Chapter 14

When Azula emerges from the closeted darkness of the Red House she is mildly surprised to find it is already noon. The sun shines palely overhead, peeking out between the jagged city rooftops and sparse woolly clouds high above. It's a grey day, cold. Sleet flecks the shoulders of Azula's Earth Kingdom jacket. Temurin shivers; it seems he stupidly forgot to bring a coat.

"They're lying, Temurin," Azula says. She unwinds her scarf and throws it in the older man's face. He barely catches it, blinking in shock.

"About what?"

"Everything."

"I don't doubt it, but you'll have to be—" he stops, one hand still holding the tail of her scarf. "Do you hear that?"

The shouts which had permeated through the thick quiet of the Red House grow steadily louder, building from an indistinct roar until Azula can pick out individual words.

"Fire Nation go home?" Azula smirks. "How unoriginal."

"I can't quite tell where—" Temurin starts.

The crowd bursts around a corner, spilling like cockroaches onto the boulevard. Their faces are flushed with cold and they brandish banners like swords. At the front of the protestors marches a woman wearing makeshift Kyoshi Warrior armor, though Azula does't recognize her. A man carrying a toddler on his shoulders waves the Earth Kingdom flag and the woman to his right raises a mittened fist.

"Down with the Fire Nation!" she yells. The protestor is close enough that Azula can see her eyes are the light brown of a Fire Nation citizen. It reminds her of the citizens who came out to protect Zuko from the coup, all those weeks ago… Temurin grabs Azula's elbow and pulls her to the side of the road.

"You should try to keep a low profile," Temurin says, still gripping her arm.

Azula narrows her eyes. What does he mean by that? Stubbornly, she climbs onto a nearby crate for a better view of the pulsing crowd. It's fascinating, really. If she were Firelord, she'd see these people as the enemy, but here in the thick of it all the mob's energy is contagious, like the thrill of a battlefield. A brightly painted banner with Zuko's face on it draws her attention as it sweeps by, the woman holding it looking barely older than Azula herself. And next to her is—

"Altan?" Azula says, disbelieving.

"What?" says Temurin.

"Altan is in the crowd," Azula half-shouts down to Temurin. He clambers up onto the crate with her, nearly knocking her off.

"Sorry—but what the hell?" Temurin spits. "He's supposed to be with Jirou at the inn. Altan!"

Temurin cups his hands around his mouth and yells out over the raging mass. So much for keeping a low profile. Unbelievably, Altan's head turns, and he sees Azula and Temurin holding each other awkwardly as they balance on top of the wooden crate. Altan's face falls, but he struggles through the crowd to reach them.

Before Altan even gets there, Temurin jumps down. "What are you—"

"Jirou ran off," Altan says hurriedly. His cheeks are flushed a bright pink from the cold. "He kept asking to go see the protests, and I said no, and then I went to go buy lunch—"

"Spirits, Altan, how hard is it to watch one child?" Temurin snaps.

Altan turns an even deeper pink, but he stands his ground. "Jirou is hardly a child," he retorts. "And I don't notice you watching him every second."

Temurin looks livid, and Azula waits for the verbal flaying Temurin is about to unleash on the younger man. Altan must see it coming, too, because he lifts his chin in the largest act of defiance Azula has ever seen from him. Despite herself, Azula can't help being impressed by Altan's resolve. Although a full-on confrontation between her two friends would be interesting.

"Let's just focus on finding my nephew," Temurin says tightly. The last stragglers in the protestor's mob pass by, and the street quiets down. Azula sighs.

"That's what I was doing," Altan says, looking relieved. "This crowd is joining a larger rally outside the mayor's office."

Wordlessly, Temurin sets off down the street to catch up with the protestors. Altan glances up at Azula, who's been watching from the crate. He wilts.

"I'm sorry," he says miserably. "I should have watched Jirou more carefully."

"Probably," Azula agrees. Altan slumps even further, and a sudden image of Zuko flashes through her mind: her brother standing dejected after Ozai watched one of their history lessons. His shoulders had bent just the same way…

Before she can overthink it, Azula hops off the crate and wraps Altan in a hug. His icy cheek makes her shiver as it brushes against hers. He must have been out looking for Jirou for a while. Temurin is getting farther and farther away, but Azula finds herself relaxing into Altan's body as he returns her embrace. One of his cold hands moves to stroke the back of her head, causing a new round of goosebumps on her neck. She doesn't move.

