason, too. But it felt really good.

Zhao stormed off. The crew waited until the admiral and his men were back on the dock before the cheering and the backslapping started and why was everyone touching him.

Lieutenant Not-a-Frog Jee snapped a series of very serious music night orders, effectively dispersing the crowd. He stood next to Zuko, very carefully observing the preparations.

"...Should I set a course for Northern Omashu, sir?"

He said it with no change in expression, and no glances towards his prince. He said it like if Zuko wanted to try an even bigger scoop of treason, Jee would bring him a spoon.

The lieutenant didn't know what he was saying. Princes might… might get locked up or burned more, but common officers got executed.

"We'll stay in port for another day," Zuko said. "...Lieutenant Jee? Thank you. Umm. You can rename the frogs, if you want."

Jee was clearly overwhelmed by this honor. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "...Teruko. Teruko and Zhao."

Which was another kind of treason.

"Sir!" Teruko snapped. "At least rename the other one, too!"

And his crew snapped at each other, and laughed, and did some things with instruments that might technically be classified as music, and Zuko looked into Uncle's eyes and declined the tsungi horn with seed lightning in his hands. And there was treason everywhere, Zuko had leaked it all over them, because they'd all heard Zhao's orders but they were still acting like they would stay with him. They couldn't.

He couldn't.

He sat at the bow and dangled his legs over the ocean, and definitely-didn't-listen-to but also didn't run from music night. He stayed there a really long time.

Maybe his crew knew what was coming and just didn't want to talk about it anymore than he did, because there were still people talking and sleepily leaning against each other and half-strumming songs when dawn came.

Zuko must have fallen asleep at the rail, because he woke up to a blanket over him and Uncle's hand on his shoulder, and a royal bird perched on Hawker Genji's fist.

The scroll had Father's seal, but it wasn't written in Father's hand. Sokka doesn't use scribes when he writes to me, some stupid part of him said. It wasn't a minimal qualification to be a father, but maybe it should be.

Zuko swallowed the treason down where it wouldn't show on his face. The crew had assembled, sleepy and somber. He didn't bother reading them the orders, which were the same as Zhao had said and everyone had known they would be. And he didn't thank them, you didn't thank someone for doing their job, that was an insult. Even if he'd wanted to, there weren't any words for a crew that had complained everyday about the cold in the South Pole (but still went) and grumbled about the rust on their stupid little scrapyard-salvage ship (but spent hours trying to polish it out) and kept holding music night against his explicit orders (but always tried to include him). He just… bowed.

Way lower than he should have, but not as low as they deserved.

And they bowed back.

And that was the end.

It didn't make Zuko's decision for him, because he'd already made it. But it made it… easier.

"It is okay to be upset, nephew," Uncle said, because he didn't understand at all.

"I'm not. I'm just…"

He could do lightning now. Right now, if he wanted to. He could feel it, as sure as he felt his inner flame, but cold and sure instead of warm and eager. But he didn't, because he felt like somehow Uncle would see it and know.

"I'm going to my room."

"Zuko…" Uncle's voice was all wrong. Sad and soothing when—when that wasn't what Zuko needed at all.

"Can I borrow your good paper?"

"Zuko…?"

It was the Seventh of Turtle-Seal Moon, and he was just across the bay from the northernmost town on Blue Orca Harbor, and there was so much he had to get done before he left.

"I'm fine, Uncle," Zuko scowled, because it gave away less than if he'd smiled.

Treason was a lot of work. He had to get started.

There were mutterings along the dock, and in the town. Mutterings that Zhao only half-heard, mutterings that hushed themselves and stared as he went by. Mutterings about princes who'd just had their toys taken away, and the villain of the story who'd done it.

Zhao grit his teeth, and strode into the town's prison.

The iguana-parrot perched over the doorway watched him pass, with a single squawk.

"Admiral—!" the officer on duty hurried to straighten. Zhao waved him off.

"I need a word with the scum I delivered," he said, and continued walking.

"Gloating again, sir?"

