Disclaimer: You all know the drill; I really shouldn't have to go through it. I don't own anything.

A/N: The story will be told in alternating first-person perspective (as a great deal of my stories are-more personal than third-person, more informative than one-sided first-person) between Zuko and Ming Ue, and each chapter title will be the name of the person whose POV it is in. As always, no flames please, though constructive criticism is welcome. I realize this is rather short, but it is just the prologue. And thanks to Inpextoo for the help and the inspiration to write this in the first place.


Prologue – Ming Ue


There are certain things I have observed about my father over the years of my life.

I have never seen him appear ill at ease. He is composed at all times. However, when watching closely, it has not escaped my attention that little habits such as teeth-grinding will give away his irritation or discomfort.

He never calls me by anything other than my full name. And I'm not sure if the distance it promotes between us is a side-effect of this or the purpose of it.

And I have decided, after careful consideration, that he has three faces. One for the Fire Lord and his nobles. Another for his subordinates. And yet another for my mother and myself.

It has also not escaped my attention that the latter two do not vary much.

One learns to erect a certain façade when raised in the court. I have done this myself. But my mask is removed at home. I am open with my mother. My father is closed to the both of us and in turn, I at least, am closed to him. Perhaps my mother and he are different when I am gone from the room. Who knows these things?

And sitting there, reading his letter (this discernable only by his seal and the fact that the elegantly written script was his penmanship) made me realize that things had not changed in his long absence of recent years. The words were curt and formal. Apathetic.

And it was this that made me curious as to why, if he seemed to care so little, he wished to see me.

"It has been over a year," were my mother's words. "Is a man not permitted to inquire after his only daughter?"

I had wanted to tell her no. That my father had never simply wanted me around for the sake of my presence alone. But I saw no reason to upset her.

Therefore, against my better judgment, I enlisted a scribe to write my reply in the affirmative. I included no underlying hint at my in any way being pleased with the invitation, nor any queries as to his motives.

Questions could wait for my arrival and the absence of any anonymity provided by the impersonal words of his reply on the page.

When I could look into his face and discern if there was any lie in his eyes.


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