"We should catch up with Temurin," Altan murmurs against her hair. Another long moment stretches before he squeezes her briefly and pulls away. "Let's go," he says. And before Azula can reply, he darts in and kisses her cheek. His lips are chapped.

Kissed again by a colonial peasant. Azula laughs as she thinks of what Ozai would say.

By the time Altan and Nekana finally catch up, they have to shove their way through the crowd to reach Temurin. Nekana is particularly savage with her elbows, digging them ruthlessly into people unfortunate enough to be in their way. "Sorry," Altan says again and again as he follows in Nekana's wake. To their right, the protestors have erected a makeshift platform in front of the mayor's office. A woman in a brown coat stands on top of it.

"For our children, and for our children's children, we must rejoin the Earth Kingdom!" she yells. The crowd roars, and Nekana practically bodyslams someone aside to reach Temurin.

"Because the Firelord is unable to keep us safe, even if he wanted to—"

"Did you find him?" the doctor asks her, panicked.

"No," Nekana says. "We need to get somewhere higher."

"—next speaker is someone who can attest to the decline in law and order—"

Altan scans the surroundings for any way to get above the crowd—maybe they could climb to a second-story balcony? He and Temurin probably aren't capable, but surely Nekana could make it, maybe spot the boy in the crowd. Assuming he's even here, and hasn't been kidnapped by spirits know who.

"My village was burned to the ground by bandits!" says a high voice. "And the Fire Nation, which pretends to stick around to protect us, didn't do a thing!"

"No," says Temurin in horror. The crowd cheers.

Altan turns, and sees Jirou standing on the platform, looking nervous but invigorated. Words tumble out of him as he describes the bodies, and the burning, and the terror of New Azulon, his voice growing louder the vehement reactions of the crowd egg him on. He raises a fist in the air. "For the Earth King!" he screams.

Temurin starts to fight his way to the front of the crowd, but Nekana tugs him back.

"Think. You can't just drag him off the stage," she says.

"Watch me," Temurin says, shaking her off. But the press of the mob is such that even though Temurin struggles desperately, he's practically trapped where he is. They are helpless as Jirou continues to rail against the Fire Nation. Altan winces as he hears the boy repeat something about the Fire Nation's crimes that he himself once carelessly said. The minutes drag on endlessly, the crush of bodies making it harder and harder to breathe.

"Thank you to our youngest supporter," says the woman in brown. "It's people like him who will ensure—"

A whistle splits the air, followed by screams towards the edge of the crowd as a small squadron of Colonial peacekeepers shoulder their way towards the platform. They are wearing Fire Nation armor, and even though they aren't bending, Altan watches, frozen, as they swing their clubs ruthlessly. A woman goes down, scarlet blood across her face. The claustrophobic press of the crowd turns into a stampede as people flee the scene.

"Jirou!" Temurin screams, once again trying to get to the front of the stage. Altan and Nekana try to follow behind him, but a large woman in a thick scarf bowls Altan over. He hits the pavement. Someone steps on his hand, and he screams as he feels at least one of his fingers break. Boots and long coats swirl around him, and when he tries to stand he's knocked back to the ground, his only defense to curl into a ball as hundreds of people trip and fight to escape the police. By the time he finally struggles to his feet, the squad is sweeping off the stage, dragging the main speaker and Jirou away.

"Jirou!" Temurin yells pointlessly. He tries to climb up on the stage, but Nekana yanks him back again.

"You can't fight them all," she shouts. The soldiers enter the city hall, slamming the heavy door shut behind them. Altan staggers towards the pair as Temurin continues to struggle to escape Nekana. She steps in front of the older man, shaking him slightly.

"Do you want me to break him out?" she asks. But there's another question in her eyes, and Altan remembers the blackened bodies of bandits in New Azulon. He cradles broken hand as Temurin looks at the city hall doors and then back at the young woman.

"I—" Temurin shakes his head. "Damn it!"

"You should try to talk to the officials," Altan interjects. "Before Nekana…does anything drastic."

"He's just a child," Temurin agrees desperately. "Surely they'll listen-"

"Forget the officials. You need to go get Mila and Yu-chen to help." She shakes the doctor again. "Temurin, do you hear me? We need to go back to the Red House."

The street is littered with groaning protestors, some taken out by the peacekeepers, some victims of the stampede. Banners lay limply on the cobbled street, slowly getting soaked with rain.

"No one can stay neutral when the Fire Nation rules," Altan says dully.

Nekana frowns. But she doesn't disagree.