Zhao spared the man a snarl, and kept walking. Down the corridor, down the stairs, down to a row of cells full of flotsam that might yet find a use.

"Gentleman," Zhao said, "I have a proposal."

The words may have gotten their attention. Either that, or the key he dangled from his fingers.

There would be a breakout tonight. And perhaps a new tragedy in the prince's little spirit tale to be muttered of in the morning.

Very vengeful people, pirates.

Iroh was growing increasingly alarmed, and he did not know why. Pride in his nephew's dignity would have been the proper reaction: Zhao's men were already on the Wani, already stripping fleet-owned supplies, already leading the komodo-rhinos off. And his nephew was facing these new circumstances with great aplomb. Barely scowling at Zhao's men as they skulked about taking inventory, signing his acknowledgement on the requisition letters as they came. And, apparently, writing letters of recommendation.

"Thank you, sir. I… I don't know what to say." Former Helmsman Kyo looked down at the letter in his hands, as he sat in the wheeled chair the doctor had found for him. The Helmsman would not be joining the rest of the crew in their journey north. Nor would he remain in the navy's employ. The Fire Nation… did not have a very good pension, for its injured soldiers. There were decades of them, in far too great of numbers.

"I'll write to Colonel Shinu, too," Zuko said. "I can't promise he'll take you, but… he's a good man. He should be able to help you find employment, if you want it. If you're not ready to go back home, yet."

"I… yeah." Kyo looked down at the letter, and the legs underneath, covered over in their thick blanket. "Yeah, I'd rather not have my mom see me like this. Not until I've got… well, something. Thank you, sir."

"Oh, and… could you take care of Terufrog and Zhao for me?"

"I… sure?" Kyo accepted a ribbiting box onto his lap, looking somewhat bemused.

The Helmsman was one of the last off the ship. Kazuto and Teruko had waited on him; Kazuto pushed his chair down the boarding ramp. Teruko gave one last bow to her prince, and followed.

It was… very empty, without them.

"I am going for a walk, nephew. Would you care to join me?"

"No thanks, Uncle. I have to write to Azula while we still have the hawks. She'd worry if I just stopped replying."

"...I'm sure she would be," Iroh said.

At least the boy would not just be sulking in the dark.

The blasting jelly was where the admiral had said.

Sssh, one pirate said to the other, as a navy man walked by.

Squawk, the parrot said. It fluttered out to land on a shipping crate, it eyes reflecting torchlight as it stared at the man.

Lieutenant Jee paused, and stared back. Slowly, he held out his hand.

The parrot took off in a flash of feathers, and wheeled away.

Must be a different bird, Jee thought, and kept walking.

I am going to pluck that bird, the pirate captain thought, and got back to directing his men.

To Father: —I am your loyal son, and a loyal son of the Fire Nation. It is in our Nation's best interest not if the Avatar is captured and chained, but for the world to see him side with Sozin's line willingly—

To Azula: Remember you don't have to be perfect, Lala. I'll always be there to make you look good.

Zuko took the letters to Miso and Fire Flake, and stroked their feathers until they went from preening his hair to nipping his fingers. Then he let them fly. Miso was going to Omashu, to let Colonel Shinu know that a very good man formerly under royal service was looking for new employment. That left Fire Flake to carry two scrolls to Caldera. After only a brief hesitation, Zuko addressed the second one: To Fire Lord Ozai, c/o Fire Princess Azula. It wasn't like Father could get more angry with him, and he wanted to make sure Azula really did get her letter.

Uncle's letter, he left on the bed.

I've had a dragon pox relapse. It's very contagious, so please don't follow me. I don't want you catching it, too.

Zhao's men hadn't confiscated the rickety rowboat he'd taken with Uncle to Kyoshi and Katara to the communications outpost. He didn't even have to climb out a porthole to get to it.

The explosion rocked ships three slips away, and sent flaming shrapnel raining down over the assembled fleet. If Zhao hadn't wanted them to use all the blasting jelly in that hold, perhaps he should have specified.

"That's a job well done, then," the captain said, suddenly feeling as expansively warm and full of good-will-towards-men as the flames. Why, he'd even leave his shoulder parrot unplucked for now, the lucky beast. "Right, then. Who's up for robbing refugees? I hear there's good pickings by Ba Sing Se."

It was mostly a rhetorical question. They were, after all, pirates.

Sokka didn't fidget so much as express his growing concern through assorted bodily motions. "He's late."

"Maybe he's just…" Katara started, but she was fidgeting too. Mostly verbally, but also with the sewing job on his shirt. The fact that she was willingly sewing his shirts for the first time since she'd added 'Prince Zuko can do chores, why can't you' to her arsenal said all that needed to be said.

"Well," Aang said. "At least it's not an Avatar trap? Or if it is, he's late for that, too."

A few moments of silence passed in the night.

"He's really late," Sokka got the rounds started again.

"Maybe…" Katara started.

She was interrupted by a bison groan, followed shortly by a lemur chitter. Momo glided down off the saddle edge and landed directly on the head of one very-very-late Fire Prince. Sokka had the urge to scold him or hug him or scolug him—hugold him?—which, in retrospect, was his first taste of parenthood.

Zuko stopped at the edge of the clearing with his arms crossed and his chin high (and a lemur grooming his hair, purring).

"I have decided to accept the advisory position."

Sokka grinned. "Welcome aboard, nephew-son. Nephson? Sonphew?"

"Uggh, I'm not. And didn't brother make more sense?"

"I told you," Katara chimed in. Because sisters.

"Yeah, well. I talked to Bato about how the tribe would feel, and 'brother' is too lukewarm. Got to go all in with enthusiasm or you are definitely disappearing down an ice crevasse."

"I'm what?"

"So you get your choice of me as dad or Katara as mom. Now I know you're eager to choose, but go ahead and think it over, and just let us know before we get to the North Pole. And not to influence your decision, but I would definitely be a good Crazy Uncle and Katara is already Group Mom, and—Aang you are too young to adopt, lower your hand right now."

"Awwww."

"Oh, and Bato's going to pass word on to my dad, so it's pretty much already approved."

"Don't I get a say?" the prince scowled.

Sokka grinned, and took his nephson's bag, and tossed it up into the saddle before he could change his mind. "Nope, you're underage."

"So are you!"

"Am not. I, thank-you-very-much, passed my manhood trials."

"When?"

"Two weeks ago. So if you round up, nearly a month." Sokka puffed out his chest.

"So did I," Aang said.

"Yeah, well Bato doesn't always make the best choices in child care. There's a reason he's dad's second, not the other way around. Also, you're not Water Tribe enough."

"Well, the Air Nomads could use people more than the Water Tribes—"

"We are not comparing genocides again, Aang."

Zuko had a look on his face like he was just realizing what he was getting into. Mom Candidate Katara stealthily hugged it off of him, and somehow got him up into the saddle while she was at it. That ninja training back on Zuko's ship had really paid off.

They had Zuko about four hundred feet up and a few miles north when something in the harbor went boom. Sokka squinted, trying to make out what it was. Beside an impressive pillar of flame that rained little bitty flames down on all the other ships.

"You'd think the Fire Nation would know how to store blasting jelly," he said.

"Shut up," Zuko said. And added, like the adorable product of an expansionist empire he was: "Water Tribe peasant."

Sokka slung an arm over his shoulders. "And that is why we needed a Fire Nation advisor. Look at all this positive cultural exchange. Aang, are you looking?"

"Yeah," Aang said, totally not looking, because fire was apparently too distracting. "That's nice, Sokka. Is it a sky bison?"

"I'm not even holding a carving!" Sokka protested. "And Appa Mark Three is a thing of beauty! Extremely recognizable beauty! On an unrelated note, I'm making you a present."

"What." The prince tried to shake his arm off. Sokka refused to be shook. "Can we circle back? I want to see what happened." And maybe jump off while your guard is down, his tone strongly implied.

"That's going to be a nope, little buddy. We are not going to casually fly over all those catapults. Besides, we've got to keep to the—"

"Say 'schedule' one more time, Sokka. Say it," Katara dared him.

Sokka did not dare. He especially did not dare as she scooted closer to them in the saddle, but fortunately she was just tucking herself in to join the hugging at Zuko's other side. They were now a delicious Water Tribe sandwich with a toasty-scowly center and a curled-up lemur garnish.

"I'm so glad you're here," she said. "You made the right choice."

Oh, sure. Zuko would lean into her hug, but not his. Momma's boy.

"Sometimes fathers need to be disappointed," the prince muttered.

Katara side-hugged Zuko so hard it cut off circulation in Sokka's arm. He allowed this. And stared back at the pretty fire. "Say. Why are there so many ships, anyway?"

"Oh. Ah," Zuko said, which was an inauspicious start. And continued on to an inauspicious explanation.

"WHAT?" He hadn't factored a friggin' full scale invasion into the schedule.

Aang was already urging Appa to fly faster. The bison might be marginally slower with an extra passenger, but their Fire Nation advisor was already pulling his own weight.

Iroh was the first to the harbor. Jee and the crew were not far behind him. When they heard the explosion—

There were very few ships prone to blasting jelly accidents. It did not take long for each member of the crew to come running (or wheeling) towards what was once their ship's dock.

Towards what was once a ship, and once a dock.

Armor and boots and shirts were shucked off with haste, and left scattered on the beach. There were still flames on the water, but the crew's benders encouraged them to stay lit, to help light the night. Shivering swimmers were warmed by benders on the shore, then sent back out into the waters. There was very little talking.

There was very much shouting.

"Prince Zuko!"

There was no dock, no ship. No reply.

No Zuko.

At dawn, Azula received two letters via the finger-biting menace her brother kept affectionately sending.

Her letter alarmed her.

The one sent via her care… that, she stared at and stared and realized for the first time in her life that she did not know what to do.

She could give it to father.

She could burn it.

Or she could write her idiot brother back right now—

Whatever you are doing Dum-Dum, stop it, that is an order from your Crown Princess and future Fire Lord and sister—

At dawn, Iroh went to see Zhao.

"I have decided to take you up on your offer," the retired general said. "You have probably heard, but my nephew…"

"Yes," Zhao said, standing on the far side of the room, his guards causally positioned between them. "Such a tragedy."

"So you see," Iroh said, taking but a humble step closer (four guards for one meeting between allies, how very unseemly), "I find myself at a loose end. I will accompany you, Zhao, and perhaps help to turn my grief to the service of our nation."

"Perhaps it would be healthier," Zhao said, "for both of us, if you were to vent your grief in a different direction."

Iroh narrowed his eyes. Another step closer to the dear admiral. His guards twitched. "What do you mean?"

The guards acted. The Dragon of the West had been more ready then they, but there were yet more guards waiting outside the door, and his fight was not with these men but the smiling puddle of filth who was looking stunned, then speculative, then gleeful.

"Why, General Iroh. Whatever happened to your hands?"

If he could only kill Zhao before he was brought down—

But he had failed at Ba Sing Se and failed at a fire-lit harbor, and here he failed, too. Iroh would always fail his sons.

"Don't worry," Zhao said, placing a hand on his shoulder only after the soldiers—such that remained, such as were not so much flesh that had stood between him and his target—had restrained him. Had forced him, kneeling, to the floor. "I'm sure your brother will be sympathetic to your plight. He just lost a son, too."

Once more the dragon roared.

Zhao left him for his soldiers to handle.

By noon, a small ship broke off from the main fleet flying the royal flag. At half-mast, of course: one musn't be tacky. Prince Iroh was going home.

Admiral Zhao was going North.

Azula didn't get a reply. Zuzu said he wouldn't be able to reply anymore but she'd sent him back his vicious hawk, he had no excuse to ignore her like this, the audacity of him, if she was Fire Lord she'd unbanish him just so she could re-banish him, why wasn't he writing back?

"Princess Azula?" a servant bowed low but not low enough, how dare he interrupt her, he should bow so low the catterworms felt honored. Azula scowled down at the man with fire on her hands. "The—the Fire Lord requests your presence—"

Azula's hand flew to her sleeve, where two scrolls rested, hidden. Two, not one, father hadn't somehow gotten the other, hadn't read Zuzu's treason yet. (She should show him.) (She should burn it.)

Father waited for her behind his curtain of flames. She bowed to the ground.

"Rise," he said, and she did. He dropped the theatrics, and lowered the flames. She could see his face; see the scroll by his side, and the subtle smirk on his face. "There has been terrible news, my child. My only child."

Two scrolls up her sleeve. Father hadn't needed Zuzu's treason to wish him dead.

To get his wish.

Zuzu was...

"That is terrible indeed, Father. Shall I get fitted for clothes of mourning? I do look quite good in white."

"So you do," Father smirked, and Azula smirked back.

Two scrolls up her sleeve, as light and meaningless as a child's ghost.

Remember you don't have to be perfect, Lala. I'll always be there to make you look good.

And people called her the liar.

"What is that?" She-who-rationed-the-food asked, squinting over the glaciers.

The lemur uncurled slightly from its warm-roost-that-shouts-lots, and followed its flight-mate's gaze towards Something! What Is!

The lemur went very very still. And then it launched itself from its boy-tree's head, screeching a call to mob the bad-predator-danger.

Like always, its flockmates ignored the call and huddled under the lemur's protection like flightless fall-from-nests.

Fierce! Foe! Hawk! rose and dove and clawed, but the lemur was swift-strong-protector and the hawk was wind-weak and shivering—

(—And so was the lemur—)

And so they both shrieked and clawed and dove, and ended up perched shiver-panting on opposite shoulders of the lemur's personal fire-boy-tree-who-smelled-like-this-hawk.

"Fire Flake?" boy-tree scowled. "Why did she send you back?"

"What's up, nephson?"

"I am not your nephson, that is not even a word. And it's just Azula, I think she's worried."

"That's… a lot of threats for someone who's worried," she-who-rationed-the-food said.

"It's Azula." Fire-boy-tree was unbuttoning his outer fur as he chittered, and he lifted the hawk off his shoulder—

Even the trees rejected hawks! Lemur triumph!

—and tucked it into his warm new trunk-nest.

...The lemur sulked, chittering, back to its head-roost.

The hawk shivered and preened and shivered and smugged.

Chitter, the lemur chittered.

Shriek, the hawk shrieked.

"...Oww, that was right next to my ear. Ugh, I can't send Fire Flake back—it's way too cold for her to fly, how did she even make it here."

"Well, your sister will just have to wait," said the god-challenging stomach-on-legs.

"I guess. I hope she isn't mad. ...Or Uncle."

Or Father, no one in the saddle said, but everyone heard.

"Everything's going to be okay, nephson." Sokka slung an arm over his shoulders. Again. It was some obsession of the peasant's, comparable to the lemur's desire to always be on his head. And now he had a hawk down his robe, so great. The Northern Water Tribe was going to take his royal status really seriously with lemurs and birds and peasants draped all over him.

Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose, and briefly considered kicking Sokka out of the saddle. But it would disturb Fire Flake and Momo, and the stupid Avatar would probably insist on catching him, contrary to his Fire Nation Advisor's clear recommendatioans.

"Could you at least call me nephew? 'Nephson' is stupid."

"Aww, look at you, surrendering to the inevitable. You've got it, nephew."

Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose harder. Treason was a lot more aggravating than he'd planned on. And uncles, apparently, were just as embarrassing in any nation.

AN: Replies to guests:

Lila, ch 28: Bato admires your self-restraint, for he lost his shit so many times on the way to delivering this message. *started out horrified by Sokka adopting a firebender… then realized the comedy potential. and just… just lost his shit all over* AKA: Your comment made me cackle so hard.

m, ch 28: *Bato puts you to work making "Congratulations, Grandpa!" banners he expects these to be done and strung up all over camp before Hakoda steps out of that tent again, you understand?* *encourages you to put on alllll the winky faces you want*